HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Speaking of monkeys

It's scary how human the baby looks. Like an ugly human baby, granted, but still.

you look like a monkey and you smell like one too

This weekend should be exciting. Tomorrow's my 23rd birthday, which I have mixed feelings about. I just think 23 is too old. Too old for me, anyway. It works on some people. But, I'm going to a toga party on Saturday, which I've always wanted to do. I went to a toga party when I was 11, which was awesome, and hopefully this one'll be even better. Also, tomorrow marks one week since I've smoked. You have no idea how encouraging this is, b/c I've found the secret to quitting: make new friends who don't smoke & distance yourselves from those who do. This has its drawbacks for sure, since you might actually like your smoking friends better. And I know I'll start again (I'm going to Vegas in 2 weeks, so of course I'm going to smoke again), but it's nice to know that under the right circumstances it's doable.
Memorable birthdays for me:
6: had the flu & puked on my cake. But my b-day fell on Yom Kippur, so it evened out. (I have pictures of this. I'm wearing my brownie outfit and don't look happy.)
15: had my first cigarette. A Newport.
18: all alone at TAC b/c everyone was at the gala.
20: My first radiohead concert (technically the day before, but we were still there at midnite)
21: Brick's Kellar in D.C. Peed on the shoulder of the Beltway on my way home. Also had champagne at work (9 a.m. at the pharmacy)
22: studying for LSAT. Also, not allowed to drink that year. Boo hiss

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C65G5mm-17M&mode=related&search=family%20guy%20brian%20peter%20griffin

TV sucks

At my roommates' behest I sat and watched The Office (American) and Grey's Anatomy. Having seen the REAL The Office (British), not only was the American version not funny, it pissed me off bigtime. Bigtime. Wow. And Grey's Anatomy was so godawful boring and trite I wanted to jump out the window into a pile of broken glass. And these were the long-awaited season premieres! My introduction to these shows was when they had 3 months to pull out all the stops. And during The Office my roommate who loves it & has never seen the original version was laughing hysterically at the dumbest and most obvious-appeal-to-the-lowest-common-denominator bullshit. Sigh. There's nothing to do now- wait! I'm in law school! Maybe I should crack open a book, just for fun.

Well, since no one reads my blog anymore looks like I can just post any random thing that amuses me without feeling guilty. And here it is. I've been watching a lot of youtube.com and as I was searching for simpsons episodes, I somehow got sucked into the other dysfunctional Simpson family, aka The Newlyweds. My favorite line: Jessica, pouting outside the car as Nick Lachey gets into the driver's side: "Baby, when we were first married you used to always open the car door for me." Nick: "Yeah, well, when we were first married I was also getting laid."

My new favorite song: The Bagman's Gambit by the Decemberists: it's the ultimate spy/love story. here's the first verse:

On the lam from the law
On the steps of the Capitol
You shot a plainclothes cop on the ten o'clock
And I saw momentarily
They flashed a photograph, it couldn't be you
You'd been abused so horribly but you were there in some anonymous room
And I recall that fall I was working for the government
And in a bathroom stall off the National Mall
How we kissed so sweetly
How could I refuse a favor or two?
For a tryst in the greenery I gave you documents and microfilm, too. . .

The grass is always greener

I've spent the last 2 1/2 weeks sleeping on the floor, which, I'll admit, kinda sucked. So yesterday I got a bed & now I realize how lucky I had it, wanting to get up at 7 am every morning when my alarm went off.

you won't be disappointed

joeymagazine.com

Philosophy Lite- now, with fewer calories!

