"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 September 2005

 
Coolest Dad Ever

Dad: I'm listening to The Horror.
Me: Huh? Conrad?
Dad: A Gainesville punk band. Not to be confused with Terror.
Me: Of course not...Which is what exactly?
Dad: A hardcore band from California.
Me: Right...Ok, I'm going to go keep being less cool than you now.

posted by Bekah at 2:54 PM :: |

 
Not the Reaction I Was Going For, Thanks...

Me: Actually, I'm taking Cyber Law in the Spring.
Me: It's like cyber sex, except not.
Melissa: You love saying that don't you?

posted by Bekah at 1:52 PM :: |

 
Coffeehouse Remembrances and An Embarrassing Example of the Self-Doubt and Self-Pity That Ensues When One Reads a Good Book and has Too Much Time On One's Hands

Three horribly obese men and a bodybuilder-looking dude just walked into the coffeehouse. The sight was just plain farcical. By the way, this is not my old coffeehouse, but another place with wireless internet and a good dark roast. It's local, so it's theoretically better than Starbucks, but I'm still not here by choice. I am here because I have exiled myself from the usual place. This is because the owner of my old coffeehouse was recently incredibly rude to my friend Elliot. (Incidentally, "E" is for "Egregious," "Ecstatic," and, in terms of prior postings, "Elliot." I procured permission to use his full name, thanks man). A few weeks ago, during exams, Elliot had a Starbucks cup in my old coffeehouse while he was there studying with me. The owner came over and said "You can't have this crap in here." And it was true, Elliot should not have brought it in, but the owner didn't stop at pointing that out. He went on to actually confiscate the cup and tell Elliot that he "had to buy something or get out of here. When you own your own business you'll understand." Elliot smiled, seemingly subserviently, but actually ingratiatingly, and immediately left. I haven't gone back either. Dad says I should write a letter or call and complain, saying that I've been a loyal customer for a year and a half, and that I've put a good deal of money into the place, and that I won't return and my friends won't return unless Elliot and I get an apology. It seems like the civil thing to do, but I'm on break and I'm tired, so I think I'll just stop going.

Anyway, today, at this new coffeehouse, since I am not in school and had nothing pressing to do, I read a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. There have been many such books written, I'm sure, but today I actually read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. And I do have things to say about this book, because the work was pretty damn heartbreaking and its genius basically was staggering. But I hate myself for even writing about it right now because it pisses me off to be always writing about shit that other people do. I loved this book, but it pissed me off, because commenting on another person's work just seems so empty to me, and it makes me feel useless. I am almost 24 years old. I don't want to read other people's triumphant works anymore. Ok, I do, but I would also like to be writing something. Contributing something. And I can't, because there is this thing called law school that I'm pretty invested in right now. Oh, so tragically heartbreaking, right? Yeesh. I'm going to leave this place now. My butt is molded to the chair, and the waffle print is not becoming. Maybe when I stop feeling jealous and sorry for myself I'll write something coherent about how this book made me feel.

posted by Bekah at 5:44 PM :: |

 
Blahg

I'm sorry, I've been overwhelmed by blog apathy lately. Even typing these pathetic sentences is a little bit draining right now. I hope to recover in several days, at which time I plan to start updating regularly again. Any words of encouragement at this time are most appreciated. Think of me as Tinkerbell: I need people to believe in me, or I'm going to slip out of existence...

But wait--ok, fine, I do have one thing I want to write. This is going to be a struggle, but I want to tell this story. I feel so conflicted. Like an athlete who is totally burnt out and wants a rest, but can't stop cranking out those last 15 bench presses just by force of habit. Damn you, blogger. Damn you.

Anyway, I was shopping for Christmas/Hanukah/Birthday gifts with J today and we went into some overpriced store with all kinds of weird stuff in it, like an alarmingly tacky sterling silver bank thing that said "Viagra Fund." Anyway, on the way out (which followed closely on the heels of "on the way in,") we saw a statue of a monkey holding a bowl of balls. Just a monkey, holding some balls. It was so pointless that its very existence offended me. J turned to me, throwing up his hands, and said, "A monkey holding balls. I guess I just don't get it." I wish I could convey the tone with which he uttered those words. It was so defeated, so hurt, so utterly helpless--as if he thought that people who would buy statues of a ball-holding monkeys for their foyers are somehow in the know. And that may be. But in this context, I think we're both perfectly happy in our ignorance.

posted by Bekah at 5:27 PM :: |

 
Post Mortem Musings

There is one word that sums up 2L year: anticlimactic. For starters, the whole "first year is the worst, it gets much better/easier/more bearable" thing isn't all it's cracked up to be. I will admit that I was happier this year, but I think that was just due to my personal decision to take classes that didn't make me crazy. Most of my friends thought this year was just as bad, if not worse than last. But the main thing is that it's just not the same when you and your friends don't have identical exam schedules. Last year, everyone was done on the same day, so exams went out with a huge, drunken bang. It was so cathartic to go out with everyone and be able to release all of our tension at once.

This year, all of my exams were scheduled early, so I was done on Monday. Most of my friends, however, won't be done until Friday. Therefore, I can't be really excited to be done (because I'll look like a total ass for rubbing it in), so I end up feeling bad about being done. I dropped by to see some friends at a coffeehouse yesterday and happened to mention that I was going to Target and to the mall to do all of the things I hadn't been able to do for a month (like get toilet paper). Everyone looked up from their books with the most pathetic expressions on their faces, as if Target was some magical land--the most exciting destination that their brains could fathom. And then they clenched their teeth and said, "go on, have fun." And you know what, I really SHOULD be having fun, because I'm DONE with HALF of lawschool, which is a pretty big thing. So...hooray for me. Hooray for school. Now everybody hurry up and finish because I'm very lonely.

posted by Bekah at 11:57 AM :: |

 
I'm pretty sure my professors, in their diligence, have saved my previous correspondence, (Memo #1 and Memo #2), but as a 2L there are just a few things I'd like to add. Very brief things, of course. After all, I am a 2L.

Memo #3
To: Law Professors
From: Your Conscience (pesky, right?)
Re: Your Persistence in Emulating Satan

Dear Law Professors:

Hello. How are you? I hope you and your cohorts are having a pleasant and festive exam season, filled with maniacal laughter over exam-grading and exciting legal-trivia based drinking games. I would have hoped that you might have perused my memos from last Spring in an effort to refresh your memory about what it might take for you to refrain from being satanic, but it appears that you've been too busy. I've attached them here for you to review at your convenience. As I am in the middle of the wrath that you senselessly inflict at the end of every semester, I cannot add very much new information. It shouldn't be much of a problem for you though. All you do is recycle old lectures and exams anyway, so you should be pretty comfortable with my methods. Now go cackle over your 1L exams and let me have a beer.

posted by Bekah at 12:08 PM :: |

 
Still pushing that tomato up the hill. I'm almost at the top now, but it will fall back to the bottom around 12:00 p.m. today, and I'll have to get going again for tomorrow. For now, I'll leave you with this exchange:

Me: See, we'll go through this list of cases, one by one. Every time we get done with a new one, we'll go back over all of the ones we've already done, from the very beginning. That way, we'll remember everything.
E: Ok, that sounds neurotic...I'll do it.

Note: You may have reached some sort of law school exam preparation pinnacle if you have managed to double-tab an already-positioned index tab. As in, tabbing the tab. With a different colored tab, naturally. I will now retire to the nerdery with my calculator.

posted by Bekah at 7:53 AM :: |

 
Rearranging Deck Chairs on the Titanic

A few days ago at the student center, I made an unexpected connection. I am exactly like the lady in charge of the salad bar.

During exams, law students start feeling helpless and angry. We feel like no matter what we do, it will never be enough. All of the hours spent outlining, reading, talking, debating, and praying ultimately come down to a group of ridiculous fact patterns that we have to flail around in, hoping to find some way to either 1) show what we know, or 2) hide the fact that we know nothing. We build ourselves up to get knocked down.

The salad bar lady is the same way. She is in charge of keeping the salad bar presentable. She spends her day arranging the cucumbers in an aesthetically pleasing manner, retrieving wayward chick peas, and wiping up the globs of Ranch dressing that thoughtless students drip all over the place. It is this woman's job to do these things. And yet, I can't help but think of her as a modern day Sisyphus, constantly pushing that tomato back up the hill. I used to get angry and stressed out when I witnessed her performing these tasks, because under this woman's watchful eye, I felt extremely pressured not to drop a carrot shaving. I felt pressured because I didn't want to make her life harder, and I didn't want to seem like some thoughtless undergrad who was just throwing vegetables around at will with no regard for the person who had to clean it up.

But now, rather than feeling pressured, I just empathize with the salad bar lady. Because really, she and I are exactly the same. We're both striving blindly for perfection that just cannot be. And it is sad.

posted by Bekah at 9:32 AM :: |

 
It's the end of the semester as we know it...

Prof: How do you get around that requirement?
Class: [Dead, dumb silence].
Prof: Look, I know you haven't read the material. It's ok! I'm in a generous mood. Just give it a guess, ok?

posted by Bekah at 3:33 PM :: |

 
It's All Happening

J has this theory that there is a vast conspiracy against him, perpetuated by anyone and everyone who enters his life. I usually try to allay these psychotic worries to the best of my ability, reminding him that I, for one, am not plotting against him. Unfortunately, I periodically do something to indicate that I am actually the ringleader of the evil scheme to destroy his life. Yesterday is the perfect example. It started out fine (if "fine" can involve law school classes), but by lunch time the day was spiraling out of control:

1. We were planning to study, but I needed the internet to get an outline that one of my friends sent me. So we had to drive all the way to school, at which point I realized that I'd deleted the email. So then we had to sit around school--which he hates--to wait for a response to my request that the outline be re-sent. The response never came.

