"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: email@example.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
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
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."
Monday, September 29, 2003
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.
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.
Friday, September 26, 2003
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.
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.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
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?
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.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
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.
Monday, September 22, 2003
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.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
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.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
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?
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
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.
Monday, September 15, 2003
I woke up this morning, inexplicably, at a ridiculously early hour. I was about to roll over and go back to sleep (my favorite pastime) when I noticed a pink light shining through my curtain. I pulled the curtain aside and was confronted with the most beautiful sunrise I've ever seen. I've seen many a beautiful sunset in my day, but sunrises are really incredible. It covered the whole sky with orange and pink specks and wisps. This might seriously be enough to make me a morning person.
Also, I am hesitant to use this phrase lightly, but I think Dove Shampoo has changed my life. Shit is incredible.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Conversation Overheard at a Bar Thursday Night
Sad Ass Mofo: ...But after I got sick, my whole view on life changed.
Woman Feigning Interest: Oh. Really?
Sad Ass Mofo: Yeah. I learned what was really important in life. The people I love. My family. My health. That's where all my energy goes now.
Woman Less Effectively Feigning Interest: But...you're smoking and drinking right now.
Sad Ass Mofo: Er, I only do this occasionally when I'm out...
(At this point I ran away because you could cut the awkwardness with a knife)
Conversation at LexisNexis Training:
Lexis Rep: And then click on the Walmart case...
Random Student: Walmart? I could use a trip there.
Lexis Rep: (with a jovial chuckle) Ok, field trip to Walmart after training.
Me: (with a little too much enthusiasm) Nooo! Target!
Everyone Else: (Turning toward me, thinking to themselves) Who is this girl, and why has she not been stopped?
Me: (Obliviously, to myself, eyes glazed over) Mmm...Target flip flops.
Wrong Turn at Albuquerque?
My plan to begin a legal career virtually anywhere besides New York or my current place of residence is coming together beautifully. I just got an interview at a firm in Albuquerque, NM! Why Albuquerque, you ask? Simply put: Why the hell not? It's far away, it's new, it's pretty, and it's close to some pretty awesome hiking/skiing venues. And besides, I like Southwestern motifs. Woven baskets and Georgia O'Keefe cow skulls, here I come!
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Timing is Everything
Several weeks ago, I was told that being on law review would help me develop my time management skills. After getting my first assignment, I wanted to impale the people who told me that with my red pen and then bury them with Post-It notes to finish the job. How, I wondered, could I possibly manage my time if I just don't have any?
But when I turned in the first part of that assignment yesterday, I sat back and looked at the past several days and noticed that I really had been remarkably productive. In addition to working the previously described obscene hours over the weekend, I managed to do all of my reading for class, start two outlines, clean and reorganize my closet, do laundry, change my sheets, send out several packages/letters, etc. to friends, apply to a few law firms/organizations, dress in real clothes for the majority of the week (as opposed to scrubs and a t-shirt), cook an actual dinner (one night), pack my lunch, and shave my legs. This is more than I would usually get done all semester. I also noticed something when I was drying my hair this morning. As I was using the drier, I observed that the cord was about to knock an object (a product of some kind...I love products) off of my bathroom cabinet. Instead of doing what I would usually do (which would be to hold out hope for the endangered object and go on with my business, at which time the object would certainly fall/break/make a mess), I stopped, turned off the drier, removed the object to a safe location, straightened up the top of the shelf, and then resumed the drying. This may not seem at all remarkable to you, but I know myself. And I know that something is afoot.
Note: I realize that I'm writing about law review a lot. Please know that I am absolutely NOT one of those people who feels the need mention law review gratuitously. I think it's pretty obvious that I'm not in that category--I know as well as anyone that I don't really fit in. I only write about it here because, honestly, it is sometimes the only thing going on in my life. Yeah, I know, I can hear the violins now...
My friends just told me about some 1L who has started a law blog that includes his name, where he's from, and the name of his school. Even though he generously provides all of this info to the entire world, he apparently doesn't feel the need to hold back on trash-talking everyone and basically being an unpleasant person. As a result of this, he has already shocked and incensed a lot of people. Now, I haven't seen his site personally, and I'm not planning on finding out where it is, but the whole situation does raise some problematic issues about the internet, (like privacy, immediacy, easy transmission of info, etc). I didn't really think about any of that stuff when I started this site. I started writing on the internet because I wanted to write, not because I wanted to contribute to any online forum or anything. I don't mention the name of my school, largely because I don't want to get anyone mad at me. But because my friends know about my site, other people (aside from friends and family) could conceivably know who and where I am by now. It's a little disconcerting. That being said, I don't think I've written anything that would get people mad at me, or that compromises my moral or ethical duties towards peoples' privacy, etc. (possibly excepting the cavemen below...although their reading comprehension levels are questionable at best, so I'm not too concerned).
