Anonymity: comments after 22 months

In the beginning, I tried to maintain some semblance of anonymity. This was a futile exercise, but that never stops me from doing anything.

This morning, I woke to find more supportive comments on my blog about my wedding post than I expected. Those comments are probably the best thing that's happened to me since I started blogging. This wedding stuff--no matter how much you pretend otherwise, it's a big deal and it makes you face some of the uglier stuff about yourself and your relationships with your spouse-to-be, family, friends, and the oh-so-uncomfortable-subject of money.

While the comments were awesome, an email I got from a law school acquaintance/friend who's also getting married was even better:


> i just wanted to tell you that i really enjoy reading your blog, and I
> have for quite some time, but I have never commented b/c I think other
> people at school read it, and my name is rather
> distinctive, so I didn't want to have any hand in outing you.


Yeah. I've been outed for a while as far as I can tell. Random people at school started talking to me about details of my life that I never told people at school and I figured they must either read it or talk to people who read it.

I think I made a choice somewhere in the middle of 1L to post enough details that people could figure out who I was because it was just too hard to write anything cathartic while sensoring myself enough to stay anonymous. My only goal now is to keep my physical persona separate from my online persona in google (so I can keep blogging as a grown-up with a job, if I so choose). In order to do that, I try not to discuss my blog with anyone at school, but with my non-school friends--it's not any type of secret. Rather, when funny shit happens, they say, "Oh, you HAVE to put that in your blog..." The longer law school goes on, the more some of my law school friends approach the status of non-law school friends and the lines get blurred.

So basically, if you know who I am and have been respecting my wishes for anonymity by not posting: the gig is mainly up. I'd love to have your comments, just please-oh-please-oh-please don't connect my real name to this blog in any permanent medium (paper docs, web docs, recordings, etc.). Oh, yeah. Have I mentioned I'm generally paranoid?

Things the Wedding has done to me (post #1)

When E and I got engaged. I didn't really think too much about the wedding. In fact, the night after the proposal, we stayed up talking about the honeymoon and the bar trip and whether we'd be combining them. Travel: that's our focus. We didn't even discuss the wedding: other types of people focus on that, we were too chill to worry about those details.

Only now, about a month or two into planning, I'm learning all sorts of stuff about myself, my family, E, E's family, tradition, society, culture, and history. And it's all coming from planning the wedding. I'm slowly realizing that despite having no ideal wedding, the fact that we're having one means we're falling into step with a rich cultural tradition. Everything we choose that's against cultural norms (synthetic ruby engagement ring, best friend as the internet ordained officiant, etc.) has to be explained in delicate terms so as to assure family, friends and others that we aren't judging society, we aren't judging them, and we do plan to be committed to each other with the same level of sincerity as the "normally" married couples they know. Not only that, but we do want them to attend, be involved, and approve of our commitment to each other. It's much more complicated than I ever imagined. In a wonderful way, it's actually not too stressful, but rather, educational because it tests my commitment to the "alternative" ideas I had about getting married.

On several occasions, I've had sympathy for how much more difficult this process must be for same sex couples. Because, when the push comes to shove, I can just abandon any one of my "alternative" ideas when I realize that it upsets those I love more than it's worth.

Elope? Turns out there would be too many hurt feelings by older family members who would probably never forgive us, so it's definitely not worth it. Destination wedding? Sounds great in practice, but it's really hard to knowingly choose to filter the guest list by ability to afford and take vacation. Wedding party? I didn't want one, but E did, so I compromised. Small wedding? Well, what about this relative and that old friend of your parents? They will be so hurt...

While E & I are very independent thinkers, I find myself crumbling on some of the smaller issues--particularly when I look to E for support in my ideals and I hear, "all the details are irrelevant." It's not worth the fight with my father to exclude his friends that I don't know from the guest list. It's his wedding too, in a weird way. His polite requests for his friends' inclusion have broken down more barriers than I could have imagined. This event is important to him. It's important to my mom. It's important to E's mom and dad. And it's important to our friends.

All of a sudden, I'm feeling a hell of a lot more normal. Getting married IS a big deal. Every invitation sent does matter, both for continuing relations between families and for future friendships.

Perhaps the biggest change of opinion for me concerns registering for gifts. Previously, I saw it as a tacky request for STUFF, and figured that it was even tackier when done by more mature couples like E & me who live together and have a fully stocked kitchen. I've realized that the wedding is more about society celebrating and accepting the union and less about the couple defining their own union (for we have our entire relationship to do that). E doesn't care if we have a registry. In fact, E said, "I don't know, I always thought they were pretty cool. They sure make stuff easier." And, I'm coming around. I'm realizing the list is actually appreciated by people who want to give the bride and groom something they can appreciate and use for the rest of their lives together. I'm seeing the other side. I may not fully appreciate the other side, but I'm starting to understand why it exists and feel that I don't need to stand up in defiance of it.

Most of you don't know me well enough to comprehend how large of a paradigm shift this is for me. But I do. And I'm telling you, it's huge. I'm accepting cultural norms I previously protested for the sake of my family, my friends, and the ease of fitting in and making people comfortable. Oddly enough, it feels good. I feel less selfish. Weird.

More Important than Working on My Note

Ditzy Genius is back.

Go check her out before the black squirrels get to her again.

Planning

During the race and the weekend of fun that followed, E2 and I had time to talk through quite a few interesting topics. One of them was planning.

Generally, I'm a planner. I feel safer, comfortable, and less stressed when I have an idea of what is going to happen when, even if it's completely and totally wrong. I get a perverse sense of happiness from a todo list. So, I don't regret time spent planning that eventually is wasted due to changed circumstances. I'm also a goal-setter. I rarely just do something on the spur of the moment. Rather, I DECIDE to do something on the spur of the moment and then plan how to follow through.

E2, on the other hand, is not a planner. She hates the act of thinking about doing stuff when she could just be doing it. While we were talking about planning, she mentioned that she would be much more efficient if she were more organized.

This got me to thinking about the difference between spatial organization and temporal organization. Temporally, I'm German. But, spatially--I'm Italian. I lose my keys at least once a day. I put the phone in the fridge and the laundry in the freezer when I'm not paying attention. I lose my car in the parking garage by school so often that the parking attendants know me by name and often point my car out for me when I get off the elevator. It annoys the people who have to deal with me but it's just not important to me at all. I can't imagine anything more boring than putting together a plan for where stuff should go. And I probably wouldn't follow it all the time anyways. So why bother? I suppose that's how people who aren't planners see the numerous lists and date-blocking plans I make.

E2 and I are both reasonably successful in our own realms. But we have completely different approaches. When it comes to planning, she's a satisficer and I'm an optimizer. Certainly, we both fall prey to the pitfalls of our extremes: I will overplan in my desire to do things the best possible way, and in doing so, I'll miss out on actual "life." She will settle on a plan that is acceptable to her and just do it, but in doing so, will miss out on steps in the process that are better for her needs and wants. Except, generally, she'll finish quickly. I don't mind wasted time spent planning because I consider it an investment in the enjoyment of the thing being planned, she prefers the spare time to be spent doing other things she enjoys.

Someone once told me that satisficers are happier, overall, than optimizers. I think that's probably not true. There's probably some inherent value judgment that makes us each choose our way with respect to various topics. I'm not always an optimizer. I detest shopping. And when it comes to shopping, in stores, I'm a satisficer. I will buy the very first thing I find that meets the minimum necessary constraints (color, fit, and price, generally). Then I get out of the store and go home and plan my next vacation, or read a book, or plan a list of books to read. E2 is much more of an optimizer when it comes to shopping. Needless to say, she's better dressed than I am.

Quite a bit of this thinking took place instead of work on my note. This weekend was so perfectly enjoyable, with the weather, a race, a party with friends, and relaxation that I couldn't bring myself to spoil it with the note. And that's not an optimal decision for time management because it will bring me more misery later tonight and tomorrow. But, it was a decision that optimized my sense of instantaneous happiness. And, pushing the work off to a big time crunch will still satisfy the requirements. So, I acted like a satisficer when it came to working on my note this weekend. And I'm happy. Talk to me tomorrow, though...

The Agony of The Feet

Half marathon? Check.

Even though I was probably under duress when I committed to it, I trained for two months and ran my first half marathon yesterday.

My legs woke me up last night at around 5 AM--they just wanted to check in and let me know exactly how much pain they were in.

See, turns out, the Santa Cruz Mountain range, yeah--there's some elevation gains out there. I did all the recommended mileage for a half-marathon, but, I didn't do ANY of it in the hills. Oops.

Thankfully, before the race, I ran into M, a friend from law school who's a bad ass runner.

"Have you run this race before?" She asked.
"No. This is my first half-marathon, actually." I proudly replied.
"Oh." She grimaced oddly, "It's a hard one."

She then warned my ignorant self about the elevation (apparently, experienced runners look into the profile of a course before they show up) saying, "I finished as the first female in this race last year and I had to walk up the last hills. My advice to you is to take it easy on the first half, you'll need it at the end." It was VERY good advice, and I'm very thankful for having run into her.

