"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

 
The Wrong Child

Come play with me I whispered to my new-found friend
Tell me what it's like to go outside
I've never been
Tell me what it's like to just go outside
I've never been
And I never will
And I never will
I'm not supposed to be like this, but it's OK...

Michael Stipe must be acutely aware of the plight of the law student. Freaky.

Thinking of this song right now reminds me of when, as a child, I was convinced that the music my parents played on road trips directly corresponded to events occurring outside of my car window. Dire Straits' "Walk of Life" was about the guy ambling on the side of the road; Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car," was about the lady in the green Taurus; Neil Young's "Unknown Legend" was about anyone who happened to be riding a motorcycle. Every song happened in tandem with my perceptions of what was going on around me. So I guess now Michael Stipe has provided a perfect soundtrack to this pathetic Saturday--the ideal musical accompaniment for smooshing my face against the coffeehouse window, attempting to enjoy some part of a sunny-but-not-humid 75 degree day when I have no choice but to write my Comment. Sucks.

Note: Don't worry, I'm not actually talking to imaginary friends. Yet.

posted by Bekah at 1:17 PM :: |

 
Recap

Dinner went really well. No awkward silence, no terribly tense moments. There was one little bit of conversation that I thought might be questionable, but J assures me that it was fine:

J's Dad: I really enjoy Hemingway...Existentialism...but there were other things I had to do when I was younger.
Me: Well, you can do it in your spare time now.
J's Dad: What, the killing?
Me: Ha, no! The Hemingway! (Pause) Yeah, I really miss college.
J's Dad: You miss Hemingway?
Me: No, the killing. I miss the killing in college...Haha...No, I meant I miss Philosophy classes...

Note to self: Vietnam is not funny. Vietnam is not funny. Vietnam is not funny. Eep. Joshie, why didn't you list "killing" as one of your terms to avoid?!

Incidentally, Secret Window was good, even though I figured it out after about 15 minutes. Johnny Depp was wonderful, and very funny. Some good one-liners there, which I consider to be a dying art form. Alright, back to work.

posted by Bekah at 8:47 AM :: |

 
Pre-Gaming

Advice from Joshie about dinner with J's parents: "I would avoid the following terms in your conversations with the old man: national socialism, premarital intercourse, gook, male pattern baldness, pacifism."

Duly noted. I will also heed Marc's advice that "a guy's parents only care about two things: that you're friendly, and that you care about their son." Check and check. The pep-talks I got from my girlfriends along the lines of "you have absolutely nothing to worry about; you're adorable" and "you're perfect, they will love you" may be slightly biased, but it was still very lovely to hear. Thanks ladies!

Later tonight, after the deed is done, Costa and I are going to go see Secret Window. Hopefully dinner won't be quite as scary as the movie.

posted by Bekah at 2:51 PM :: |

 
Meet the Parents (Hopefully Minus Cat-Milking Demonstrations)

J’s parents are coming to town this weekend and we’re doing the whole dinner and drinks thing. Although I’ve never actually met J’s parents, I’ve heard a lot about them. J is an only child, and his parents are—according to him—“like his siblings.” His much older siblings, one of whom was a platoon leader in Vietnam. Right. I’m feeling filial already.

In all seriousness, I’m not too nervous about it—I’m sure everything will be fine as soon as the night gets going. But I’m still a little worried about getting myself into one of my patented foot-in-mouth imbroglios. For example, I’m dreading a conversation like the following: [Note: This entirely fictional conversation is intended to be a hyperbolic illustration of my irrational fears. I know that J’s parents (and J for that matter) are really nothing like this]

J: …and that’s why I think the Cuban Missile Crisis was so fascinating.
J’s Dad: (Beaming with fatherly pride) That’s a good point, son.
Me: (Nervous laughter) Yeah, I totally agree. (Pause) Hey J, did you see that kid driving the white Camaro yesterday? What an idiot! Blasting Jason Mraz. Jesus! I mean, who drives Camaros?
J’s Mom: I drive a Camaro.
Me: I know...that’s because only really cool people drive Camaros. Cool people like you and your husband.
J’s Dad: I have my own car.
Me: Of course you do, sir. I didn’t mean to imply…
J: I didn’t spend a year in Vietnam to be accused of sharing a car with my wife.
J's Mom: Maybe we should get going, honey.
J: Come on, guys--
J's Mom: It's ok dear, we'll see you tomorrow. (Whispering to J's Dad on the way out) Not so pretty, is she?