2. After hours of sitting at school, we went to dinner. Except we had Mediterranean food, which, as you might have guessed, J hates (but sometimes eats "for me.") Not to mention the fact that he is sick and can't eat anything anyway.

3. Upon arriving home from dinner, J noticed a distinct shit-like odor in the car. I light-heartedly assured him that no, this was not the conspiracy at work--there was no shit stink. But alas, upon arriving home, I looked down and observed a nice piece of shit partially attached to my shoe and partially attached to the floorboard of his car. My invocation of Adam Sandler's classic "It's poop again!" only seemed to make matters worse, as did my desperately trite plea that "shit happens."

4. We had planned on studying at a coffeehouse after dinner. Except every coffeehouse we attempted to enter was completely and totally full. There was no room at the Inn. At this point, I was maniacally laughing at our misfortune, while J was taking a small amount of pleasure in all of the evidence he had been able to compile that day re: the vast conspiracy.

5. Finally, all of yesterday's events must be evaluated in the context of the following lamentable realities: 1) J's roommate is moving out because of me, 2) I have contributed, at least marginally and probably extensively, to the slow dismantling of his entire group of friends, 3) I am on Law Review (which is slightly threatening to his manhood) and periodically spend time in the "evil lair" of the law review office, 4) I sometimes get presents for people other than him, 5) I listen to Belle and Sebastian (a habit that is offensive to his "elitist" musical sensibilities, largely, I think, because Jack Black ripped on the band in High Fidelity), and, most importantly, 6) I make pseudo-anonymous fun of him on the internet.

I think he might be right about the conspiracy after all.

posted by Bekah at 1:00 PM :: |

 
Should I ever go back to that coffeehouse?

Old Man: Why hello, young lady. May I ask, are you a student?
Me: Yes, I'm a law student.
Old Man: Are you going to be a lawyer?
Me: It looks that way.
Old Man: Do you think I could sue you for flirting with me?
Me: Um, no. No I don't. (Thinking: Uh, I'm pretty sure you don't have much of a cause of action there, scary man. Please leave).

Abort Conversation. Repeat: Abort Conversation.

[Note: "E" is a dear friend of mine--a friend who unfortunately has tragically right-leaning political views. We try to keep our politically-oriented conversations light in order to maintain our friendship.]

Me: E, look, I'm reading about one of our favorite topics for 14th Amendment. Abortion.
E: Ah, good old abortion. You know, the French call it "abortement." (Said in a thick, unauthentic French accent).
Me: Ha, well the whole thing sounds a little more innocuous when you put it that way, doesn't it, E?
E: Why yes, it does. As long as you're aborting French babies, I'm all for the procedure.
Me: Ha!

posted by Bekah at 5:58 PM :: |

 
Read Between the Outlines

I. In law school, we prepare for exams by making what are known as “outlines.”

A. An outline is basically a student-created summary of a discrete area of the law, usually ranging anywhere from 25 to 50 pages.

B. It may sound innocent, but I can assure you that evil lurks in those roman numerals and bullets—an evil more sinister than most law students are willing to admit.

C. I am here to tell you that an outline is not a mere study aid. It is nothing less than a physical manifestation of the fundamental malevolence that pervades law school.

II. After all, an outline is just that: an outline.

A. The outline is not concerned with:

1. Our emotions;

2. Our absorption of the material; or

3. Our precious “love of learning.”

B. The outline is a cold collection of rules and issues and tiny case summaries. It is completely:

1. Sterile; and

2. Devoid of all

i. Passion;

ii. Fire; and/or

iii. Feeling.

III. And yet, sadly, it is this lifeless mass that aids us on exams. Why?

A. Because law school exams are just as soulless as the outlines we frantically create in order to tackle them.

1. They care not about our so-called “understanding” of the issues.

2. They care not about our:

i. Opinions;

ii. Visceral responses; or

iii. Mild/fleeting inclinations toward ethics and morality.

B. Their only desire is that we write what the professors want to see. And what do they want to see?

1. The outline*

2. As applied, of course, to the “witty” facts that they so graciously provide.

* See numerals I and II, supra. Alternate defining terms include: "putrid carcass" and "collection of meatless, soulless rules."

Exam season is upon us, and I feel dead inside. I am a shell—no, make that an outline—of my former self.

Note: Please excuse the poor formatting. Blogger does not seem to recognize indentations. Blogger does its best not to aid in the evils of outline creation. Blogger has a soul.

posted by Bekah at 9:23 AM :: |

 
Makin' Up is Hard to Do

In the ongoing "Which is better, law school or college?" debate, the law school approach to make-up classes is one of the most enormous strikes against it (as if we're counting). In college, when your prof was out and had to cancel a class, there were two possible responses. The first, and most enjoyable, was to never speak of the missed class again. In this scenario, things just picked up at the next class meeting and everyone kept quiet about "that day." It was as if the prof had just returned from some secret rendezvous with a student, or had been briefly incarcerated as a result of an unfortunate drug/pornography fiasco. That response is known as "Don't ask, don't tell, don't even bring that shit up." The second response to a missed class was the "let's talk about it" approach, which involved the following conversation:

Prof: So, we've missed a few classes. Does anyone want to schedule a makeup?
Students: [avoid eye contact]
Prof: Right. I could bring pizza?
Students: Eh...
Prof: Well, maybe we can just watch a documentary. Attendance will be optional.
Students: Damn straight.

Those were the days. In law school, there is some sort of mandatory attendance thing where the profs are required to make up any missed days. So a cancelled class is bittersweet: You revel in the fact that you don't have to go that day, but you secretly dread the accumulation of make-ups that you'll have to confront at the end of the semester. There's just no joy in cancelled classes or snow days anymore. Law school has sucked the life out of that too. All we can do is grin, bear it, and, yes...invoke Bon Jovi:

Me: Aaah, I can't sit here any longer. I'm losing it. This is the make-up class from hell.
Friend: Well, we're halfway there. (Several seconds pass). Living on a prayer.
Me: Take my hand....we'll make it...I swear. Oh-oh.
(Conversation immediately followed by silent weeping).

Unrelated Update: Remember the terrible burning incident from a while ago? Well, I returned to the scene (glutton for punishment that I am), and I noticed something interesting. The sneeze guards over the vats of soup were still at the same level, but the ladles had been bent so that the pouring angle was much less awkward. There are only two possible explanations for the sudden change: Either an obscene number of people have scalded themselves at Whole Foods in recent weeks, or the members of the Whole Foods legal department are regulars here at Mixtape Marathon. If the latter is true, I have the following message to relay: "Fine work with the bending of the ladles. Please inform your client that the tofu in the salad bar has been delightfully firm of late, although the freshness of the mushrooms is somewhat debatable. The yams, luckily, are seasoned to perfection. Thank you, and I wish you well in all of your future over-priced organic endeavors."

posted by Bekah at 9:47 AM :: |

 
Conversation in Class

Me: Here, I picked up the handouts for you. I didn't know if you had this one--we got it a while ago.
3L Dude: Yeah, thanks...I haven't done the reading for today.
Me: Oh?
3L Dude: And by today, I mean the semester.
Me: Ha.

posted by Bekah at 3:45 PM :: |

 
Time to Face the Music

Whenever there's a gathering at a law student's house, attention consistently turns to the one unflagging source of law school-related entertainment: the face book. Yes, that horrible collection of head shots and undergrad information is a constant source of amusement for law students of all stripes. Men do it. Women do it. Nerds, jocks, and indie rockers do it. For some bizarre reason, the face book intrigues us all. You can try to look away, but I promise: you will pick that thing up again, and you will scrutinize it. Don't deny it. We bring out the face book when we're with other law students in an attempt to make it seem less weird and pathetic. It's like Googling people. You don't feel as psychotic if you do it with a group of your friends.

The face book gets whipped out in a variety of circumstances. Most commonly, someone describes a particularly off-putting or questionable person and someone else says, "I have no idea who that is. Do you have your face book"? It's all downhill from there. Done. Or the face book might come out if people are having a discussion about who transferred out of school, or who got married, or who changed their face book picture for 2L year (gasp!). When these pressing questions arise, the only solution is to pour over the pages of the face book, searching for whatever means of classification or judgment can satisfy our nosy lawyer urges. I won't name names, but I've known people to use highlighters to color code various information about people. It's all very technical. Sadly, my friends and I even have nicknames for people. Yeah, it's true.

A stranger passing by a law student's home while a face book examination is underway may hear a variety of exclamations emanating from within. Such utterances often include:
"Oh my GOD, she looks NOTHING like that! FALSE ADVERTISING!"
"That person hooked up with X at the beginning of last year, but now he's with Y. Don't tell!"
"Why aren't there any good looking boys at this school?"
"This is the person I was talking about who WON'T SHUT UP in X class."
"Did you see what she was wearing Tuesday? Dear God!"
"Ooh, It's a profile shot and she's staring off into the distance with a serene expression. How very avant garde."

This might seem petty or snobby, but I assure you that all law students are guilty of these types of comments/criticisms. Law school is like high school--gossip is a law student's main food group. We all need that nourishment to survive. Now if you'll excuse me, it is imperative that I find my face book and see whether or not my friend's 3L crush is in a joint degree program.

posted by Bekah at 11:00 AM :: |

 
Calm Before the Storm?

2Ls have a strange way of getting stressed out about exams. 1Ls get frantic and panicky and spend 12 hours at a time at the library doing work that will likely have no effect on their exam performance. 2Ls get a glazed over expression and mumble things like "should have started my outlines...500 pages behind...beer." I have to say, it's a much more chill worldview. Whether or not it's an effective mentality for exam preparation remains to be seen.