E2, the friend I've been friends with the longest (18 years!) and I ran it together. Somewhere around the top of the biggest hill, I decided E2 should DEFINITELY be in my wedding party. It doesn't get much closer in terms of friendship than staying in touch for that long and going through torture together. I asked, E2 accepted. We ran at a decent pace over the straightaways, walked some of the uphill sections (although we should have walked more, since those that did just passed us on the downhills following the uphills we ran), and basked in the first warm day of sun this season as we enjoyed the view from the trail of woods, green mountains and valleys.

D, B&G, and H all came out to support us and M stuck around after finishing 6th to cheer us on as well. So, we finished the race covered in mud to cheers from our friends. We had hoped to finish in around two hours, but it took us 2h26. Given the course, we were very happy with the result and spent the time after the race excitedly planning our next one.

I guess I didn't need to be worried about losing my desire to run.

Overall, I'm only mildly in pain, and in exchange I have great memories plus a ridiculous sense of pride. I can see why B complained that this sport is addictive.

The Trial

Last week, my trial was on (hence the lack of posting). In my judge's chambers, each extern gets a trial to sit through and basically, acts as the clerk for that particular trial. Man, clerking is the best job on the planet. (Okay, perhaps being a judge is cooler, but still..)

My trial was educational and even (according to the low, low standard of entertainment in court) amusing. Highlights included:

--the woman who hypothesized that the reason she was stricken from a previous jury was that she was asked if she would have a problem with the fact that the defendant needed an interpreter and didn't speak English and she said, "well, yes, of course I would have a problem with that." (Really? You think they challenged you because of that little old thing?)

--the man who discussed the hit-and-run car accident he witnessed in excruciating detail in response to the question, "have you ever been involved in a crime that was prosecuted." Punchline? they never caught the guy. But, thanks for sharing.

--the woman who got snippity with the judge asking her if she was biased who finally said, "well, I'm an old hippy from new york. Do you think I'm going to be biased against the government?"

--In response to "do you have any religious or philosophical beliefs that would keep you from being able to decide who was lying and who was telling the truth?" the woman who said, "it makes me physically ill to think about being on a jury. I just keep telling myself, 'don't throw up, just don't throw up.'"

--the PLAINTIFF randomly interrupting the court, saying, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but..." (he was shushed by his lawyer at the judge's suggestion.)

--the PLAINTIFF frustratedly gesticulating and arguing with his counsel in whispers about whatever it was he wanted to discuss with the court.

--the PLAINTIFF rushing out of the courtroom without explanation.

--Plaintiff's counsel apologizing to the court saying, "I don't believe my client took care of his, uh, *needs* before we commenced."

--PLAINTIFF's much-awaited return 90 seconds later, when he rushed back into the court, paper towel in hand and grin on his face. Better yet was when he said, "Sorry Court," and sat down.

--PLAINTIFF's witness who testified that he knew plaintiff because he was friends with plaintiff's son's brother. (Huh?)

--Defendant's counsel making the analogy between a correctional detention facility and summer camp.

--Plaintiff's counsel getting down on his knees, shakespeare-style, during closing arguments.

Little Help?

I know nothing about Puerto Rico. There's a chance we may go on vacation there. Generally, I try to read a book or two written by a native author before or during my trip to a new place. For Puerto Rico, there doesn't seem to be a go-to history or work of fiction that makes people say, "if you have to read one book, it should be this one." I suspect my lack of Spanish googlefoo is holding me back, but then again, if it's not at a 4th grade level, I can't read it in Spanish anyways, so perhaps I'm not missing out.

Any suggestions?

Tell us how you really feel

The judge introduced me to my new favorite insult today: Oleaginous. (Thankfully, it was not used in reference to me.)

There are many listed definitions, but I point with glee to my favorite:


adj 1: unpleasantly and excessively suave or ingratiating in manner or speech; "buttery praise"; "gave him a fulsome introduction"; "an oily sycophantic press agent"; "oleaginous hypocrisy"; "smarmy self-importance"; "the unctuous Uriah Heep" [syn: buttery, fulsome, oily, smarmy, unctuous] 2: containing an unusual amount of grease or oil; "greasy hamburgers"; "oily fried potatoes"; "oleaginous seeds" [syn: greasy, oily, sebaceous]

Source: WordNet ® 2.0, © 2003 Princeton University

A six pound good deed

My sister and I drove to San Luis Obispo this weekend to go visit our grandparents. They are getting on in age and the family had made it clear that the grandchildren (and, in particular the grandchildren with children, which thankfully leaves me out of the double guilt dosage) needed to start making efforts to visit, not efforts to explain why they hadn't visited.

This time of year, when it's storming, central California looks like Hawaii: the hills are deep spring green, it's raining, windy, and there are rainbows every day. After 3 hours of driving through the gorgeous views, we pulled into the budget motel I'd picked out (the grandparents are too old to be hosting guests but not too old to think they aren't and be insulted if you say no, so you have to check in BEFORE you show up at their place).

Although I hadn't recognized it on the web, on person I had a flash of recognition and said, "Hey, sis, I've got a question?..."

"Yes." She immediately responded with conviction and pulled out of the parking lot.

Turns out, the cheap motel was the place our grandparents had been pointing out to us since we were quite young. Every time, they'd point and tell us the story of the young girl who was murdered in her room one night and they never caught the killer.

Right. So, we found a different motel. Then we headed to gran's house, in town, where we were asked, "Do you want a steak or a fish dinner?" How great is that? When I've got guests, the question is usually something much more ridiculous and stupid like, "What types of ethnic foods do you prefer? Any food allergies? Special diet? How long do you want the meal to go? How hungry are you? How important to you is the value of the food? Music? Size of the restaurant?" But, nope. Not Papa. When fish was decided, gran and papa had my sister drive to Morro Bay so we could eat at Dorn's Cafe. This was convenient because Chris Dorn, the manager, was somehow involved in the superbowl betting pool that my papa and all the other local farmers belong to. Business/Pleasure. Whatever. The food was excellent, the ambiance and views were gorgeous, and I couldn't have done a better job with my 20 questions method of selecting restaurants. Never hurts to have the manager greet your grandfather by name and escort you to the table, either.

Gran and Papa were determined to show my sister and me a good time. They ordered a bottle of Talley Chardonnay, sauteed mushrooms and steamed clams for appetizers. Both appetizers were excellent, but by the time we were done, I had no room for more food (and I'd run 11 miles that morning, if that gives you any idea of the size and richness of these appetizers). Laughably, I still had a salad and my main course of halibut with rice pilaf and green beans on the way. So, I did my best to eat those and watched in shock as Papa put away a bowl of clam chowder, and a large calamari steak. Gran slowed down after the clam chowder, but I would have too if I was allowed to do so! My sister and I laughed as papa continued to put away food, clearing his green beans and asking gran why she wasn't eating her calamari steak, which he repeatedly refered to as "magnificent" or "perfect" and kissed his fingers. Of course, he kept turning off his hearing aid closest to gran so he couldn't hear her, she'd have to yell, he'd roll his eyes at us, she'd roll her eyes at us, and well--it was the usual adorable stuff.

The best part of the whole weekend? This morning, when we showed up for brunch, Papa informed us that he'd gained 6 pounds between breakfast on Sunday and Monday morning. When you're old and you've lost a lot of weight, it's a good thing to put a little back on. My sister and I were VERY proud. Now if only we could figure out how to do it without matching him him pound for pound...

Insomnia

As far as I'm aware, I have little to no stress in my life right now. I'm in ONE, (count it, one) class, and I've got a bad habit of not doing the reading without any guilt. Work for the judge is interesting but not overwhelming. And Monday is a holiday.

So what's with the random insomnia?
Friday night, we had friends over for dinner and stayed up talking, playing video games, etc. 'til 3:30 AM. Unplanned, but a blast. Unfortunately, because of the early wake-up for the judge, I couldn't sleep in.

So, a few short hours ago, E & I crawled into bed after K's birthday dinner and fell into blissful, much-needed sleep.

Now, I'm up, completely awake, and exhausted. What the hell?

Some General Comments

Running anything more than 2.5 miles on a treadmill vaults me into a frame of reference where time dilation is damn high. Clearly, the explanation is that I'm running at near-light speeds... (Horrible. Geek joke. I'm sorry. No really, I am.) Stupid rain, means I can't run outside.

Two cases on my desk (with a big ugly social security edit to come back any day now and raise the total to three, no doubt). Both are big, dense, detailed patent disputes. I'm content and the clerks are celebrating the approach of the holiday known as handing-off-of-trash-to-the-extern-who's-been-here-enough-weeks-to-have-half-a-clue. presidents' day. Everyone wins.

E's P2 450 appears to be going the way of Renquist--all signs indicate that we may have to replace it, but we're reverent of its previous service and we don't want to talk about the approaching doom in front of the poor thing.

