Hop Into This Stylish Death Trap!

I have mentioned commercials before that either 1) no longer make any sense or 2) rely completely upon some misplaced fear to cover their incredibly lousy job of communicating why you need their product. Now I have a new one! Presented by the 2009 Lincoln MKS, I give you a commercial sure to insinuate an ominous death in your future!

Watch the commercial here.

The commercial looks like many other car commercials, which special focus on circuits firing and cool engine combustion stuff represented by neon blue flashing lights. Pretty. My problem is that it's set to a lovely cover of Space Oddity by David Bowie. Yes, the song about the astronaut who dies in space because his space shuttle malfunctions. Why, that's JUST the sort of message I want to associate with your vehicle, Lincoln!

Come climb into the new Lincoln. Never mind that uneasy feeling of impending doom. It's probably nothing. Your circuits are probably just fine.

Can you hear me Major Tom?

Blast from the Past

Every now and then, I Google my name (in all of its many combinations) to make sure there is nothing I wouldn't want a potential client to find when checking me out. I recommend you all do the same. Anyway, this time around I started checking the really obscure pages at the back of the Gooooooooogle!, and I found something great: the 5k race results from the first race I ever ran with my best friend Melanie, way back in 1998 when we were 15 years old.

Melanie beat me by nearly 2 minutes and 40 seconds in that race, which doesn't surprise me in the least. In the intervening 10 years, Melanie has become a long-distance racing machine, while I only run when being chased. Or trying to chase away stubborn calories. Stubbornly.

What makes finding this race sheet even better is that I still have a photograph of Melanie and I from that very day, post race. Here it is:

smc and Mel, August 1998

Also in the intervening 10 years, I grew into my head and Mel learned how to open her eyes while smiling. And check out my awesome sparkly blue nail polish! Wolverine Pride! Unfortunately, this nail polish was not aerodynamic, which explains my long lag behind Mel. At least, that's what I tell myself. When I lie to myself.

And speaking of Googling, in honor of its 10 year anniversary, Google has released its oldest search index. Go see what you would have found had you been Googling back in 2001 here.

Men Everywhere Torn Over Which Man to Vote For

By the Diverged Press

Men everywhere are once again finding themselves in quite the pickle this election season, as they are forced to choose between two male candidates for the Presidency. "This never gets easier;" says Ron Davidson of Columbus, Ohio, "I mean, both of the major candidates are men, and I'm a man, so of course I want to support a man, but I just don't know which one to support." Davidson's confusion is shared by men across the country, as the United States prepares for its 56th consecutive election in which two men have represented the top of the Presidential ticket.

"The ladies sure have it easy this year," says Bill Hampton of Rochester, New York. "Obviously, they are all going to vote for Palin- I mean McCain-Palin, because she's a woman. But no has told me who I will be voting for because I'm a man. And that makes things pretty tough." Men have only about six weeks to decide which man they support, leading some men to begin to panic about their options. "There just hasn't been a lot of coverage about the man-vote this year, and the more I watch the debates and speeches, the more confused I become," said Buster James of Los Angeles, California. "Obama and McCain- they're both men, right? So what am I supposed to do?"

Mr. James' wife, Carol James, admits that while she sees her husband's plight, she can't really empathize. "I guess I just haven't had the same problem this year. I mean, Palin '08. Obviously." Every single other woman in the Nation has had the same reaction. "Palin has my vote," declared Hillary Clinton of New York. "Why wouldn't she? We're both women."

My kind of place

Yesterday, I got out of the new apartment to walk around the streets of Chicago and familiarize myself a little better with the neighborhood. As I was walking down one particular street known for its shopping, I happened across a new store that had just opened that week- and in the window was a beautiful chess set. Since I collect beautiful chess sets, I wandered in and browsed about.

Later, at home:
Me: Patto, there is a new store at Water Tower Place that sells chess sets and handbags.
Patto: Wait- a store that sells nothing but handbags and chess sets?
Me: Yes, that's all they sell. Italian-made handbags and Italian-made chess sets.
Patto: So when you walk in, all you see are purses and chess boards?
Me: Yes.
Patto: Did YOU open this store?

It's a good guess, but no. I did talk to the owner for a while, though, and she seems pretty awesome- just the sort of person who is interested in nothing but handbags and chess sets. I think we could be friends.

I will have to circle this store a few more times and have a paycheck before I purchase anything, but I have already noticed one particular set that might find a place in my home. At least it's something to keep me out of shoe stores for a while. :)

Bar Proscrastination Presents:

Lil'Mama Shocked to Discover American Youth Not Making Rational Decisions

So I'm a closeted (well, not anymore) fan of America's Best Dance Crew. To be honest, I mostly mute the commentators and only watch when one of the teams are actually performing, but I'm constantly impressed at the talent and cool choreo these people come up with, week after week.

Anyway, it's basically American Idol for the slightly cooler, street-wise dance set. It's targeted at teens and has heavy emphasis on who has and has not "come hard" this week. After the show, America votes via text message for their favorite crew, and the two teams receiving the fewest votes are up for elimination, with the panel of three judges making the final call on the next week's show.

Last night, two objectively good teams were up for elimination, and the judges were shocked (SHOCKED!) that it had come to this. "America, are you serious?" chastised Lil'Mama, before adding, "Ya'll need to think about what you're doing with your voting." The other judges agreed, American Youth had failed to make a rational decision via their text messages this week, and now two very talented crews were suffering for it.

I say we're lucky that the outcome of America's Next Dance Crew was the only thing in jeopardy due to the unpredictable nature of teenagers. American teenagers make silly decisions regarding the outcome of reality television because they are teenagers. It's why we don't let them vote.

Because, you know, Adult Americans are known for their rationality and ability to take an objective stance when voting on matters of National importance. I guess something just happens at 18.

Bar Support Continues

I'm on your practice essay, critiquing your writing skills.

Sabatoge

This is Tobey. Laying on my study materials and refusing to move. She also chases my pen and unplugs my laptop when I don't pay her enough attention.

See the quality of support I am getting from home during the Bar process?

Oh, American Gladiators- Nooooo!

I love American Gladiators.
I loved the old version, I love the new version. I'll love the future version, if ever there is one.

I love it love it love it.

I love AG for many reasons, but one of them is because they appeal to my feminist sensibilities. The women's competition is never secondary to the men's competition (I'm looking at you, ESPN). They don't have "Gladiators" and "Female Gladiators," as if default Gladiators are male, and the females are somehow a sub-category that requires modification (I'm looking at you, every sports team in the country that has the "Tigers" and the "Lady Tigers" or the like). The female gladiators are not dressed more sexily than the male gladiators. The female contenders are not given different or easier obstacles than the male contenders. It's good, get-out-there-and-compete entertainment, and I love it.

In addition to male and female, AG has black Gladiators and white Gladiators and asian Gladiators and a Samoan Gladiator, and they are all equally feared and indistinguishably named (Justice, Jet, Titan, Crush, Steel, Rocket, Militia, etc.- who's female? who's black? who cares!)

Yes, it was all well and good in my bubble of AG love, until Panther.

Panther is the first black female Gladiator. And her name is Panther. And I was forced to shake my fist and cry "noooooooooo!," because AG had just played into one of the classic stereotypes of black women, which is to animalize them. Since the dawn of stereotyping, black women have consistently been portrayed as animalistic, particularly as belonging to the cat-family. This is true even today in general interest magazines, despite the attention that has been drawn to it by a multitude of advertising analysts. If females are often regulated to a modified, "other" form of person (besides the default position: male), black females are regulated even further to a non-human category.

Why, AG, WHY?! You were doing so well. Even Patrick sat upright as soon as they introduced Panther and said "wait a minute, Panther? As in, she's black so she's probably an animal Panther?" 100 for Patrick, who remembers the lecture on pornography and its influence on mainstream advertising we attended last year as part of my 3L thesis research.

At the end of the day, I still love American Gladiators. They do so many things right. But I hate to see them slip backwards, even a little. Black women aren't animals. As soon as the Bar is over, I am going to write a pleasantly-worded letter to the producers of AG, letting them know that their latest choice in naming was not a wise one, and hoping that we see more, non-animalistic black female gladiators in the future.

The Evolution of Caesar

Caesar turned 2 years old in May, and in honor of his (belated) birthday, I thought I would do a short photo montage of Caesar in his element: taking up Patto's lap.

I give you my little kitten, all grown up.

September 2006, 4 months old.


Feb 2007, 9 months old


April 2007, almost 1 year old

December 2007, 1.5 years

He hasn't changed much in the last 7 months, but as you can see, he is a far cry from the tiny kitten he was just 2 short years ago. But even though he can no longer fit in my hand, he'll always have ample room in my heart. (Awwwwwwwww!)

Happy Belated Birthday, Cees!

