"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

 
Population of the reading room, as of 4:08 p.m. on Friday, March 26, 2004:

1. Blonde girl in far corner, twirling her hair and playing with her glasses. Types a few words and then stares off into space for hours at a time.

2. Girl with huge laptop, drinking a Diet Coke and smiling at the screen. Probably internally chuckling over a politically-themed email forward. No books in sight.

3. Guy in polo shirt drinking out of a bike water bottle. Reading for what looks like a seminar and playing brick attack on his cell phone. Thinking about calling it a day.

4. Really diligent girl to my left who is actually doing work. Reading intently, outlining intently, not noticing the blueness of the sky or the futility of her existence. Simultaneously admirable and pathetic.

5. Dude next to me. Lots of books and highlighters, none of which have moved in three hours. Probably reading ESPN. Intimidates me anyway because the books are for one of my classes, and he looks like he's really up on things. Makes me hate myself for falling behind.

6. Girl behind me. Also really doing work and constructing beautiful, handwritten case briefs on pristine yellow legal pads. I hate her with an indescribable passion, but also want to be her friend.

7. Me. Sitting under a pile of Westlaw printouts, trying to avoid looking out the window, filling with more and more resentment as the day goes on, feeling my back and neck start to tense up to the point of paralysis, wishing I could be at a crawfish boil, even though I don't eat crawfish, and their little black googly eyes scare me a lot, and so does their poop, but I would eat them anyway if I could just leave this godforsaken place.

posted by Bekah at 4:20 PM :: |

 
Sticker Stalker

Last fall, I wrote about the scarring experience of waking up to find a crude rendition of a phallus sprayed on my car (without my permission!). Now, I have to report something else car-related that is less obscene, but perhaps a little creepier.

First, a little bit of background. I have a lot of band stickers on my car. I refrain from applying political bumper stickers (“REGIME CHANGE BEGINS AT HOME”), or stickers with asinine moral directives (“Have You Talked to the LORD Lately?”), or stickers with cheesy statements of opinion (“MEAN PEOPLE SUCK”). But I am a fan of the band sticker, because I like bands, and I like people to know what bands I like because then they can observe my impeccable musical taste in all of its glory (hmm…that doesn’t sound right…). In all seriousness, I like to give my favorite bands credit and recognition, and I like to make my car less plain, and putting band stickers on my car achieves both ends. Some of the stickers are more mainstream (Radiohead); some are more “emo” (The Promise Ring); some are more indie (The New Amsterdams); all are freaking KICKASS.

So back to my story. When I got home from school a few days ago, I noticed that something seemed off about my bumper. As I moved closer, I noticed that there, centered perfectly beneath my beautiful “Elliot” sticker (thanks Brian), was a new sticker. It was small and white, but it was there. It said, in small orange letters, “Year Future.”

My first reaction was, “Goddamn you people, stop screwing with my car! First the penis, then my side mirror, now you’re putting stickers everywhere! Jesus, leave me alone!” I thought about scraping the sticker off then and there. But then, I reconsidered. I observed the extreme precision used in aligning the sticker—the obvious respect for my sense of symmetry and order in bumper sticker application. I thought about the undeniable care and planning that went into the entire procedure. And I was flattered. But then…I was scared.

“Oh man,” exclaimed Elliot upon hearing my story, “You have an indie rock stalker!” And the more I think about it, the more right Elliot’s assessment seems. Think about it. Someone saw my car several times in the same place, made a mental note of the stickers, thought about adding one, made sure to bring the sticker the next time he/she came by, and surreptitiously placed the sticker on my bumper under cover of darkness. It is all a little bit disturbing.

After making this revelation, my next thought was that Year Future is a local band, and that one of the band members had decided to do a little self promotion via my car. But then I looked up Year Future’s website, and found out that they are actually from LA. So, my powers of deductive reasoning led me to the conclusion that the sticker was likely placed by a fan. A freaky stalker-like fan. Who appears to have good taste in music (the band actually looks really cool), but who has chosen to exhibit that taste by committing a trespass to chattels. It’s so…so...PUNK ROCK!

I’m a little bit conflicted about it all, but for the time being, the sticker stays. It looks nice. And who knows. Maybe I’ll buy the album and become their biggest fan.

posted by Bekah at 9:37 AM :: |

 
Life Imitates Video Games

The night before last, I dreamt that I invented a mechanism that allowed you to you rotate all four of your car tires 180 degrees to make them perpendicular to the curb, at which time you could insert your car into a parallel parking spot like a Tetris block. I clearly need to lay off the crack. Or maybe just the Tetris.

posted by Bekah at 9:38 AM :: |