I finished my first year of law school in May.  The grind-it-out days of 1L behind me, I jumped on the first flight I could out of my “home” in Philadelphia to my “home-home” outside Los Angeles.  Having studied out-of-state as an undergraduate as well, I have grown accustomed to the cross-country flight, just as I know exactly what to expect from my two weeks of vacation back in California.  I’ll play some golf with Dad, see some of my oldest friends, watch the L.A. Dodgers (now a team of minor leaguers, without the minor league prices or the minor league promo nights) with my brother, and see a movie with Mom. 

I love those two weeks.  I love them because I can power down and skip the morning coffee for fourteen days.  I love them because the best times are the ones spent with those who know you best, who love you deepest, and who you trust the most.  It was a great two weeks.

Much to my Mom’s dismay, we bypassed the matinee of The Hangover 2.  Just thinking about watching that movie with her makes me uncomfortable.  Instead, we saw Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris.  In the movie, Gil, a hack screenplay writer, is stuck in a rut while vacationing in Paris.  He has to deal with his relentless wife Inez, who chomps at the bit to experience the highbrow Paris of 2011.  Gil is also a daydreamer, a middle-aged writer caught in a quasi-romantic affair with the literary legends of 1920s Paris with whom he magically makes contact.  Each night, Gil is whisked away to the older decade that he fantasizes about constantly.  And each day, he remains entranced by his nighttime rendezvous with the past.

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The Politics of Gen Y: Making Time for Tomorrow