5 Questions

1. Why is it called a "laundry list" of things? Does anyone ever make a laundry list? What would be on it? A "laundry list" is supposed to be long and exhaustive. I'm sick of perpetuating this misnomer. It should be called a shopping list.
2. Where are these alleged "Creed fans"?
3. What's worse, never being able to recognize movie quotes, or saying movie quotes incorrectly? ("Swan, stop looking funny at me!" Um, no).
4. What's worse, air quotes or air parentheticals?
5. Was Billy Idol cryogenically frozen? How is it possible for him to be that ageless?

Back on the Wagon

For two (2) solid months, I was off the hard stuff. I was clean. That evil and addictive concoction of chemicals known as Diet Coke was out of my life. I was drinking water. Feeling good. Feeling like my stomach lining was reforming after years of being eaten away by caramel color and sweeteners. And then, for no apparent reason, I folded. I just gave in and ordered a Diet Coke like it was no big deal. I relished that sweet Diet Coke. And now I'm back on the wagon, but hopefully in moderation this time. Look, I've just gotta get through exams man, then I'll really quit...for real. I'll get help. I want to be better, but I'm too weak right now. Don't judge me.

Update: I'm drinking a Diet Coke right now, and it's so cold that it has those little frozen Coke shavings, and it is so damn good. Ahhhgh. How can something so wrong feel so right?

posted by Bekah at 2:19 PM :: |

 
Insult to Injury

As one of the perks of being on Law Review, I have to take a professional photo for the big fancy composite that they hang in the law school. This means 1) I have to come to school on a Friday, 2) I have to wear a suit when I come, and 3) I have to smile in the context of something related to Law Review. Friends, you could cut the hypocrisy with a knife.

posted by Bekah at 3:09 PM :: |

 
Feeling Rotten

Once something is spoiled, can it ever be fixed? I know that when milk spoils you have to throw it away, but what about spoiled people? Can they ever be rehabilitated? Yes, I will be the first to admit that I am dreadfully spoiled. But hopefully the fact that I recognize this is some sort of indication that I’m not all bad…just partially decomposed. Is there still time for me to amputate the really spoiled parts of me and start over fresh? Or am I past the expiration date?

I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I have never been denied anything by my parents. I’ve been given every opportunity imaginable for education and travel and recreation. I’m not talking about weekend jaunts to the south of France or season tickets to the games of all of my favorite sports teams, but I’m talking about all of the basics and a bunch of extras too. I’ve been able to grow up in total comfort, and now I’m able to do the unthinkable: to go to law school without worrying about having to pay off insuperable loans.

When my parents got married right after college, they had to work for years just to be able to enjoy the standard of living that I enjoy right now as a lowly student who has never held a real job for a day in her sorry, pathetic, spoiled life. They ate cabbage soup for weeks on end, while living in married student housing. And I have the audacity to spend the money they give me to go out to eat and drink with my friends like I haven't a care in the world.

I know that parents work during their lives so that their kids can have it better than they had it, but I’m starting to feel very disappointed with myself for taking advantage of that. I am not going to go on a cabbage soup diet or anything, but I am definitely going to make some changes. I need to stop acting like a four year old, and start acting like someone who may one day need to be able to handle being an adult.

Note: Isn’t it incredible that lots of times when your parents are mad at you about something it doesn’t really faze you, but as soon as they’re disappointed in you, you want to crawl into a hole? The dreaded “We’re very disappointed in you” is like a knife in the heart!

posted by Bekah at 10:46 AM :: |

 
Empirically Speaking...

There was an empiricist philosopher I studied in college--I think it was Berkeley--who believed that the building you see when you're far away, and the building you then enter once you get close enough are actually two different buildings. Your apartment from 500 feet away is a different place than your apartment when you're inside. When you're 500 feet away, you can hold your apartment in your hand, so how can that possibly be the same apartment that you move around in? ("How can we teach children to read if they can't even fit inside the building?") Berkeley also believed that every object has millions of versions for all of the different angles from which we perceive them. So my poster from across the room is a different poster than the one I examine while lying in my bed. He also believed that things disappear, or no longer exist, when they are out of our presence. So my apartment ceases to be when I leave for school in the morning.

This is all very disconcerting to me. Most people probably think it's stupid or ridiculous, but it makes me...nervous.

The reason I bring it up now is that I've been thinking recently about the phenomenon of getting to know someone. There are people I've met this year who I only "knew of" last year, and I can't reconcile their last year and this year selves. To me, the people I know now and the people I knew of last year are simply not the same people. They have different personalities and traits and they like different things. It might seem strange, but I think on some level the people I know now really are different people than they were last year. Because can people really be anything other than what other people perceive? Would we exist at all if not through the interpretations and assessments of others? And if we could, would that existence matter? Isn't the only thing that keeps us grounded in the world our ability to form relationships with other people? And if that's the case, do we actually exist through others, and not in spite of them?

On second thought, this might be a little heavy for a Monday morning.

posted by Bekah at 11:16 AM :: |

 
You Do it to Yourself, You Do...and That's What Really Hurts

It's amazing to me that extremely intelligent, rational people can watch a football game with law textbooks in their laps and truly believe that the proximity of the books indicates some type of "productivity." It is equally amazing to me that extremely intelligent, rational people can claim that they are going out for "a drink," and that they really intend to return home and finish their reading afterwards. Delusions, all. But delusions like these are what keep law students sane. And no one can take them away from us.

posted by Bekah at 2:29 PM :: |

 
Mummy/Dummy

I went to the drug store to get gauze and bandages, etc. for my burn (see below). The day it happened, I went a little crazy with the bandaging and my hand looked like a big, white, mummified paw. J was making fun of me, so I naturally hit him...with my paw. Clearly not the smartest response. I yelped in pain, and then heard someone behind me laughing. It was an old homeless man standing beside a trash can. He said, "Heh heh heh, I just broke my collar bone and I'm always turning around accidentally. I know just how you feel. Heh heh." I smiled and moved carefully away. The point is that even the crazy old man thinks I'm an idiot. I'm concerned, because it's usually closer to exams before I start acting like a total moron.

CAUTION: SPOILERS--DO NOT READ UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN THE MATRIX
SUBCAUTION: DO NOT SEE THE MATRIX, FOR IT SUCKS ASS

The Matrix: Revolutions was one of the biggest theatrical disappointments I've ever witnessed. The problem with the movie boils down to this: It is cheesy, campy, and heavy-handed as all hell (which is sometimes ok in a movie), but it thinks it's brilliant, intellectual, and provocative. It takes itself so seriously that it comes off as a farce. A few illustrations are in order:
1. Keanu's eyes get burned out. He wears a blindfold for about half of the movie. Oh my, could this be SYMBOLIC of the BLINDNESS of the human condition? How we stumble through the world, not knowing WHY or WHAT IT ALL MEANS? Surely that can't be what the subtle, intelligent screenwriters were trying to convey!
2. Trinity's dying proclamations of love to Neo are the most trite, sappy, and predictable lines to which I've been subjected in quite a while. Something about wishing she'd said the only important thing...the only thing she wanted to say...that she loves him...that she's always loved him...(excuse me, I'm feeling some chunks rising, I must stop).
3. Keanu "dies" splayed out like Jesus. Come ON.
4. Smith keeps asking Neo why he keeps fighting, why he keeps trying, if he knows he will only fail and that everything will ultimately be for naught. Neo's response? "Because I choose to." I'm so glad that the THEME OF FREE WILL AND SELF DETERMINATION WAS JUST BEATEN OVER MY HEAD LIKE A GODDAMN FRYING PAN. Yeesh, can you give the viewer at least a tiny bit of credit?
5. The ONLY cool fight scene is at the end. I must admit that it is really cool--especially the totally awesome slow motion punch in the rain--but it was just too little too late.

posted by Bekah at 11:56 AM :: |

 
A Penis and a Third Degree Burn...I'm Not Generally Superstitious, But that Combo Can't Be Good

Halloween. A time of tricks. A time of treats. And, yes, a time for crude renditions of penises by drunken undergrad vandals/man-apes. When I walked outside on Halloween morning, I was confronted by a large white line-drawing of a penis spanning the two windows on the driver's side of my car. In the interest of accuracy, I can assure you that your greatest fears are confirmed: there were testicles involved as well. Thankfully, after a good scraping job with a razor, only a few indicia of the dreaded phallis remain. But I am most certainly scarred for life. My one consolation was being able to tell my mom the news, who then proceeded to relay everything to my sister: "Oh dear. Oh my goodness. There is a drawing of a penis on Bekah's car." Glorious.

So the whole penis thing was kind of a downer. One might even speculate that the experience was the low point of my day. Unfortunately, however, things only got worse from there. After all of the scraping and scrubbing associated with the earlier fiasco, I went to Whole Foods to obtain a salad, some soup, and a brief respite from the trauma of the day. You see, there is an incredible salad bar at Whole Foods, as well as a selection of delicious soups. In the interest of sanitation, there is a sneeze guard located above the seemingly innocuous vats of soup (which are actually boiling cauldrons bubbling with wrath and evil intention, but more on that in a moment). In addition to the sneeze guard, there are long soup ladles with which consumers are supposed to serve themselves. Unfortunately for me and an untold number of others, the sneeze guard is very low, and the ladle is very long. If you have a good imagination, you can probably get a feel for the awkward situation resulting from such a setup. In my zeal to procure some yam and ginger soup, I failed to take account of the lowness of the guard or the longness of the ladle, and instead dumped a steaming, boiling, clump of yamminess onto my innocent hand. The burning was indescribable, and the pain, combined with the mingling smells of yam and burning flesh made me feel a bit faint. I will not force more sordid details on you; suffice it to say that the skin on the middle and pointer fingers of my left hand is, how should I put this delicately...nonexistant. Not to worry: I have been dressing my wounds with gauze and neosporin, and my hand now looks only moderately repulsive as opposed to grotesquely disfigured, which is a definite improvement. A few people (law students, obviously) suggested that I at least write a letter to Whole Foods in complaint. And honestly, I do think the way they have that soup station set up is a liability. But I'm not out for blood. My wounds will heal soon enough. And besides, the soup was really tasty.

posted by Bekah at 10:54 AM :: |

 
Recent Conversation Roundup

Me: (During a particularly introspective moment) Ah, hummus. Mmm. I just love chick peas.
J: I just love...chicks.
Me: Ha...hey, shut up.