And finally, I filed my FAFSA last night in time for today's deadline so I didn't make the stupid mistake of last year, so, in prep, I finished my taxes. Or, I thought my taxes were done, but todays' emails from both the feds and the state inform me that my returns have been rejected. Apparently, when they ask for your "Adjusted Gross Income" from the prior year to authenticate your filing, they actually mean "what you originally claimed as your AGI before you received the 3 months late W-2 from that bankrupt good-for-nothing company you worked for" (i.e. before the amendment to your AGI, or not your 'actual' AGI, just the number you originally 'thought' was your AGI). Or, at least, I hope that's what they meant, because I'm running out of numbers to feed them.

Il Fine Settimana di San Valentino--A food and wine tour

Tomorrow, E and I will probably do little-to-nothing special. But, this weekend was perfect, so we're happy to rest at home and do nothing.

We started by having friends over for dinner and stuffing ourselves full of frozen-and-baked-but-just-as-good-as-fresh elk bolognese, spinach salad with Wisconsin feta, red onions, orange tomatoes and balsamic vinaigrette, freshly baked bread, wine, and dessert of cantucci in melted guittard french-vanilla chocolate. (Have I mentioned how much I enjoy cooking instead of studying on the weekends?)

Saturday, we slept in (scheduled rest day on the race training!) and then took off on the gorgeous drive to Amador County. Because it was February, the hills were a kermit green instead of the "golden" brown of the majority of the year. The weather was obviously confused, however, because it was warm, sunny, and clear. E commented that the windmills on the Altamont pass are often used in cheesy commercials selling the "future" and are a well-known Californian landmark. I had no idea, I'd been seeing them on road trips since my childhood. Given the green hills and blue sky, they were striking and gorgeous this trip, as opposed to the typical view they provide, which is merely interesting.

Finally, after a couple of hours of driving, we hit our first stop in Ione (a town we'd never visited on previous trips) Clos du Lac. They had a good table red for a reasonable price, a great petit verdot, a few other decent wine offerings, a five course food pairing, recipes for several of the courses, and, of course a gorgeous view of highway 88 and the hills it cuts a swath through.

After relaxing, eating each of the five mini-courses, and picking up a few bottles, we headed to our second stop in the bustling metropolis of Ione (pronounced "I own"), Nua Dair. Or rather, we tried to go to Nua Dair. We actually took a wrong turn and ended up driving past the Ione prison (contributing roughly 70% of the total population to the town) and juvenile detention facility (which looked like a really expensive boarding school). Eventually, we found Nua Dair and were greeted with enthusiasm. We were the only visitors at the time. A bus of 60 had passed by earlier, but thankfully we missed them. Nua Dair's food was good, the wine was decent, but the people--I love people who make wine as a vanity project. The owner told me he was a CPA and that it worked nicely because tax season is exactly the opposite of wine season. Immediately, my brain started spinning with plans of switching to the tax concentration and living a half-lawyer, half-winemaker life. Needless to say, E quickly pulled me out of there.

Stop 3: Bray Vineyards. Good syrah. Great U.S. senate soup. AMAZING olive oil from the French Creek Olive Oil Company (916-454-8570). Conveniently, we had almost run out of our favorite drizzling oil. French Creek had three different bottlings on sale, and each one could hold its own against Zampa without a problem--oh, but they are half the price, in prettier bottles, and made by local producers. We came home with too much olive oil, but I'm sure it'll make excellent gifts and food.

After wine-tasting, we were ready to relax, so we headed to the Wedgewood Inn for our sleeping quarters. It was quaint and full of goo-gahs, trinkets, doilees, antiques, etc. It was nice. I'm sure it was much more nice than I can appreciate. I felt how I'm sure others feel with me when I'm appreciating wine or food. I would have been just as happy in a spartan, clean, modern room with 1/10 the decoration. To each his own, I suppose. The owners, of course, were adorable and quirky, as was the dog, Wags. There's a reason why the focus in B&B is on the "bed" and the "breakfast" equally. The bed--I am not equipped to fully appreciate it (although, it served its purpose quite well, but it was wooden and full of carvings that looked old...I'm sure that's something worth appreciating to someone, to me, it was comfortable). But the breakfast--fresh squeezed orange juice, cheese blintzes in blueberry sauce, fruit in blueberry yogurt, bran muffin, and sausage--what do you think?

Today was more of the same. We hit Drytown Cellars for the screw cap demonstration. It was fun to see the bottles pass through the bottling line from start to finish. They ran the machinery so you could see the vacuum filler do its work (FAST!) as well as the capper, foiler, and labeler. I am now the proud owner of drytown cellars water in a screw top bottle. It's one of my favorite acquisitions of the trip. Drytown's wines are very reasonably priced and well-made. We picked up some every-day drinking bottles as well as some barbera futures for what was in the barrel and should be bottled this June.

We tried TKC winery and verified that like its neighbors on bell road, we're just not fans of anything they make. Wine is personal, so by all means, you should go see for yourself, but for us, there's just no need to go down that road.

Oddly enough, Dickson Road, the next road off of Shenandoah Road if you're coming south from Bell Road is home to three of our favorites: Vino Noceto, Domaine de la Terre Rouge, and newly discovered this trip, Serenidad. Serenidad is obviously a vanity project, the tasting room is in the garage in front of what appears to be their home. The only reason we found it this trip was because they'd posted two young boys with a sign pointing the way outside of Terre Rouge. We were happy they did though since they had a very enjoyable blended table red for $9 as well as a light pineapple and honey sauvignon blanc for $9.

To break up the drive home, we met up with some friends in Alameda (they got wine as a house-warming present) and enjoyed dinner at one of the greatest sushi restaurants in the bay area, Kamakura.

Alas, it was all so very wonderful, San Valentino, but now it's time to do taxes, the FAFSA and Finaid application. So, yeah, that's why we'll be doing nothing of note tomorrow. Happy valentines day to all of y'all.

Good News, Bad News

So, the good news is: ONE OF THE ORDERS I WROTE WAS PUBLISHED!!! I'm suffering from serious geek happiness right now. Something I wrote (which was accepted with very few edits, much unlike the majority of the orders I've submitted), is now available on lexis, westlaw, and will be available in books in legal libraries. Wow. That's cool. Of course, it's this arcane, ridiculous subset of law that needed a published case because it hadn't been addressed before, so you can imagine how out-of-the-norm it was. I don't care. I'm still ridiculously excited.

Bad News: I met with the professor who gave me the crap grade. I explained how I mis-read her exam instructions and how my answer makes perfect sense if you follow my interpretation of the instructions. Unfortunately, including me, 2.4% of all students who took the exam went with my interpretation. I don't exactly have "this is a popular interpretation" as an argument on my side. The professor apologized, explained that she didn't feel she could do anything with my grade and offered to write me a letter of recommendation to explain that the grade is not indicative of my understanding of the subject matter (since I did much better on the other questions, and she knows me from office hours).

Obviously, I didn't turn down her offer of a letter. I explained that I wanted to clerk and was concerned about the grade, since it doesn't exactly look like it belongs on the transcript of a federal clerk. She told me to keep my hopes up. I'm wary though.

My clerk's comment today didn't help. He read my exam instructions and agreed that I had a decent argument (not the strongest argument, of course, but a decent one). When I returned from my meeting, he asked me how it went. I explained that my grade would not be changed, but that the professor would write me a letter. The clerk said, "That sucks. It shows that she doesn't understand how the process works. They put you into the 'No' or 'Yes' pile long before they read your letters. I'm sorry." His tone of voice was very sympathetic. Perhaps that was the most impressive thing of the whole exchange. This clerk thinks I'm being screwed. And he's off to the Supremes next year.

Oh well. Such is life. At least lexis and my clerk think I'm smart. And, as I said before, I'm not scheduled for sentencing on the criminal calendar. In the grand scheme of things, I've got no problems.

I've also probably got no reason not to take off for a week and go to Italy during the school year of 3L. Sometimes the silver lining rocks.

The honesty fairy

Most of my favorite bloggers are very open with the details of their lives on their blogs.

Not me--I usually prefer to keep important stuff to myself until I figure out who I can trust it to. I think this isn't a common personality trait amongst the this-is-what-I-had-for-breakfast-today blog crowd (as opposed to the comedians or the pundits). And as much as I might prefer otherwise, I fall more into the excrutiating detail category than the other two.

So, in awe of my betters, I thought I'd point you all to transmogriflaw's discussion of Post Partum Anxiety (who knew?), which was inspired by Energy Spatula's arresting post about body image, and the amazing power that it holds over women. If a kick-ass female like ES has issues, then I stand by my long-held belief that all women have body issues of some sort. Some just hide it better than others. Perhaps a quick kick to the teeth is needed. Girls, think about employing the boot the next time an insensitive would-be complimenter says, "Oh, you look so great. Have you lost weight?"

Thankfully, I don't have any read-worthy issues that I'm aware of at the moment (ahhh... repression, it's a fabulous thing). So, I'll just say thanks to those of you who are brave enough to share yours and wish you the best.

Bzzzzz

I'm unbelievably busy these days. Work for the judge keeps me entertained--time flies each day and before I know it it's time to leave and run or be social or (god forbid) take care of annoying journal commitments. Speaking of which, I ran 31.54 miles last week as part of my half-marathon training schedule and I'm damn proud, if I do say so myself.

