"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

 
Religious Experience

I don't remember the exact point in my life when my love of music really solidified into what I consider to be, in a lot of respects, my religion. Growing up, my Dad was the first person to introduce me to great music: The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Gram Parsons, REM. As my own musical tastes began to change and develop, I would move in and out of various obsessions. For a while, I only wanted to listen to alt-country. Son Volt and Wilco were stuck in rotation. There was a point when I got hung up on Belle and Sebastian. Then I wanted to listen to every song Beck had ever recorded. Later, I got on a serious indie/emo kick (from which I still haven't come close to escaping). These are just a few examples of points I can remember. They're not in any particular order, or of any special significance on their own. They just represent the nuances of my musical development, which is still continuing.

In my musical world, there is a holy trinity. Bob Dylan is God. REM is the son. Radiohead is the holy spirit. This has been the case for a while, and I don't think it will ever really change. This is not to say that I don't have a great deal of apostles and archangels and seraphim and whatnot (I don't know how that really works; I'm Jewish, so this metaphor is a bit of a stretch to begin with), but those three are the core. Listening to their music is the closest I've ever come to actually feeling like a religious person. There are certain sequences of notes or pauses or drum beats in their songs that make me feel the way I guess some people must feel when they are in church.

When I saw REM for the first time, I was in Boston with my friend Julia. We were very far away from the stage, but I remember not caring. The article I wrote for my school paper about that concert was a little intense. I just felt so many conflicting emotions that I was overwhelmed by a feeling of completeness--like I was experiencing every different emotion all at once as one big incredible feeling. I think I wrote (back then) that it was "love and hate, heat and cold, emptiness and fullness." It's hard to explain, but I really did want to laugh and cry at the same time. When Michael sang "Find the River," I was just paralyzed. The people in the crowd became a unified force, and I felt completely certain that the world was just unbelievable. How could everything come together to make something as amazing as what I was witnessing at that particular moment? Did everything else outside of that concert hall have to stop just to make it possible?

This year, I got to see REM again, and Radiohead for the first time. REM was incredible, of course, but the Radiohead concert was just beyond anything I'd expected. Again, I was really far away from the stage, and again, I didn't care. The way the music and the lights and the atmosphere all came together was just overwhelming. My knees were weak. After the show, I was physically exhausted. One weird thing I remember thinking during the concert was how a deaf person would respond to it. There were brilliant lights that changed according to the music, and you could actually feel every beat in your chest. The whole thing just made me feel so wonderfully humbled by the things human beings are capable of doing, and how they can make each other feel. I guess you could call that a religious experience. But don't worry. I won't start worshipping a golden statue of Thom Yorke just yet.

posted by Bekah at 10:50 AM :: |

 
We're Off to See the Wizard!

I met with my favorite prof the other day to discuss some job-related nonsense, and I ended up witnessing one of the most entertaining displays I've seen in law school. There is so much going on in this prof's head that she sometimes can't get the words to come out exactly the way she wants. So she talks very quickly, often repeating words several times. She was explaining something to me, and then got stuck on the word "because." She said, "because because because because..." and then realizing that she's just said "because" 4 times, promptly continued with, "because because because because becaaaause! Because of the wonderful things he does! I can't believe I just did that." It was amazing.

Childhood's End

My friends in law school range in age from 23-27. Despite the fact that we are not 12, we recently decided that it would be "really neat" (not exact words) to have a slumber party. We got extremely excited about all of the fun things we could do: makeup, nails, boy talk, cheesy movies, rolling people's houses, prank calls, board games. It was one big girly childhood vision, and we were all thrilled to relive the past. Out of the 10 or so people who were initially invited (yes, there were actually invitations, and they were pink, thank you), 6 were in town for the affair. Things started off well. There was a good deal of junk food. But then, the night began to go downhill:
1. We couldn't work up the nerve to prank call anyone, even our friends.
2. We were too worried about cleaning up the mess if we rolled anyone's house. What if it rained?
3. Someone put on When a Man Loves a Woman.
4. I promptly took a nap.
5. Two party attendees went home because they were tired and one of them had an interview the next day.
6. Everyone else passed out around 3:00am, after a valiant effort to revive the party with Scream and a drug store manicure.
The moral of the story? Old ladies don't have slumber parties. They just slumber. And eat Cheetos.

posted by Bekah at 2:03 PM :: |

 
The Fine Line Between Getting Called and Getting Called Out...

Ah, the phone interview. The lost art. Actually, it's not lost at all. It's used all the time. As you may or may not be aware, the phone interview is often implemented when people cannot afford to make travel arrangements, or do not have time to make themselves physically available at the required destination. (I just reverted to sarcastic kindergarten teacher mode; she's one of my more unpleasant alter egos, feel free to ignore her and/or beat her).

Anyway, I had a phone interview today, and of course I was terribly nervous waiting for the phone to ring. I had to find a place on campus where I could take the call, because I didn't have time to walk home. So I ended up at some guy's desk in the career office. While waiting for the phone to ring, I think I committed the entire room to memory. He had a "my pit bull is smarter than your honor student" sign on his computer, and a master of divinity certificate on the wall. Interesting combo, but then again, he seemed like a pretty interesting guy. He also had a bottle of molasses. I was intrigued. I was gazing at the molasses, when the phone rang...

The interviewers were supposed to call at 1:30. Naturally that ended up meaning 1:44, which seems a little bit longer than your typical grace period. But boy was I happy to hear from them despite their tardiness! The whole thing actually went pretty smoothly. I got asked the usual questions, and asked them the usual ones in return. It felt good not to have to lie about actually enjoying law school now. And I was very honest about what kind of firm I would be interested in working in. They seemed a little put off by my interest in criminal law. That reaction was natural, I suppose, considering the fact that criminal law is not part of their practice. But I tried to emphasize the variety of my interests, and I think they were convinced.

I'm supposed to hear by the middle of next week, which for them may mean Saturday. We'll see.

posted by Bekah at 3:02 PM :: |

 
According to the gender genie, I write like a dude. Sweet. I wonder if the esteemed creators of the gender genie realize how silly it is that I can enter an entire passage about my ridiculous crush on a boy into their little machine, and it still thinks I write like a guy. Whatever. I'm going to go watch some baseball and drink some beer.

Oh, speaking of baseball, the Sox are doing it! For once, they didn't choke. But I did almost get sick when I saw the Jackson-Damon collision. That was really really scary. Not only was it scary--it was something that probably shouldn't be replayed oh, I don't know, 167 times in the 9 minutes after it happened. The announcer actually said the words, "Man, that's really tough to watch" as the network (Fox, naturally) rolled the footage yet again. People are seriously sick. This reminds me of two unrelated points:
1. My friend LaCosta and I were recently discussing the idiocy of censorship on television. She was watching Reservoir Dogs on tv, and they showed everything. All of the blood. All of the gore. It was all there. What did they censor? That's right. The word "fuck." Because seeing people mutilated is far less damaging to the children than the "F" word.
2. I read an article today that quoted Jackson after last night's game. It was the sweetest thing ever. It reminded me of the overwhelming feeling of joy I felt for humanity watching Kansas last year. I love it when athletes love each other.

posted by Bekah at 12:40 PM :: |