I guess I want this to be fair notice for everybody who reads this site: I'm going to be a little bit more careful about what I say, because the last thing I want to do is detrimentally implicate anyone else by writing about my personal experiences. I usually make any less-than-nice comments pretty unspecific anyway, but now I'm going to be even more cautious. Mmm...warm and fuzzy.
One more thing. In addition to privacy issues, I think writing online is kind of risky in terms of the writers' control over use of her written expression. I'm not saying that I've said anything brilliant enough for people to want to plaigiarize my work (although some of my astute and mature comments about the evils of Starbucks are Pulitzer-worthy, I'm sure), but I've definitely caught my friends unconsciously quoting my own material back to me. When it happens, I never really know what to say except, "Yeah, exactly! That's what I'm talking about." Well, it actually is exactly what I'm talking about, and it's published, and it's copyrighted. At least my expression is copyrighted; the actual ideas, however, are not. So I guess you can feel free to steal all of my thoughts and fulfill my goal of world domination. Godspeed.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Emergency Undergrad Report or Why I Hate Eating Lunch in the Student Center
There were two troglodytes (freshmen boys) eating lunch at the table next to me today. Among other profound observations, one of them uttered the following two statements, sharing his staggering intellect with anyone within earshot:
"I'm just going to go put like 20 Nicotine patches on my stomach tonight. Ha. I don't even smoke, but that would be, like, drugs, right?"
"I wish there was a 'Clapper' that brought me girls."
In response to both of these comments, the other freshman merely emitted a stifled Butthead-type "huh huh," and continued staring at his pizza, apparently mystified.
Monday, September 08, 2003
Psychological Study: The Effects of a Sub and Cite on a Previously Normal Girl
I spent most of the day on Friday, the hours between 8:30 a.m. and 11:30 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday, and every hour between classes today, doing my Sub and Cite assignment with my partner. You can try to count those hours; the very thought makes me nauseous. What, you might ask, could have possibly taken so long? Well, I will tell you. And I will tell you in detail, because detail is what I've been trained to obsess about lately.
I had to check the substance of every line of my assigned article, meaning that I had to pull every law journal, every magazine, every federal reporter, etc. mentioned in the article, find the exact reference, and check it word by word for accuracy. When there was an incorrect pinpoint cite (a cite to the specific page of an article or case), I had to read the entire article or case to find the reference, and correct the author's error. I had to correct everything with a red pen (neatly whiting out any mistakes), and I had to place a yellow Post-It note on the article explaining every change I made. I had to put everything in correct Bluebook form. I had to request interlibrary loans for every unavailable book. I had to make photocopies of the copyright and title pages of every book we used, and a copy of every page on which a quote of ten words or more appears. I had to highlight said quotes (yes, I said "said quotes;" I'm allowed to talk like a damn lawyer sometimes), but only the actual words that the author used. I had to do other horribly demeaning things as well, but I'm too tired and feel too violated to go on.
The important thing, though, is that it is now a little after 10 p.m. on Monday night and all I have to do is a final grammar read-through and put the source list on a floppy disk. (That is, until I get my next Sub and Cite assignment in a few days). This is a good thing, although I will grant you that I'm a little worse for the wear after this weekend.
I now invite you to take a little peek into my newly developed dementia:
My Partner: (Places a stapled packet of paper titled "Source List" on the table in front of us)
Me: Is that the official Source List?
My Partner: What?
Me: Is that the Source List we're going to turn in to the Senior Managing Editor?
My Partner: Uh, yeah...
My Partner: No? What are you talking about?
Me: The staple is too far in, and the pages are bent.
My Partner: The pages are bent?
Me: Print another copy out right now.
My Partner: Bekah. You have lost your mind.
Me: Just do it.
My Partner: You are a psychopath.
Me: I know.
We also had several Office Space moments; one where the copy machine said something remarkably close to "PC Loadletter," and one where the reference librarian (I kid you not) demanded that we return her stapler.
Goodnight. I am going to read this puppy one more time, and then...and then I should probably read for those little things called CLASSES that I'm supposed to be taking while I'm here. Which ones am I taking again?