Anyways, I spent last weekend in LA visiting friends, so I did 10 of my miles at the friendship run. Damn kids--they are fast! It made me speed up though, so I can't complain. Note to all of you in relationships: if you hit a point where you're annoyed or fighting for some unexplained reason, sometimes a weekend apart is the answer. Nothing like sleeping alone to remind you how great you've got it and what you should show your appreciation for.

Other than that, there's not much to report. Except (1) my brother's dog is due to have her puppies any day (now that's cool) and (2) I managed to completely misunderstand the legal proposition in a case I cited in a memo today (thank goodness my work goes to clerks first...)

A Real Life

My work in chambers feels like a job. A Real Job. Like what I do actually matters in the world. Along with that comes the feeling that I'm competent, unique, doing a good job, and don't need to compete with anyone to be certain of those things. I was unaware that law school deprived me of the feelings of satisfaction and easy identity that working has always provided me. It's an interesting revelation.

I've met international strangers in my travels and had several conversations about how the United States is more a nation of "what do you do?" than "who do you know?" "where are you from?" or "what do you like?" Each focus has its drawbacks but when you're steeped in a culture, sometimes you forget that there are options. I've almost incessantly been employed since the age of 15, with the brief exception of 2 months living and studying in Italy. This is the first time in my life when I've been a full time post-secondary-school student. It's decadent. It also messes with my head more than I realized.

Now that I've got regular hours and a regular, fairly predictable work load (ah, the beauty of volunteering instead of being an actual employee), I've got a much more committed social life, a to do list that I'm tackling each week which is filled with non-law-school priorities, and travel plans for at least one weekend every month this year.

I'm happier. And I'm one of the ones who likes law school. I really do. I enjoy the rigor, the focus, the reading, the things I've learned, the professors, the whole shebang. But now that I'm on reprieve, I must admit: It is a grueling experience. If you listen to E, it's much more demanding than I let myself admit, and as a consequence, I'm visibly more irritated, unhappy, and unpleasant.

These days, I'm learning just as much in chambers as I would in class. I leave work with a fatigued brain only to dream about the cases that I'm on. But, despite what looks like similarities to law school, I'm more balanced (for starters, I'm making time to train for my race), I feel like what I'm doing is much more valuable to the world at large than book learning (maybe because it is?), and of course, I have more spare time than when I'm in class so my overall quality of life is higher.

I suspect this says something about the law school model and its failings. But I'm too tired to follow the thought to completion...

Whoosh...

Down the drain. My GPA, that is.

Yup. My open letter to the professors (below) must have been well received. It was a red letter day all around, actually. First, I walked in the rain towards the crossing only to miss the train by 30 seconds. Then, because I'd be late if I waited for the next train, I traded the solace of reading on a train for driving to the courthouse in ridiculous Californians-don't-have-a-clue-about-rain traffic. About 2 hours after I arrived, I checked the school website and took a sharp, painful intake of breath at the unpleasant surprise on my transcript.

Heads up: my newly informed opinion is that it's a hell of a lot easier not to care about grades when they are reasonably good. Trust me, if I could find a way to not care, I would. Of course, the two hours of criminal motions I sat through immediately after seeing my grade made me feel like even more of an ass. I don't really have any problems. Those people, they have real problems. Me, I've got prima donna, pretty pretty princess problems.

And it sucks. Because I'm really enjoying being in chambers.

Oh well. I'll have to keep telling myself that all I'm losing out on is a large pay cut for the privilege of working 60-90 hours per week. I won't believe it, because I'm in chambers now, and I'm having so much fun. Each day's work is a new combination of reading briefs and motions, researching topics, writing orders and memos to the judge on points he needs to understand. Just seeing all those briefs and motions and knowing what the judge wants to understand has made me feel like a better lawyer. In addition to all the work, I get to see talented and fledgling lawyers going through all the motions that I hope to one day go through. I get to learn from their skillful maneuvers and mistakes.

And the clerks have it even better. Sure, they give me some interesting things to research and I'm thankful for each and every opportunity, but it's still the drudgework. They get to keep the really juicy work for themselves. That is an opportunity that used to be a pipe-dream and now resides soundly in our freshly fixed plumbing, post-flush.

Lame.

An Open Letter

Dear Professors from last semester,

I do my best to live a life of moderation despite a personality that edges towards the extremes.

I heard that you all got together at Professor Fed Court's house and partied in the new year like rock stars. Good for you. I'm over that period of my life, but I understand the desire to experiment, particularly if you're the kind of person who missed out and made sacrifices because you felt that you could impress Sandy, Bill, and/or Ruth with your straight-edge diligence (but not Clarence, we all know how he rolls).

I only write to inform you that your collective new years resolution to go on grading strike and really test that grant of tenure has side effects. On my mental and physical health. I am developing Repetitive-Stress-Injuries from logging on to the school web-site and attempting to load my grades. I am going blind from the glaring white of the empty grid where my grades should be. I am losing my ability to keep life in perspective because despite the taboo about ever mentioning grades, it is evident that my peers have seen the feared and hoped for letters, visited their therapists, achieved closure, and moved on to the stress of the current semester. I feel cheated.

I just thought you might want to know.

Sincerely,
BT
Class of 2006

So Different Now

White wine is Apollonion, the wine of polite and dulcet discourse, frippish gossip, banal phone calls, Aunt Ethel's quiche, a wine for those busy discussing closure, healing, the role of the caretaker, the evils of butter, the wine of the sincerity monoethic. It occasionally, of course, rises to greatness, and you may have some if you've been economically diligent or are an heir of some sort. I'm sure that even the cheaper varieties have brought thousands of soccer moms sanity-healing sex fantasies.

--Jim Harrison

Thanks to the privacy requirement that prevents me from bringing work home from chambers, I have weekends again. Today marks the beginning of my second real weekend in a row after 6 months of school, interviews, moot court, traveling, holidays, and general madness that meant no weekends.

Last weekend, we went out to dinner with friends, I ran 8 miles, bought a few nicer pieces of clothing to wear to chambers, and E and I tested our engagement by going to Home Depot, buying the necessary supplies and replacing the garbage disposal together (it had exploded in a greasy mess about a week prior--this led to the discovery that ants like grease, who knew?). We succeeded and didn't kill each other. The new disposal eats food like nobody's business. So, I celebrated its usefulness by making salmon-mushroom cakes from the Alaskan Salmon my dad gave us after Thanksgiving. I now have MUCH more appreciation for any type of fish cake made from scratch. It's a TON of work. I also now know that neither I nor E like crab-cakes or salmon cakes enough to ever do that amount of work again.

This weekend, is similarly chill, and I couldn't be happier. Last night, we had a great night on the couch, where we planted ourselves with red wine and watched both volumes of Kill Bill. I like my movies on the ridiculous side, I enjoy cartoons, and I prefer coversations that stream in multiple languages over those that stay in one. If you're like me, you'll like the Kill Bills. Today's grand plans involve lazing around and possibly paying some bills, maybe scoping out a dry cleaner's (which I'll absolutely need now that I'm in jacket and tie mode every day), scratching the more interesting stuff off my to-do list, and making Spanakopita for dinner. The evening's plans involve TetrisWorld on the Xbox (a christmas gift we haven't tried), eating the spanakopita, drinking wine, and well, not much else. Tomorrow, I've got 8 miles to run, and yeah, that's about it.

There's nothing I have to do, but plenty of stuff I can do, should do, will do, and, perhaps the most important one: there's stuff I won't do. I'm thrilled. I HIGHLY recommend externing to any and all law students.

He's not my senator

In the spirit of free speech that I've witnessed near my chambers this week, I'd just like to say that Senator Reid is not my senator.

The Sierra Club just showed up at the door. We thought it was the pizza man since we'd ordered a finals pizza (you can save your order in the servlet and just click "order," it's exactly like finals except I'm lazy, not stressed, have no homework, and it's just the best Friday ever to eat pizza, drink wine and watch Kill Bill vol. 1 on the couch together). E answered the door and immediately screamed, "hey, do you care about the sierra club?" and of course, I do.

So, I invited the poor freezing girl from Santa Cruz in to sit on the couch while I wrote my check. E sulked off to the office and hid. I'm now a proud member of the Sierra Club. But, turns out they aren't a 501(c)3, which surprised me. Why the hell wouldn't they be? They do accomplish more good in this arena than any other organization, and I'd MUCH rather support them than the militant trust-fund baby infiltrated Greenpeace (okay, so the trust-fund baby comment stems from a bad outside-of-greenpeace experience with one of their employees, perhaps the rest of 'em aren't so radical and irrational, I kind of doubt it though).

She explained that they were signing up new members, and I agreed. I wrote a (non tax deductible) check for $60 and signed up. In return, I get a magazine once every two months and I know that I support an organization that accomplishes some good stuff (when they aren't getting snowed by swarmy outsiders).

After I wrote the check, she told me it was her first night volunteering, I was her first sign-up, and if I wanted to help some more, I could sign one of her postcards for Senator Reid, to express my disdain for oil drilling in the Arctic.

"Who's Senator Reid?" I asked.

"Actually, I don't know." She said. "It's my first night, I need to do more research on that, and, uh, like you said, on why they choose not to be a non-profit organization."