Yikes.

posted by Bekah at 9:32 AM :: |

 
It's Funny Because It's True

Me: Wait, you're observing Lent?
A: Yeah man.
Me: Really? What are you giving up?
A: Uh...being Jewish?
Me: Oh, right. Ha.

posted by Bekah at 8:50 AM :: |

 
An English Major in Law School

To my great displeasure, writing this Comment is proving to be much harder than writing my college thesis. Senior year, I wrote my thesis on Thomas Hardy. I always liked Hardy, and I thought it would be interesting to sit down with three of his novels and write about some theme or other (I ultimately chose “Victimization”). I did struggle with my argument at first because it’s hard to find something new in literary criticism, especially when your author is a canonical dead white guy. But there was one special ingredient that made that thesis possible: Bullshit. It is a well known fact that the ability to bullshit is vital in writing a thesis. Despite the term’s negative connotations, I would venture to say that bullshitting is even more valuable than making actual sense. You see, to bullshit, you must be creative and enterprising. You must be able to mold the unsuspecting text to your will. If you are a skilled bullshitter, you can perform a “close reading” of any passage of a novel or stanza of a poem and make it mean anything you want. A swordfight means sex. The sword is obviously a phallus, and the light reflecting off of it represents the blinding experience of falling in love. The snapping of quails’ necks represents empathy with all of the suffering of the universe. A pig’s bladder represents the stark contrast between the visceral, rustic lifestyle and the life of the ephemeral scholar. The name "Boldwood" is indicative of a stuffy and stiff "wooden" personality. Whatever.

Writing a Comment is different because bullshitting is so much harder. This is not to say that it’s not possible to bullshit in a legal setting, but there’s that pesky thing called precedent that really makes it hard to head into right field. Everything has to be so annoyingly practical. And these legal scholars are so freaking pathetic—if you think you have a new idea, it only takes a few minutes on Westlaw to realize that someone at the University of Akron is an expert in the field and has written three treatises that make your exact point, only in much greater detail. I just feel like legal writing gives the student so much less to go on. My bullshitting ability is wasting away. If I could just write about dying sheep or the loss of a young country girl’s virginity I might be able to get somewhere...

posted by Bekah at 3:16 PM :: |

 
Thoughts I've Had While Attempting to Write My Comment Today

- "Poop deck" is a funny term. Ha. Poop.

- Donald Trump styles his hair like that to make sure people talk about him constantly. The more we make fun of it, the more we encourage him and feed into his plot of world domination. In conclusion, we should ignore Donald Trump's hair.

- Babies are small people...weird.

- I wish I had a camera phone. They're pointless, and I enjoy pointless things.

- Writing this Comment is pointless, and I don't enjoy it. Therefore, I do not enjoy all pointless things.

- I think I had another dream about the Quizno's creatures last night. They were singing to me. I wonder if there will be another commercial with the creatures. If I knew there was going to be another such commercial, I might be more excited about waking up tomorrow.

- I want a beer. No. I really want a beer. Preferably a Modelo Especial. A margarita would be good too. Maybe I should just move to Mexico. But it's really hot there. But it's insanely hot here, and humid too. But water is expensive there. But beer is expensive here, and it's supposed to be really cheap there. Shit, Westlaw just timed out.

- I am going to scream if I find another article with what appears to be my exact thesis.

- I wish I hadn't said I would scream; I am in public, and it was embarrassing.

- It's a really good thing this is in Courier New.

- I want my Mommy.

posted by Bekah at 7:04 PM :: |