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

 
Satanic Curses

I’ve never been much of a stickler about not taking the Lord’s name in vain. Despite my personal religious background, I don’t even discriminate among various “Lords." (Sorry if you take offense, but I don’t think I should have to pass up fun expressions just because I’m Jewish). I say the occasional “God damn,” “Christ almighty,” and “Christ on a bike.” I’ve even been known to exclaim “Holy Shi—ite Muslim Temple of God!” when the appropriate circumstances arise. Believe me, I could take this opportunity to launch into a philosophical tirade about the power/arbitrariness of language, but for now let me just say that I have no qualms about breaking this particular commandment on a daily basis. (Please note that I do try to abide by “Thou Shalt Not Kill” a little more stringently).

Regardless of my somewhat questionable piety, I am now convinced that the phrase “Oh My God” can be truly blasphemous. This has nothing to do with “sacrilege,” as the term is used in common parlance. It has everything to do with a girl at the table next to me in the coffeehouse shrilly repeating “Omigod omigod omigod” into a cell phone for a good half hour. Let’s forget for a moment that she used the word “God.” I would venture to say that anyone who repeats anything in that tone for that long is indisputably the antichrist.

After witnessing this horrifying display, I had an uncharacteristic reaction. I turned to prayer. I prayed for ears like Mr. Potato Head’s, which could be removed easily at will. Alas, my prayers were not answered, and my ears are now sore as a result of a failed Van Gogh move involving a butter knife. Okay, that part’s not true, but I did fantasize about it. I looked over at the condiment cart with the plastic utensils and contemplated the sharpness of plastic butter knives. I decided that due to their finely serrated edges, they are probably quite hazardous. I’m keeping a mental note of this in case Omigod girl (a.k.a. Lucifer) starts up again. If she does, my newfound religiosity might be gravely jeopardized.

posted by Bekah at 1:36 AM :: |

 
Oh, Sweet Irony

Today, I encountered both of the following:
1. The ROTC marched by a lawn whereon student war protesters had erected sit-in tents. The contrast was striking.
2. An extremely large woman in a tight red top and the tightest of red pants yelled at her small child, "You gonna fix those socks too before we go anywhere!" Her concern with physical appearances was grossly misdirected.

posted by Bekah at 2:08 PM :: |

 
Friends in Sort of High Places

Law students are always scrambling for the right connections, trying to meet that great person who will get them that great job, which will in turn open every door for them in the future. I haven't mastered that precise game yet, but that's not to say my networking muscles have not been well flexed. I'm starting small. I'm starting with frozen yogurt.

Last semester, my friends and I got frozen yogurt at lunch in the University Center on a semi-daily basis. Picking up on my engaging persononality, the frozen yogurt lady immediately began to take a liking to me. We'd chat a little, she'd say "thanks sugar," and I'd be on my way. (Quick tangent: I think the fact that I really enjoy being called "sugar" by the yogurt lady may be a testament to my current need for love and acceptance. My source of validation as a human being probably shouldn't be a purveyor of dairy products, however tasty the products might be. And yet, it seems that the yogurt lady and my futon are still my most steadfast sources of non-familial love and affection. Actually, come to think of it, it really could be worse). Anyway, one day I walked up to the counter and the yogurt lady looked at me and asked, "The usual, honey?" I grinned and said, "Yes, please." I was so flattered I almost blushed. I had a usual! I wasn't just another "sugar" to the yogurt lady. I was Small Vanilla With Heath girl. I could tell that the people in line were jealous. They had "she's such a little teacher's pet" looks on their faces, but I didn't care. The yogurt lady even knew that I liked my topping on the bottom. (The distribution is best achieved that way. If the topping is actually on the top, you eat it all first and then you're left with plain yogurt to deal with. No good).