"Huh," I grunted, annoyed. "Because, Senator Reid, he's not my Senator. He won't care in the least bit if he gets a post card from me. That little portion there, where you fill in your address, yeah, it's going to say California and he is going to ignore it."

"Well, obviously, you don't have to sign the postcard if you don't want. Signing up for membership is more than enough."

Oh. Good.

On Making Partner

Yeah, you read the title of this post correctly. I'm a 2L and I'm going to write about making partner. Or rather, I'm going to write about how annoying it is to listen to people with my level of experience or less talk about making partner. People shun it as a goal not worth pursuing because "you have to sell your soul." If you ask them where they got this idea, it's very rare that they sat down with a partner and discussed their life with them. Most of it is myth and conjecture.

Other people discuss making partner as an inevitable result in X number of years (never mind that they haven't even sat for the bar) because "I'm competitive and it's my goal." And, what's most shocking to me, people in this camp choose the firms where they will go work after school based on whether the "partner track" is 5 years, 7 years, or 10 years. They discuss the longer partner tracks as serious drawbacks.

Wait a minute, people!

Most of you are 25 years old and have never had a real job. You have no idea what your work style is right now, much less what it'll be like in 5, 7, or 10 years. If you were a part-owner of a business that you had built from the ground up, would you want to let a newly minted employee put in 5 years of work and then join your partnership, despite the fact that it took 3-4 years to figure out if he was a good employee in the first place? Would you want to be liable for his actions?

In no other field (except perhaps medicine, where you've put in at least a decade of hazing) can you join a company with the express intention of becoming one of the owners. But many of my fellow students see it as their only purpose. It makes me sad.

So, I've got a novel proposition. Why not focus just a little bit on the present? How 'bout some short-term goal setting? How 'bout living somewhere else than in the dreams of millions of dollars and prestige that can't possibly arrive for at least 7 years.

Most partners probably envy you your life right now. So, sit back, enjoy it and stop trying to control the future. Chances are, if you are dilligent, it'll work out the way you want it to. But, if everything you want isn't in the present, you're probably not too happy, and that, my friends, is actually something you can control.

Running From Everything

Ever since school started, I've been running more and more. It took me a while to realize that running was preferable to the particular brand of dizziness/migraines that my body prefers. But, once I figured it out, I was hooked.

So, I ran a total of 582.48 miles in 2004. That's an average of 11.2 miles/week. And while it's enough to get me to Tijuana (sign me up!) over the course of a year, it doesn't exactly make me a runner. It makes me more of a recreational jogger.

Except during finals, that is, when I ran 86.48 miles over 35 days, or 17.3 miles per week. During those few days, I was almost a runner. (As an aside, did anyone realize that in total, law students spend almost 10% of the year in finals? No wonder it felt ridiculous.) I was also a marathon procrastinator, and in one particular fit of avoidance, I registered for a half marathon in March and promised myself I'd train for it in 2005.

I put in a great first few weeks of the training program in Australia, where there was lots of beer, wine, food, and not so much aerobic activity. This week, my first actual attempt at sticking to the training schedule, I'm slated for 25 miles. So far, so good, but talk to me after Sunday when I'm supposed to run 8 miles. The furthest I've ever run is 9.1 miles. Very slowly. During finals. Not after a month of the holidays, partying, and gluttony.

By the last few weeks before the race, I'm supposed to get up to 31 miles/week. But I'm externing for the judge this semester and have only one class, so I shouldn't be too stressed--in other words, I may have trouble motivating.

It should be interesting to see if I even like running after this experience.

It slowly approaches

2004 is officially over, as is my month-long winter vacation.

Jet lag is on its way out, FINALLY. The time change to Australia was easy. The change back has been painful. I've been getting between 3 and 5 hours of sleep this week because I've had to be at school for externship orientation.

Halleluiah! After two bore-me-to-sleep days of lecture and oh-so-enlightening library treasure hunts, supposedly I'm oriented. I now know not to steal from the judge and that to openly take bribes from attorneys in court is bad. 1 unit of my semester down.

I thought I'd signed up for my 3 classroom units on Wednesdays this semester. But no, it's Thursdays. This means I start school tomorrow. That was not my plan. I'd planned on easing into the semester by starting both the externship and school with a 4 day week (thanks MLK). Apparently not.

Which is unfortunate because I'm not ready. I've got science fiction books left to read and plumbing issues to deal with (now we have roots in the sewer line AND an exploded garbage disposal--Joy!)

Oh well. Such is life.

On Break: The Gourmet Reading List

I'm tan, relaxed, and getting closer to completely satisfying my pleasure reading urges for the next few months. The completed books for winter break now include:

In a Sunburned Country -- highly recommended for amusement and background on Australia. E and I both read it and laughed out loud on several occasions.

The Golden Age -- decent brain candy, but suffers from the typical science fiction maladies of too many characters who aren't well-enough developed, and a complex world of brilliant ideas but not enough logical connections between those ideas and the plot, such as it is. It's an investment of at least 100 pages to use your imagination to fill in the unexplained blanks of this world. But, now that I've done it, I'll probably finish the series. I like my version of their world.

Night of the Avenging Blowfish -- a gift for the trip (or possibly a loan, not sure) from E's sister. Completely brainless, funny, and in a nice big font. Perfect for beach-reading with a beer.

The Big U -- the first Neal Stephenson book, of which, he was apparently embarrassed. I can't understand why since it's a hilarious parody of academia and university life. In particular, his descriptions and scenes involving ineffective academics and psychadelic students are laugh-out-loud funny. The plot is basically thin, and/or missing, but it's a joke, right? I can only assume he's embarassed because he expected the book to stand as a story, not a parody. Neal, if that's the case, you missed the boat, it's one of the funnier things I've read in a long time as it stands. Sure it's not your current genre, but it's got merit on its own.

Vacation: Food and Wine Report

Kangaroo.

Turns out, them's good eats. I know, I was shocked too. I ordered it at one restaurant on a whim. I figured, since Kangaroos are the Australian version of our racoon, it would probably be gamey, stringy, and fairly disgusting. But, instead, it was a very pleasant meat, served rare, with a taste reminiscent of duck (an oddly low fat duck) and the consistency of rare filet of beef.

Other Food.

Anything and everything you want, except there's not a single decent Mexican food place in the whole country. There's a serious opportunity there. Someone. Go. Do it. Burritos, Tacos and Margaritas belong on those beaches!

Like California, there's a strong commitment to good food and large immigrant communities from almost every well-known food nation to offer their expertise. In continuation of that pseudo-California, but ha-ha, not really at all theme, Aussies call the first course the entree, and what Americans refer to as the entree, they call the mains. Also, Chilled oysters are served all over Sydney for about 1/2 the price of their Californian cousins. Loving shellfish, I took advantage of this on two occasions, once as an entree, once as a mains.

The best meal of the trip, hands down was enjoyed over a 3-hour view of the harbor from Forty One on the forty-second floor of Chiefly Tower in downtown Sydney. We had the 3-course offering, which when the mini intra-courses were included came to a delicious total of 6. The amuse-bouche included an asian soup spoon piled with wakame, salmon tar-tar, and roe. Pre-loaded spoons of ocean delight, can you get more lazily decadent? We also managed to drink A$50 worth of water. We had come from a day on the beach and were thirsty, the service just kept pouring... in hindsight, we should have ordered another bottle of wine for the same money and opted to re-hydrate with water at a more reasonable price after we left. Oh well.

The filet mignon was fabulous, as were my oysters, served with a martini-sorbet shot topped with the freshest pop-in-your mouth caviar I've had since 1999 (ahh, the bubble years). We finished with the cheese plate for two, and we were pleased to see that it contained several Australian offerings--the Victorian double-cream brie was as good as any french equivalent I've ever had, and both times we had Australian goat cheese, it was fabulous. Add a good Yarra Valley Pinot Noir and fireworks (someone hired a private fireworks display over the harbor, apparently they do that...) and it was well worth the ridiculous price (which would have been at least 35%-40% more in California).

Asian food, interestingly, was almost half the price of the equivalent quality food in California. No doubt this is partially because we stayed in Chinatown and were close to some of the good finds (our hotel had a cheap and FABULOUS malaysian restaurant despite the sparse decour). But, it also probably a combination of the proximity to Asia and the lack of popularity with non-asian clientele. E and I had one of the best Sushi meals we've ever had in a small restaurant where every person there besides us was either a Japanese tourist or of easily recognizable Japanese descent (most appeared to be hosting relatives for the New Year). The fish was as fresh as it comes and the entire meal including wine and sake cost less than half of what we would pay at home. Street sushi bars are much more popular than sit-down sushi restaurants, and many offered A$2.50 plates. This is raw fish people! That's too cheap.

Table Wine.

