"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

 
Rearranging Deck Chairs on the Titanic

A few days ago at the student center, I made an unexpected connection. I am exactly like the lady in charge of the salad bar.

During exams, law students start feeling helpless and angry. We feel like no matter what we do, it will never be enough. All of the hours spent outlining, reading, talking, debating, and praying ultimately come down to a group of ridiculous fact patterns that we have to flail around in, hoping to find some way to either 1) show what we know, or 2) hide the fact that we know nothing. We build ourselves up to get knocked down.

The salad bar lady is the same way. She is in charge of keeping the salad bar presentable. She spends her day arranging the cucumbers in an aesthetically pleasing manner, retrieving wayward chick peas, and wiping up the globs of Ranch dressing that thoughtless students drip all over the place. It is this woman's job to do these things. And yet, I can't help but think of her as a modern day Sisyphus, constantly pushing that tomato back up the hill. I used to get angry and stressed out when I witnessed her performing these tasks, because under this woman's watchful eye, I felt extremely pressured not to drop a carrot shaving. I felt pressured because I didn't want to make her life harder, and I didn't want to seem like some thoughtless undergrad who was just throwing vegetables around at will with no regard for the person who had to clean it up.

But now, rather than feeling pressured, I just empathize with the salad bar lady. Because really, she and I are exactly the same. We're both striving blindly for perfection that just cannot be. And it is sad.

posted by Bekah at 9:32 AM :: |

 
It's the end of the semester as we know it...

Prof: How do you get around that requirement?
Class: [Dead, dumb silence].
Prof: Look, I know you haven't read the material. It's ok! I'm in a generous mood. Just give it a guess, ok?

posted by Bekah at 3:33 PM :: |

 
It's All Happening

J has this theory that there is a vast conspiracy against him, perpetuated by anyone and everyone who enters his life. I usually try to allay these psychotic worries to the best of my ability, reminding him that I, for one, am not plotting against him. Unfortunately, I periodically do something to indicate that I am actually the ringleader of the evil scheme to destroy his life. Yesterday is the perfect example. It started out fine (if "fine" can involve law school classes), but by lunch time the day was spiraling out of control:

1. We were planning to study, but I needed the internet to get an outline that one of my friends sent me. So we had to drive all the way to school, at which point I realized that I'd deleted the email. So then we had to sit around school--which he hates--to wait for a response to my request that the outline be re-sent. The response never came.

2. After hours of sitting at school, we went to dinner. Except we had Mediterranean food, which, as you might have guessed, J hates (but sometimes eats "for me.") Not to mention the fact that he is sick and can't eat anything anyway.

3. Upon arriving home from dinner, J noticed a distinct shit-like odor in the car. I light-heartedly assured him that no, this was not the conspiracy at work--there was no shit stink. But alas, upon arriving home, I looked down and observed a nice piece of shit partially attached to my shoe and partially attached to the floorboard of his car. My invocation of Adam Sandler's classic "It's poop again!" only seemed to make matters worse, as did my desperately trite plea that "shit happens."

4. We had planned on studying at a coffeehouse after dinner. Except every coffeehouse we attempted to enter was completely and totally full. There was no room at the Inn. At this point, I was maniacally laughing at our misfortune, while J was taking a small amount of pleasure in all of the evidence he had been able to compile that day re: the vast conspiracy.

5. Finally, all of yesterday's events must be evaluated in the context of the following lamentable realities: 1) J's roommate is moving out because of me, 2) I have contributed, at least marginally and probably extensively, to the slow dismantling of his entire group of friends, 3) I am on Law Review (which is slightly threatening to his manhood) and periodically spend time in the "evil lair" of the law review office, 4) I sometimes get presents for people other than him, 5) I listen to Belle and Sebastian (a habit that is offensive to his "elitist" musical sensibilities, largely, I think, because Jack Black ripped on the band in High Fidelity), and, most importantly, 6) I make pseudo-anonymous fun of him on the internet.

I think he might be right about the conspiracy after all.

posted by Bekah at 1:00 PM :: |

 
Should I ever go back to that coffeehouse?

Old Man: Why hello, young lady. May I ask, are you a student?
Me: Yes, I'm a law student.
Old Man: Are you going to be a lawyer?
Me: It looks that way.
Old Man: Do you think I could sue you for flirting with me?
Me: Um, no. No I don't. (Thinking: Uh, I'm pretty sure you don't have much of a cause of action there, scary man. Please leave).

Abort Conversation. Repeat: Abort Conversation.

[Note: "E" is a dear friend of mine--a friend who unfortunately has tragically right-leaning political views. We try to keep our politically-oriented conversations light in order to maintain our friendship.]

Me: E, look, I'm reading about one of our favorite topics for 14th Amendment. Abortion.
E: Ah, good old abortion. You know, the French call it "abortement." (Said in a thick, unauthentic French accent).
Me: Ha, well the whole thing sounds a little more innocuous when you put it that way, doesn't it, E?
E: Why yes, it does. As long as you're aborting French babies, I'm all for the procedure.
Me: Ha!

posted by Bekah at 5:58 PM :: |