"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

 
And at the next table:

Father: ...And I'm going to want to figure out a sum of money to give you that will challenge you to manage your funds. I don't want to make living impossible for you, but I want you to understand what it means to have a budget...

Daughter: Uh...

Father: You need to figure out what you're doing. You know who you would like? Aunt Ruth out in Phoenix...

Daughter: It's hot there...

Father: Well, you have to cut off your hair or find a way to deal with it...

Daugher: Uh...

Father: Well, shall we?

[Exit]

I have no idea what just happened here.

posted by Bekah at 4:58 PM :: |

 
Starbucks Guy: What are you wearing?

Me: (Tentatively, somewhat embarrassed) What am I...wearing?

Starbucks Guy: That perfume...

Me: Uh, I don't know...

Starbucks Guy: (Wistfully, slightly starry-eyed) Man, you just reminded me of someone real quick...

[Awkward silence]

Me: (Bright red, fidgeting with necklace, uncomfortable to be witnessing a stranger's sudden nostalgia) Can I get a medium ice coffee please?

posted by Bekah at 4:31 PM :: |

 
"But does the desert even miss the rain?"

In response to this question, posed by my lovely and wildly intelligent sister Hannah, I would like to offer my thoughts. On many a sleepless night I've pondered this very dilemma, and, after years of inner debate, I've come to the conclusion that no, the desert couldn't possibly miss the rain. The desert is, by definition, dry. If it ever rained, it's entire identity would be obliterated. This is not a desirable occurrence. Also, and more persuasively, the desert has never seen the rain, and probably doesn't know it exists. It is simply impossible to miss something that you have never seen or heard about; if the desert has no concept of or word for "rain," it certainly cannot formulate any sort of emotional response to its absence. It may feel some sort of abstract emptiness, but that sense of incompleteness could not ever be linked to the absence of rain. Indeed, one must understand the concept of wetness to know one is dry. Thus, from the desert's perspective, it is really neither wet nor dry, but rather merely "is." It does not miss what it is not and could never be. In conclusion, I would say that the desert is content, self-sufficient, and largely pleased with the camels and cacti that serve as its lifelong companions.

posted by Bekah at 11:30 AM :: |

 
Supreme Court Defies Age-Old Admonition; Does in Fact Mess With Texas

Today the Supreme Court held that it's legal to be a practicing gay man, overruling a Texas law prohibiting sodomy. I mean, it's about damn time. I'm honestly embarrassed that it's 2003 and the Supreme Court still has to decide such things. A prominent religious figure, Rev. Rob Shenck, had these godly words to share: "The court has said today that morality -- matters of right and wrong behavior -- do not matter in the law. That is an undermining of our concept of justice in this country." Yes, yes, and the whole corrupt death penalty system in Texas makes us all feel warm and cozy about the justice system. I've got news for you Rev. Rob: chances are your son, your best friend, hell, maybe even you, are gay, so you better get used to the idea. Go preach about something that's any of your goddamn business. I'm just glad this case came up before W. could screw up the court...

Update: I've been wondering lately how people like Rev. Rob can still exist in the world today. Don't they understand that they are nothing more than caricatures at this point? It's like people with mullets. Don't they realize that such a hairstyle is no longer socially acceptable? I mean, the anti-mullet movement has been absolutely done to death. You'd have to be living in a cave not to know that mullets are ridiculous. Similarly, has Rev. Rob SEEN the world lately? How can he still piss and moan about people being gay? People are gay! They're just gay! Move on! Get a haircut or something!

posted by Bekah at 11:32 AM :: |

 
Advantage, Bekah

Oh hell no...it seems that Woody Woodpecker works at Starbucks. Or maybe it's his country cousin with the even more obnoxious laugh. Either way, I'm pretty sure that even the Norah Jones comment can't redeem this. Oh Starbucks, why must you toy with me so? Why must you take me on this emotional rollercoaster. This is the most destructive relationship I've ever been in. You build me up with your sweet talk, and then betray me with your terrifying laughing, your milky coffee, and your stupid kite posters. And every day I come back, hoping you've changed, hoping you will be the coffeehouse I know you can be. Or maybe it's my fault. Maybe I'm trying to make you into something you're not. Maybe I'm holding you to too high of a standard--that of my old coffeehouse. You can't change who you are. I can't make you into a coffeehouse you're not. It is my fault for coming back to you when it is not you I want.

But while I'm pointing out Starbucks' flaws, there's one other thing I've noticed. The guys that come in here order the cheesiest drinks. I just can't take a guy seriously if he orders a "Tall Chocolate Brownie Frappuchino with Whipped Cream." Some guy just ordered one, and afterwards he adjusted himself and tried to make a manly coughing sound. I mean really dude, what's the matter with you?

I Like To Move It Move It

I'm settled in my new apartment, and it is wonderful. I love everything about it. I sustained a few injuries when I sneezed while transporting a bookcase. Word to the wise: sneezing may impair your ability to grip heavy objects, and may cause them to fall and tear a gash in your poor arm. Other than that, the move went pretty smoothly. I will write more as soon as something of interest happens. Oh, my landlady uses the word "gnarly" and is therefore the coolest person ever.

posted by Bekah at 7:12 PM :: |

 
Life's Great Mysteries Solved!