Good cheap wine is of slightly higher quality than the average Californian bottle of comparable price. The price differential between the two is low enough that I suspect a slight change in currency values and the inverse comment was/would be true. If a bottle is less than A$15 it invariable comes with a screw-top, which is quite helpful to travelers taking wine on picnics or opening a bottle for a glass but wishing to store the rest for later. The Hunter Valley is the only wine region close to Sydney (2-3 hours away with traffic). To be honest, we had much better wine from the bottle shop than from any of the wineries we visited in Hunter Valley. When looking at a wine region map, the 12 well-known regions are clustered around Adelaide and Melbourne. Next trip, we'll be heading there. In particular, this trip, we had a few great Yarra Valley and Mornington Peninsula Pinot Noirs, and McClaren Vale Shirazes (Shirazs? Whatever, Syrahs.)

Oaked Wines.

I learned that in Australia and New Zealand, wood chips and/or sawdust from used barrels or oakshavings from the barrel making process are often dunked in the must to impart oak flavor. I'd never heard of this process before and was amused to find that they refer to it as "teabagging." Yet another important cultural difference. Kiwis, Aussies, be careful when using this term in the US.

Botrytis.

I'd heard somewhere that there was a sweet wine made from moldy grapes. Noble rot, it's called. Mmmmm, sounds delicious. Just like toe jam from stomping the grapes. I tasted quite a bit of Semillon Botrytis in Hunter Valley, the oldest wine region in the Country. The "stickies" were definitely some of the better wines made in this region: sweet, fruity, and well... too sweet and fruity for me at 11 AM. But I could see how they could be enjoyed. Mainly by people who love dessert, that is, people not like me. But at least they weren't horrible like many of the other wines we tasted. In fairness, we only visited 3 wineries and had another winery's Shiraz with lunch (which wasn't bad with food, but definitely was not great). So maybe the other 136 wineries in the region produce innovative, delicious, and wonderful wines. But, Judging by the quality of what people were willing to pour (dirty, sedimenty, oxidated-to-the-point of vinegar "shiraz" at one establishment) and the level of "education" at the tasting rooms, I just think this region still has a ways to come before it catches up with the younger regions to the West. But, it taught me about Botrytis, which is responsible for Sauternes, and "teabagging" which is good for a laugh.

Overall, the food and wine were excellent.

Vacation, Reviewed

First and Foremost, E and I got engaged on a beach beneath the Southern Hemisphere stars a few nights ago. We're pretty stoked.

The beach vacation destination was Sydney, Australia and environs. The entire trip was amazing. The 9 PM New Years Eve fireworks display at Darling Harbour was the largest both E and I had ever seen and it paled in comparison to the 12 AM show.

Sydney, during the holiday (and I suspect at other times as well), may very well be the most international city I've ever visited. There's no monopoly on culture or language, just thousands of people all from different places enjoying and/or living in the friendliness, beauty, and congeniality of one of the world's greatest cities. Sure, there are plenty of Australians, but their numbers seem to be matched by members of various other cultural groups depending on the region of the city where you are taking data samples.

Sydney-siders and other visitors often tried to draw the comparison between Sydney and the San Francisco Bay Area. It's there, but there are differences. The Sydney Harbour doesn't reek like the SF Bay during summer, the views from the tall buildings are much better, and the proximity to warm beaches without fog or wind in the summer is something the SF Bay rarely, if ever can offer. Also, in SF, there is no meal known as "Brekky," which is a good thing.

Bondi, Coogee, and the like? Best damn sand in the world. They must go through it with a seive to keep it so fine and clean.

The Tsunami was the front page the entire time we were there. In their generous response and emotional outpouring to the nations affected, Australia is embracing its Asian location in a time of need and healing old wounds for many (they had a white-only immigration policy until 1970). The lesser pages of newspapers focused on baffling local politics, Arts and Entertainment with a much larger American bent than I would have guessed from the street fashion, and, of course a much larger "World News" section than American papers have. According to the Sydney Morning Herald, "World News" must include a true article about some oddities perpetrated by or to the French, like the details of the capture of the Gentleman art thief, and the adorable French tradition of car-bombing on New Year's Eve. I admit, it was amusing and did help me feel more worldly.

Relief

Who knows if this is too early, but I'm feeling better. I made a new friend this semester, J. He had plans to take off for Thailand before Christmas to go beach hopping. I bit him farewell and best wishes after our last final together and thought nothing more of it. Sure, he was traveling alone for the first time in his life, but I've done it many times, and really, we all survive. We grow. It's good for us.

Unless of course, we're beach-hopping during a Tsunami. When the news of the big waves came to me, I immediately felt guilt. He'd asked whether he should cancel his trip since his traveling companion had bailed on him. In response, I goaded him, chided him, and challenged his masculinity in order to encourage him to go it alone. How horrid would I feel if his decision, which may have rested a little, or possibly even quite a lot (given the fact that my pressures came during finals) on my words, resulted in his injury, or worse yet, his untimely demise. I've been trying to relax and tell myself that life goes on, it's out of my hands and I must wait 'til next semester when surely, he'll arrive on campus with amazing stories of being in Thailand during the aftermath of the big earthquake. But I couldn't help but wish there was a way of knowing that it was going to be okay. I couldn't help but feel guilty that this new friend of mine, whose parents I briefly met, may not be okay and may not be able to contact his parents, and even if he had, it would be uncouth for me, the recent acquaintance whom they don't know, to call and check in on him. I also couldn't help but realize that he was probably one of the best friends I'd made in law school thus far, possibly #2 behind H.

So, you can imagine my happiness when tonight at dinner, F's boy, D, who regularly works in Singapore and had the low down on the waves, told me that very few tourists go to beaches on the West side of Thailand (where the waves hit). For the most part, the tourist beaches are on the East coast. When I heard D's words, I released the air that I had unknowingly lodged in the bottom half of my lungs for at least 24 hours. Why have the news articles neglected to inform me of this? Regardless, I'm fairly certain that J wouldn't venture to 3rd world beaches, and as such, he is safe. Here's to hoping I didn't stoke his adventure-traveling-alone fires too much with my bravado.

Also, and more importantly, here's good thoughts to all in that region who need them.

Happy New Year All. Be thankful for what you've got.

Cooler than I will Ever Be

Jeremy outed himself as Anonymous Lawyer.

Rock On J.

Seriously. If I had to guess, I would have pinned it on you or Wings and Vodka

Off to sulk in my mediocrity. On a beach.

The Other Side

Family on two coasts: visited.

Gifts wrapped and unwrapped: yes.

Thank You notes: most written and sent.

Emergency back up gifting for people who surprised me with gifts: tomorrow, a la Harry and David.

Books read so far: Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (Courduroy? Courdoroy? ...), Perdido Street Station.

Books left to read: In a Sunburned Country, The Golden Age, The Phoenix Exultant, and anything else I get my grubby mits on.

Bags lost by Delta: 1.

Bags successfully arrived on same flight: 1.

Number of forms I handed to people in line waiting for baggage claim forms: 7.

Explanations I gave about how baggage claim forms could be filed: 2.

Satisfaction that I am in law school, on vacation, successfully home, and not working for Delta, the day after the Comair debacle (Fortran???): high.

Enjoyment from 2005 summer associate holiday gifts: elation and surprise at the first, a collection of random holiday stuff; serious adoration for the firm who sent the second, a bottle of coveted wine that is already sold out. I'm slightly leaning towards firm two as of now (they've obviously got my number). Stay tuned.

Happiness at the plans for a New Year's sunny beach destination: immeasurable.

A year reprieve

Well, I'm done. Federal Courts was one of the more difficult, I-don't-have-enough-time-to-address-everything-here type of exams that I prefer. I walked out, discussed it with a few people, picked up K and drove home. Thanks to working for the judge, I will only have one final next semester, if any. So basically, I don't have to do another finals streak for an entire year.

Like the last one, this episode was an exhausting 18-day push filled with pizza deliveries, flashcards, diet coke, reading 'til I couldn't see, a billion gallons of green tea, stress, and about 16 nights of not enough sleep. In order to preserve my sanity, I ran 38.12 miles and put up with Bryan Kest's philosophical musings for 5 hours of yoga. I think it worked, and suspect I'm still sane.

When K & I got home, L was already here, visiting from Los Angeles, and H showed up shortly thereafter. We all drank wine, told stories, and laughed. I tried to believe that I was actually done, but it didn't sink in.

Then, L drove us to D's birthday party. L was a surprise, and D freaked out, screaming and crying, and all of that good stuff. I joined the real world just in time to hang out with my closest friends (all gathered at the same place, a rarity), have ice-cream cake and champagne, meet B&C's new baby, and watch a videotape of S on college jeopardy. Wow, 80's hair. Of course, after seeing someone on college jeopardy, playing X-box trivia in order to beat him is a moral imperative. Yeah, my team lost. I think I may have sabotaged it. Really, whose idea was it to give me more questions to which I did not know the answer?

Despite all of last night's activities, it still hasn't sunk in that I'm done. L and I went to bed at 3 AM, but my body woke at 8 AM, sleep-deprived, with the foggy morning-after headache, but amped on adrenaline, and ready to get some studying done. Also, I woke from a dream where L was handing me evidence and D was some sort of judge, quizzing me on the proper ruling, in a pseudo-courtroom.

Cheers to normalcy. May it return sooner, rather than later. I could really use some sleep.

