"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
Friday, January 30, 2004
Not the show; the age. Eep.
I just want someone to hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Quiz #1: Putting Things in Perspective
1. When you utter the exclamation, “Oh my God, I’m going to kill myself,” your despair most likely derives from
a. The unbearable burdens of life and the slow shriveling of your tired, desperate soul.
b. The upcoming release of Win a Date With Tad Hamilton, starring Kate Bosworth.
2. You recently concluded that your parents “don’t love you” because
a. Your mom is a strung out crack whore who tried to sell you on the street, and you heard your dad tell her that if they’d never had “those goddamn kids” his musical “career” wouldn’t be failing.
b. They told you that a puppy wasn’t very practical at this point in your life.
3. The word “rancid” reminds you of
a. All of the food in your musty, dilapidated apartment.
b. The joyful strains of Rancid’s “Olympia, WA.”
4. When you “fight” with your significant other, it is because
a. He or she beats you repeatedly about the head and is suing you on Judge Judy for damage to a $400 Kia.
b. You don’t want to go to the same bar on Friday night.
5. Most of the major grievances in your life would be alleviated if
a. You moved out of the trailer, your spouse stopped screwing your best friend, your kids stopped giving you the finger every morning, the credit companies stopped calling you every day, and you could walk normally again.
b. Your friends said “you’re pretty.”
It sometimes helps me to think about this stuff when I'm feeling like an oppressed law student. But I still contend that law school exams are a hell like no other.
What are the Odds?
So, I got called on this morning in First Amendment and, to make matters infinitely worse, my phone rang at the very moment I started to answer the question. Given that 1) there are about 80 people in the class, 2) I sit in an area towards the middle often deemed "no man's land," 3) I almost always remember to put my phone on vibrate during school, and 4) no one has called me before 9:00a.m. on a Wednesday morning in years, I was relatively surprised and embarrassed by my misfortune. Good thing I handled the situation with poise and grace, saying in a small voice, "Um...apparently someone is calling me..." before answering the question. Everybody laughed at me, including the professor. I would have laughed at me too. Man, I am funny. Sigh.
Monday, January 26, 2004
This morning in First Amendment my friends and I were discussing the phenomenon of beautiful actresses making themselves ugly and winning awards. Renee Zellwegger puts on a little weight, looks normal, and suddenly this means she can act? Nicole Kidman had that whole nose thing, and now it's Charlize Theron who won the Golden Globe for Monster. She made herself ugly--on purpose! How courageous! Don't get me wrong; I'm not doubting that Charlize did a good job in Monster. I'm pretty excited to see the movie. It looks like Christina Ricci has a mullet, which is reason enough for me to give it a shot. I just think that maybe the big Hollywood people should let some naturally not-so-attractive women get a few major roles for once. There is, of course, a flip side, namely that from Charlize's point of view it's probably nice to be able to get a role that's based on her acting ability instead of her beauty. But I still find it offensive that we're supposed to be so awed by her decision to make herself ugly for a few months of her life when lots of other people do it without trying at all.
Inside Hot Topic (don't ask)
[Costa and I are standing at the counter in Hot Topic, in plain view of the employees. Costa is wearing a pink cardigan and a collared shirt. I am wearing a black skirt and a jean jacket. Neither of us is wearing fishnet stockings or socks on our arms. We are not wearing hair product. We are not sporting chains of any sort. We do not belong.]
Costa: (to me) Um, do you think we could get some service here? I mean, I know that would be really conformist and everything, but...
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
A Toddler's Deception
I heard this conversation at the coffeehouse yesterday. I heard it because I was, as usual, spying on an adorable child sitting at the table next to me.
Toddler Girl: My chocolate milk fell!
Girl's Dad: It fell, or you threw it?
Toddler Girl: ... I threw it.
That little girl would make a great lawyer. But she should probably lose the pigtails first.
Monday, January 19, 2004
And Yes, a Flag is on the Field...