Friend: (gesturing to the group of people we were sitting with) What are they talking about?
Me: I don't know, something having to do with grades or school or something. I'm kind of zoning out.
Friend: I don't want to talk about that. Let's talk about something else.
Me: Ok. Tell me something interesting about yourself.
Friend: Well, for one thing, I fancy myself a beatboxer.
Me: Oh really? Interesting. Like Justin Timberlake?
Friend: Nooo! I'm so much better than he is. I'm talking old school. But I'm not drunk enough to show you now. Also, I only beatbox in my dreams. But I'm really good.
Me: I had a dream last night that a madman doused me with kerosene and set me on fire. I woke up when I was burning alive, as he laughed maniacally in the background. It was terrifying. Also, my sister was a lesbian and she was dating some girl over the internet. It was freaking my shit out.
Friend: Oh my god, thank you! You just reminded me that it's my sister's birthday! I've gotta call her...

(Watching Joe Millionaire with the girls...shut up)
Me: Did he just say "His Waynes are turning me on?"
Lisa: She means veins. His veins are turning her on.
Me: His veins are turning her on? What the hell?
Beth: Gross.
Me: But it's a good thing they're having an intimate 12-person picnic...

posted by Bekah at 8:37 AM :: |

 
Tough Love for a Tough Year

Oh, sweet 1Ls. Dear, darling 1Ls. So fresh. So new. So excited by the law. Some of you are even pretty cute. And I care about you—I do. What I’m about to tell you is not meant to be mean or pretentious or offensive. I’m simply going to dispense some tough love because I feel that it’s the only way to get through your adorable law school bubbles.

You see, it comes down to this. It’s ok for you to have your precious, innocent ideals and interests, but please: do not think for one second that 2Ls and 3Ls are at all amused or interested by them. We don’t want to talk about law school classes at parties; we don’t want to hear about the finer points of res ipsa loquitur (haha! Latin! I know a Latin phrase!); we don’t want to discuss actus reas over lunch. We are, for lack of better terminology, so over it. I’m sorry to be the harbinger of such unpleasant news, but it’s the truth. You will understand next year, I assure you.

One final piece of advice: Do not consider handcuffing yourself to a friend and being “joint tortfeasors” for Halloween. That is dorky, not cute or funny. People will ridicule you if they understand the costume’s meaning, and will despise you if they don’t. Refrain. For the love of God, refrain.

Unrelated Note: Oh my GOD The Shins’ new album is GOOD. I could listen to that man’s voice all day long, and my life would be complete. Does anyone know if they’re touring any time soon? Anyway, not only is the music incredible and wonderful and joyful, but the liner notes are so freaking cute! I have a weakness for liner notes, and I almost died when I saw this packaging. Yes, bright colors make me happy. I have simple tastes and I'm easily pleased. Much like a small child. Now if I could just eat some grilled cheese, I would be completely content.



posted by Bekah at 12:52 PM :: |

 
Perilous Apparel

What would make a person wear a t-shirt saying any of the following things?:

1) LeFreak
2) Fennel Retentive
3) Abercrombie University Volleyball

If you figure out the answer to that question, please let me know. Because you might very well have solved one of the most elusive puzzles of human nature.

Here's Some Cheese, Whether You Like it or Not

Do you know what gives me one of the best feelings in the world? Forgoing other plans because I know someone I care about isn't feeling good, and I'd rather take care of them than do anything else. Maybe it's just my maternal instinct. But whatever the cause, I'm glad it's possible to feel like that. Ok, back to cheese-free Bekah, starting now.

posted by Bekah at 6:15 PM :: |

 
Music Appreciation

Walking back to my apartment last night, I fell in behind a group of undergrads heading past a bar. The song "Any Way You Want It" was blaring from inside, and the guys in the group started singing in that high voice that boys assume when they're living out their rockstar fantasies. When they'd sung the obligatory two lines in this fashion, everyone started laughing, and one of the guys said, "Man, I only know that song from that commercial. Haha. Who even sings it anyway?" At this moment, I was passing them in order to climb the steps to my apartment. I turned around for a second and while searching for my keys, nonchalantly answered, "Journey."

"Oh, Journey. Right. Right! Thanks, man!"

It's my pleasure, my friends. My pleasure. I do what I can to spread my wealth of musical knowledge for the good of mankind.

Complement of the Week

I got an email from my dear friend Luke about my blog recently, saying I was his "favorite little ray of angst-ridden sunshine." I really don't think I could ask for a more complementary characterization.

posted by Bekah at 10:31 AM :: |

 
Time of No Reply

So, Elliott Smith killed himself a few days ago. My sister called yesterday morning to tell me the news. If you know his music at all, it's obviously hard to be shocked. (A representative lyric would be: "My feelings never change a bit, I always feel like shit, I don't know why, I guess that I 'just do.'")

It would be easy to put Elliott Smith in the category of "troubled artists" like Nick Drake and Kurt Cobain, but I don't think that's very fair to him (or to the others, for that matter). He clearly had serious issues with overwhelming sadness and drug/alcohol abuse throughout his life--issues that inspired his music and ultimately compelled him to kill himself. But even though his suicide could be considered trite or melodramatic or selfish, his music was not. It was always honest, musically complex, and lovely. Elliott Smith was not vying for attention or looking for pity, and as a result his songs always had incredible sincerity. I haven't listened to those cds in a while, but I think I'll revisit them now. Yesterday, my coffeehouse played his music all day in homage. So very indie, I know. But I think it's appropriate to be a little sentimental. I did name my first car after him, you know.

But then again, something tells me he wouldn't want anyone to pay much attention to him at all.

"Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands"
by: Elliott Smith

everybody cares, everybody understands
yes everybody cares about you
yeah and whether or not you want them to
it's a chemical embrace that kicks you in the head
to a pure synthetic sympathy that infuriates you totally
and a quiet lie that makes you wanna scream and shout
so here i lay dreaming looking at the brilliant sun
raining it's guiding light upon everyone
for a moment's rest you can lean against the banister
after running upstairs again and again from wherever they came to fix
you in but always fear the city's finest follow right behind
you got a pretty vision in your head
a pencil full of poison lead
and a sickened smoke illegal in every town
so here i lay dreaming looking at the brilliant sun
raining its guiding light upon everyone
here i lay dreaming looking at the brilliant sun
raining its guiding light upon everyone
you say you mean well, you don't know what you mean
fucking ought to stay the hell away from things you know nothing about

posted by Bekah at 1:45 PM :: |

 
Here's a Mental Image for You

We were discussing Halloween costumes a few days ago, and I mentioned that I was going to be Wednesday Addams, qualifying that statement (jokingly, but probably offensively, sorry Hannah) by saying "a slutty Wednesday Addams." My friend Beth thought I said that I was going to be a "slutty Grizzly Adams." Um, what exactly would that entail? A provocative, stubbly beard, and, as LaCosta suggested, a plaid shirt tied above my waist? Shudder.

But "Robert Zimmerman" had Such a Nice Ring to it...

I'm reading (slowly but surely in my "spare time") the biography of Bob Dylan, aka Robert Zimmerman. So far, I've learned the following facts:

1. Bob's major influence and idol at the beginning of his career was Little Richard.
2. Bob's first girlfriend was named Echo.
3. Bob said he flunked science for "refusin' to watch a rabbit die."
4. Bob was (is?) a compulsive liar.
5. Bob denies that he appropriated his stage name from the poet Dylan Thomas, despite his mother's attestations to the contrary. See #4 for possible explanation of this phenomenon.

Evolution is a Myth

A few days ago I saw a boy walking to school wearing a shirt that said "Cro-Magnon." As I said to my dad, at least he's honest.

posted by Bekah at 11:56 AM :: |

 


This C & H makes me so nostalgic. It reminds me of my baby sister (now 20) who has always had an unnatural love for comic books and peanut butter. But it also reminds me of my childhood, and how easy it was to be comfortable. I want to go back to the time when peanut butter crackers could solve the world's problems. I had an interview yesterday, and I seriously felt like a little kid playing dress-up. I don't want a job. I want my mommy. And some peanut butter.

posted by Bekah at 10:44 AM :: |

 
Assertions

1. The perfect temperature is 68 degrees Fahrenheit, as long as it is sunny.
2. The Blue album is likely Weezer's finest work to-date.
3. Wooly mammoths look cute, but they were probably mean. Like pandas and koalas.
4. Raisin Bran is delicious, and timeless.
5. Ben Affleck is simply, empirically, unattractive. He has a fat head.
6. First year law students are like those people in line behind you at Six Flags who make you feel better about yourself. (Sorry guys).
7. It is generally not efficacious to get a large cup of hot coffee. It is too difficult to finish drinking that much before it gets cold, so it makes more sense to get a small cup and a refill later.
8. The skirts girls are wearing now that resemble tennis skirts are most unfortunate. So are the furry boots that often accompany them.
9. Late shows are boring.
10. There is nothing even remotely interesting about a Yankees-Marlins World Series.

posted by Bekah at 10:28 AM :: |

 
Most Annoying Moment of the Day: This year I'm not as stressed about school, but somehow I've acquired new sources of tension. I was getting a salad at the student center today and some guy swooped in behind me. He didn't give me any personal space whatsoever. I got some carrots, then he got some carrots. I got cucumbers, he got cucumbers. He was almost touching me. I have never felt more rushed or self conscious. I was thinking, "I want more chick peas than this, but I don't think I have enough time. He's already past the tomatoes. I better just skip the dressing and run away. For the love of god, I think he just stepped on the back of my shoe." I think there should be a strict 2-vegetable buffer zone between you and the next person in the salad line. Wait for the person in front of you to go through the carrots and the cucumbers, and when they're on the tomatoes, you can start with the carrots. I think that would be sufficient. I'm glad I got that cleared up. I really feel better about the whole ordeal now.

Cutest Moment of the Day: My landlady and her husband have two small children. They live downstairs from me. (All of them, not just the children). The older child is a little boy who's about 3 or 4. (He could be 9; I am ridiculously bad at gauging kids' ages). Anyway, I can't ever really hear the kids when they're in their apartment, but when they play out on the stairs I can hear them really well. This morning, I got out of the shower and heard the little boy saying, "Slide me down the rail daddy! Slide me down the rail!" (in reference to the banister on the staircase). His dad was trying to humor him and get him to be quiet at the same time: "Ok honey, ok...shhh...ok." Cutest thing ever. Except the other day when I walked up and the little boy was washing his dad's car with a hose, saying "I'm a fireman! I'm a fireman!" Of course you are, you adorable thing.

Funniest Moment of the Day: The guy behind me in line for frozen yogurt today was this tall jockish type. When it was his turn to order, he simply couldn't handle it. The pressures of speaking in public and making a decision combined to cause complete and utter breakdown. He said: "Give me a chocolate...er, that swirl thing...with the, uh, chocolate and vanilla, or whatever. In uh, a cup." Pull yourself together man! It's just frozen yogurt.

Most Uncomfortable Moment of the Day: My family law professor on what constitutes adultery: "The courts have found that activities that don't amount to reproductive sexual acts can constitute adultery. The tough question is where to draw the line. What about, oh...I don't know...'French kissing...'" (extensive giggling by the class). Yes, we are four years old. Instead of going to class, I should go back home and slide down the banister with my little neighbor.

posted by Bekah at 1:38 PM :: |

 
Note: Yesterday's post was written in the heat of the moment. I usually don't think those kind of things about other people, let alone say them. (Let's be honest, the "lover of grubs and dust mites" jab was a little over the top). Actually, one of my pet peeves (even more of a pet peeve than the term "pet peeve," and that's saying a lot) is when guys say that girls all really hate each other, even their friends. It's just not true. I love my friends more than anything, and, more to the point, I do not hate granola girlfriend. I simply hate the fact that she is with the boy I happen to be in love with and who I will one day marry if things don't work out with Jon Stewart or the brothers Wilson. It's quite simple really.

Also, although some coin-operated pool tables apparently have one oversized ball, I can assure you that the white pool ball on this table is not smaller than the others. They are all the same size. I have played at that table many a time. And if it makes anyone feel less upset with me for being catty, GYC laughed at her when she asked that question too.

Just think of granola girlfriend as Jessica Simpson, and then I won't seem so out of line.

posted by Bekah at 9:18 AM :: |

 
I Am Fortune’s Goddamn Fool

A tragedy of epic proportions has occurred. I am completely, totally, and utterly devastated. I guarantee you that this experience has done permanent damage to my heart and soul. I am scarred. I am jaded. I can never love again.

Please recall my happy conversations with Granola, Yet Clean (hereinafter GYC). Remember the laughter. Remember the witty banter. Remember GYC’s precious smile and adorable mannerisms. Now fast forward to Saturday night at the neighborhood bar. I was there with some friends, watching the Cubs game on one TV and the Ohio State game on the other. I was enjoying a Coors Light (oh, the Silver Bullet, how I love you). I was feeling fine. And then, the unthinkable happened. None other than GYC himself walked into the bar. But he didn’t walk in alone. That would have been a joyful miracle. Instead, he walked in with his girlfriend (about whom I had jokingly speculated only days before). I felt like I’d just been flattened by a huge box of organic granola descending from the sky like a cartoon safe. The dream was dead.

My first reaction was, I will admit, somewhat childish. I started repeating the word “No” under my breath, interspersing the exclamations with the pitiful whimpers of a puppy that had just been kicked. Then I stood up and walked quickly outside. After I’d composed myself enough to reenter the bar, I immediately witnessed GYC and his girlfriend playing pool right next to our table. My friends tried all the usual lines. “Maybe it’s his sister.” “Maybe it’s his cousin.” “Maybe he’s bored in the relationship and is looking for a way out.” “They don’t look like they’re having fun.” “You’re much prettier than she is.” Nothing they said worked. I saw the way GYC was handing the pool cue to that girl. It was not with filial affection.

At first I was just hurt. But then I got mad. And things started getting ugly. First I explained to my friends that I “[felt] as though [I’d] just been gutted, and my intestines [had been thrown] in my face.” Slightly dramatic, but it got the point across. Then, as you might imagine, I started in on the girlfriend. I started small, but pretty soon I got as catty as a high school cheerleader in the girls’ bathroom: “Look at her purse. What is that? Some goddamn Guatemalan thing? Those went out with braided belts circa 1992.” “She might be granola, but she is definitely not clean. Look at her hair. I bet she just got back from a Siberian trek where she ate bark. And liked it. And she hung out with yetis or something.” “I am going to throw away 10 Coke cans just to spite her. Screw recycling.” It went on.

Some of these things might have been out of line (the Silver Bullet, though glorious, can be a harsh and brutal comrade), but listen to this: I overheard the girlfriend ask GYC, with respect to the white pool ball, “Is this one smaller than the others?” No, you ridiculous hemp-wearing, chai tea-drinking, Ani Difranco-listening, bongo-playing, dirt-eating lover of grubs and dust mites. ALL POOL BALLS ARE THE SAME SIZE. They didn’t teach you that on your treacherous, soul searching hike through the Brazilian Rainforest where you got in touch with your inner Zarathustra?

This is a sad state of affairs. I can’t even compete with an unclean granola girl with zero personality and severe spatial differentiation problems. And, on top of everything, I’ve completely lost my appetite for granola.

posted by Bekah at 8:18 AM :: |

 
Religious Experience

I don't remember the exact point in my life when my love of music really solidified into what I consider to be, in a lot of respects, my religion. Growing up, my Dad was the first person to introduce me to great music: The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Gram Parsons, REM. As my own musical tastes began to change and develop, I would move in and out of various obsessions. For a while, I only wanted to listen to alt-country. Son Volt and Wilco were stuck in rotation. There was a point when I got hung up on Belle and Sebastian. Then I wanted to listen to every song Beck had ever recorded. Later, I got on a serious indie/emo kick (from which I still haven't come close to escaping). These are just a few examples of points I can remember. They're not in any particular order, or of any special significance on their own. They just represent the nuances of my musical development, which is still continuing.

In my musical world, there is a holy trinity. Bob Dylan is God. REM is the son. Radiohead is the holy spirit. This has been the case for a while, and I don't think it will ever really change. This is not to say that I don't have a great deal of apostles and archangels and seraphim and whatnot (I don't know how that really works; I'm Jewish, so this metaphor is a bit of a stretch to begin with), but those three are the core. Listening to their music is the closest I've ever come to actually feeling like a religious person. There are certain sequences of notes or pauses or drum beats in their songs that make me feel the way I guess some people must feel when they are in church.

When I saw REM for the first time, I was in Boston with my friend Julia. We were very far away from the stage, but I remember not caring. The article I wrote for my school paper about that concert was a little intense. I just felt so many conflicting emotions that I was overwhelmed by a feeling of completeness--like I was experiencing every different emotion all at once as one big incredible feeling. I think I wrote (back then) that it was "love and hate, heat and cold, emptiness and fullness." It's hard to explain, but I really did want to laugh and cry at the same time. When Michael sang "Find the River," I was just paralyzed. The people in the crowd became a unified force, and I felt completely certain that the world was just unbelievable. How could everything come together to make something as amazing as what I was witnessing at that particular moment? Did everything else outside of that concert hall have to stop just to make it possible?

This year, I got to see REM again, and Radiohead for the first time. REM was incredible, of course, but the Radiohead concert was just beyond anything I'd expected. Again, I was really far away from the stage, and again, I didn't care. The way the music and the lights and the atmosphere all came together was just overwhelming. My knees were weak. After the show, I was physically exhausted. One weird thing I remember thinking during the concert was how a deaf person would respond to it. There were brilliant lights that changed according to the music, and you could actually feel every beat in your chest. The whole thing just made me feel so wonderfully humbled by the things human beings are capable of doing, and how they can make each other feel. I guess you could call that a religious experience. But don't worry. I won't start worshipping a golden statue of Thom Yorke just yet.

posted by Bekah at 10:50 AM :: |

 
We're Off to See the Wizard!

I met with my favorite prof the other day to discuss some job-related nonsense, and I ended up witnessing one of the most entertaining displays I've seen in law school. There is so much going on in this prof's head that she sometimes can't get the words to come out exactly the way she wants. So she talks very quickly, often repeating words several times. She was explaining something to me, and then got stuck on the word "because." She said, "because because because because..." and then realizing that she's just said "because" 4 times, promptly continued with, "because because because because becaaaause! Because of the wonderful things he does! I can't believe I just did that." It was amazing.