Truth Hurts

beep, beep

--Yeah, I know, I'm probably going too slow. [bt looks down at the new gadget]

--11:01 mile? This thing has got to be broken. It must not have a good link to the GPS and is missing a data point or something. There's no way I'm running at below a 10 minute pace. [speeds up]

silent

--That's better.

silent for quite some time

--Shouldn't this damn thing have beeped the mile marker yet? I know it's been a mile since I last hit the lap button.

beep, beep

--Oh, good. [Looks down] What do you mean "Speed Up?" Where's my mile time? [Looks again] Really? It's only been 0.85 miles? Huh. I guess this route isn't as long as I thought...

beep, beep

--I know, I know. I'm SLOW today. Stop it already. [speeds up]

beep, beep

--Look, gadget [lifts arm to sky while running in case the extra few inches will help
it receive the signals]. I know I set you to yell at me whenever I dropped below an 11:00 mile pace. But really, can't you cut me some slack? It's finals. I'm new at this. I figured a 9:45 mile wouldn't have many places where the runner was below 11:00 min/mile pace. I see now that I am wrong.

silent

--Thanks. Now, where am I? [looks down] Really, it's only 3.85 miles to this point? I could have sworn it was at least 4.2...

beep, beep

--Right. [speeds up] Thanks so much, you helpful gadget [thinks about "accidentally" breaking gadget].

--So, let me get this straight. I was off on the distance of this route by almost 10%, so then my pacing was off too...

Rad. I'm slower and I run less distance than I thought. God bless technology!

And then there was one

Evidence? The 4-hour exam is complete.

The worst thing about it? It was too easy. (Update: the new worst thing is that I've heard through the grapevine that many people thought it was very difficult. Rad... now I'm either the one who missed the complex shit, or the one who's getting screwed by the curve.)

Sound like I'm complaining? I am.

Ridiculous? Maybe.

But given a choice between an impossible exam and one that just about everyone will feel good about, I'll take the difficult one, thanks. Because when everyone else feels good about the exam, I start to feel terrible. Not in the competitive sense, but in the, oh-shit, I've seen what a steep curve does to easy exams sense.

Bummer. If my guess is correct, this exam is going to come down to, who incorrectly read one/some of the multiple choice and who made small assumptions the professor didn't intend from the fact pattern? I'd so much rather lose points because I missed something difficult than because I missed something stupid. C'est la vie, I suppose.

To recover, H, J, and I went for mexican food and margaritas. Then H and I sat on the couch and surfed reality TV for about 4 hours. With wine. Maury and Judge Judy are SMART when you're in post-exam state.

Last night, I refused to start studying again, so I hung out with E and watched the rest of The Conversation. It's an excellent Francis Ford Coppola movie that ends in the form of a question. I went to bed thinking about the movie's plot, the scene ordering, and the nature of the main character's paranoia instead of the evidence exam. It was perfectly unrelated to anything about finals.

After almost 9 hours of Zs (!!), and yoga, I'm going to hit the books for one last subject. 3 days to go.

Delirium

Start with one 4 mile run.
Add 7 hours of federal courts outlining and general confusion over the subject matter.
Top with 6.5 hours of evidence flash cards and evidence discussion with a willing idiot-in-crime.
Back up every important file on the laptop and garnish with 1 hour of downloading previous exams and registering the ridiculous exam software plus making certain that it functions in secure mode to avoid last semester's computer nightmare.

Chill and serve: one exhausted, harried, slap-happy, but still alive 2L.

Key word chill. Only two to go.

Shopping

I hate shopping. I hate crowds. I hate mass consumerism. Ikea is my idea of hell. Yeah, I'm a ball of fun for the holidays.

Predictably, Christmas gift-giving, for me, has turned into an excuse to plan days throughout the rest of the year when I'll visit, cook, take people out, meet up with them in a cool locale or even [if I must] take them shopping (the little sister and mom often go for this option).

Obviously, there's an exception for children. I'll elbow my way through hordes of bitter soccer moms if it means getting the last leapfrog for my niece. (On a side note, they have leapfrog products for high-school students? Cheating never felt so cute!)

But, the last few years, I've noticed that I've gotten better about shopping. Growing more tolerant with age? No. Getting sucked into the American way? Perhaps. But really, it's the magic of the Interweb. On-line shopping was designed for people like me. So much of the reason I don't buy crap (other than the fact that most of it's crap) is the whole process of buying crap. The lines, the crowds, the stupid stores, the noise, the huge selection of a bunch of stuff you couldn't pay me to take home... you see where I'm going here, right?

Last year, I completed much of my Christmas shopping before I arrived in my hometown and actually gave out material presents, I even wrapped them. Granted, I had some of them shipped to my Mother's house and all I had to do was show up, pick out a roll of wrapping paper from her selection of 1 billion and I was good to go. But I call this efficiency, not laziness.

Anyways, the point I'm oh-so-slowing getting to here is that the timing of finals before the holidays has made me a better Christmas shopper. On-line shopping for family and friends is preferable to studying for the 14th straight hour. So far, I've taken care of my dad (even recruited some siblings, so I'm up on the Karma scale), several friends, E, and I also managed to order some books for myself for the break, as well as a self-indulgence I couldn't resist:

A GPS timer and trainer for my running escapades. It is the coolest gadget I've acquired in the last few years. Tonight, as a study break, E and I took it outside, allowed it to sync up with the satellites and walked around the yard, laughing at the 23-40 minute mile pace it desperately tried to average into a useful metric.

Oh, and studying is going well, thanks for asking. I'm meeting and surpassing my goals. No. Really...

Two down

Two to go.

The 24-hour take home is a cruel joke. Extending the stress of an exam into a 24-hour marathon is not a gift. I'm way more wiped out than I would have been had I taken an in-class exam (for starters, I could have slept the other 20 hours...).

It does have one benefit: the time period after the in-class exam, where everyone (or at least everyone like me) spends a few hours mulling over the exam and slapping themselves on the forehead, thinking, "oh shit, I forgot that point" is actually included in the 24-hour window. By the time you turn it in, there's no point you can claim to have forgotten.

For example, I woke up this morning at 6:30 after about 4 hours of sleep to realize I'd forgotten an important portion of the analysis on one of the questions. If it had been an in class exam, I would have been long finished and I wouldn't have had the "opportunity" to make good on my realization. But, I also would have stayed in bed.

C'est la vie.

Finals Snapshot

Rained all night. I know because I had too many ridiculous stress-induced dreams and woke about 8 times--each time shaking my head at the hilarity of my subconscious and the continued downpour.

Now, after 7 hours of studying I have an over-caffeinated buzz that threatens to become a headache. My stomach is threatening to strike and it must have recruited my tongue because food is tasteless. My eyes are exhausted from all the reading and my body is exhausted from the high work-out/low sleep ratio.

It's 4 PM on the day before my first exam and I am torn by compulsions to sleep and work maniacally at the same time.

Yup... sounds about right.

Reality Check

Finals suck. But really, it could be much worse.

A friend of mine, L, recently was screwed out of a promotion by one of the members of her group, T (who has lots of friends higher up in the company). Oddly, T somehow always manages to end up with the credit for L's work. Anyways, L wasn't promoted, but to keep her from quitting, they promised her a project to "prove" herself, which she needed to complete in the next 3 months. Of course, a couple of weeks later her manager's manager gave her a "fire" to put out which would take 2 months and wouldn't allow her to complete the project in time to meet the 3 month goal for the promotion. When she talked to management about it, she was accused of not being a "team player," and it was hinted that she didn't deserve the promotion anyways if she didn't know how to put the team needs first. Rad.

Just another reminder of why school really is better than the real world in many ways. At least grades just randomly screw you over--it's nothing personal.

I wouldn't choose L's work crap over the month of vacation I've got coming to me. Who would? (oh, right, except people who don't want to die with $1,000,000,000 of school loan debt...)

Salve

Engineering is not a good prep for Con Law. I'm in class with people who knew lots of useful crap about American history before they showed up, including several, like my friend D, who took Con Law in undergrad at very prestigious schools from very prestigious Con Law scholars. Today, D came over and we busted through two old exams from the prof. I feel better about my chances on this exam now.

In other news, I pulled off a 6.2 mile run with no pain, and I don't hate everything about college football anymore. Things are looking up.

Robbed

Texas, college football powerhouse that it is, is going to the Rose bowl.

Guess I've got some good karma coming my way for finals.

Elk Bolognese

My father recently gave me 3 packages wrapped in what looked like brown butcher paper labeled "dead elk stew." (Yeah, Pa's a little bit of a redneck...) Turns out, the brown butcher paper was actually a brown lunch sac (the french spelling adds class, you see...) and my dad had wrapped the meat himself in celophane inside the bag. So much for being thankful that he'd finally started taking his game to the butcher. (Okay, maybe a little bit more than a little redneck.)

I've never cooked with Elk, but given what I know about venison, buffalo, and other big game, I figured it would be, well "gamey." And, a little tough. So, what better to use it for than a bolognese sauce?

Impressed with my brilliant idea, I figured Google would save the day with a selection of recipes, but I was wrong.
What? Only 3 mentions on the whole Internet for Elk Bolognese? I tried "Elk Lasagna" and found a similar dearth.