This semester I've been seriously slacking on the frozen yogurt intake, partly because of scheduling and partly because I was becoming addicted and realized I needed help. The few times I have given in to temptation, the yogurt lady has still remembered me. She asks, like a jilted lover, "Where have you been, sugar?" And I have to scramble around for a good excuse, but end up saying, "I'm sorry! My schedule's different this semester!" She probably hears something like, "It's not you, it's me" or "I think we should slow things down a little; I need some 'me' time." But all things considered, she's taking the separation really well, especially given the fact that just as she's starting to get over it I tend to turn up and reopen old wounds. Recently, Kate and I were having a particularly anti-law school day, and we knew frozen yogurt was the answer. We got to the counter, and there was another yogurt lady taking orders. This being an especially trying day, we decided on "Regular" size. My yogurt lady (who was working the register that day) automatically rung me up for "the usual," and I quickly said, "But I got a Regular today!" She said, "Oh, honey, don't worry about it." She gave Kate the discount too. Thanks to my connections, we each saved 33 cents and got a delicious frozen treat. Beat that with a judicial clerkship, you little social climbers.
posted by Bekah at 11:50 PM :: |

 
War: Chalk in the Teacher’s Eraser Gone Horribly Wrong?

That George W is a wily one, but I’m finally one step ahead of him. I predict that Georgie will announce today that the War on Iraq is one big “April Fools!” on the world.

Granted, a grave matter of foreign policy and national security wouldn’t usually strike a United States President as a joking matter, but how is W supposed to know that? He thinks being President is like being rush chair at his very own fraternity.

A reliable source overheard Bush late last night on his Playskool walkie-talkie saying, “This is the mother of all pranks! Tony [Blair] and I are gonna do some hard core keg stands when this shit gets over with.” Bush was wearing camouflage boxers at the time, and had a sheet draped around his neck “like a Superman cape.” He was speaking on the walkie-talkie from a “fort” constructed out of oval office furniture and blankets. When asked about the possible repercussions of such a "prank," Bush chugged a Natty Light and responded, "Those Iraqish people need to lighten up. TOGA!"

(These developments may have been discovered sooner if more people knew that George W believed that "regime change" was really "Regine change," referring to the replacement of Kim Fields' character on Living Single, one of the President's favorite television programs).

posted by Bekah at 8:10 AM :: |

 
Something More

My law school's little tagline (or is it a motto?) is "Something More." It definitely took a bunch of lawyers to think that one up. Not "More Exciting" or "More Prestigious," but "Something More." Nice and ambiguous, just the way lawyers like it. It's so ambiguous in fact, one might even venture to say that it's ultimately meaningless. When I was narrowing down my overwhelmingly large pool of possible schools to attend, that "Something More" really stuck out. Back then, I interpreted it as "We'll Pay You a Hell of a Lot More," and that was good enough for me. After spending almost a year here, I now know the real reason for the ambiguity: My law school offers so much "more" of so many things, they just wanted to cover all of the bases. For example: gay men. Here's one valid intepretation of that elusive "Something More" that could have been brought to my attention prior to enrollment. Naturally, the obligatory "not that there's anything wrong with that" goes without saying. But the truth is that there is something wrong with it, namely that there is not a decent straight man to be found on this godforsaken campus. Another valid interpretation would be more exposed flesh. Now, I know my Dad reads this page, so I apologize in advance for this description, Daddy. Today in Spinning I was accosted by a girl on the bike in front of me wearing spandex pants (down low) with a gold thong (up high). If there's one thing in life that I'm sure of, it's that when I signed up for "Something More" I wasn't banking on more ass cheeks in my face, thank you very much. My fellow law students will recall that when statutes are ambiguous, courts look to the legislative intent to figure out how to interpret the unclear phrases. In the interest of future students, I propose that we do some research, find out what the hell the school administrators were talking about, and clarify things immediately before "Something" causes irreparable harm to anyone else. Now I'm going to go sit in a corner and rock back and forth until that traumatic image is erased from my memory.
posted by Bekah at 7:29 PM :: |