Bar Art

Ken and Tina over at Begging the Question have been publishing their Bar Art for the past few days. What is Bar Art, you ask? It's the result of an odd compulsion to draw out legal theories, usually in stick-man form, in order to vent your feelings of insanity during the Bar studying period.

I have been drawing in my lecture notebook from day one, and now I shall join Ken and Tina and publish my very own masterpiece.

"Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress"
smc, July 2008

To quote my Bar lecturer, "Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress is a tort characterized by extreme or outrageous behavior. What is extreme or outrageous behavior? According to the Restatement, it is behavior so extreme as to make the average, reasonable person exclaim, 'OUTRAGEOUS!'"

Which is an awesome definition in itself.

Now, normally being called a name is not enough to rise to the level of extreme or outrageous conduct. However, for some reason, the law takes insults from common carriers (buses and such) and innkeepers (or hotel folk) very seriously. Apparently, some lawmaker was bullied as a child by future common carriers and innkeepers, and vowed to one day get his revenge. He made good on that threat, too, because the law loves to hate on these people.

Therefore, a single insult by a common carrier or innkeeper to a passenger/patron is enough to rise to the level of extreme and outrageous behavior, and is Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress on our Plaintiff. Poor, poor Plaintiff.

Sue their little bellhop hats off.

Best! Shape! Ever! Update- week 4

It's the beginning of week 4, and not too much has changed, especially since I spent most of last week in Florida and missed 3 work-outs. I'm 146 lbs, and am still 32.5" around the largest part of the tums. But I am seeing some exciting changes in other places. My arms are looking much more toned than they did before, and, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time since high school, I ran three miles.

Well, I jogged three miles at like an 11 min mile pace, but the point is I was able to run three miles without dying. Or walking. Which I haven't been able to do in 7 years. My goal over the next 8 weeks is to get my 3 mile down to 8 minute miles and my 6 mile down to 10 minute miles.

It's fun to see results. It keeps me motivated. By the way, Patto has already taken three inches off of the widest part of his waist. So we are both pumped up and encouraged to keep going, even though there are nights where we can't lift our forks to our mouth at dinner.

I guess that keeps us from going in for dessert.

Va-cay!

Greetings from Tampa!

I have taken a few days off to spend a little time with my gal Mel in Tampa. Don't worry, mom, my bar materials came with me. I got up nice and early this morning and have already put in a solid 2 hours of work.

Me Being Productive. I'm not as happy about it as I look.

It's a little cloudy in Tampa this morning, but hopefully it will clear out into a beautiful, beach-going kind of day. Until then, I sit on the balcony and stare down the Parol Evidence Rule. Sigh.

Still, a vacation is a vacation, and I need one. So I'm off. Enjoy the week.

Best! Shape! Ever!

Yesterday began week three of my attempting to get into the best shape ever; or as I call it to motivate myself away from the chips and toward the carrot sticks, the Best! Shape! Ever!! The extra pep doesn't actually do anything, but given my usual lack of exclamation marks, it seems sad to waste them on a chip-eating kind of day. So I like to tell myself they work, even if they annoy me most of the time.

Anyway. Patto and I are on a tough diet and exercise regimen to become super sexy buffsters. When I say diet, though, I don't mean the type where you don't eat anything. I mean the type where you consume 2,500 calories a day, most of them protein, in order to survive the grueling weight-lifting routine you do 4 days a week. Some days I dread the next meal. Some days I wolf down my little mid-morning turkey sandwich snack like I haven't eaten in days. It all depends on whether my body remembers that I have to lift until my arms fall off that evening or not. For having completed two weeks of this plan already, the body is yet to be consistent. Patto tells me it takes 21 days to form a habit, however, so perhaps the bod will get it together soon (side note: WHO decides it takes 21 days to form (or break) a habit? How do you measure this stuff?)

Anyway, the program we are doing is 12 weeks long. It will take me a little longer than 12 weeks to complete, however, since I am going to spend 5 days in Tampa and 4 days in Chicago over the summer, and won't be able to work out the way we have been during those times. So in about 14 total weeks, expect me to be 150 lbs of twisted steel and sex appeal. Rarr!

To motivate us, Patto and I took those classic "before" pics, where we stuck out our tummies as far as they would go and stood in a frumpy position looking slightly dissatisfied with ourselves, hair pulled back and no make-up, of course, so that at the end of the program we can go get Glamour Shots and compare the results. Seems fair. I would put the pic up, but who wants a before pic floating around on the internet? You'll have to wait for the after.

To keep you abreast of the results (and to keep me motivated to work hard), I'll post my weekly stats.

It all started on Sunday, June 15. I weighed 144 lbs, and the widest part of my tummy (not my waist- under it where those lowest two abs are supposed to be) was 33". To give you some frame of reference, I'm 5'7" and pretty athletically built, besides, again, where those abs are supposed to be. Not fat by any stretch of anyone's imagination (besides, perhaps, those tiny Korean girls db mentions over at Rage in the A.M.), but not as fit as I would like to be.

On Sunday, June 22, I weighed 146 lbs, and the tummy still measured 33".

Yesterday, Sunday, June 29, I weighed 145 lbs, and the tummy was 32.5". Half an inch gone! Yay!

And that's where we are now. I don't really have a weight goal- I just want to be in super fit shape. Based on my frame and where I am now, I am guessing I'll hit around 150. What I really want is to be able to kick ass and take names, and whittle that middle down a few inches. Whatever number that happens at is good with me.

So good luck to those of you out there who are working to get in better shape, too. Use your 21 habit-forming days for good. Patto assures you it will work.

Target Women: Yogurt!

In honor of my sister's poll on yogurt brand loyalty over at Quirky, I give you Target Women: Yogurt edition. If you're a woman, put down that spoon and watch!

For Konrad

I haven't posted in a while, for which I apologize to any loyal readers. Between Graduation, beginning to study for the Bar, and trying to get in better shape, I haven't had a lot of down time. And to be honest, when I did have down time (or made down time because I had quit studying), I felt guilty to be blogging when I should be doing something else. So I watched design shows on HGTV instead.

But recently, I received some bad news about a good friend. On Wednesday, I learned that Konrad Whitt, with whom I attended the University of Tennessee and dated for a short time, died in a hit and run accident in St. Louis, MO, where he had just finished grad school. It was very sudden, and very tragic, and has been very painful for me. Konrad and I still kept in touch, and the last time I spoke to him I mentioned that we were moving to Chicago in a few months, and since St. Louis wasn't that far away, I hoped we could get together some time.

This post is about Konrad, and my memories of him.

Konrad was an RA in Hess Hall, the building I lived in as a freshman at UT. I became a DA in the building, and we would hang out behind the front desk, cutting up and answering the phones. Konrad was endlessly loyal to his friends, even the new ones, like me. The fall of my freshman year, a friend of mine visited me from out of town. Since I lived on a floor with limited visitation, Konrad put him up in an empty room on his floor for the weekend. I didn't even have to ask.

Konrad had one of the most expressive faces I've ever seen on a man. He could tell an entire story with just his eyebrows, with the occasional help of the cock of his head. He was endlessly witty. He also had sharp knees and elbows, which he was not afraid to use in pickup basketball games or in co-opting your place in line. He used to brandish them playfully, as if they were weapons. Trust me, they were.

He drove a red Saturn which he joked was indestructible, thanks to its "high-tech" plexiglass frame. He gave great back massages. He liked the Steve Miller Band and old Tom Petty classics. He once refused to write a major paper for a Psychology class because the Professor had done something to anger him. I'm not sure which one eventually caved, but I know he graduated.

Konrad and I dated in the spring and summer of my freshman year, and when he broke it off at the end of the summer, I was crushed. Thankfully, we bounced right back as friends, and I ultimately knew it was the right decision. Two years later, Konrad and I were joking around one night on IM (he had graduated and moved to Alabama by this time). As I was telling him I needed to go because I had a date, he volunteered that he wouldn't mind picking me up for a date sometime. When I reminded him that he had already done that, he said yes, but that he had been stupid about it the first time, and had learned a lesson. I told him that if things with this Patrick guy didn't work out, he was welcome to move back to Tennessee and have another shot.

Before I wrap this up, one memory of Konrad sticks out particularly in my mind. My sophomore year, when I was an RA in a different building and Konrad had moved off-campus, I was over at his apartment one evening when I was told that a resident of my building had just rather publicly committed suicide in the courtyard. I remember Konrad calmly driving me back to campus, dropping me off into the chaos of flashing lights and terrified residents, and firmly asking if there was anything I needed before he left. At the time, I thought he was being somewhat cold, but I later realized that by his being calm and matter-of-fact, I became calm and matter-of-fact, and was able to organize the madness without giving in to it myself. It was just what I needed at the time, which was his style.