Go to the Dialect Survey Map to discover who pronounces what how, and where they pronounce it. Although there were 8 different reported pronunciations of "pecan," I was happy to see that the the highest percentage of those surveyed pronounced it correctly. Eat that, stupid PEE-can and Pee-CAN eaters!

And here is one of the best questions in the survey, along with the freaking hilarious results:

What do you call the gooey or dry matter that collects in the corners of your eyes, especially while you are sleeping?

a. crackling (0.16%)
b. sleep (37.78%)
c. sleeper (4.23%)
d. sleepy (1.56%)
e. sleepies (5.17%)
f. sleepy seed (1.67%)
g. sleepy bugs (0.75%)
h. eye booger (10.68%)
i. eye shit (0.45%)
j. eye crunchie (0.13%)
k. eye crusties (3.10%)
l. sand (7.77%)
m. kitty (0.05%)
n. gunk (7.09%)
o. matter (1.63%)
p. I have no word for this (8.73%)
q. other (9.05%)

posted by Bekah at 9:48 PM :: |

 
So Much for Having Learned Everything I Need to Know in Kindergarten

"Now Bekah, if everyone jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?"
"No way!"
"Very good. Now Bekah, if everyone did the law review write-on competition, would you do it too?"
"Um...no?"
"Ooh, I'm sorry, wrong answer. Now go join the flock of prestige-seeking posers and fight for the prize."
"I want my Mommy."

Advantage, Starbucks

The guy working the register yesterday told me I looked like Norah Jones. That makes 4 people, not including relatives, who have seen a resemblance. I'm not really a fan of her music (I think she's nice and everything, just not my style), but that doesn't mean I won't take a complement when I get one. And you can believe I will continue to go to Starbucks if they treat me like a celebrity. Oh yes, I will...

Update: Norah Jones is not, under any circumstances, to be confused with Star Jones, a woman with whom I'd venture to say I have little in common, personality-wise or otherwise. Other irrelevant Joneses include: Jenny, Jesus, Tom, Dow, Orlando, and Osmosis.

Move it or Lose It

Tomorrow's moving day, and I am more than ready to get out of this sad, sad empty place. There is nothing worse than living in a state of apartment limbo, surrounded by cardboard boxes and empty beige walls. Actually, come to think of it, being homeless is probably worse. I'll stop talking now.

posted by Bekah at 5:51 PM :: |

 
The comment I made a few days ago about Westlaw burning holes in my retinas reminded me of two fairly amusing eye-themed stories that help weave the strange and colorful tapestry that is my life. Gather ‘round the campfire, children, and I’ll tell you the tales.

1. Mine Ein! Mine Ein!

When I was about 12, I was staying at my grandparents’ house for the weekend with my family. My little cousin was also spending the night, and he’d just gone to sleep. My sister and I were in the living room watching a “program” (I think it was 48 Hours—ah, the joys of basic cable), and then we heard it. It was quiet at first, but the volume quickly rose: “Mine Ein! Mine Ein!” Over and over, over and over, coming from our cousin’s room. As I write this today, I am spelling the mysterious phrase phonetically because it sounded like my poor little cousin was trying to scream “Mine Einstein!” but was getting cut off. My mother, frantically attempting to understand the hysterical child’s plight, was simply at a loss. Finally, he rubbed his eyes as he screamed the words and everything made sense. His eye hurt. Now I like to say “Mine Ein” at various times in conversation, just to see the reactions I get.

2. The Truth is Out There

Every December, “camp people” reconvene in one of the more party-oriented Southern cities for a New Year’s celebration. I’ve been attending this annual festival since my sophomore year in high school, and it has never failed to be an entertaining and drama-filled reunion. Last year, everyone went to a bar that was a little smaller than our typical choice, so it was pretty packed.

After ringing in the new year, I was standing in the crowd listening to the band with my friend Mona when the unthinkable happened. An unidentified flying object came out of nowhere and hit me directly in my left eye. I was stunned for a moment, and tried to get my bearings. I looked down and attempted to locate the wayward object, but to no avail. My eye started to water, and I rubbed it instinctually, only making it worse. Mona looked over at me and asked, “Oh my God, are you ok?” “Yes, I’m fine, something just hit me in the eye.” As the words came out of my mouth, I knew they sounded like lies. Mona looked skeptical, but at this point my eye really hurt. It continued to water, and the shock of being hit by a foreign object in a dark, crowded place was beginning to sink in. The tears started coming. There was no holding them back.

Mona walked me outside, and you might guess what happened next. Everyone I knew started coming up to me, asking me what was wrong, comforting me about whatever emotionally trying thing had happened to me to make me break down this way in a public place. Every time someone asked me what was wrong, I tried to tell them the story of the UFO hitting me in the eye, and every time I told the story it sounded more and more farfetched.

By the end of the night, I really was crying because my friends thought I was an annoying emotional basketcase who couldn’t handle the prospect of a New Year. I was crying because they thought I was a basketcase, and I was a basketcase because they thought I was crying. Yes, it was a vicious cycle. Attempting to convince my friends that I was not losing it was just about as effective as screaming “Mine Ein!” into the unforgiving night air.

Sadly, the majority of the people who were out that night still don’t believe my story. Do you want to believe?

posted by Bekah at 9:57 AM :: |