There's a 2 week class called Moral Foundations of the Law, led by the dean the 1st week, and co-led by Bork week 2. (Exciting! I'll get a chance to meet my idol! But...) The problem is, that when you have a forum of 70 people, mostly from different educational backgrounds & many professing different ideologies, you get nowhere unless A) The matter at hand is limited and clear, and B) terms are defined from the beginning.
Our scenario was about spelunkers-turned cannibals (spelunkers are starving to death in a cave & they get word over the radio that they will die of hunger before they can be rescued. They form a "social contract" whereby they agree to roll dice & eat the low-roller. They are rescued days later & tried for murder. This country only has 1 penalty for murder: death. Questions: Should they be found guilty of murder; is it hypocritical of the cheif justice {this case was appealed to the Supr. Ct. of that country} to say, guilty, but recommend executive clemency?, etc.) As you can imagine, we got a barrage of "I thinks" and "In my opinions" but there was almost nothing solid to refer to (cf "Do you have text for that?) I hate this class. 2 of my fellow TACers use it for a study hall. I kid you not: Hobbes' "state of nature" was being confused with St. Thomas' idea of a "natural right" WITH RECKLESS ABANDON and it was heartwrenching. Someone suggested that instead of murder, the spelunkers could have waited for the 1st person to die naturally and then eat him instead. Many objected. The dean, rightly, asked, "Do you object on moral grounds or from repugnagce to eating human flesh at all?" One student then made up some vague, unsubstantiated, and incorrect reference to "Aquinas, like, asserts that humans have, like, dignity and so you can't, like, eat their bodies under any circumstances." To which fellow TACer & I replied that a dead body is really just a corpse, so you're not eating a person. And if that's the only way you're going to live, you have the right to do it. Then some hotshot yelled angrily in our direction, "Well, I believe in the resurrection of the body! You can't eat a dead person."
Sigh. But wait- there's more!
"Humans don't naturally have dignity anyway," pipes up another. "It's a social construct."

Howdy

Here I am at Ave Maria School of Law. I just got an email 5 minutes ago officially telling me that Notre Dame will not be able to accept me. Ha! As if I would want to go to a dump like that! I don't know where they ever got the idea I was interested..... anyway, I like Ann Arbor. My roommates are wonderful, as is my apartment, and I extend an open invitation to everyone to come and visit. Almost everyone. I've alreay developed a reputation here for sleeping through orientation lectures. Yesterday I woke up to hear the head librarian saying, I assume in some context, "Everyone go to the stacks and find a treatise!" I snorted awake and jumped up with everyone else and grabbed a book called "Law of Fraud." I showed it to the nice lady and she approved, so I went back to sleep. Law school's weird.
I also got stung by a wasp and I won an Ave Maria School of Law bath towel (MSRP: $19.99) for knowing the correct answer to how far away from buildings we can smoke. That's it for now.

I learned something interesting. Everyone knows that quote from Henry IV "First, kill all the lawyers." But did you know that that was not a criticism of lawyers, but, in context, was referring to how to create anarchy? I looked it up & to be honest I couldn't find proof, but I'm going to read it again more slowly to be sure. It reminds me of another oft misinterpreted Shakespeareanism. "If music be the food of love, play on! Give me excess of it.." I have that on a mug w/ happy cherubic child-lovers swinging gaily on flower-covered swings. But, read on! "That, in the surfeit, it (love) may sicken, and so die."

Still alive, just nothing much to say. Rosie & Adam's wedding was lovely. I'm finishing Brothers K after reading it steadily for about 6 or 7 months.

You Take Your Car

I'm having a midlife crisis. Except it's more of a "I've spent the better part of 5 years in SoCal & I haven't done anything cool" crisis. So, I've taken up basketball & surfing. With the basketball, it's more like, I learned how to throw the ball at the hoop correctly & I practice that a lot, but I'm not very good at executing it. And for the surfing, ok, I only did it once, but it was the most fun I've ever had in my life. I felt like Gidget. I said words like dude and rad. I caught waves and stood up on my board each time, even though I only lasted about 3-4 seconds each time. I sang that Weezer song as I carried my board to the beach. I swam with dolphins. No one who hasn't tried it knows the rush of getting up on the board, knowing that the only way you're going to come back down again is when you get your ass knocked down by mighty Mother Nature face first into jagged rocks. Knowing this to be the case, you do it anyway. Why? Because it's there, I guess. Nuts to law school.* I want to be a beach bum.

*Ok, not really.

Happy birthday, Marian, wherever you are!

The Legacy

For those of you who didn't attend Chez Martin, there was a "tribute" skit to John Marie that would have brought a tear to your eye. A couple, all dressed up, go to dinner at a nice restaurant and as they look over their menu, eat, drink wine, etc., a curious thing happens. Over. And over. And over. A light bulb & shade is suspended from a beam (this is in the commons) and hanging down is a thin rope. The light is on. On either side of the room is a set of three young men, dressed in collared white shirts & bow ties, on their knees, facing each other. One set crawls on hands & knees to the light, one pulls the rope to turn off the light. As they turn around to crawl back, the other three crawl towards the light and pull the string to turn it back on. As they turn around to crawl back, the other team moves in. This goes on for about ten minutes. At the end, the couple leaves the restaurant (of course oblivious the whole time to the lamp shenanigans) Daniel Lendman, the waiter, reads, in Italian, from Plutarch and Dante. The end.
It was lovely.

update: I'm all (?) better! Yay! i just hope I can get my defense scheduled soon, cuz I don't want to drag this out!I wish I had something more interesting to talk about than my teeth. Tell Maxabillion happy birthday!