Rest in peace, Konrad, "Gordo." You were a good friend to me and many others. We will miss you.

Graduete!

I know you haven't heard from me in a bit, but that's because I've been busy graduating from law school. See over there? On the right side, where my profile is? It no longer says "a 3L at Harvard law." Being an alum feels good.

But before I can ride off into the Chicago sunset and begin my career at Mobius, I have to study for and pass the Bar exam. So I am spending my summer studying between 4 and 8 hours a day for the exam, which is at the end of July.

I'll get pictures from graduation on here soon, and try to get back into the swing of posting regularly. Pinkie swear.

How many pint-sized pugilists could YOU take on?

26

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

Ha! My sister could only take 18 5-year olds in a fight, but that is probably because 1) I have more martial arts training than she does, and 2) I am highly skilled at rolling one five-year old at ten other ones, bowling style. Strike!

Ok, I have no experience rolling children like sports equipment. But I do think I could take a fair number of 'em. I had to take out 6 college-aged men at the same time for my black belt test, so if each college guy with a couple years of martial arts is worth 4-5 kindergarteners, I'm right on track.

How many can you take?

WHY do I need this product?

We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl. Especially when it comes to accessories and hair products. Show me a model with beautiful hair, and I'll show you $7.99 for that conditioner.

So I appreciate good marketing and clever commercials. They are trying to sell me something, and I will play along because, ultimately, I want to buy it. But I have no patience for stupid commercials. Because of your dumb presentation, I will not buy your product out of spite. Or I will snidely comment, "Well, SOME marketing director just lost his job" as your spot fades from my TV.

All that being said, I will not be buying Lysol Deep Reach Toilet Bowl Cleaner. Have you seen its commercial? It has all the standard Lysol bits about how it kills 99% of germs, but instead of focusing on surface germs that could kill your entire family by mere eye-contact, the Deep Reach talks about the germs that lurk deep in your toilet, past the point where you could ever reach with a brush. Deep Reach kills these germs, even as far back as the s-bend.

Cool.

But my problem is, if you cannot reach these germs, even with a brush, then why the #$*^@ do you need to kill them?! Little Tommy cannot reach his hand back to the s-bend. So who cares whether there are germs back there? There are germs under your floorboards, too. Rip up the floors! Disinfect them! No, you cannot possibly be infected by them, but if they're there they must be destroyed! Introducing Lysol UnderFloor Extreme Cleaner! Cleans where even your contractor could not reach! Look for Lysol Behind-the-Drywall Cleaner, coming this summer!

Come on, people. I'm like shooting fish in the barrel. But before I'll help you make a buck off of me, your commercial is going to have to make sense.

Darn Cold

Well, bloggy friends, I am under the weather.

I have developed a cold, and a mighty one at that. I blow my nose about every 8 seconds, and sniffle 15 times in between each blow. I am powered by Tylenol Severe Cold and Head Congestion, which keeps me functioning in 4-hour stints. Last night I dreamed that I was going out with friends, so I tucked an entire roll of toilet paper in my purse for the evening. I kept checking on it to make sure I had enough. Bet I was the life of the party.

At least I am finished with school and haven't started Bar Review yet, so I don't have to be functioning at top level. I can lay on the couch like I have for the past two days and moan. Or make up songs. Right now I am singing:

Oh, I'm a crappy feeling Stephy,
Crappy feeling, yes I am...

I've had the Yankee Doodle song stuck in my head thanks to peanutbutterburrito, who sings her variation of the song to her 4 month-old at changing time. At least I can be sick with a catchy theme song.

So feel free to send your sympathies my way. By the way, I'm going to have to leave the house today for more cold medicine and tissues- so if you live in Cambridge, watch out for a stuffy-headed mess barreling your way. You can't keep your eyes open and sneeze at the same time, even while driving.

The Dating Dirt, Part 1

Finally! The forever-ago promised Dating Dirt is here! This is the first part of the many parts it will take me to tell the whole sordid dating story. I have decided to make the Dating Dirt on Mondays to really start the week off right. Enjoy...

Before middle school, I had never had a real boyfriend. I almost had a boyfriend in first grade, when a kid named Alex Newton asked me to be his girlfriend. I told him I would, but only if he could correctly spell my last name. On the first try. Even as a six year-old, I had high standards. Alex couldn't spell his way out of a paper bag, and coming from me, that's pretty pathetic. Our romance never took off.

Then, in third grade, I considered dating my best friend at the time, Ryan Youngblood. He was seeing a girl named Paige, but one day confessed to me that he loved me more than anyone in the whole world, even Paige. I told him it would never work out; the inevitable break-up would destroy our friendship. He reluctantly agreed, and settled to continue on with Paige, whom he loved second-best in the whole world. Ryan and I stayed close friends until the 5th grade, when we no longer had any classes together.

So imagine me at 13 years old, in 8th grade, with no boyfriend experience. I was in my first professional production at The Opery House in Nashville, TN, playing a near-illiterate mountain girl, whose father was killed in an unfortunate ax accident just a few scenes earlier. Across the stage, my eyes met those of Jason, another local mountain boy. In real life, Jason was 15, tall, and beautiful, with blue eyes and light brown hair. I knew that over the next 3 months (the run of the show), I simply had to make him mine.

Jason had girlfriend experience. He was a sophomore in high school, after all, and the year before had dated a girl whom he claimed had irreparably broken his heart. He was distant on the subject of love, and whenever dating came up among we mountain children in the green room, he would look off into the distance instead of joining in the debate. Even more difficult to break through than his broken heart, however, was his gameboy. Jason would spend almost every moment off-stage on that thing, and it made it hard for me to make noticed appearances here and there. In short, his game was totally ruining mine.

I didn't give up, and eventually Jason returned my flirtations. We took our meals together in the green room, and he would playfully tug at my long and polished braids that I wore for the Second Act. Finally, I decided that the time was right for me to push for a bigger commitment. I casually told him before one show that I would like him to be my boyfriend, and for him to think things over, and if he wanted to, to meet me at the side stage curtains between certain scenes later in the show and tell me so. If he didn't want to, he was not to show up at all, and I would know his answer that way. I promised him it wouldn't hurt our friendship if he didn't show. But we all know that I would never has spoken to him again, not with my crushed 13 year-old pride.

All show I waited near those side-stage curtains, even though "our" scene was not until much later. I didn't want to take the chance of running into him backstage elsewhere and seeing that his answer was no before the appointed time. Then, three scenes before the appointed scene, Jason appeared behind me at the meeting spot. "Hey," he whispered, and I turned from watching the show back to him. "My answer is yes," he said, and then smiled at me. Then he turned and quickly walked away.

And so I had my first-ever boyfriend.

Tune in next week to find out how such a promising beginning turned bad, and fast.

Quick Hits, 5/15/08

1. I know you haven't heard from me in a week. As soon as finals were over I left town and went back to Knoxville, TN to visit my family and friends. I've been so busy catching up I haven't spent a lot of time at the computer to blog. Lo siento.

2. I didn't tell you I was going to Knoxville because I went and surprised my best friend Mel on her 25th birthday in Nashville, TN, just a few hours drive away. It totally worked, as she was super surprised, and we had a great time out and about in Nashville.

3. I drove back to Knoxville last night and slept for 11 hours. This is how much fun we had the day before.

4. I'll be back in Boston on Friday, so look for regular posts again then. Until we meet again, happy week after finals! And happy week of whatever is going on in your life! And happy birthday to Mel!

The Countdown Continues, Part 6

2.25 days.
0 pages.

Stop the Countdown. Estoy acabado.

Fin.

The Countdown Continues, Part 5

3 days.
8 pages.

I'm going to finish this today.

Is today the last day I'll sit in this library as a student?
It's looking that way.
What an odd feeling.

The Countdown Continues, Part 4

Today was a great day for writing. I got up early, hit the library, and was churning out pages like there was no tomorrow. The afternoon was considerably slower, but overall, great output on the day.

I am closing in on it. I am cautiously optimistic. Some papers continue to grow longer despite my best efforts to just. stop. writing., so my countdown may yet be off, but as best I can calculate it I have:

4 days
to write 16 pages.

But as you know, I am trying to go faster than that so I am not typing down to the wire. I had planned to finish up everything on Thursday, but now I hear that my pal Simon (yes, of the Vodka and Tupperware) is leaving town on Thursday for the summer, and wants to hang out Wednesday night. Since I won't see Simon until August in Chicago, I want to go and send him off in style. Can I essentially finish all of my writing by Wednesday evening? I can if I work tomorrow and Wed like I have today.