At this point I figured I must have made some horrible mistake--how could I be one of the first people to think of elk as a substitute in this country-style italian recipe that has more variants than just about any other recipe I learned in Italy? So I looked into the nutritional properties of Elk. I decided that not only would it work, it would be the lowest cholesterol, healthiest lasagna I've ever made (not that this means anything except on the lasagna scale since I still use butter, pork, mozzerella, ricotta, and parmigiano).

Anyways, the moral of the story is, Elk meat chunks, buttressed with a little more ground pork than normal used as a replacement for veal, prosciutto, and chicken livers in a bolognese sauce--DELICIOUS!!!

The lasagna won accolades for the best I've ever made, which is particularly impressive because I used the no-boil barilla lasagna sheets instead of making the noodles by hand (my procrastination does have limits). The meat chunks fell apart in people's mouths and were flavorful but not gamey.

Okay, I really must study now.

Proceeding Apace

My ankle seems to be better. I ran an easy 3.27 miles this AM and it's not in pain, so I proclaim myself healed. I'm hoping to hit the books by 10 AM today for the earliest start on a study day during this finals period. I'm really having trouble motivating, which is unfortunate, but I feel like I'm starting to get the requisite level of stress that will allow me to get up at 7:30 after today.

Yesterday, for example, it was the best I could do to do roll out of bed in time to go grocery shopping and do Power yoga 3 by Bryan Kest at 11 AM (If you are an experienced yoga student looking for a great yoga workout, I recommend this DVD for the workout but warn you that Mr. Kest talks TOO MUCH and his philosophical sound bites combined with his jersey accent are a bit much to take.) I finally hit the books after noon--not exactly awe-inspiring commitment.

Add the fact that we had guests over for elk (thanks dad!) bolognese lasagna last night and you can imagine that my study day was not particularly long.

Here's to my study days getting longer and my efficiency going up. I've got an entire Fed Courts Outline to create, all of the cases in evidence to make flashcards for, about a billion evidence practice problems, and oh, yeah, that hairy ball of a mess called con law, where my outline is ostensibly complete, but I feel completely unprepared...

Guess I'll have to switch to macs

IBM is getting out of the laptop business. After the troubles I've had with cheaper laptops from lesser vendors, I finally got myself a thinkpad. It rocks. I guess I'll have to drive it into the ground and hope there are quality replacements in 7 years or whenever I finally admit that it's dead.

In other news, yet another mistake has created a new favorite recipe. Last night while emailing back to professor Con Law about a dormant commerce clause question, I forgot about the soup on the stove.

Accidentally Roasted Carrot Soup

1. Dice 1/4 onion and 4 cloves of garlic.
2. Sautee in a large pot with olive oil 'til the onions are clear.
3. Add 3 cups of baby or chopped carrots, briefly stir.
4. Add 4 cups of broth.
5. Allow to boil until the broth has entirely boiled off and the carrots are stuck to the bottom of the pot.
6. Add 3 cups water. Stir and deglaze the bottom of the pot. Bring to a boil for 5 minutes.
7. Remove the carrots with a slotted spoon and puree them in a food processor.
8. Return the puree to the liquid in the pot and stir.
9. Serve immediately.

Grrr...

I was doing all right. Finished all of my reading. Almost done with the con law outline. Not too stressed and feeling like I had a decent schedule planned out for the next few weeks.

Last night, we moved up another notch on the gift-sushi ranking and received fried hamachi head as the chef's addition to date night. Seemed like a good omen.

Today, after a leisurely morning of studying for a bit, I left for a 6 mile run. At mile 1.5, I veered off the path to avoid two soccer mom-type women who were walking and talking abreast, taking up the ENTIRE path. Immediately after passing them, I rolled my ankle on the uneven terrain.

I stopped and must have grunted in pain because they turned around to ask me, "oh, are you all right?"

"No, I'm not all right, my ankle hurts, my running schedule is going to be all messed up for finals, and now I have to go home instead of finishing my run. I can't help but feel that this is partially your fault for not understanding trail etiquette--if you see someone coming, go single file 'til they pass!"

Okay, so I didn't really say that. But I wanted to. Instead I told them I was fine, tested it out, and decided to run the 1.5 miles home to try to beat the swelling.

Now I've got ibuprofen in my system, ankle wrapped for swelling, and I'm off to H's for a day of studying. Any pull you have with the healing gods would be much appreciated over here.

Almost Halfway There

Thanksgiving with the family was everything it could have been.

First, we celebrated on Friday instead of Thursday, which meant that I got an extra half day of studying before the feast and was able to drive from 3 PM 'til 6:30 PM on Thanksgiving day. Talk about no traffic.

Second, my cousin from Washington flew in, I also got to see my other cousin, niece, brother, sister, father, aunt, uncle, and brother's in-laws. It was a big, full, long table with my father at one end and my 3-year-old niece at the other, each ably commanding the appropriate level of respect that is due to the head of the table.

Third, the turkey turned out perfectly, which is important since I was the designated cook (getting up after a night of drinking with my brother the construction worker to put the 22 lb. bird in the oven by 9 AM was fun...)

Fourth, the entire event was merely a 4 on the drama/annoyance scale of 10, which may be a family record low. Furthermore, in a shocking display of maturity, my parents both contributed very little to the things about which I could complain. Wisdom may very well come with age. How great to like them more as they grow older. I'm certain this has nothing to do with me maturing past the oh-so-pleasant ages of 14-23. Thankfully, I have cousins and siblings in this age range (not to mention fellow law students) to remind me that perhaps some of my earlier annoyance with my 'rents stemmed from my youthful idiocy instead of their unreasonableness...Nahh...Not me.

Fifth, and most importantly, after the 1.5 days of family crap, I was ready for a break. And I got one, in the form of a trip to Amador Wine Country with E on Saturday. Tasting good wine and buying multiple cases to stock the house for finals and the holidays was an excellent way to escape from the trauma of repetitive childhood patterns and remind me that I'm an adult with a wonderful life, an excellent partner, and overall, a million things to be thankful for, including my wonderful family (through wine-induced rose-colored-goggles they are perfect). E and I agreed that the Amador trip will be a regular addendum to Thanksgiving or Christmas with my family. I couldn't be happier with this plan.

Sixth, the freezer is now full. While most people leave Thanksgiving weekend with leftovers of mashed potatoes, yams, turkey, stuffing, and pies, I left those things with the local family. Instead, my father and brother, who are straight out of the hunting and fishing channel filled my trunk with 3 pheasants (thank goodness my father pays to have those birds cleaned by professionals now that he doesn't have children at home), 8 pounds of elk meat (the brown butcher paper helpfully labeled in sharpe pen "dead elk stew"), and about 20 pounds of alaskan salmon. We could have had venison as well, but we opted out, which just means I'll be looking for a good venison recipe to prepare for the whole family back in the homeland over Christmas week. Anyone know of any good recipes for backstrap?

Looking back, I see that I really couldn't have grown up to be anything but a food and wine geek. I was raised on freshly killed game, 4-H raised pork, beef and rabbit (raised 'em myself--that'll teach you about the value of life and where meat comes from, I'm an unapologetic carnivore, thank you very much!), and fish caught and cleaned by family members. My grandparents had a farm that my grandfather worked himself until I was in my mid-teens (and even in his later years he had a strong influence with the people who leased the acreage), so we ate home-grown persimmons (hate them), walnuts, sugar peas, lettuce, and more. When you've gone that route, just about anything farmed or raised in a mass-produced manner won't cut it. See... I really didn't have a choice.

After a reluctant return to my real life today, where I spent 8 hours studying and dealing with the faulty plumbing in our house, I had to focus on the positive, which is this:

I have too much to be thankful for to enumerate. Not the least of those things is that in a few short weeks, I will be halfway through law school. Half. Way. Done. Wow.

If I Ran the World

Everyone would just understand that forbidding teachers from showing students historical documents that reference Christianity is censorship. The history of this country DOES include quite a bit of Christianity. You might have heard. Systematically hiding a portion of the truth from people on any issue is never a good idea. [link via Mean Mr. Mustard.]

On the other hand, while people would be very against censorship, they would also understand that state-sponsored discrimination in the name of religious freedom is a laughable oxy-moron.

Perhaps we need to focus a little more on those historical God documents in school to explain to people that the purpose of religious freedom is to PREVENT discrimination on the basis of religious beliefs, not allow for it.

Regardless, happy thanksgiving Y'all. Be thankful.

UPDATE:

In response to a comment, I looked a little further into the teacher story. 'Til I see more details, I'm going to go with the mainstream media on this one. I'd love to know more about the reality of the handouts if anyone has verifiable facts--obviously I have no first hand knowledge. But, I find it hard to believe that not a single 5th grade parent of this guy's students (in the San Francisco Bay Area) wouldn't make it known if the handouts were actually as atrocious as feared...

UPDATE 2:

E thinks I'm completely missing the point and the comment is a troll. E also thinks I cannot refrain from troll-baiting in response as it is my blog-given duty. Huh. Humans, amazing we ever manage to communicate anything, ain't it?