Pericoronitis

I might have to postpone my thesis defense like a sissy little girl if my pericoronitis doesn't ease up. That's fancy for impacted wisdom tooth, which is fancy for tiny creatures camping out under my gum and making me cry.

This drove me batty and I hope it will do the same for you:
It is impossible to have 5 continuous (ie, each area is continuous with itself) areas all touching each other (in one plane). Use any combinations of curves & staight lines. Can't be done. I assume this holds for more than 5 also. This was discovered by people who were trying to pick colors for countries on a map.

SP Confidential Pt. 2 coming soom.......

24

Jack Bauer: Do you see that thing out there that looks like hedge trimmers?
Waitress Hostage: You mean the bolt cutter?
Jack Bauer: Yes, the bolt cutter.

I got an email encouraging the use of www.prolifesearch.com , a pro-life search engine (it's powered by google- use it; the more hits they get, the more they can donate to pro-life causes, plus it works jkust like any other engine) and just for kicks I entered my blog name. Then I found out that there's a FANTASY BLOG STOCK MARKET and they've got all these stats & graphs about my blog & I have no idea WHAT THE HELL this means. Check it out for yourselves! If your blog names are too mundane, maybe it won't come up, but if ou type in somethinginmyeye this weird stock market is one of the first links. And it's got a list of other TACer blogs too if you scroll down, with their market value or whatvever. crazy.

I got my full ride to Ave Maria! No stipend though, apparently....

If anyone has any suggestions of books to read (or places in the Summa) that concentrate on man's love for God, not as a practical meditational thing, but really delving into the meaning of it, please let me know. Thanks (Thesis- panic-time!)

Questions I asked myself while driving past the post office today:
If you mail something to your local post office, do they just open it when it gets there? Do they cancel the stamp?
If you pay by weight, what happens when you ship a big box of helium? Do they pay you?

Applications are all in. Now what? Oh, right: the 87 other top priorities I've been neglecting whilst I worried about law school.

Chappa-licious!

"The GOP team working with the White House to win confirmation of conservative Samuel Alito is putting out a warning to Alito's Democratic critics: Question his ethics and character at your own peril. In their sights: Sens. Edward Kennedy and Joe Biden.
'We're absolutely prepared to have an ethics debate with Teddy Kennedy,' says one indsider who mentioned the 'C' word: Chappaquiddick."
-USNews & World Report, Dec. 19

Break out the noisemakers!

Philosophus has just blogged his 500th blog!

165 this time around. 93rd percentile. Good, but not great. oh well. Ave here I come. Merry Christmas!

recant

Dammit. this is what happens when you date someone smarter than you. All your pet theories are short-lived. What took me over an hour to write he tore apart in ten seconds by pointing out that what I just posted can't follow because not only do animal populations not increase exponentially they remain the same overall size throughout unless they have room to spread out which most do not. Dammit. Well, I grudgingly sacrifice my theory on the altar of truth. Dammit.

Who's your daddy?