Childhood's End

My friends in law school range in age from 23-27. Despite the fact that we are not 12, we recently decided that it would be "really neat" (not exact words) to have a slumber party. We got extremely excited about all of the fun things we could do: makeup, nails, boy talk, cheesy movies, rolling people's houses, prank calls, board games. It was one big girly childhood vision, and we were all thrilled to relive the past. Out of the 10 or so people who were initially invited (yes, there were actually invitations, and they were pink, thank you), 6 were in town for the affair. Things started off well. There was a good deal of junk food. But then, the night began to go downhill:
1. We couldn't work up the nerve to prank call anyone, even our friends.
2. We were too worried about cleaning up the mess if we rolled anyone's house. What if it rained?
3. Someone put on When a Man Loves a Woman.
4. I promptly took a nap.
5. Two party attendees went home because they were tired and one of them had an interview the next day.
6. Everyone else passed out around 3:00am, after a valiant effort to revive the party with Scream and a drug store manicure.
The moral of the story? Old ladies don't have slumber parties. They just slumber. And eat Cheetos.

posted by Bekah at 2:03 PM :: |

 
The Fine Line Between Getting Called and Getting Called Out...

Ah, the phone interview. The lost art. Actually, it's not lost at all. It's used all the time. As you may or may not be aware, the phone interview is often implemented when people cannot afford to make travel arrangements, or do not have time to make themselves physically available at the required destination. (I just reverted to sarcastic kindergarten teacher mode; she's one of my more unpleasant alter egos, feel free to ignore her and/or beat her).

Anyway, I had a phone interview today, and of course I was terribly nervous waiting for the phone to ring. I had to find a place on campus where I could take the call, because I didn't have time to walk home. So I ended up at some guy's desk in the career office. While waiting for the phone to ring, I think I committed the entire room to memory. He had a "my pit bull is smarter than your honor student" sign on his computer, and a master of divinity certificate on the wall. Interesting combo, but then again, he seemed like a pretty interesting guy. He also had a bottle of molasses. I was intrigued. I was gazing at the molasses, when the phone rang...

The interviewers were supposed to call at 1:30. Naturally that ended up meaning 1:44, which seems a little bit longer than your typical grace period. But boy was I happy to hear from them despite their tardiness! The whole thing actually went pretty smoothly. I got asked the usual questions, and asked them the usual ones in return. It felt good not to have to lie about actually enjoying law school now. And I was very honest about what kind of firm I would be interested in working in. They seemed a little put off by my interest in criminal law. That reaction was natural, I suppose, considering the fact that criminal law is not part of their practice. But I tried to emphasize the variety of my interests, and I think they were convinced.

I'm supposed to hear by the middle of next week, which for them may mean Saturday. We'll see.

posted by Bekah at 3:02 PM :: |

 
According to the gender genie, I write like a dude. Sweet. I wonder if the esteemed creators of the gender genie realize how silly it is that I can enter an entire passage about my ridiculous crush on a boy into their little machine, and it still thinks I write like a guy. Whatever. I'm going to go watch some baseball and drink some beer.

Oh, speaking of baseball, the Sox are doing it! For once, they didn't choke. But I did almost get sick when I saw the Jackson-Damon collision. That was really really scary. Not only was it scary--it was something that probably shouldn't be replayed oh, I don't know, 167 times in the 9 minutes after it happened. The announcer actually said the words, "Man, that's really tough to watch" as the network (Fox, naturally) rolled the footage yet again. People are seriously sick. This reminds me of two unrelated points:
1. My friend LaCosta and I were recently discussing the idiocy of censorship on television. She was watching Reservoir Dogs on tv, and they showed everything. All of the blood. All of the gore. It was all there. What did they censor? That's right. The word "fuck." Because seeing people mutilated is far less damaging to the children than the "F" word.
2. I read an article today that quoted Jackson after last night's game. It was the sweetest thing ever. It reminded me of the overwhelming feeling of joy I felt for humanity watching Kansas last year. I love it when athletes love each other.

posted by Bekah at 12:40 PM :: |

 
Oh, Sweet Irony! (Again)

Ah, the daily horoscope. Such a reliable source of amusement for me. Sadly, today that amusement is tempered by the painful irony of the forecast:

An unexpected letter or package might arrive sometime today, dear Aquarius. This could be a gift from a lover - perhaps a bit more lavish than you would ever have expected. You could receive other communications as well; at least one could be related to your job in some way. A party invitation could also come, and you'll probably want to attend. Your significant other will want to accompany you. (emphasis added).

Please note all of the ambiguous words, all of the qualifications, all of the things that make the horoscope vague and universally applicable, just like it should be. Then please note the final sentence. I find it interesting that the ONE thing my horoscope writer is sure about is that my nonexistent significant other will want to come to a party to which I might be invited. For the love of God, has he or she no soul?

posted by Bekah at 11:13 AM :: |

 
Errata

I think the one of the worst feelings ever is the realization that something you've been carelessly doing has actually been hurting someone you love. Basically, the problem is that I talk too much without thinking about how people might interpret what I'm saying. So, now I have to do my best to print some sort of retraction--or at least an explanation.

When I write or talk about never wanting to work in a big firm, or about hating to wear suits, or about refusing to do on-campus interviews, all I am doing is justifying my personal choices. I do it because feel like I need to explain to myself and anyone who cares why I want to make different plans. So I make sarcastic comments about New York law firms being hell in order to justify my decision not to work in one. None of these comments is meant to judge anyone else's choices about how to spend their lives. There are so many factors that go into a person's job choice; one factor that I don't have to deal with may be the thing that really steers someone else. And as I've tried to explain before, it would hardly make sense for me to go to law school and make friends with a bunch of soon-to-be lawyers if I thought that they would all become satan as soon as they walked through the doors of a law firm.

A few of my close friends already have incredible jobs for this coming summer. These girls are amazing and brilliant people, and I am so proud of all of their accomplishments. I am impressed with my friends and with others I go to school with on a daily basis. And though I might make thoughtless comments, I really do respect what they are doing. When it comes down to it, the things I say really stem from my own insecurities. They do not mean that I am not thrilled for my friends and the pay-off that has come from all of their dedication and hard work. Now that I think about it, they're probably my way of trying to justify my own feelings of mediocrity. So, I did this little psychological self-exam in order to explain my actions, but what I really need to say is: I am so, so sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings by either saying too much (in the way of sarcasm) or not saying enough (in the way of congratulations).

On a lighter note, Sade's "By Your Side" is on in Starbucks right now, and it is f'n good.

posted by Bekah at 10:01 AM :: |

 
Close-Walking With Attitude

On my way to the coffeehouse today, I encountered yet another close-walker. In all honesty, this one was scaring me a little bit. I kept furtively glancing over my shoulder to see if he was going to try to trip me or something. Luckily, after noticing several of my glances, this particular close-walker saw the error of his ways. In order to rectify the situation, he chose the "speed up and pass me" option (as opposed to sitting down and having a quick snack; I guess he wasn't hungry). But this close-walker didn't just walk by me. Instead, he did a little elfish hop, skip, and jump, with quite a bit of flourish to it. I was highly impressed. Close-walker, I commend you!

This Feels Like High School...

Ok, I wasn't going to write about this, but I just can't help it. I have a big crush on a boy in one of my classes. He is precisely my type, which I like to classify as "Granola, yet clean." "Granola" means that he wears t-shirts having to do with biking or hiking or bands, khaki pants (of a certain indefinable type that look perfect), and flip flops, and has fluffyish hair. "Yet clean" means that he bathes and washes his hair regularly. The "yet clean" also refers to the fact that, while he may care about the environment and carry a strappy bag with carabineers attached, he doesn't want to become one with a tree. That is a fine, yet important, line.

Anyway, I sit in the row behind this boy, so the only time he sees me is when he walks into the classroom. For a few weeks, he just sat down in his chair immediately, without looking around at all. It seemed like he was almost trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Since last Thursday however, I have had no less than three (3) conversations with him, each at the beginning of class. Allow me to report them as accurately as I can remember:

Conversation #1:

Granola Yet Clean: (walks past my row, looking confused, and then backs up) Um, I don't sit here, do I?
Me: (wanting to say "Next to me? Yes. Yes you do") No, I think you sit right up there.
GYC: Oh, right. Man, I have so many classes in this room, I can never keep it straight.
Me: Ha ha, yeah, that happens to me too. I would say you could go ahead and sit here, but there's another guy in this spot who always comes in late.
GYC: Really? Well, good thing I got that worked out.
Me: Yeah, he'd probably kick your ass if he saw you sitting there.
GYC: Ha, oh yeah?
(guy who sits next to me walks in, walks up to the front of the room to get a handout)
Me: See, he could definitely take you.
GYC: I don't know...all of my hard work sitting on the couch has made me a formidable fighter.
Me: And there's always the kung fu...
(class begins)

Conversation #2:

GYC: (walks in, almost passes his chair again, smiles)
Me: You got it right today!
GYC: Yeah, I'm catching on.
Me: I thought about sitting in your row, just to throw you off.
GYC: Ha ha.
Me: But then I thought, "that poor boy is confused enough as it is."
GYC: Ha, that is definitely true.
(class begins)

Conversation #3:

GYC: (walks in)
Me: You sit there (pointing to his chair).
GYC: (big smile) That's why I'm so glad you're in this class. You keep me honest.
Me: I love you. Do you want to get married?

He probably has a girlfriend or something; he always runs away right after class ends. But it's still fun.

posted by Bekah at 1:13 PM :: |

 
Fuzzy Bunnies, Daisies, and Sonnets

Oh no!