Saturday, September 06, 2003
Freezer Burnt Out
Today was the most beautiful day in the world. It was the most beautiful day in the world, and I got to appreciate it for approximately 14 minutes as I walked to school this morning (at 8:30 mind you). Since then (aside from a short dinner break), I have been in this infernal library toiling away through endless footnotes and awkward phrases. Actually, infernal is not really the best word, since this library feels more like a meat locker. Yes, I think that analogy is more accurate. Instead of attending the usual Saturday night meat market (which I can't really say I entirely miss), I'm being well preserved in a cooling cell with other pathetic hunks of flesh. This is not meant to be amusing in the least. I assure you I have been on the verge of tears all day. You would be too if you'd been searching for quotes hidden in hundred-page annual reports for shipping companies and looking for back issues of obscure maritime magazines. And they said 2L year was better. Even as a 1L I was never at school on a Saturday.
In the immortal words of the Dude: "This aggression will not stand, man."
Thursday, September 04, 2003
The dreaded event has occurred. I have been blessed with my first law review "Sub & Cite" assignment. I will certainly suffer, and, by extension, the Marathon will suffer. The two people who faithfully read the Marathon will suffer. This is a very painful time. And the sad thing is, all of this suffering is needless. I have come to the conclusion that law review, much like law school, is a scam. You heard me. It's a total scam. Wouldn't it be easier if we just had stricter requirements for the authors/professors who submitted articles to our review? What if we made correct Bluebooking, sourcing, grammar, etc. a condition for submission? I think people would be a little bit more conscientious, and there would be a lot less time wasted dealing with middle men. But no. Law review is a faction of law school, where we like to make things as difficult for ourselves as possible. That way we can have cocktail parties where we congratulate ourselves on completing all of the tedious work we created through our own inefficiency. Oh, the glory and glamour of the legal profession! I can't wait to start billing by the hour.
Advice of the Day
If you send the following text message: "Someone mentioned smelly asparagus pee; thought of you," be sure the intended recipient hasn't changed his cell phone number.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
I Do...Not Want to Go Back to School After a Weekend Like That
Last weekend was the wedding (the wedding of my friend whose bachelorette party was in New York several months ago. You can read all about that here. Check out that hot permalink, AI--pretty good, right?). The actual ceremony was Sunday night, but the festivities began on Friday. Jewish weddings are several day-long events. I've never dressed up for so many occasions in such a short amount of time. I couldn't possibly do the weekend justice because there's too much to say, but I'll try to give a few highlights.
This was my first friend's wedding. Such an event is a pretty big deal for everyone, but this particular wedding was especially sentimental for me because I've known the bride and one of the bridesmaids since I was about 10 years old, and the other bridesmaid since I was about 13. This was a camp wedding. The bride and groom met at camp, and most of the guests were friends from camp. It was one big camp reunion. (For a little more about camp, go here. Yes, I am showing off my newly attained permalink skills. I think there may need to be an intervention. I'm getting addicted. Soon I won't feel the need to write anything new ever again). If the reasons for my sentimentality aren't coming through clearly enough, let me lay them on a little thicker for you: This wedding was like the circle of life. It was like childhood, adolescence, and adulthood all parading before my eyes. Goddamn Fiddler on the Roof or something. The woman getting married was the girl I shared stick-on earrings with when we were 10. One of the bridesmaids and I got into a screaming fistfight on the basketball court over who knocked the ball out of bounds when we were 11. The other bridesmaid and I pushed our beds together at camp one summer so we could talk more, despite the fact that the camp director told us that for "sanitation reasons" we had to sleep head-to-foot. We didn't. These girls have been my life for as long as I've had real memories. And now we have a lot more (except for a good bit of the reception, which is a little bit of a blur).
I was sick this weekend, I was forced to go to the casino several times (which I hate), and I spent a good amount of the wedding ceremony trying to hide my panic attack about what would happen if I started to cough. But despite all of this, it was one of the best weekends of my life. I love how weddings just bring out everyone's raw emotions. I love the laughing, I love the crying, I love the unstifled happiness. I think this is because, most of the time, emotions embarrass me. When I get teary after hearing a beautiful line in a song or after seeing an incredible sunset, I feel silly because I've lost the aesthetic distance that I usually keep. (I think that's some philosophical term I learned along the way. It means that I tend to view my life as an outsider, not really experiencing the emotions or feelings, but sitting back and analyzing and evaluating them as they happen). This weekend I was truly happy, and I didn't think twice about showing it.
Now I have to do my work for today. Law school is totally harshing my buzz, man.