Where to begin? I have so many objections to Darwin. One is that he never shows that what he claims is even possible, much less probable much less unquestionable, namely, that a mutation that happens to be useful could become the norm and consistently passed down with few exceptions from generation to generation, and secondly, that that helpful mutation is so much more helpful than other mutations or even the old way that it beats out everyone else. For example, a big pack of wolves: most are the same, a few are born with slightly bigger tails- I don't know. But all the parents of that generation looked the same. It's only 3 out of 800 that had the slightly bigger tails. Then, say, 600 of those 800 cubs grow up (the rest die as cubs). Let's say those 3 mutated-tail cubs are among those 600. However, of those 600, maybe 2 are born with a mutation (and by mutation I mean, something different from their parents) of having especially white fur, another 3 have especially dark fur, etc. But these are freak occurences. Again, maybe another 1 or 2 have abnormally good eyesight, another 2 or 3 have abonormally bad eyesight, and perhaps so forth till about 40 or 50 of the 600 who made it to maturity have some sort of abnormality, be it beneficial, harmful, or indifferent. That sounds pretty reasonable, right?
The assumption here is that- and must be that- starting with this generation, be it ever so gradual, these slight little mutations are important enough to actually cause the especially white wolves (let's say it's snowy weather) or the bigger-tailed wolves or whatever, to survive longer and produce young. But wait! There's more!
Not only do these slightly different wolves have to reproduce, but they have to reproduce children who inherit the same slight trait that they themselves only got by a freak occurence. And these cubs in turn have to mate with other freak cubs etc ad infinutm to affect any change. And under Darwin's theory, there can't be an ongoing coexistence of mini-breeds of freak-wolves who have their advantage due to different mutations; i.e., it's either the long-tails or the white-furs, or the sharp-sights, etc etc etc, but no more than one. In other words, different mutations can't give equal advantage (ie, equal survival rates) to a group. Not only does the, say, white fur have to be an advantage, but an advantage consistently passed down, and not only that, but it has to be significantly more advantageous than the freak cubs born with bigger tails, which, while helpful, don't make the cut. Darwin says that any advantage, no matter how slight, will win out given enough time. I do not see that that follows. And of course, the biggest objection that I can think of at the moment is, well, it's twofold, and I've mentioned them already but I want to drive home how absurd it is, that
1. Cub A is born with mutation X. Siblings do not have mutation X. Maybe one other cub (Cub B) in the pack has mutation X. Same with mutations Y, Z, etc. Of course, these will not be the majority, even put together, because if we proceed from experience we see that children are usually born in the image of their parents; not that all kids are slightly mutated but it's so slight we don't notice. Cuz that's a different can of worms but if anyone wants to duke that out I'd be more than happy. Anyway, so that mutation happens to be beneficial and Cub A grows and has his own cubs. Chances are he did not mate with that one other cub in the pack that had X. He has 6 cubs, maybe one of which has the same mutation. meanwhile, the rest of the pack is expanding almost exponentially (granted a pack can't actually grow like that; only the Grimms can, but you see it's like that in nature). Keep in mind, it's only been one generation, and while Cubs A & B have had about 6 cubs each, so has every non-mutated member of the pack. Which means, that with every successive generation, those cubs born with mutation X, while possibly more and more in number each generation, but less & less percentagewise, will have to have a bigger and bigger edge over the non-mutated or differently-mutated cubs in order to even eventually phase them out. And remember, this "accumualation" in concentration of mutation X is so gradual that it can barely be noticed from one generation to the next, yet somehow it's responsible for, in every generation, a decided advantage to the Xers. And it DOES have to be a decided advantage in every generation in order for this to work. If someone wants to argue with me, please address this, and don't come to me with "but we know that evolution is true to some extent because yada yada yada" unless your defense actually relates to what I'm talking about. I really would love to know the answer to this.
I have more to say but I'm spent.

I was a Darwinist until I read Darwin.

Joel's father knows a lawyer who represented, pro bono, a couple of young men who were clearly guilty of bombing a Jewish temple. This is his story.
While the prosecutor was examining the key witness, the lawyer (Mr. Feil's friend) kept scooting his chair little by little to the side until he was at the prosecutor's table, at which point he starts going through the prosecutor's notes. The prosecutor notices this and gets livid. The judge gets livid. The lawyer apologizes and returns to his own table. The prosec. continues questioning the witness. The lawyer, once again scoots his chair over to the other side. This happens four times. Each time the prosecutor goes into a rage, the judge bangs his gavel, "Contempt of court! Contempt of court!" Finally, the jury is dismissed and the judge takes the 2 lawyers into his chambers. When the jury is brought back again, they see a chalk line drawn down the middle of the courtroom. The prosec. once again continues his examination of the key witness and the defense lawyer stands up and chucks his chair across the chalk line. The judge loses it.
"CONTEMPT OF COURT! CONTEMPT OF COURT!" Gavel banging, judge roaring, prosecutor shrieking, defense attorney maintaining his innocence-
"MY ASS DIDN'T CROSS THE LINE! MY ASS DIDN'T CROSS THE LINE!"
"CONTEMPT OF COURT! CONTEMPT OF COURT!"
2 weeks later when the trial was over (the defendants, by the way, were acquitted and their lawyer did a month in jail for contempt of court) the jury were interviewed about the key witness, whose testimony should have put the defendants in prison.
They didn't remember a single word of the testimony.