When I was home over break, my dad gave me a requested crash course on football. I've always enjoyed watching the game, but I've never understood exactly what was going on. I liked the atmosphere, cheering for whatever team and listening to the commentators speaking in some exotic dialect involving blitzes and field goals and tight ends (ooh). If I wanted to join in the conversation during a football game, I was relegated to expressing my very authoritative views on the color combinations of the uniforms (I really enjoy Carolina's light blue...isn't it soothing?). Finally, tired of sounding like an ignorant fool ("How come it was just fourth down and now it's first down again? What, football players can't count?") I asked my dad to help me. Being the law professor that he is, he supplemented the explanation with diagrams, explaining defensive and offensive positions and various types of plays. He explained that there can be an infinite number of first downs within the time limits. He explained why and when the team would punt. He explained a few of the penalties. I was thinking about all of the intelligent things I could say the next time I watched a football game with J. Those thoughts then led me to ask my dad the following question: "So, dad...when there's a certain play and then the announcers say something about it, do you usually find that you've thought or said that exact thing? Because J does that a lot. He always says stuff right before the announcers." It basically sounded like I was saying, "Isn't that just amazing and brilliant?!" My dad was like, "Um...yes. I do that sometimes." I think he might have been troubled by my arguably misplaced awe.
Quote of the Day:
"I don't get Paris Hilton. She has the body of a surface to air missile and the posture of linguini." - my friend Steve
Never in a million years could I have come up with a such a brilliant description.
Sunday, January 18, 2004
Imagine (It Isn't Hard To Do...)
J and I went to see Big Fish last week. I thought it was sweet and engaging--nothing too major, but worth the five dollars. (I hope that comment doesn't sound like this pretentious review my sister told me about that labeled Ryan Adams' song "La Cienega Just Smiled" "extremely beautiful, but ultimately inconsequential." What? Ultimately inconsequential? What do you want, the meaning of life? That song is gorgeous and amazing!). Anyway, I thought Billy Crudup's performance was excellent. It wasn't an especially complex role, but I thought he played it with a lot of sincerity and subtlety. Ewan McGregor, on the other hand, was boring as usual. He does not appeal to me.
But despite the neat cinematography and a few really good performances, I was more entertained by J's reaction to all of the ridiculous events than I was by the events themselves. For some reason, although J understood that the entire movie was made up of imaginary characters and tall tales, he was a little bit incensed because, "Please, that could never happen!" A baby pops out of its mother and shoots down the hospital hall, and J whispers incredulously, "Oh right, like the umbilical cord just snaps like that." Or the war scenes with the Siamese twins: "Oh here we go, this should be good..." I kept saying, "It's not supposed to be real...there's this thing called suspension of disbelief..." but that didn't matter. The very idea of such ridiculousness was just too offensive for his empirical mind, and I was loving it. At least now I have a slightly better understanding of why he refuses to share my love for Field of Dreams. ("Um...corn doesn't talk, Bekah. What is this?").
Thursday, January 15, 2004
Girls and Boys
I'm taking a class called Law and Gender this semester, and it really looks to be my best class in law school. I worked for the prof this summer and helped choose the casebook, etc. To the naysayers (basically all the guys I know) who say that it is useless I only say this: A class based on issues surrounding sex and gender should not only interest women, it should interest everyone. The fact that there are only about 5 or 6 men in the class is actually extremely depressing to me, as is the idea that anyone would devalue the significance of issues like rape, employment discrimination, reproductive choice, and the like. Gender issues implicate men just as much as women, if not more, and no matter how much women discuss the issue, it's going to have to be collaborative if we want to reach a completely satisfactory state. All I know is that one of my guy friends asked me how "Law and Bitches" was going and I immediately wrote my professor and told her that this class couldn't have come soon enough.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
And I'm Back
Ah, yes, school has started again. And even if the cacophony of "how was your break?"s resounding through the law school halls hadn't tipped me off, I would still have plenty of evidence of the onset of the semester. Everything is exactly the same. Tonight is a perfect example. After a certain time at night, they (das man?) lock the doors of the law school and it becomes card-access only. I came to school tonight to do some work and the door was locked. This wouldn't be a problem for a normal person. But I am not a normal person, and I was also carrying the following objects: Evidence book, planner (yes, I'm a staunch supporter of weekly organization, call me old fashioned), Whole Foods salad, cup of coffee, and cell phone. When confronted with the locked door, I stepped back for a second and evaluated my options. I finally decided to put everything down on a bench and take out my id, swipe it, pick everything back up, and open the door. I attempted this, but by the time I picked everything back up, the door was locked again. So I tried it again, moving extra fast, and managed to drop my phone and spill my coffee everywhere. And the door was locked again. I eventually realized that I had to do some serious rearranging so that I could have a free hand and be prepared at the precise moment that the door unlocked. This took me approximately 10 minutes to figure out. And the worst part? A small group of little law school bastards were standing right inside and never bothered to help me. Kids today.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
For the Law Students Out There
Do you ever feel bad when you accidentally print out a 400 page document on a Westlaw printer? I don't.
I don't, at least, as far as Westlaw is concerned. They're dumb enough to allow free printing for one and all, and it gives everyone an excuse to print a bunch of crap they'll never use just because it's easier than picking through everything. The Westlaw printer is the one place where law students can exploit the powers that be and get a little bit of a return on their tuition investment. Maybe I should feel bad for the Westlaw assistants who have to pile all the papers that come out of the printer. But you know what? That's their job. And if they want to ridicule me about my "oversized" print job, then so be it. I have a right to do it. I was watching the news the other day and there was an "obese people's rights" lawyer who referred to obese people as "people of size." A throwback to the antiquated "people of color" nomenclature? Or just plain RIDICULOUS? (Um, isn't everyone "of size"?). In any event, my Westlaw printouts are "of size," big and beautiful, and large and in charge, and the Westlaw people can just deal with it.
P.S. The Blogger spellchecker tried to change Westlaw to "Estella." I am not sure what that might mean.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
As middle America sat on their couches, TV dinners in hand, saying, "Honey, look--there's some kind of robot thing on Mars...it really is more orange than red over there, isn't it?," a huge room full of nerds over at NASA began celebrating the greatest moment of their cute little pocket protecting lives. I just loved the footage of the scientists as they celebrated the rover's successful pictures. It was a beautiful scene. They gave each other high fives, and yes, they missed about half of the time and sometimes knocked off each others' glasses, but the point was still made. They tried to jump for joy and stumbled awkwardly into each other, but after the initial shock of such extensive human contact wore off, the cheers continued. According to CNN, one of the team members was filled with "shock and awe" when he saw the pictures, but I think he was also quoted as saying, "If this is what sex is like, I can honestly say I finally understand what the fuss is all about!" Aw, I'm kidding. Yay NASA, y'all are really smart and stuff and I do appreciate your good work.
Quote of the Day
"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with a duck playing the saxophone. Especially an animated duck. But just don't do it in front of me."
-- Some comedian on VH1
Here's an interesting side note about that quote: When I heard it, I thought it was so funny that I almost peed myself. (Keep in mind that I'm home alone right now with no one to talk to but my dog). I didn't want to forget it, so I wrote it down on a piece of paper and put it on the table in front of me. I forgot about it until I heard my mom murmuring confusedly, "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with a duck playing the sax--" I tried to explain myself, but she just said, "Yeah. Ok...I thought law school had finally taken you around the bend..." She does have a point.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
I drove home today for a quick visit with the parents and my Dad greeted me, brow furrowed, with the following stern admonition: "Bekah, you have to update the Marathon. If you're not careful, you're going to lose your readership." I suspect that Dad really just wants me to write more about how cool he is, but I also realize that my posts have been lacking for a long time. There are reasons, I promise: I don't have internet at my apartment and I'm not in school right now, so the coffeehouse is my only option and I would rather not go there all the time when I don't have to. Besides, this alleged "readership" is mostly made up of students, and they're not on their computers over the break anyway. And the funnest (poetic license) stuff to write about usually happens when school is in session. Excuses aside, I know that I'm slacking, but rest assured, faithful reader(s?)--posts will resume regularly with the Spring semester.
So on my drive home I was lucky enough to pass through an area with an actual, authentic 80's station and I got some seriously good (and long overdue) alone-in-the-car rockage under my belt. Athough it was an exciting few hours, I couldn't help but be disturbed by the impeccable accuracy with which I was able to sing Paula Abdul's "Cold Hearted." Not only did I know every word of the song (including the truly stellar rap sequence), but I also knew every precise intonation of the harmonies, as well as where every "oooh" and "uh-oh" belonged. If you have not listened to the song since, say, 1988, you may not have a sufficient understanding of its brilliantly atmospheric quality. It's almost symphonic, the way the music surrounds you as the synthesizer bends you to its will. I was mesmerized. The only thing that jolted me out of my Paula Abdul reverie was the billboard picturing a blurry streetscape and exclaiming YOU'RE KILLING US! Don't Drink and Drive. They really know how to play that subtlety card around here, a skill also evidenced by the neon orange and yellow "We Bare All!" signs dappling the countryside. Right. I have a terrible cold, complete with full congestion, pounding headache, and raging sore throat, and I think that combination is making me unpleasantly sarcastic. I'm going to stop writing and go play with my dog.