"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: firstname.lastname@example.org
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
Thursday, October 30, 2003
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?
Me: But it's a good thing they're having an intimate 12-person picnic...
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
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.
Sunday, October 26, 2003
What would make a person wear a t-shirt saying any of the following things?:
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.
Friday, October 24, 2003
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.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
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
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
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.
Saturday, October 18, 2003
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.
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.
Thursday, October 16, 2003
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.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
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.
Monday, October 13, 2003
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.
Saturday, October 11, 2003
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.
Thursday, October 09, 2003
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
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.
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
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.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
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?
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.
Friday, October 03, 2003
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:
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...
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.
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.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Fuzzy Bunnies, Daisies, and Sonnets
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.