To make things worse (or better, depending on how you look at "things,") Wed is supposed to be a glorious return to Spring. After a week and a half of gloom, there will almost certainly be an afternoon volleyball game to play. Sooo tempting, especially now that I feel I am a little bit ahead. I think this is my plan: If I have another fabulous writing day tomorrow like I had today, then I will be in pretty darn good shape come Wednesday. And if I hit the library on Wed at the crack of dawn like I did today and plan to do tomorrow, and if by noon Wed I have less than 3 total pages to finish, then I shall allow myself to wander out looking for a game. Then I will finish up the three remaining pages in the afternoon, and go out and celebrate with Simon that evening.

That's a lot of ifs. But all it will take is another two great days of writing. Finish line, here I come!

Friends in High Places

This is my best friend from college, Amanda, on the cover of MM&D, the Canadian trade magazine for supply chain management and distribution. Amanda graduated at the top of her class from Tennessee in Logistics and Transportation, which is consistently ranked as one of the best L&T departments in the country. Actually, the department is now called Marketing and Logistics, but it is consistently ranked the best of those, too.

Since University, Amanda has been zipping up the corporate ladder, winning friends and trouncing enemies with her stunning competence and ability to manage a team with nothing but the spring from an ink pen and a buttermilk biscuit. She is the MacGyver of supply chain engineering, and here she is, on the cover of MM&D being honored for her implementation of a brilliant new warehousing scheme. And all just a few days shy of her 26th birthday.

Rock on with your bad self, Amanda!

Spring Left. Mope.

Apparently, I spoke too soon. Spring has not descended on the GWN. It just wanted to pop in for a week and tease us. "See you in June, suckers!"

It has been in the 40s and raining almost every day here for a week. At first I thought the rainy days were helping me do more writing, because I wasn't tempted to go outside to see if a sand volleyball game had formed at school. Now I'm just depressed. Mope Mope Mope. Rainy Saturday. Maybe I should go eat a cupcake.

The Countdown Continues, Part 3

Some papers have ended up longer than I had expected, so it looks like I am being less productive than I really am. I would like to amend the first countdown post to say that I had 19 days to write 92 pages, instead of 82. But as far as I can tell, the Countdown stands at:

8 days
to write 31 pages

Or about 4 pages per day. Of course, I am trying to write more like 6 pages per day, so that I can finish a couple of days early and review everything before I turn it in. One more week to go.

It's Not Just a Cupcake

It's emotional eating!

The latest Duncan Hines commercial shows a mom making cupcakes, while the emotion-laded voiceover says, "It's just a rainy day. It's just a scraped knee. It's just hair, it will grow back. But sometimes it's the little things that ruin your day." Pan over to a mopey-looking five-year old, who watches the oven with anticipation. Boy, he is sure is a sad sack. Luckily, eating cupcakes improves your day! If something bad happens, eat a cupcake! Food never rains on your Saturday! Food never trips you on the sidewalk! Food never gives you a lopsided haircut! Food loves you, no matter what!

Duncan Hines. It's not just a cupcake. It's physically and emotionally filling.

The Countdown Continues, pt 2

Today is not a productive day. I'm not panicking, because I have been very productive lately, but I can already tell that things are just not gelling like they have on other days. I have my last law school Improv show tonight, so tonight will be lost, too. I think I'm just going to call today a wash and not worry about it. Today I'll catch up on some home design shows. Tomorrow I will be back on track.

The Countdown stands at:
62 pages
in 14 days.

The Countdown Continues

Productive day yesterday. Kudos a moi.

We stand at:
66 pages
in 16 days.

Someone asked why it takes so much effort to bang out only 7 or 8 pages a day. Trust me, it just does. It's not like I'm writing fiction, I can't just make this stuff up. Well, not much of it anyway.

The material is dense, and my will is weak. Sometimes it takes me 20 minutes to write one good sentence. On top of that, classes are still in session through the end of this week, so I can't just spend all of my time writing- I still have to read for and attend classes, go to graduation meetings, go to improv rehearsal, put on an improv show, and spend time with my Patto.

Next week we will see how much more I am able to get done without all those pesky classes and meetings getting in my way.

And the week after that I will write "Do Not Disturb" on my forehead and become a hermit until this is just finished.

Quick Hits: 4/23/08

1. It is supposed to reach 80 degrees today. Whoo-hooo! Just as I was coming down off my high that Spring had finally arrived in the Great White North (it was hitting about 62 degrees every day for the past week and a half), we have this little nugget of joy! Horay! Makes getting up early and sitting outside while I write feverishly a little more enjoyable. Too bad I have to eventually go inside for class and a power source...

2. Elizabeth Warren, brilliant HLS professor, bankruptcy guru and Goddess of the Socratic Method wears a backpack to school, just like me. I just saw her walk by in her suit and her little north face pack. We bonded. Well, I bonded. But she was there, too.

3. Speaking of my backpack, after almost three faithful years of service, the front zipper to the pencil case area of it completely ripped off. I'm not purchasing a new backpack, so I safety-pinned the pocket closed with 8 jumbo pins. Now I look all grunge and stuff. I think it gives me a much needed "edge" around the pool table. I might even put one through my lip like the kids did back in high school. Ok, I would never do that.

4. The Countdown stands at:
75 pages
in 16.5 days

Hark Etiquette

I'm about to graduate, and I would like to pass along some rules of proper Hark Etiquette. This is for the benefit of both the newbies and the blatant offenders who are starting to really annoy me as I spend more and more time studying there. Not to wax on about the good old days, but these Hark violations simply did not occur when I was a 1L. People had respect for each other in the Hark. It's this darn New Class. They are miscreants.

But I digress.

The Rules of Hark Etiquette:

1. If you have more friends to seat at your table than chairs, the proper action is to a) take a chair from an unoccupied table or b) ask a person sitting at a table with an empty chair if you may take it. It is rude to just take a chair from a person's table without asking. And never, EVER take a chair away from a table if a person has "claimed" it but is away from the table temporarily. This kind of chair poaching is rude, sneaky and simply unacceptable.

2. Sometimes during lunch, the Hark is so swamped that every table is occupied. In this case, it is acceptable to approach a table where a person is sitting alone and ask to sit at the table with them while you eat. If they accept, sit and eat. If they are studying (as is usually the case if they are alone at a table during lunch), do NOT try to strike up a conversation. They are sitting alone because they want to work. Be thankful you got a chair and let them work. If possible, eat very quickly and then leave. NEVER invite a friend to sit with you and talk. Remember that you are a guest at this person's table and act accordingly.

3. If a person is eating or studying at a long skinny table in the Hark, it is acceptable to join them at the table and eat or work without first asking their permission. But you must either leave a chair between you or sit at their diagonal. Do not sit right next to them or directly across from them. This invades their space. Remember, they were there first. Do not invite a friend to sit and chat with you at the same table, unless you are at one end of the table and they are at the other. And they are wearing headphones.

4. Do not pull a chair into the path of the pool table if I am playing. Not if you want to keep your fingers, that is. But I digress again.

5. When a long line has formed at the hot lunch station, and you cannot see what the option is from the back of the line, the proper action is to walk up beside the line, and standing at least as far back as the next person in line and no closer than necessary to barely be able to make out the option, lean forward awkwardly to see what is for lunch. Do not walk up close enough that you can just examine the lunch without leaning forward, because people will think you are trying to skip the line. Leaning awkwardly says, "I respect that there is a line and I am not in it. I'm just trying to see the options, and then I will retreat, as evidenced by my awkward forward lean."

These rules will help you win friends and influence enemies in the Hark. And keep you from bearing the wrath of a 3L who has a million pages to write and 2.5 weeks to do it in. Because trust me, she's had it up to here with your shenanigans. And she's about to snap.

(It's the) Final Countdown

Follow along at home, non-super-stressed-out readers!

smc has 19 days
to write 82 pages
spanning 9 topics

Oh 3L, where art thou?

Hi friends,

I know some of you have been wondering where I am and why I haven't been posting as often.

Finals.

As in, the Final Finals. Probably the last set of Finals I will ever have. Ever. So they're kinda a big deal right now. I have a TON of work to do and exactly 20 days in which to do it. How much is a ton? Along the lines of 90 double-spaced pages to write.

So that's where I am. Buried under a ton of papers. See you in May!

The Billiards Bitch

Today I decided to pick up a billiards cue again for the first time in almost a year. I love playing pool. I spent most of my college career playing pool. But law school eats your life, even as a 3L, and I was sorely out of practice. No matter, I was back now. Reunited and it feels so good! I popped in my headphones and got to work.

The billiards table at HLS is upstairs in the Hark, in the same room as a large TV and several groupings of comfy chairs. A couple of guys were sitting close to the table, so I made a mental note to not hit them with the cue, and pushed away the few remaining chairs that might get in my way. And so began my painful struggle to get back on top of my game. I was grumpy about my faded skills. But besides having to squeeze around the two close-sitting guys and occasionally sacrificing shots because to make them I would have to run the cue up their noses, things were generally okay for the first game. When I had to go for a ridiculous shot (or skip one altogether) because the guys were in my way, I reminded myself that they were there first. The game ended and one of the guys left. I went over and pushed his chair away from the table so it would no longer be in the way, and began game 2.

And this is where the trouble really began.

First, as I was playing, a guy walked over with his approximately one year-old son. He held him up to the edge of the table so the baby could see the game. This would be fine, except that he had placed the child right over the pocket I was aiming at, while I was aiming at it. Not only was he and his son staring directly at me, but the little boy kept reaching down towards the pocket. I'm not sure if he could have reached in, but I was really worried I was going to crush his little fingers if I made the shot. I looked up at the father. He smiled pleasantly and jiggled the boy. I couldn't concentrate on the shot at all, as I had a thousand thoughts now swirling through my head. What if the ball popped out of the pocket and hit the baby? What if it crushed his fingers? Why was this guy standing over my shot, anyway? Should I go for the 10 after all? How long is he going to stand there? Am I cutting this too hard?

So I stood up, and changed my shot to go for the side pocket instead. AND THE DAD SLID DOWN SO HE COULD BE LINED UP WITH THIS SHOT, TOO! I decided to just go for it, swirling thoughts and all, and of course, missed terribly. I walked around the table for my next shot, and was standing right next to the dad. I gestured to the shot I wanted, indicating he was in my way. He smiled again and slid over about 6 inches, so that for me to get lined up properly, I would still be standing right on top of him and the baby (whose fingers were covered with ick, I now noticed). I took my shot from where I was, again, missing terribly. I guess I don't thrive under the baby pressure, because I didn't make a shot until he walked away. Then I sunk the next five.

But the trouble didn't end there. Soon after the baby-daddy left, a woman walked over and pulled one of the chairs that I had pushed away over to the table. She set it with her back to the pool table, about 4 feet away. I didn't see her do it since I was looking down at my shot at the time, but sure enough, the next shot would have me lining up right through her. I walked over and stood next to her chair, and held my cue at a high angle so as not to jab her in the back of the head. She jumped up anyway, pushing the chair into me. I turned and looked at her blankly. She stared back with pursed lips, and I decided, no matter how rude it might appear, not to apologize for standing on top of her to play my game. I was there first. She pulled the chair into my path. I hadn't actually hit her, she hit me when she pushed out of her chair. We stood there face to face for a few long seconds. Seeing I was not going to apologize, she huffily picked her things up out of the chair and moved to another one, farther away. I pushed her chair away again and continued playing. But now I felt guilty, and my head got more clouded. Should I have apologized to the lady? Asked her to move before I took the shot? And what was up with that dad? Am I the Billiards Bitch of the Hark?

In the middle of my third game, the guy who had been sitting so close to the table all this time finally got up and walked away. I quickly pushed away his chair and went back to my game. A couple of minutes later, he was back. And staring at his moved chair. And me. Apparently, he had just left for a snack, and had not actually left-left, as I thought. He glared at me and nudged his chair a bit. I took out an earbud. "Sorry, I thought you had left." "No, I just went to get something." "Oh." And then he pushed his chair all the way back to where it originally was, right beside the table.

Ok. Now I am annoyed.

He knows the chair is in my way, he's been watching me play for the last half hour and having to squeeze past him. And it's not like I pushed his chair against a wall or something, I just moved it four more feet away in a giant open room. Could he not sit there and eat his snack? What was it about being three feet from the table that was so important to him? He cannot claim settler's rights anymore, he had gotten up and not left any item to indicate he was returning. The chair was fair game. He had taken his hand off the chess piece, and it was my move. With jaw set, I finished my game, less considerate of his space this time around.

Who knew that getting back into a game I enjoy so much would annoy me so thoroughly? Seems the forces-that-be were conspiring against me today. Perhaps I can squeeze in a game or two tomorrow with better results. Until then, I have decided I don't mind being thought of as the Billiards Bitch. You can't claim surprise when you sit next to a billiards table, so stay out of my way. At least until I've improved my rusty game a bit!

This makes me happy

I loved this so much when I found it at Ken's that I simply had to have it. And now I do!

Special thanks to el seeeester for helping me out with the difficulty getting this to show up on zee blog.

Five Things Meme

I was tagged by my sis to do this one a while ago, but I'm just now getting to it. But here we go!

The Rules
1. Each player answers the questions about themselves with five things.
2. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves a comment letting them know they've been tagged and to ask them to play along and to read your blog.

Five things I was doing 10 years ago- 1998:
1. I was about to finish my freshman year of high school.
2. I had locked down a lifetime friendship with Melanie.
3. I was just cut from the Varsity Cheerleading Squad.
4. I was 4'11" and weighed 85 lbs, and prayed every night that I would get taller.
5. I was not dating the boy I had a crush on, or anyone else, for that matter.

Five things on my To-Do list for today:
1. Write 4 pages on a paper
2. Meet Irish for coffee to discuss Parody
3. Go to a Drama Society meeting
4. Send a thank-you note
5. Email Mel and Amanda

Five Snacks I enjoy:
1. Chips and Dip
2. Brownies
3. Mott's applesauce
4. Grapes
5. Cheese Sticks

Five things I would do if I were a Billionaire:
1. Pay off my law school loans
2. Buy an amazing home. And a summer home. And a winter home.
3. Pay off my family's mortgages or any other debt they had.
4. Get a daily massage
5. Travel the world. In First Class.

Five of my bad habits:
1. Biting my nails
2. Gossiping
3. Rolling my eyes
4. Skipping Church
5. Procrastinating

Five Places I have lived:
1. Savannah, Georgia
2. Smyrna, Tennessee
3. Knoxville, Tennessee
4. Somerville (Boston), Massachusetts
5. Chicago, Illinois

Five Jobs I've had:
1. Youth-league Soccer referee
2. Waitress at O'Charley's
3. Resident Assistant
4. Summer Associate Attorney
5. Collections agent for a mortgage company

Five Bloggers I am tagging:
Eh, I'm skipping this one because my sis and Mel already tagged all the blogs I read- or at least the ones that would take my tagging them seriously. So instead, I'll give you a make-up Fiver or two.

Five things I'm good at:
1. Exercising regularly
2. Swimming
3. Accessorizing
4. Managing
5. Keeping a good attitude

Five things I'm really bad at:
1. Basketball
2. Spelling
3. Long-distance Running
4. Whispering
5. Paying attention in class

Okay! There you have it. Let me know if you do one, too, and I'll check it out.

Soap Opera, smc style?

When my sister tagged me for the Dating Meme and mentioned that I changed boyfriends more than some people changed clothes and thus I had a lot of good stories, I realized she was right. I DO have a lot of good, juicy stories from my dating past. So I been thinking about having a weekly flashback on my dating life, much like Kate does over at walkingkateastrophe.com with her "Soap Opera Sunday." SOS is amazing, by the way. I suggest you read up.

Anyway, I'm trying to think of what to call it and what day to do it on. I'm thinking Wed. Juicy tales of dating ups and downs to get you past hump day. But what to call it? I will think on it, but if you have any suggestions, please leave them in the comments. And keep an eye out for Wednesday.

The Lock-out

Today I locked myself out of the house.

I always keep the handle of the front door locked, and usually when I step out to get the mail I just leave the door open a crack and pick the mail up off of the front porch. Then it's back inside to watch my new Netflix! But today I stepped out to get the mail and the wind blew the front door closed behind me and locked the door. So there I stood at 3pm, outside my front door, locked out of the house.

Patrick had already told me that he was working late tonight and would not be home for 4 hours at the earliest. If I was going to get into that house, I was going to have to break in.

I had the following knowledge: All of the windows and doors were closed and locked. Only the handle of the front door was locked (not the dead bolt). The people who own my apartment were not home, and I didn't have my cell phone on me. I had the following tools at my disposal: A pen. A student ID. A Netflix DVD. An Aerosoles catalog. The mailbox key.

I tried wiggling my student ID in there, to no avail. I ripped the clip off of the pen and tried to pick the lock. Then I thought of another method that might work and scrounged through the trash (yes, the trash) to find what I needed. After finding something that might work, I struggled for about half an hour outside my front door. The good news is that I finally did indeed break in. The better news is that it was a LOT harder than I thought.

And no, I'm not going to tell you how I finally did it. But I will tell you that I shouted YES! loud enough for it to echo down the street when that lock popped open. And sent the cats who were listening on the other side of the door scrambling back down the hallway in fear. But I don't care! Because I broke into my own house! All by myself, on my own good idea! YES!

And if law doesn't work out I'm TOTALLY considering a life of crime.

The Other Way to Mark the Seasons

While cleaning out my work bag the other day, I came across a tube of lipstick that I had forgotten I had tucked into it months ago.

Me: Hey! I found some lipstick in my work bag. I always liked this lipstick!
Patto: That's nice, dear.

Later, as we are going out to dinner:

Patto: Are you going to wear your new lipstick?
Me: What new lipstick?
Patto: The lipstick you found in your bag today.
Me: Oh, no. That's a fall lipstick.
Patto: A fall lipstick?
Me: Yeah.
Patto: What does that mean?
Me: It's for fall.
Patto: Fall?
Me: Yeah. Fall. It's the wrong season lipstick.
Patto: Lipsticks have seasons?
--Pause while we just stare at each other in confusion.--
Both: Never mind.

Silly Patto. Doesn't he know it could set us back WEEKS in my attempt to force Spring upon Boston if I put on fall lipstick? It's like giving up the high ground! Is he MAD?!?!

Boys. No strategy.

Hooray!

I finally get to graduate from the Law School! My third batch of announcements arrived today, and they are both beautiful and correct. I am promoting slightly-less-fair-than-Theresa Customer Service Rep Sarah to just-as-fair-as-Theresa Customer Service Rep Sarah.

Here's to you, just-as-fair-as-Theresa Customer Service Rep Sarah! Keep up your stunning competence! And try not to sound so annoyed on the phone!

Twins!

We have new arrivals in the smc household. Behold!



Adorable red leather and suede heeled loafers with shoe-lace detail, by Franco Sarto. Tres Adorable! And since they are fall/winter shoes, I got them on clearance for 40% off.

My shoe collection is not quite back at balance since the loss of my "go-with-everything" black pumps, but these make a great addition on their own. Besides, it's better this way; you don't want to raise a pair of shoes to feel like they have to make up for an earlier loss. It's too much pressure.

ANOTHER joint degree? For me?

I couldn't make this stuff up.

My new graduation announcements arrived today. The Harvard Law School seal on the front looked promising, but no. The inside STILL says I am graduating from the business school. I called customer service (I'm thinking of adding them to my speed dial) and this time talked to the slightly-less-fair-than-Theresa Customer Service rep, Sarah. Sarah sounded annoyed that the re-order hadn't worked. Tell me about it, Sarah. You're not the one with 50 useless announcements and only 2 months until graduation (good thing I ordered them obscenely early).

There must be something I can do with these beautiful, but wrong, announcements. Perhaps I can cut out their embossed seals and use them for scrap-booking (I'll save you some, Mel, in case a page on my graduation makes it into your 2008 book). Maybe I'll turn them into confetti to toss around at the graduation bbq. Maybe I'll sew them into a charming little hat. A beret, perhaps?

Anyway, your suggestions are welcome. The paper isn't thick enough for custom, uber-preppy pogs, but I'm willing to try anything once.

You need UTI

Okay, quick hit: I just saw a technical training program commercial and I am laughing my head off. So I must share.

The spot opens with cars dashing around and a "tough-guy" voice-over:
"Are you thinking, 'New Year, New Career?' Then you need UTI."

That's as far as I got before I fell over. Because every gal knows what a UTI is, and we know that you do NOT, in fact, need one. Especially if you are starting a new career that day.

Back to your regularly scheduled program.

------
*UTI apparently ALSO means Universal Technical Institute. I'm willing to bet there isn't a woman on their board of overseers.

Willing it to be Spring

It's Spring Break time at Harvard, but it doesn't feel like Spring to me. Today the high is 40, and it's supposed to snow tomorrow. No matter, I am willing it to be Spring, and I am convinced that it will miraculously hit 60 degrees this week if I just want it hard enough.

In an attempt to make it Spring, I went out and got a Spring-y haircut yesterday. No drastic changes, I just had the lady add some long, side-swept pieces to the front and take some weight out of the ends (this is done by a special pair of scissors that apparently only cut every third hair or something. Hair-cutting black magic). Anyway, my hair is in a ponytail today because I have spent the morning making breakfast and writing a paper, but as soon as I get put together (maybe even later today!) I will snap a picture for you.

For those of you without any sense of delayed gratification, it looks about like this (the first picture on the page, modeled by Rachel Stevens). My hair is a little thicker and longer than hers, but that gives you an idea of those front pieces.

Anyway, I really like the cut, especially since it comes with its own soundtrack. I stepped out onto the sidewalk after leaving the salon, and strutted myself all the way back to my car with Justin Timberlake's "Damn, Girl" playing in my head. Of course it's vain, but I'm willing to do that in order to single-handedly turn the season from winter to Spring. You can thank me later.

"You got me thinkin', Daaaaaaaaamn, Girl! You're so fiiiiiiinnne...."

The Dating Meme

I was tagged by my sis for this meme, so I thought I'd be a good sport and get to work on it.

1. What is one life lesson you've learned while dating?
Never settle. You deserve to be with someone who makes you deliriously happy. Don't settle for second-best. You will know the right person for you when you find them. Don't try to fit a square peg into a round hole. Or a second-rate boyfriend into a great gal's life.

2. What was your best date ever?
This is a tough one, because my favorite memories are not ones where I was on any formal date. One day a couple of years ago, Patrick and I went out to a park on a sunny afternoon, right at the end of summer, and laid on a blanket and read for a few hours. Kids were flying kites around us, and I had such a serene feeling. Certain sunny days still remind me of going to that park and just hanging out together.

3. Worst date ever?
It was my second date with a seemingly really nice guy from one of my psychology classes in undergrad. He was clean-cut, polite, funny, and a neo-Nazi. For reals. He used those words. When I asked him what he meant, he said "Well, I don't go around killing people, but I think Anglo-Europeans are genetically superior to every other race of people. Is that a problem?"
Check, please.

4. What is the longest you've ever dated someone?
I dated Patto for just over two years before I married him, if being engaged counts as dating. As for the longest I've dated anyone without later marrying him, the winner is one year and 8 months.

5. Breaking up is hard to do... what was your hardest break-up?
Breaking up with my first love. It was like wrenching my own heart out. We had several relapses over the next couple of months- I had the worst time breaking it off completely (I wish I could quit you!) even though I had good reasons to. I still hate how I handled it. We really did a number on each other.

6. Are you friends with anyone you've ever dated?
Yep. One of the guys I dated when I was 16 and I are still good friends. We sent each other Happy Easter text messages just yesterday. He just got married last fall to a girl I really like, proof that I don't destroy every guy I date. :) Before I moved to Boston, I also kept up with two other guys I had dated, but I haven't talked to either of them since we moved.

That's it! Let's hear about your dating history. Leave a comment if you're going to do one yourself, and I'll pop over and read it.

A joint degree? For me?

My graduation announcements arrived today, and they are beautiful. The Harvard seal is so crisp and bright. The textured ecru paper says I paid over a hundred grand for this degree. The text says I'm graduating from the Business school with a Juris Doctor degree...

That's right. My beautiful announcements are all wrong wrong wrong. The card enclosed with my lovely announcements directed me to a customer care website that would allow me to correct my order in just a few clicks. Except I needed more than a few clicks, because the website would only allow me to choose between graduating from the Business school and the Divinity school. (???) It suggested I call customer service if I was having difficulty, and offered me what turned out to be a wrong number.

After I searched el internet at large for the correct number, I called the real customer service and after listening to a billion options (because their menu has changed) I was directed to the customer care website and promptly hung up on.

So I called back. And punched zero as soon as I heard the automated message, because I knew their menu had not changed in the 30 intervening seconds between when I was last hung up on (snooty machine) and my second call. Luckily, I got the fair Theresa on the phone, who was polite and helpful and sorry for my inconvenience. She had the same troubles with the whole Business school/Divinity school option, but in the end assured me that I would get to graduate from the Law School by the time this was all said and done.

So, in 5-6 business days I hope to gave once more of beautiful graduation announcements. As for my almost joint degree, it was fun while it lasted.

Feel the burn

After the Parody ended, I looked down at my tummy (which was happily eating a fudge sundae) and realized that I hadn't been to the gym in a month. Giving the ol' tums an affectionate pat, I vowed to get right back into fighting shape starting the very next day.

Oddly, I made good on my promise, and NOW I CAN'T WALK BECAUSE I AM SO SORE. I went back to the gym last Wednesday and Thurs, and then again this Monday, Thurs and today. I've been pushing really hard (formal event in two weeks) and while I swear I can already see improvement, it might only be because my stomach sucks itself in every time I glance in the mirror so it can trick me into giving it a break from the grueling workouts. Nice try, tums, but I'm on to your game. Two-a-days!

Anyway, if you see me walking very slowly around campus, or being that kid in class who holds up one arm with the other, please know that it is not because I am an insufferable gunner, but because if I don't hold up my arm it will not hold up itself, and I HAVE to ask this question or I will have missed the entire point of the lecture and will fail the class. And then Mobius will not want me. And I will have to live in a van down by the river. All because the Parody ate my life and prevented me from working out for a month.

Now excuse me, I have to save the energy it takes to type for the papers I have been putting off.

You are good knees

Yesterday, the woman who usually teaches my Monday afternoon exercise class became ill, and the only person they could find to cover her class on short notice was a yoga instructor, who knows almost nothing about muscle conditioning. But she does know yoga, and so we did yoga.

This was my first yoga class, and immediately I jumped three spots on my skepto-meter. You remember those "how are you feeling today" fridge magnets that had the 20-odd faces you could choose from to display your mood? Yeah, move me to "cynical." My eyes sure did get stretched with all the rolling they did over "growing up like a flower" and "giving greetings to your inner sun." But right in the middle, she said something which resonated with me. During one difficult stretch, she said "if you cannot hold this stretch, do not be angry at your body. Your body is a good body. It supports you. Do not be ungrateful for it."

Lately, I have been ungrateful to my body, specifically my knees. They ache all the time, they pop and crack, they make me feel like an old person. But I should speak kindly to my knees. After all, they are only weak and aching because I pushed them too hard at an earlier point in my life. And they are still holding me up. And not only that, but they allow me to work-out hard, even if they might complain a bit about it the next couple of days.

Go speak nicely to and about your body. It is a temple. And it is holding you up.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

May your glass be ever full
May your roof stay strong over your head
May you be in Heaven half an hour
before the Devil knows you're dead.

One step forward, two steps back

This is a story about Vodka and Tupperware. And my friend Simon.

Patto and I like to host parties. We have a lot of space, and we like having people over, so our apartment is the natural gathering place. Last December, Patto and I hosted New Year's at our place. My friends Simon came, and brought with him a handle of the most horrible, cheap vodka I have ever tasted. Needless to say, it wasn't a big hit at the party, and when Patto and I cleaned up the next day, we found an almost full bottle. We tucked it into the freezer and said we would bring it to the next party we came across.

Two months later, we were at a large house party of more law school friends, and we placed the vodka on the counter with the other liquors. At the end of the night, we slipped away sans Vodka. High five!

Another month passes, and we are at a party at Simon's. On the table is the dreaded Vodka. The fruitcake of Vodkas. We laugh to ourselves. Simon's going to get stuck with this Vodka again! And it's still half full! Pass me the rum! Ah ha ha ha!

Until we threw a party at the end of April. And welcomed Simon through the door with that cursed bottle of Vodka. Just like the cat, the Vodka came back the very next party. With Simon. Determined that this vodka would not curse us for another party, we filled 8 shot glasses with the offending stuff and forced it upon the next 8 people we saw. Finally. Vodka finished. I haven't been so happy to throw away an empty bottle of alcohol in years.

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It happened much the same way with some Tupperware. Last year, about this time, Simon brought brownies in a Tupperware container to a party at my house. And left it there. Over the course of the following year, we tried to give it back multiple times (some times at those parties with the evil vodka), but he always ended up leaving it in my car or at my house. Some times I forgot to bring it when I promised I would. It took a year, but finally, last Friday night, I returned the Tupperware and put it into his sink myself. And left it there.

Later that night we threw a party at my house. The next morning I found left-over cupcakes. Cupcakes housed in not one, but TWO of Simon's Tupperware containers.

I'm just going to keep them.

Have a good "day"

When I was an RA in college, the secretary of my dorm, Mary, was the sweetest elderly woman ever put upon the earth. She had not been raised in the era of computers, but since she had one at work, she loved it. She would type up every single message, no matter how short, and print it out for us. The best part about her notes, however, was her manner of emphasizing certain words with no discernible pattern. Mary liked to underline or bold or put in quotation marks random words, and it was the daily game of the RAs to read aloud her notes and collapse in the floor in laughter at their altered meanings.

For example, one day this note was put up next to the RA mailboxes:
I put brownies in the kitchen -- "enjoy"

Of course, our immediate response was to assume the brownies were poisoned or laced with chocolate laxatives. What else could be the meaning behind the ominous "enjoy"?

Another day, we saw:
RAs, many pedestrians don't LOOK before crossing the street in front of the staff lot. Please be "careful" when driving out.

Is it just me, or was she subtly asking us to run down the pedestrians so they wouldn't just walk in front of her car without LOOKing anymore?

Anyway, the reason I bring this up (besides the fact that it makes me laugh when I look back on it) is because I now have a professor who loves to put quotation marks around random words, just like Mary did. At first I thought he was just putting quotes around terms of art (like "reasonable care", which is a legal standard), but now I think he suffers from the same quotes-happy disease Mary did. Take, for example, this last email he sent my small group after we submitted our weekly assignment:

"This is terrific work, Group. You should be very proud of the time and effort so clearly displayed in this Assignment which "tops," I think, any prior Week's Assignment. Congrats on a job very well done indeed. You have grappled with the "core issues," in a way which fairly replicates the "real world" negotiation on which the Hypo is based. In other words, you are ready to be "welcomed into the legal dept." to prepare First Draft Agreements!

Congrats on "making the grade," and challenging each other to "raise the bar" each week.

I look forward to seeing you in Class tomorrow."

As soon as I read that I thought of Mary and the brownies we should "enjoy" and started laughing all over again. I sure do "miss" her.


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Now, I am leaving this prof. unnamed on purpose, so even if you know who it is, don't go spouting off about it in the comments. I don't want people to google his name and find this post and think I am making fun of him. I am making fun of him, of course, but I don't want people to think that.

Shoes of Blessed Memory

It's a sad day in the smc household. Well, not so much in the household as in my head. It's a sad day in my head. It's time to throw out one of my best pairs of shoes. They weren't the most stylish or my favorite pair, but they were practical and reliable. They went with everything. They were comfortable. Their name was "Transpose," and I will miss them.

Since I love me some shoes, the only fitting thing to do is write a brief obituary in honor of the recently trashed.

March 11, 2008
Transpose and her life-long mate passed away this Tuesday at 5:34pm at their Massachusetts home. They were 4 years old. The Tranposes were of black leather, rounded toe, ankle strap, and were three inches high. They had an extra-cushioned sole for added comfort. They are survived by the Spring Aerosoles catalogue, their 31 closest friends, and caretaker smc. Please send donations to the smc shoe-fund in lieu of flowers.

Director Drinking Game

Now that we are on the home stretch of Parody showings, I think the cast has gotten pretty used to my habits and quirks as Director. I also notice that they just love the post-show parties (the wilder the better). So I propose to combine the two with a new parody game: the Director Drinking Game!

Before warm-ups and pre-show announcements, grab your favorite beverage and get ready!
Take one drink for every time the Director says "heads up"
Take one drink for every time she says "come on, guys"
Take one drink for every time she mentions the importance of being on time
Take one drink for every time she says "Don't ad lib lines!"
Take one drink for every time she threatens bodily harm against her Assistant Director
Take two drinks if it was because he ad libbed his lines
Take one drink every time she invokes the "safe list"
Take one drink for every time she kicks Ken off the safe list
Take two drinks for every time she takes him back
Take two drinks for every time she helps Tina win the party

You can add your own triggers if you think of something else to add to the list, but this should get you started. It should also make the pre-show stuff a little more interesting. Enjoy!

Abused? Or just dancing in the Parody?

Recently, I switched places in a dance with another gal from the Parody who was having trouble with one particular lift. I learned her part of the dance, and now I see why she wanted out.

The dance is a waltz, with some cheerful lifts and jumps thrown in for good measure. The lift she was having trouble with involves the male partner effectively picking up the female partner by the ribs. And her partner (now my partner) squeezes hard! I am always having to tell Patto not to hug too hard lest he snap my wee ribs, so maybe I'm just sensitive to it. At any rate, I think I have partner-prints on my ribs. If they found my body today, they would probably think I was abused. In fact, I'm just in the Parody (You remember last year).

I've warned the partner once to be careful, but he tends to squeeze harder when he gets excited. It's ok, though- there is a pressure point between your shoulder and your neck, about where your hand would rest if you happen to be a woman waltzing with a man. The next time he crushes me on the lift, I'll drop him to his knees on the waltz.

Betcha that'll jog his memory for the next night.

The Parody Cometh!

Tomorrow is opening night of the 2008 Harvard Law School Parody, "Harry Issue Spotter and the Goblet of Breyer." As you know, I am the Director, and I am thrilled with how things are turning out. My profile picture on Facebook is of me giving notes to the cast last night after a dress rehearsal. I was down to just one and a half pages of notes. Huzzah!

The show has really come together, and I'm so excited for it to go up that I almost can't sit still. It's terrifically funny, and I would know. I have read the script and blocked the scenes and watched the actors practice it and taken it apart and put it back together so many times that with any other script it would sound like a recipe for bean soup, but this script still makes me laugh. 2 months later of reading it every night, and it still makes me laugh. I predict it will knock the audience on its collective keister.

Today we members of the cast are wearing the Parody T-shirt and sporting scars on our foreheads to promote the show. Here's a picture of me today:

As you can see, it is not the traditional Harry Potter scar. It's the traditional Harry Issue Spotter scar. If a young wizard would get a lightning bolt scar, a young lawyer would get an LLP scar, no?

If you are in the Harvard area, tickets are still on sale in the Hark until the show sells out. Best get a move on, they're going fast.

Quick Hits: 2/28/08

1. The guy in front of me in Sports Law just sat down next to another guy and remarked, "Hey, Thomas, I didn't realize you were a Fruit Snacks (TM) man, too." To which Thomas replied, "Oh yes. I am indeed." I didn't realize there were such things as "Fruit Snacks men."

2. Another guy who sits in front of me in Race Relations takes notes in a leather-bound journal using a fountain pen. It's very Benjamin Franklin. Or Fredrick Douglass, I suppose.

3. The vending machines here at HLS now sell ice cream. Harvard just shot up three places on the "Happiest Places on Earth" list.

You say "problem" like it's a bad thing

My birthday and Valentine's Day fall one week apart, so each February I am inundated with cards from family and friends. This year, somewhere between 1/3 and 1/2 of the cards I received for the two events referenced shoes. When I think birthday and V-day, I don't think shoes. But when people think of me, they obviously do. And I wondered. Do I have a shoe problem?

I like shoes. If you know me, you know it's true. I think shoes can really make the outfit. But they don't define me. Well, not when I define me, anyway. But what about when other people define me? Have smc and shoes become synonymous?

Here is my beloved shoe collection. There are 32 pairs, plus three pairs of flip flops (which I do not count as part of my collection).


You tell me. Is this weird? 32 pairs of shoes? How many do you have?

Tacky Prom

This past weekend, Harvard held its annual Tacky Prom. The idea of Tacky Prom is simple: you put together a hideous or counter-culture outfit (or both!) and go party. It's a good time.

This year, I decided to go the counter-culture route. I always wanted to be a punk kid, but never really got around to it in my youth. I had, however, acquired a pair of purple mid-calf lace up army boots, so the underpinnings were there.

After carefully surveying my closet, I picked out a color theme (of course there is a theme! In my opinion being tacky means that you tried to look put-together, but didn't quite pull it off). I went with the red family: maroon top, red skirt, orange tights and purple boots. I chose silver elbow-length gloves (to match my silver eye shadow), a black bracelet (black goes with everything), and a peridot ring (green and red are complimentary colors, right?) But something was missing.

I needed a fauxhawk.

So I got's me a fauxhawk.

Here is the finished product

I'm the one on the right. The one with the fauxhawk.

You can't really see the orange tights and purple boots in that picture. Here is the whole thing:

It's not my favorite pic of the night, but it's the only full-body one. At least you can see the fauxhawk clearly.

It was a blast. I'm sorry I'm graduating and won't get to do it again next year. Wait. I'm not sorry I'm graduating, but I am sorry I won't get to do it again next year.

And did I mention that I liked my fauxhawk?

Fauxhawk fauxhawk fauxhawk.

You Wouldn't Know Sexy if it Kicked You in the Teddy

Valentine's Day is next week, and to celebrate I am going to tell you my favorite Valentine Day's story, which happened two years ago in a Victoria's Secret.

I was standing in line at the VS check-out a few days before Valentine's Day, having taken advantage of one of those undies sales for which they are so famous. In front of me was a youngish middle-aged man, who was nervously clutching a silky teddy. When he got to the check-out, he handed over a coupon and the teddy and fumbled for his wallet. The cashier scanned the coupon, and then looked up apologetically.

Cashier: I'm sorry, sir, but this coupon has expired.
Man: What?
Cashier: This coupon. It expired a couple of days ago. I'm sorry.
[pause while they both look at the teddy lying on the counter]
Cashier: And that's not very sexy, either.
Man: Oh. [sadly] Well, I liked it.
Cashier: Oh! No! I meant it's not of our Very Sexy collection. It's part of our Angel collection. Your coupon was for something from the Very Sexy collection. I think it's lovely! Very sexy! Just not Very Sexy.

I nearly fell over, I was laughing so hard. May Valentine's Day bring you joy, too.

Super sigh

Well, the New England Patriots are not 19-0. I'm disappointed, even though I don't have any sort of enduring loyalty to the team. Traditionally, I make the team of the region in which I am living third on my rankings, behind whatever team Peyton Manning is playing for and the Tennessee Titans. Since both the Colts and the Titans were out of the running, I cheered for the hometown favorite, the Patriots, particularly because Patto is a Giants fan, and a little playful controversy never hurt anyone.

Today Harvard is awash in Giants jerseys. Harvard is one of the few places on Earth that you will not be beaten to a pulp for gleefully wearing the opposing team's colors the day after the home team loses. This is true for a few reasons: 1) No one is actually from New England. We all come from different places, so the highest the Patriots could have ranked on anyone's list is about third. 2) The school is mostly made up of people from California and New York. The Californians don't have a dog in this fight, and moved on to talking about basketball weeks ago. 3) we rarely resort to physical violence around here (too bad, I know). It seems the preferred method is heated but ridiculously polite discourse, which seems a little foreign to me, but I'm willing to give it a go. Like I said, the Patriots were my third-ranked team, and are going to be replaced by the Bears in about 6 months, so I didn't get too twisted up about it.

At least now I can finally turn my full sporting attention to the Lady Vols basketball team, which have been beating the stuffins out of their competition in true Volunteer spirit. Good thing, too. By the time the Parody is over it will be time for March Madness, and I can't wait for a repeat National Championship.

Think Pink

No need to go on and on about the Maybelline long-lasting lipcolor that I like so much. You guys have heard it all before. Even el seester agrees; there ain't no "maybe" about it.

When I ran out of my lighter, everyday lipcolor, I decided to try one shade darker. My old lipcolor was Blush. One shade off is affectionately called Pink. And it is aptly named. For boy oh boy is it pink.

Barbie doll Pink.

Now, I have blond hair and blue eyes and pale skin like Barbie, so wearing her lipstick doesn't look bad on me- I've just never worn anything quite so... Pink. It is quite startling. And until I get used to it, I think about it every time someone looks at me. I have Barbie Pink on the brain.

Today is the first day of the Spring semester, and I have run into several of my friends. Many of them kind of look me over and furrow their brows, trying to place what's different about me. The conversation goes something like:
Friend: You look different.
Me: Let's go shopping!
Friend: What?
Me: What?
Friend: Did you cut your hair?
Me: No, still growing it out.
Friend: Oh. Well you look... different.
Me: Pink?
Friend: What?
Me: What?

No one has identified the new lipcolor as the cause of my differentness. I would be surprised if they did; after all, it's only one shade off my normal lip color. Still, every time I see a friend, I wonder if they will ask if I have a dreamhouse that matches my lipstick.

Come on, Barbie, let's go party.

TAW

My winter class this term is called TAW, which stands for Trial Advocacy Workshop. It's a great, hands-on class in which every day you prepare a different part of a trial and present it in front of a small group of classmates (and occasionally a large group of classmates and a camera) and get critiqued on your style, voice, mannerisms, etc. It's probably the most useful class in law school, in my humble (and correct) opinion.

Today is the third day, and we are focusing on cross-examinations. The first day was opening statements and the second direct examinations. The best part of the day is watching the people selected to perform in front of the large class and camera. They are chosen at random (even the supposed witnesses), and while some people thrive under pressure and nerves, others fluster, and fluster quite comically.

Yesterday, the alleged victim of a car crash was talking about the severe pain he felt in his back.
Attorney: Describe for the jury the pain you felt.
Witness: Well, not to use that old cliche, but it felt like elephants walking on and inside my spine.
Ah yes, the old "elephants on my spine" cliche. So tired.

Another one, which I find quite funny, may only be humorous to those in the legal field. The defense attorney had just finished examining the defendant, who is accused of murder. The prosecutor stood to do her cross.
Prosecutor: You were hanging out with your Marine buddies that day, weren't you?
Witness: Yes
Prosecutor: So after you had a couple of drinks with them you decided to check out the alleged robbery without calling on-duty police, isn't that right?
Defense Attorney: Objection! Assumes drinks not in evidence!

I would try to explain that one, but then it just wouldn't be as funny.

Yesterday I was called up to do part of my examination for the large class and the camera. They said I did well, but I'll let you know once I see me on tape. I used to have a body tic of slightly swaying side to side during presentations. I hope I've kicked that one, but we'll see.