I've been accused of being angst-ridden! This should NOT be happening! I might have made some uncharacteristically snarky comments lately, but it was all in good fun. Anyway, I'm done with my latest Sub & Cite now, so I will definitely be much less bitter for a while. Scott, just for you, I'm going to do the following things in order to allay Monday's angst:

1. I'll apologize to the sidewalk go-cart man for saying his beeping was annoying. Maybe he's handicapped or something, and needs the go-cart just to be mobile. And he can't quit his job because he isn't old enough to get social security benefits. And his wife is pregnant with their fifth child. And their youngest son is having trouble reading, and is beating up kids at school. As if that isn't enough, his mom is in the hospital. All of this is weighing very heavily on him. So the university has given him access to a beeping go-cart so he can perform daily tasks. It's a very unfortunate situation all around, and the poor man has enough problems without me complaining about the beeping. For these reasons, I will also pay to have the dents removed from the sides of the vehicle (made during a small angst-ridden stoning incident, for which I am truly sorry).

2. Tomorrow I'm going to turn around and ask the close-walker behind me if he wants to go get some coffee. Maybe he's a nice guy.

3. I will commend my prof on her willingness to buck the Socratic trend and get a little more new-wave in class. I will tell her that I was "feeling her" today, and postulate that my horoscope is the real explanation: "You think of yourself as a practical person, dear Aquarius, but today your thoughts may turn more to the mystical and spiritual. Your intuition is heightened right now, allowing you to tune in to the innermost feelings of your loved ones." She will think we are "vibing," and might feel more fulfilled as a professor.

4. I refuse to make any sort of reparations with respect to the bookstore. I'm sorry; that angst stays.

5. I will tell the landscapers that their shrubbery-switching operation is going very smoothly, and that they've done a great job lately of keeping the peat-moss problem under control. It really is starting to look quite nice.

I will give everyone lots of hugs, I will not think mean thoughts about girls who wear their shorts rolled down to their buttcracks, I will smile at the student workers in the library and say hello to them, even if they can't hear me over their euro-techno.

In all seriousness, I've been really happy lately because I've been seeing and still have yet to see some great great music. I'm going to wait for the tours to end before writing about anything, just to preserve what little is left of my anonymity. But suffice it to say that there is some incredible stuff going on in the concert world right now. More to come.

posted by Bekah at 9:17 AM :: |

 
Is there such a thing as a latent runner?

There was a period in my life when I could call myself a runner without reservation. I ran a minimum of 6 miles a day, with a few 9 mile runs thrown in, and a 10-12 mile run on the weekend. I was, admittedly, addicted. If I missed a day, I forced myself to make up the mileage. There was even a period of several months where I had to adorn my feet with a complicated combination of duct tape and vaseline just to be able to get through a run without my blisters bleeding through my socks. Tasty.

The first year of law school, however, forced me to put a stop to my obsessiveness. It was a combination of the workload and the weather that did me in. When it's 95 degrees outside and you have 200 pages of reading for the next day, a run is not first on your list of priorities. So I started spinning, and running every once in a while when the temperature dropped enough to be able to breathe. But those sporadic runs just didn't feel the same. They weren't automatic. I didn't feel the emptiness I used to feel when I missed a day.

Given my 1L experience, my question now is: am I still a runner? If a painter stops painting for a year, does that mean he stops being an artist? Or is there something more fundamental--something that makes me remain a runner, even if I've been on a somewhat year-long hiatus? I went for a run this morning, and it was absolutely incredible. I just woke up and felt like I had to run. The weather was perfect. My feet felt great. I got that feeling again, like this could be a running rebirth. Huge stuff.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I find it interesting that as soon as the temperature drops below 90, people feel the need to wear sweatshirts and jackets: "It's a blustery 88 degrees, I better break out my parka."

posted by Bekah at 9:25 AM :: |

 
Psychic Disconnections

I've been commenting on my horoscope a lot lately, so I think it's going to become a regular thing. Weekly installments of horoscope bashing will be coming your way. Today, I have a very valid issue. Aren't horoscopes supposed to be somewhat realistic? Kind of vague, kind of generally applicable to, oh...anyone? Well, please take note of this:

A fit of boredom might stimulate your rebellious streak today, dear Aquarius. You might decide to eschew your usual tasks and chores and go do something unusual or unexpected, such as skydiving or bungee jumping.

Not only are the horoscope people using SAT words now (eschew? please.), they are also getting pretty bold with their predictions. Bungee jumping? How about toning that rebellious streak down a little--like skipping class, for starters? Bungee jumping? Oy.

posted by Bekah at 10:59 AM :: |

 
Monday Musings

I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure the most annoying thing in the world is being trailed by one of those beeping go-carts with the little orange flags that ride on the sidewalk. They're not cars, so they can't be on the street, but the people who ride in them are just far too important to walk on the sidewalk. They're so important that they get to monopolize the sidewalk and intimidate and annoy all of the rightful pedestrians. So they beep incessantly behind you until you have to jump into some inviting shrubbery and rock quietly back and forth as they pass.

Along the same lines, I'm aware that Seinfeld has identified and derided "close talkers," but I think "close walkers" are infinitely more obnoxious. I walk relatively quickly, but every once in a while someone will feel the need to keep pace one or two feet behind me all the way to school. It's disconcerting to have someone walking behind you so closely that you can hear their heavy breathing. Either speed up and pass me or sit down and have a snack for a minute while I get several yards ahead, you freak.

One of my professors dismissed class 15 minutes early on Wednesday because "we" (she and the class) weren't "feeling each other." Believe me, I'm not complaining about the early day, but it seemed to me that she really shirked her law professor duties. If the class isn't participating and generally looks like a big lump of stupidity, a law professor isn't supposed to give up. A law professor is supposed to seize that opportunity to be as evil and Socratic as possible, berating and belittling unprepared students until they cry. Their job is to make people "feel them." Frankly, I'm a little disappointed. Law professors just aren't the same with upperclassmen.

I went to the bookstore to get a granola bar this morning, carrying my Con Law book. When I put the granola bar on the counter, I put my book down for a second too. The lady had the gall to try to ring it up. I promptly said, "Oh no. No, no. I've paid for that already. Believe me." I know that this is the bookstore and they'll screw you however they can, but please. That's where I draw the line.

In keeping with the general need to be doing construction at all times, my school has decided that they must transplant all of the shrubbery around the law school and put it on the other side of the courtyard. Do you understand what I'm saying? They are pulling up shrubs and planting them again, in a slightly different location. The advantage of this process, as far as I can see, is the glorious blanket of dirt and peat moss that arrays the sidewalks and flies into the air when there's a breeze. I am at a loss.

posted by Bekah at 10:35 AM :: |

 
Library Angst, Part II

It's Friday, and I've been at school since 10a.m. Getting up this morning, I was really excited to be going to the library when all of my friends were still at home sleeping off last night. But when I got here I had a special treat that made me even happier to be away from the comfort of my glorious futon. All of the millions of reporters and journals that I pulled from the shelves yesterday were gone. Gone despite my extra effort in getting a "Do Not Reshelve" sign from the tree stump at the circulation desk. Gone despite the fact that I sacrificed my hatred of all things redundant and wrote "Please Don't Move!" underneath the words "Do Not Reshelve." Just gone. And did I mention that this is the second (2nd) time that this has happened in a two (2) day period?

After staring at the empty table in disbelief, I walked over to the reference librarian's desk. I appeared calm. Unfortunately, it was the kind of calm that psychotic people have. Kind of crazed. Kind of demented. Kind of about to explode at any moment. The conversation went like this:

Me: (with a psychotic smile) Hi.
Ref Librarian: Hello.
Me: Yes. There seems to be a problem. Even though I put a sign on the table, someone reshelved all of my books. Again.
Ref Librarian: Oh no.
Me: Oh, yes. I just don't understand.
Ref Librarian: It must be one of the students...
Me: But why? Why would someone go out of their way to put 5,000 books back on the shelves when someone has politely asked them not to?
Ref Librarian: I just don't know. This is a problem.
Me: This may not be the most tactful question, but do the students who work in the library speak English?
Ref Librarian: That could be an issue. I'm going to try to deal with this. I'm very sorry.
Me: Thank you. Now I'm going to go buy some caution tape with which to mummify my books tonight.

I told someone in the office about this, and they thought the solution might be to make a multilingual "Do Not Reshelve" sign. Personally, I don't think that would help unless we're planning on including English-to-Moron translations. This is the most monumentally unacceptable thing I've had to deal with in a while. And you know that's bad, because saying things are unacceptable is just about my favorite pastime.

posted by Bekah at 12:48 PM :: |

 
Clearly the great and wise writer of horoscopes has never had to do a Sub & Cite:

Working late, dear Aquarius? Today? What can possibly be so important that it keeps you from paying attention to your family or your partner? Probably nothing!

Uh, right. Nothing. I guess I'll just blow off the Sub & Cite, call it a day, and go home to my nonexistent "partner." Thank you, oh wise one. You make me feel good about myself. Oh, and seriously. Don't call me "dear." I don't even know you.

posted by Bekah at 10:26 AM :: |

 
Have you ever attempted to obtain assistance from a student worker in a law library? If you have done so and have been successful, please email me your magical secrets immediately. Because frankly, in all of my dealings with student workers, no student has proved to be any more helpful, knowledgeable, or aware of his surroundings than a tree stump. What is the function of having a body at the circulation desk if that person is unable to perform even the most mundane tasks? Here are two recent conversations that come to mind:

Me: Excuse me, can I please get a "Do Not Reshelve" sign for my table?
Worker: (Removes headphones playing scary euro-techno) What?
Me: A "Do Not Reshelve" sign? Can I get one?
Worker: What is this?
Me: A sign. That you put on your table. To make people not put away your books.
Worker: Oh, wait one moment. (disappears to the back office).
Me: (waits patiently)
Worker: (returns, walking at a leisurely pace) We don't have.
Me: Yes, you do. I've seen them before.
Worker: (looks on the table behind him) Oh, here. (replaces headphones with an indifferent sigh).
Me: Yeah. Thanks.

