"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

 
An Unsavory Client

As a prospective lawyer, it’s important for me to be able to make tough arguments. Regardless of the situation, a good lawyer can bend and manipulate the facts, deftly molding them to her will. In this advocatory spirit, I was planning to mount one of the most difficult defenses in the history of lawyering: Representation of the gefilte fish. For some entirely unknown reason, I’ve always liked the stuff. I’ve been subjected to merciless ridicule by my peers for this affinity, and I wanted finally to defend gefilte fish with the loyalty, zeal, and diligence required of the members of my noble profession. I wasn’t going to rest until justice was no longer maligned. But sadly, I came to a harsh realization. Gefilte fish is indefensible.

We’ve all heard the common accusations: “It looks gross;” “It’s slimy;” “It tastes like catfood;” “Mom, it’s mutating.” One might even add the following observations to the list: It’s gray. It’s made with a mold (not jell-o). The composition of “gefilte” is unidentifiable. It’s stored in jars with clumps of clear gelatinous material. It’s served in the company of lamb bones. It’s porous. It’s dense. It smells questionable at best. I have to admit, gefilte fish has nothing concrete to recommend it. I can’t refute any of the complaints. I don’t think I could even argue that you can’t prove mutation beyond a reasonable doubt, because I’m sure there have been plenty of eyewitnesses. It comes down to this: I’d have an easier time defending a Carrot Top look-alike serial killer who tortures puppies in his spare time.

posted by Bekah at 4:35 PM :: |

 
Shard Day’s Night

I’ve had to deal with a variety of rude awakenings in my life. When I was a camp counselor, packs of hyper preadolescent girls shook and squealed me awake on a daily basis. In high school, my Dad often blasted me awake with high-volume Sgt. Pepper. (Somehow “Good Morning, Good Morning,” while undoubtedly a classic, loses some of its appeal first thing in the morning. I think it was specifically the clanging and rooster noises that made me want beat Sgt. Pepper about the head with his own shoulder pads and draw and quarter the Lonely Hearts Club Band). In college, I sometimes awoke to the melodious sound of someone vomiting in the bathroom across the hall. Given this vast experience, I thought I’d had the worst of it. Now I’m not so sure.

Until yesterday, I kept a small (though quite heavy), stained-glass lamp on the windowsill above my bed. I used it as a reading light, in order to eliminate the need to get out of bed at night and walk two feet to flip the light switch. (Note to self: Sloth really is a deadly sin). Last night, in my agitated dream state (I must have been dreaming of Jon Stewart), I turned, pulled the lamp cord, and caused the lamp, complete with glass lampshade, to descend onto my head.

Recall how annoyed you feel when your alarm goes off in the morning. Now couple that annoyance with searing pain and multicolored shards of glass embedded in your hair, and you might begin to appreciate my state of mind. I would describe it as exasperated anguish. I lay there dazed, coming to terms with the following facts: a) I was lying in a pile of glass, b) what was left of the lamp was still resting on my face, c) I lacked the motivation to remove it, and d) the ringing in my ear was not the telephone.

Oh, my futon! My steadfast friend and safe haven! From this day forth you will herald unspeakable trauma! After such betrayal, can I ever learn to love again? And more important, must I forever suffer from an unholy fear of table lamps? Please God, give me the strength to heal.

posted by Bekah at 8:09 AM :: |

 
I walked into the reading room this morning and was shocked to see that it was completely empty. I got the rush you get when you and your friend are the only ones in the movie theater. There is something empowering about being by yourself in a public place. I wanted to sing and do cartwheels just to exploit my aloneness. But then, as I walked more completely into the room, I noticed a girl sitting in the corner, buried in a book. We looked at each other and shared a knowing smile. “Feel free to run around and scream if you want,” she said. I told her I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing cartwheels now. She seemed to understand.
posted by Bekah at 7:54 AM :: |

 
May It Please the Court?

As you might imagine, trudging through case after case of reading in law school can get a little monotonous. Luckily, every once in a while the wayward law student will come across a case that manages to lighten things up a little. In the course of my studies, I’ve noticed two general types of case law humor, both of which are pretty damn hilarious compared to the usual crap I have to read. Keep in mind, of course, that it’s all relative.

The first type of case law humor occurs when the Judge consciously tries to be funny by coming up with some sort of “hip and happening” pun. (Kind of like when you’re walking in the zoo and your Dad says, “Look at the owls Bekah! Those are the holiest birds around. They’re birds of Pray.”) Judges, like Dads, love a good corny play on words, and they’re not afraid to show off their skills at the expense of the decorum of the court. For example, in his searing dissent in a high profile case about baitfish, Justice Stevens quips, “There is something fishy about this case.” Oh Justice Stevens, you old stinker! You absolutely slay me! That was a good one. But Justice Blackmun really takes it up a notch in the old favorite, Lester Baldwin v. Fish and Game Commission of Montana. Blackmun whips out our dear friend sarcasm and lets her rip: “Equality in access to Montana elk is not basic to the maintenance or well-being of the Union.” Thank you, Justice Blackman. Could you be any more condescending to recreational elk hunters? And really, I don’t think it’s such a good idea to piss those people off.

The other kind of humor occurs when the Judge isn’t even trying to be funny. It comes up when the case is kind of recent, and the Judge is speaking about some “newfangled” thing with which we are now all too familiar. For example, in a Criminal Law case I read last semester from the early 90’s, the Judge was very particular about describing a strange new thing called the INTERNET (yes, it was in all CAPS) which allows companies and universities to COMMUNICATE through a complex network of SUPERCOMPUTERS. A 1972 case I just read for Con Law was equally amusing. In it, the honorable Justice Powell writes, “The Center embodies a relatively new concept in shopping center design. The stores are all located within a single large, multi-level building complex sometimes referred to as the ‘Mall.’” Doesn’t reading that kind of feel like the scene in Back to the Future when the saleslady explains to Marty what a Dustbuster is? Yeah, it’s stuff like this that gets me through the day. I seriously need to get out more.

posted by Bekah at 7:35 AM :: |

 
The following conversation is a metaphor for my relationship with the opposite sex, and kind of for the human condition as I see it right now. In response to several inquiries, I will assure you: it is technically fictional.

Bekah: Hey.

Other: Hello? Is someone there?

Bekah: Yes. I'm standing right here.

Other: Oh, hi. Didn't see you there.

Bekah: So, how are you?

Other: Alright.

Bekah: (Waits for reciprocal "How are you." Doesn't receive it.) I see you're wearing a Bob Dylan T-shirt. That's awesome.

Other: What's awsome about it? I've never heard of him. I got it at Thrift City.

Bekah: Oh, so you're wearing it to be ironic?

Other: What's ironic?

Bekah: This conversation, in some ways. But anyway, I guess I should go to class now.

Other: You should get a flask?

Bekah: No, class.

Other: Oh, whatever. I like fruit sometimes.

Bekah: Class at the law school. I go to law school. What do you do?

Other: My mom says I don't eat healthy enough, but I tell her, "I eat bananas sometimes. With peanut butter." That's good shit. And bananas are a type of fruit.

Bekah: Yeah, my cleaning lady used to make me peanut butter and banana sandwiches when I was little. I love that memory.

Other: But about that flask, you should get it engraved with something cool.

Bekah: She usually made them for me when I was home sick from school. It's so interesting what memories stay with you. That was over 15 years ago.

Other: My brother has one that says "2 Cool 4 U." So you can't use that. It's taken.

Bekah: I wish I could stay home sick from law school.

Other: Once we got trashed outside of the Winn Dixie with that flask. Those were fun times.

Bekah: But I guess I'm in it for the long haul now. Which is why I have to go study.

Other: Study?

Bekah: Bye.

Other: Whatever, bitch.

posted by Bekah at 8:16 AM :: |