I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone it, People Like Me!

A fellow TACer and good friend's father went to Notre Dame Law. We'll call this good friend X. At my & Nick's prompting, X told his father he had 2 friends who wanted to meet with him & talk about getting into ND Law School. So, X's father suggested we come over to watch the ND/Tennessee game last Saturday. We went to their house, X introduced us, and X's father immediately begins giving Nick ND literature. The boys go to the kitchen to get some beers & I am left alone with X's father.
"So, what do you want to do when you leave TAC?" he asks me.
Pause.
"... law school..." I say timidly.
It dawns on him. "Oh! YOU'RE the other one!"

The tradition of "dice girls" at the quadrivial trivial pursuit must stop. It's degrading & disgusting & I have a plan but I can't say what it is yet. But I'll give you a hint: pantsuits.

Reality's a Big Fat Bitch

161

I'm waiting for Nick to get back from SD on Monday till we look at our emails to see our LSAT scores. I think it would be better if we saw it at the same time; I also need someone to be there to hold me down when I start bashing my head against a brick wall. So, about a week ago Jaclyn (I don't know if I spelled it right) asked me if I knew yet. "No, I'm waiting till blah blah blah because blah blah blah." "Oh," she said,"Well, sometimes they send it to you in less than three weeks. That's what happened to so & so." "Hmm," says I," all the same, I have to wait until next Monday."
This morning: knock knock "Come in." Jaclyn pokes her head in. "Do you know yet?"
"No. I'm waiting till Monday. I'm trying to avoid even going near anywhere where I can check my email."
"Oh, so do you not want me to tell you if a bunch of other people just got theirs today just now?"
I bury my face back in Toqueville, but it doesn't work and here I am. Nothing in my email yet, praised be God. Thank you anyway, Jaclyn.

I heart the USA

Someone recently told me that the Soviet Union's Anthem was vastly superior to and more grown-up than ours. While I grant the latter, let me point out that "more grown-up" generally means "more boring." For your contrasting pleasure, I shall post both and perhaps you will see why I prefer ours. Ours is unique: one long question whose only point is, is our flag still there? In that question is contained the essence of our country: we came to exist only through great struggle and our youth and immaturity, rather than hindering, give us the vigor we need to sustain ourselves, especially since we're ever-expanding. True, most countries have more history and therefore more instances of struggle for survival, but in 2 centuries, we've packed in plenty. Look at Iwo Jima: four men, weary from battle struggle just to erect our flag. We have strict laws regarding maintenance of our flag and only a very few ACLUesque weirdoes ever question that. Flags symbolize everything by their very nature and having an anthem about a flag, even if it was written by a poet who was merely straining to see if it still waved, is immensely appropriate. It is not often that we symbolize something so powerfully and I can think of no better way to artistically express patriotism than a hope that our flag has not been desecrated or pulled down in the midst of battle.

Unbreakable Union of freeborn republics,
Great Russia has welded forever to stand.
Created in struggle by will of the people,
United and mighty, our Soviet land!

(chorus:)
Sing to the motherland, home of the free,
Bulwark of peoples in brotherhood strong.
O Party of Lenin, the strength of the people,
To Communism's triumph lead us on!

Through tempests the sunrays of freedom have cheered us,
Along the great path where Lenin did lead.
Be true to the people, thus Stalin has reared us,
Inspire us to labor and valorous deed!

In the victory of Communism's deathless ideal,
We see the future of our dear land.
And to her fluttering scarlet banner
Selflessly true we always shall stand!

Nice (if you're a dirty commie), but borrrrrrrrring and full of s***. Every country thinks it's unique and noble. But The Star-Spangled Banner makes no outright claims to our land being unique and great, only that it's ours and we love it for that. I've heard the Russians still love this anthem and get emotional, but you get emotional because of your patriotism, not b/c of the song itself, especially if the song isn't very remarkable- for example, in Casablanca the French emigres drowning out the Nazis and the sleazy Frenchwomen who were flirting w/ the Nazis got tears in their eyes and sang loudest of all-maybe people really see value in their own anthems because we can't separate the patriotism from the music, but I'm pretty sure I'd love America's anyway. So here it is. I know there are more verses (Mr. & Mrs. Ferrier both know them all, God bless them), but the first verse suffices.

O, say, can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

I took my LSAT. I don't know how it went. