"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

 
Things Are Getting Ugly, In More Ways Than One

Warning: The following opinions are not those of the author. They are of the author’s fictional alter-ego who says and thinks not so nice things sometimes. Especially when it’s a Saturday night, she's studying for exams, and the only items in the fridge are mustard, a bottle of Miller High Life, and a jar of rasberry preserves (true story). The author apologizes in advance for any offense taken. She is disappointed in herself too.

I (that is, my fictional alter-ego) was watching The Learning Channel a few weeks ago, and I saw part of a special program about something called Facial Distortion Syndrome or something like that. I can’t remember the exact name. But basically, it’s a “disease” that makes people think they are physically repulsive. They hate looking in the mirror and are afraid to go outside and be seen in public. (At first I thought these people might just be on their periods, but then I noticed it was a male ailment as well). The program had experts explaining the various symptoms of the disease, how debilitating it is, etc. And then they showed some people who had it. And here’s the thing: they really WERE ugly! I don’t just mean homely. I mean good old-fashioned ugly stepsister hideous. They all suffered from various combinations of mullets, leather skin, hairy moles, wall-eyes, and (at least for the women) moustaches. I don’t call these people sick; I call them ultra perceptive! Not to mention really considerate of other people, seeing as they choose not to leave their homes very often. Maybe they should pass their heightened self knowledge on to the old men who insist on wearing Speedos on the banks of the Dead Sea. I mean really, now they're trying to say ugly people have a clinical disease? I'm already skeptical enough of "ADHD," also known in a majority of cases as "DEWO (damn easy way out)" or, "NOSIT (I don't like sitting still too much; please drug me so you don't have to discipline me, ever)."

(Imagine that I’m Jon Stewart right now. I have his “I’m really sorry that a basically nice person like me said something like that, but it had to be done” look on my face. Very sheepish. Now I’m going to go say 10 Hail Marys (can Jews do that? It couldn’t hurt), help an old lady cross the street, and adopt 14 starving orphans).

posted by Bekah at 9:43 PM :: |

 
Ode to a Notebook

I am a sick individual. Buying new school supplies is an experience that changes my entire outlook on the world. When I feel as though I can’t go on, buying a new notebook with brightly colored dividers actually makes me want to learn again. Like most people, I traditionally do my school shopping at the start of the semester. But I think I have discovered the key to overcoming end-of-the-semester apathy. It’s so simple, a child could have thought of it: get supplementary school supplies in the final weeks before exams! I bought a new notebook on Wednesday, and some tabs and gold metallic paperclips, and I hopped out of bed Thursday morning with a charisma I haven’t felt in months. Why? Because I knew brightly-colored tabs were waiting to be meticulously placed in my Con Law book! And why is that exciting? Because if I’m organizing my notes and tabbing my books, I have achieved what is, for me, a zen-like state of existence: I can be productive without actually doing anything! Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go attack my Property book with post-its and fluorescent stickies, and punch holes in all of my handouts.

posted by Bekah at 8:35 AM :: |

 
Marbles, Minds, and Other Lost Objects

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my recent reversion to infancy. Now I must tell you that the situation is even worse than I thought. I have officially lost all cognitive capability. And it’s not even exam time yet. The following is a completely honest account of the past few days’ activities:
1. Put mouthwash on a cotton ball; discovered it was not, in fact, astringent.
2. Almost cried when my car didn’t move after turning the key in the ignition. Then remembered to shift out of park.
3. Washed my hair with bodywash; learned that my budgetary requirements will not involve cutting out shampoo.
4. Left my windshield wipers on high for the entire drive home from school, despite the fact that it was not raining. Didn’t notice until I pulled into my driveway.
5. Panicked when the woman issuing me my passport at the post office asked me to raise my right hand in order to take an oath. Looked down to find the “L” that my left hand makes. Was confused.
6. Contemplated how funny the word “owl” is. Ha. Owl.
7. Considered eating cold vegetable soup for dinner, out of a can; miraculously thought better of it (but only after tasting it).
8. Argued with my Con Law professor about the “Platonic Goodness” of Washington Apples. In class.
9. Slept on my futon without sheets for two nights without noticing their absence until I got cold and missed the covers.
10. Had a staring contest with the psychotic cat that set up camp outside my door. Lost.
11. Admitted numbers 1-10 to the general public.

posted by Bekah at 8:09 AM :: |

 
Today I have a special treat for the Marathon. My friend Micah was nice enough to recruit me to help him with his weekly online sports column. Check it out: "Battle of the Sexes" at www.fantasydaily.com.
posted by Bekah at 6:53 PM :: |

 
I am incompetent and just deleted my last post while writing another one. Sorry for the mistake...I just don't have the energy to write it again. But here's a new one.

Making the World Better for Our Children, One Word at a Time

You know, I think I’ve been bitten by the teaching bug. Both my parents are professors, and now I have proof that I’ve got their genes.

When I was eighteen months old, my parents thought it would be fun to do a little experiment. They taught me to say “ominous” when it was dark and cloudy outside. So when company was over, they’d point outside and say, “Bekah, look!” And I’d say, “ominous” like a little baby freak of nature. Let me tell you, that was quite a conversation starter.

I was a camp counselor for several summers, and my campers’ favorite thing to do was talk about my funny baby stories. Like how I had two black eyes, a cut on my cheek, and a cone head when I was born because of an unfortunate run-in with some forceps. That’s an old favorite. So of course the “ominous” story was another big hit, except for one thing. I had to explain what “ominous” meant first. And that’s where the teaching came in. I have officially had a definite and meaningful effect on my campers’ lives. See for yourself. The following is a conversation I had tonight with one of my campers:

cbk4732: i heard the weather man say ominous this afternoon
cbk4732: and i knew what it meant!
cbk4732: and when i was driving home and saw the clouds i thought...wow thats ominous
BekahPage: you are so good cind!
cbk4732: all thanks to you!!

You see that? That is making a difference. That is having a positive impact on America’s youth. I think I may very well be pursuing the wrong career.
posted by Bekah at 11:52 PM :: |

 
Jayhawks Down.

Yes, fine, let me clear the air. Contrary to my confident predictions, Kansas lost the championship game tonight. But I don't want to dwell on the bad points (aren't free throws supposed to yield at least a few free points? Isn't Hinrich supposed to hit the 3's once in a while?). Instead, I would like to pay tribute to the Jayhawks for winning my heart, even if they did end up breaking it. First of all, I love Roy Williams. Did you hear him say he didn't give a shit about North Carolina tonight? Did you see him make sure McNamara was okay when he plowed into the table? That's what I'm talking about. Pure love of the game and the players makes him the unsurpassed coach he is. Even Syracuse will (and did) admit that he was the stand out coach tonight, giving the players their timeouts when they needed a rest, driving the comeback to within 3 points. I didn't go to a big school, and I really missed out on having a big team to identify with. Kansas gave me that tonight, and I am not going to turn on them now. I think they were fighters in this game, and went up against some eerily on-target perimeter shooting from Syracuse. In this optimistic spirit, here are a few words of consolation for you Jayhawks fans:
1. Hinrich still looks like a British rock star, so he is inherently cooler than anyone else.
2. Orange is still an ugly color, and Orangemen is still the stupidest mascot ever conceived.
3. If a coach is going to win the final four, it's kind of cool that he's Jewish. Maybe Boeheim will make it into Adam Sandler's next Hanukah song?
4. Carmelo Anthony will go pro before the Orange shine of "One Shining Moment" has even begun to dim.
5. The majority of Syracuse fans will wake up tomorrow morning in a Bourbon Street gutter, while KA fans will go home to their loving friends and family. Roy Williams would be proud.
posted by Bekah at 11:48 PM :: |

 
People who have never been to Bourbon Street probably think anything said or written about it is hyperbole. (Why would so many people really want to eat and drink to excess in a place that reeks of everything—and I mean everything—that the human body expels? Isn’t that like having Thanksgiving dinner in a sewer?) As a Bourbon Street veteran, I can assure you that anything you hear about this den of iniquity is truer than your innocent soul could imagine. It is difficult to put the sights, sounds, and especially smells of Bourbon Streets into words, but I’ll try to hit the high points with my Top 5 Reasons Why I Love to Hate Bourbon Street:

1. Confrontation with Horses’ Asses. Every night, policemen on horseback proudly patrol Bourbon Street, valiantly guarding their fair subjects from dangerous thugs in covered wagons and possible invasion by catapulted boulders. Due to this efficient policing practice, Bourbon Street is the only place I know where you can be confronted by a horse’s ass in your face with absolutely no notice. Generally, if you are reasonably cognizant of your surroundings you have at least a moment’s warning that you are approaching a horse’s ass. But on Bourbon Street, you can be inside a dense crowd one second and inches from a horse’s ass the next without knowing what hit you. On my latest venture to Bourbon, I made this very observation to a group of friends after encountering the ass (and almost the hoof) of a police horse. My friend Micah said something like, “I didn’t realize it offended you so much to run into me!” And then the beauty of Bourbon Street became even more evident: You can run into literal AND figurative horse’s asses without warning, and you might not be able to tell the difference!
2. Getting Back to Nature. It is an understatement to say that there is something primal about Bourbon Street, given that the typical patron is Cro-Magnon man with beads. Food. Carnal desire. Excrement. Bourbon Street has all of the basics. Beads are really the only thing that separates Bourbon Streeters from the apes. Surprisingly, even in their drunken states, men on Bourbon Street are able to identify “Beads” as a bright, shiny symbol for the greater category of activities related to “Sex.” It is this kind of high-level associative power that makes humans such an impressive species. (A word of advice: Avoid Bourbon Street at all costs if you are prone to do any of the following: despair about the human condition, judge people who urinate in public, scorn projectile vomiting, or smile at people you don’t know, just to be nice).
3. Knowing the Lay of the Land. To an unpracticed visitor, Bourbon Street can be a dangerous and disgusting booby trap (pun clearly intended). It is one long obstacle course, with pitfalls and distractions at every turn. Pools of vomit and piles of fresh horse crap are situated randomly on the ground as a test of agility. Beer waterfalls descend from various balconies without warning. Horrifying flashes of naked flesh pierce the darkness. Three-foot poles blocking cars’ entry onto the street are often obscured by the crowd, and can catch less-attentive Bourbon Streeters right in the groin. Scary men with greasy ponytails beckon to you from the dark recesses of their vile lairs. Fortunately, a veteran like me knows how to avoid all of these traps, and can instead sit back and watch the drunken masses swarm around like mice in a maze. It is amusing and devastatingly depressing at the same time.
4. Disconnection from Oneself. I like to think that I’m a normal person with certain relatively high standards and expectations for myself and others. That’s why going to Bourbon Street presents me with such a quandary. On the one hand, Bourbon Street is gross, and the people there are repulsive, drunken jerks. On the other hand, I go to Bourbon Street. How can I really judge the people if I’m one of them? Am I really one of them if I just go to laugh at their expense? Is there any real distinction?
5. Destination: Nowhere. In this fast paced world, everyone is always focused on where they’re going. If you “go to Bourbon Street,” you’ll realize that it’s not really a destination at all. You walk up the street. You walk down the street. You saunter. You mill about. You congregate in front of one bar for several minutes. People get antsy, and you start walking again. And you always walk very, very fast in order to get nowhere as quickly as possible. Sometimes this lack of purpose confronts me when I’m actually on Bourbon Street, and at that point there is only one thing I can do. Find a Hurricane immediately and silence that silly, uptight voice of reason once and for all.

posted by Bekah at 7:18 PM :: |