"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

 
I Wish We'd Known Each Other, That Was a Little Awkward

Ok, I wasn't going to write about this because it's a little personal, but what the hell. I have officially been asked for my hand in marriage. This proposal was as romantic as it was unexpected. It all began when I went to pick up my friend from the airport, and had to wait for him in the pickup area where UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE YOU ALLOWED TO STOP YOUR VEHICLE even when there are no other cars around. So of course, I pushed my luck and tried to wait there. After about three minutes, a young man with a bright orange official-looking vest sauntered over, tapped on my window, and began the following conversation, recorded here word for word:

Orange vest man: Girl, you are lookin' so pretty sittin' here [t-shirt and scrubs, he was clearly on crack]. I hate to do this, but my boss over there (points vaguely behind him) is crazy. I hate to do this to you now, but she's makin' me tell you to move.

Me: Oh, well...ok. There aren't any other cars here though...whatever, I'll loop around.

Orange vest man: Yeah, sorry. Hey, hold on a minute. Are you married?

Me: Um, no. No I'm not.

Orange vest man: Do you want to be married?

Me: Uh, eventually, I guess...

Orange vest man: Ooo-wee, you've got some pretty brown eyes.

Me: Yeah, thanks. I'll just loop around.
Me (alternate response): Oh my God, that is the sweetest, most original thing anyone has ever said to me! Now that you have mentioned my eyes, how can I refuse you? I mean, not many women have brown eyes or anything! Please, get into my car and we will run away together, you smooth talker you. I cannot wait to become Mrs. Airport Freak!

The next day, still glowing from my proposal, I went to the grocery, and the bag boy handed me my one (1) bag, winked, and asked, "You sure you don't need help getting that out to your car?" No thanks dude, I'll manage. Yes, I am apparently irresistible to bag boys and airport personnel. But don't worry, I'm not naive enough to think I'm alone here. I'm pretty sure all women, and possibly somewhat androgynous men, are irresistible to any guy who would propose to a total stranger in an airport pick-up lane. But something good did come of this airport experience. It is now one of my very favorite instances of male stupidity (not that I'm counting, for that would be impossible), surpassing the time in Florence when a guy on a moped rode by my friend Devon and me yelling "Ciao bitches!!" Ah, Italians really know how to treat the ladies.

posted by Bekah at 8:06 PM :: |

 
Movin' on Up

My roommate is moving away this summer, so I had to decide whether to get a cheaper one-bedroom place or another roommate. I decided on option one, mostly because my friends are all set with their housing and I absolutely refuse to relive first year with a poor, sweet, clueless 1L. When I started searching for a place, I initially thought everything was taken. But today something incredible happened. I signed a lease for Mike Seaver's apartment above the garage! Fine, not really, but my friend Julia does like to joke that she got that place when she moved back home after college. I like to remind her that she didn't move above the garage--she moved back into her actual bedroom. But these are just details. Anyway, my new place is much cooler than the Seavers'. Not only is this apartment an ultra-bohemian, artsy efficiency place that has a freestanding stove and a cool brick partition between the "cooking area" and the "living area," it is also (get ready) next door to a little neighborhood bookstore, one block from a dry cleaner, one block from a great bar (with video poker and a courtyard), and three blocks from a coffeehouse. The street also has lots of restaurants and cool shops. And it's in walking distance of school. I'm just waiting for my landlord to tell me (the day I move in) about the alligator that lives in my refrigerator and the drummer who practices next door from 4-6 a.m.

Happiness is a Warm...Marsupial Pouch

I have always had a weakness for anything with lots of pockets, secret pouches, or other compartments. When I was younger I would hyperventilate with joy when I got a new school backpack with all of the cool pen holders and hidden zipper pouches. I also liked those Velcro shoes with the pockets on the sides. I liked and still like planners with spaces for business cards (as if I have any), credit cards, and household expenses (like I'd take the time to record those in a planner). Some might say that this is my pathetic and futile subconscious attempt at imposing order on the chaos of the universe, but I assure you that it really is just a simple love for all things compartmentalized. I just got a travel backpack for my adventures abroad this summer, and I almost fainted when I saw all of the pockets. This thing has more zippers, clips, snaps, and Velcro strips than I can count. It has a retractable rain cover and an optional flap that you can zip over the shoulder straps to convert it into a suitcase. It has a detachable small backpack for day trips which also has an obscene number of pouches. Hours and hours of pure blissful entertainment, and I haven't even left my own home! Perhaps I don't need to go to Amsterdam after all.

posted by Bekah at 9:53 PM :: |

 
Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged for Table-dancing, Spouting Ethnic Slurs, and Hitting on Jurors

I knew it would only be a matter of time before my research started getting good. In working on my current project, I've been coming across some seriously disturbing stuff that trial judges get away with. Judges can be almost as bad as prosecutors when it comes to misconduct during trials. Sometimes this misconduct is only at the expense of the life or liberty of an individual criminal defendant (whew, good thing no harm was done there), but most often it's at the expense of a little thing called the credibility of our entire justice system. I read about one case where, during the defense witnesses' testimony, the judge kept huffing and sighing and saying "there's nothing happening here!" One judge refused to feed the jury. One decided to chat up a few African American jurors, thanking them for participating and explaining that the judicial system needed more people like them. How can they get away with it, you ask? Well, the problem of course is that judges are supposed to be judging cases, not on trial themselves, so objections based on judicial misconduct are pretty tough to make during a trial. Law clerk Mary Ann Fenicato has written: "...judicial misconduct is distinguishable from ordinary evidence objections which merely suggest trial court error, but do not question the propriety and totality of the presiding judge's behavior. Indeed, the appellate Court humorously questioned how counsel could possibly have phrased such an objection: "I object to your honor speaking on the phone while my witness is testifying," or "Let the record reflect that the court is standing on a table adjusting a heating vent." Judicial Misconduct Warrants Jury Verdict Reversal, Lawyer's Journal, June 2000. Good lord. It's so annoying that I have to get through two more years of law school when there is so much real stuff that needs fixing right now.

posted by Bekah at 5:21 PM :: |

 
I received a link to a computer program that generates poems based on the contents of any website you desire. The following is what the computer "wrote" by manipulating the contents of this site. I cleaned it up a little (deleted a few lines that had technical html-type code stuff in them, put it into stanzas, and fixed a little bit of punctuation), but every line was written by a computer. Honestly, it's kind of creeping me out.

A lot more than I
need is locked in the tough
stuff. When
Up was in the
game…Translation: No high school.
He thinks he
is enveloped by
myself and
I have served
as nice supplements
to dress up with
malevolent human
beings, and see how surreal that it was.

Not in North
Carolina, where
I have toilets and
my memories to appreciate
a Lonely Hunter.
Truth in the summer
is
a little bit
of the coffeehouse who
was.

Author
was ever heard
that she has anyone
who should just
have
a
Tuesday.

posted by Bekah at 9:37 AM :: |