Me: Excuse me, can I please get a copy card?
Worker: (surprised to be spoken to, or to have any sort of task he's expected to perform. It's not like this is his job or anything) What?
Me: A copy card?
Worker: I don't understand.
Me: When you're on a journal, you get access to copy cards. The library gives them to you. You get them from the circulation desk.
Worker: (opens mysterious drawer) There are no cards.
Me: No cards?
Worker: Come back tomorrow. The librarian will be back tomorrow.
Me: No, I don't think you understand. This is an assignment I have to do now. I have about 50 reporters to copy, and I don't have time to do that tomorrow. Is there anyone you can call who might know what to do about this?
Worker: Call?
Me: A reference librarian? Anyone?
Worker: (digs around for a number, finds it, dials) Yes, hello? There is student who needs copy card. Yes. Yes. Mmmhmm. Yes. I see. (To me) There's nothing she can do.
Me: Um. I don't believe that.
(Reference librarian appears, and hands me a copy card.)
Worker: Ok, there it is.
Me: Yes. Thank you.

posted by Bekah at 9:08 AM :: |

 
Law Suits vs. What Suits Me

I look around during this time of year, and all I see are suits. In class, suits put away their books and slink out 15 minutes early. In the halls, suits brush past me urgently in all directions. In the law review office, suits come close to suffocating me. My response to this phenomenon varies on a daily basis. Sometimes I think, “Wow, that person has a lot of interviews. Neat.” Sometimes I think, “Those shoes look really uncomfortable, and that shirt is completely inappropriate.” But most of the time I think, “I’m so glad that’s not me.”

I know that, for some people, on-campus interviewing can be a valuable experience. It’s important to become familiar with the interview process and to learn how to handle yourself in such situations. But I have decided (based on my own reasoning and on a recent validating conversation with my Crim Law prof and law school mentor) that on-campus interviews would be a complete waste of my time. I do not want to work at these firms. I do not want to work in the areas in which these firms are located. And most importantly, I don’t want to do the work that these firms do.

I know that if you are in law school, there are some things that are expected, and there are things that “look good.” But despite this seemingly universal stamp of approval, I know that on-campus interviews will not help me achieve my goals. I am going to find a job on my own steam, and I’m going to make sure that I want to spend my life (or my summer, let’s start small) doing that particular job. This reminds me of a conversation I was having with some girlfriends a few days ago. So many women (and probably men) think of “husband” and “wife” as positions to be filled. They think that because they have an obligation to fill the position at any cost, it doesn’t necessarily matter how it gets filled. When in reality (or in my reality), a “husband” is not an abstract entity, but is instead a particular person for whom I have certain requisite feelings. If I don’t find that person, I won’t get married. If I don’t want that job, I won’t apply for it.

Now, I realize that this rationale doesn’t work perfectly with jobs: I have to get a job, and I have to make money. But the fact is, I am going to get a job. Everyone in law school is going to get a job. I am not going to throw my hat in the ring at some law firm just because it’s what I’m “supposed to do” according to the law school gods. I want to do public defense. I want to live somewhere beautiful. I want to make enough money to live comfortably and pursue activities that make me happy. I do not want to do activities that make me feel alienated (in the Marxian sense or otherwise), and I don’t want to compromise my happiness for the opportunity to make more money than I would know what to do with. I did the “right” and “expected” thing in deciding going to law school; I think I can stand to be a little bit rebellious about what I choose to do now that I’m here.

posted by Bekah at 2:18 PM :: |

 
I Will Literally Strangle You

Ok. I stopped correcting people's grammar in daily life back in middle school because I realized that doing such things made you socially awkward and made everyone hate you. But I must, must address a problem that, figuratively, has me up in arms. Notice the use of "figuratively" there. That's because I am not actually getting any guns ready. But pease note the following excerpt from today's horoscope:

You cannot ask for a much better day, dear Aquarius. A great deal of positive energy is coming your way, and you should look out for the opportunities that are literally hiding out on your front porch.

If there is not a cute little bunny hiding on my front porch when I get home tonight I am going to be seriously pissed. And I will literally have a freak out.

posted by Bekah at 8:22 AM :: |

 
Musical Musings

I was talking to one of my friends last night about music, and he reminded me of another reason why I love making and giving mixtapes so much. He explained to me how incredibly happy it makes him to burn cds for someone, knowing that they are going to be able to enjoy the music as much as he does. Being able to spread around music that he loves is such an important and empowering part of his life. He was speaking in the context of burning whole cds, not making mixes, but the comment really resonated with me. The process of making a mix for someone, knowing that they are going to be listening to the songs you're listening to, in the order that you're listening to them, is such a wonderful experience. I love thinking about what people will be thinking when they hear each song, and what their reactions will be. I love knowing that they might hear a part of a song and get the same feeling I get when I hear it. In some circumstances, making a mix can involve more than just choosing songs that I think the intended recipient might like; it can also involve an understanding that the songs will connect me to that person, and make me think of them when I hear them. And that makes the songs even better and more complex than they were before. Good stuff. Now I'm going stop being all fruity and read some law books.

Depressing Quote of the Day:

"Like, I'm thinking of staying up all night tonight. Are you down?" --Velour Jumpsuit Girl #1, directing her query to Velour Jumpsuit Girls #s 2 and 3. Aaaaah.

posted by Bekah at 11:18 AM :: |

 
Good Coffee, Bad Feelings

I went to my old coffeehouse a few nights ago for the first time since exams last year. When I walked in the door, I swear I saw one of the little hipster guys who works there exchange a knowing glance with another guy behind the counter. I think the glance meant "See, I told you she'd come back. Now hand over that fiver." I was going to say something to him--something witty or pithy or profound--but before I could work up the nerve, I saw her. The new worker. The new worker is a little blonde hipster girl. She has straight short hair, cut in a bob at her ears. She was wearing huge hoop earrings, a short jean skirt with tall black boots, and a stretched out punk t-shirt off the shoulder. She laughs all the time. She's probably eighteen. I hate her. Obviously, I asked for my coffee and ran away to the corner.

Update: My friend Devon had a great response to this little post that I thought I should share. She writes, "When did everyone stop being older, and therefore cooler than us, and instead become younger, and therefore cooler, than us?" If I had to isolate the precise moment, I would probably go with graduation from college. When you're in college, you think that being a young twentysomething will be exciting and cool and grownup, but when you get there you realize that you'll never be as cool as you were in college. Or maybe you just become a different kind of cool. The bitter, jaded kind that involves being resentful of little blonde hipster girls who laugh too much. Either way, I'm still glad I'm not in college anymore. And I'm kind of ok with not being college cool. I am going to work on the resentfulness though.

Earth, Wind, and Fire

So I have an interview in Albuquerque. I'm going choose the presocratic element of "earth" to represent that area of the country. Yesterday I got an interview in Chicago. That is "wind." I know I'm missing "water," but perhaps if I decide to interview at one of the million-lawyer corporate firms in New York, I can go ahead and take care of that "fire" requirement?

posted by Bekah at 9:36 AM :: |

 
In the Mood

Moods have always been fascinating to me, largely because, like most things that are fascinating, no one entirely understands them. Of course there are medical reasons for moods, like chemical imbalances and blocked signals, which have been identified and are often medically controlled. But even if we understand the chemical reasons for shifting moods (and by “we” I certainly don’t mean me—water’s molecular similarity to Mickey Mouse is the extent of my scientific awareness), we still don’t really understand what makes a person who has been in a funk for weeks suddenly wake up one morning happy to be alive. What causes the cloud to lift?

I think part of the reason for the inadequacy of our understanding of our own moods is the inadequacy of language. We tell people, “Get in a better mood!” as if we’re talking about putting on a new pair of jeans. Well, if I knew that changing my pants was all I needed to do to get happy, I would have had a much more pleasurable 1L year. Unfortunately, moods just don’t change on a whim. (When I say “mood,” I’m talking about a more fundamental state of mind than just “happiness” or “sadness.” For example, you can be momentarily happy to see a flower on your way to school, and still be fundamentally dissatisfied with life).

I guess where I’m going with all of this is that I’m in a good mood this year, and there is no clear reason why. For much of 1L year, I was not in a good mood. I was happy a lot of the time, and I was only rarely completely miserable, but deep down I was just not excited about living in the world. Something was turned off, or blocked out, or suppressed. This year, all of the stress is still there and the work is still hard, but the weight is gone. I don’t mean that I’m ecstatic all the time now; I just mean that my baseline state of being leans more toward contentment than discontentment. There are lots of things that must have contributed to the shift in my mood: I love my apartment this year, I have several good classes, I know how to deal with law school, I have the prospect of living and working somewhere completely new in two years…And still, I’m not convinced that any of these things is the real reason for the change. Regardless of the reason, I am suddenly more satisfied, more in control, and more optimistic than I was before, and I’m going to ride this mood as long as I can.

Misty Water Colored Memories

My sister has this duck candle. It’s shiny and yellow, and it has a long neck and a tiny head. The wick is on top of its head. A while ago, I was sitting in my room when she brought in what was left of the duck. Where the head and bright orange beak used to be, there was only a tiny, misshapen ball with two grotesque black eyes (now vertical), all covered with a film of yellow wax. It looked like The Far Side meets the melting face in Indiana Jones meets that episode of Saved by the Bell with the oil spill (yeah, since when did Bayside have a pond?). Upon seeing this horrifyingly surreal formation, I slowly backed away from the waxy blob, emitting assorted guttural exclamations: “Aaaaah! Aaaaaaaaah! Oh my God! Aaaaaah! What is that thing? Get it away from me!” I think we must have peed ourselves from all of the laughing. Even now when the memory comes to me at unexpected times (like today during Family Law), the bizarre hilarity of the moment makes me laugh out loud again. It’s good to have a sister with whom you can appreciate deformed duck heads. That’s all I’m saying.

posted by Bekah at 1:07 PM :: |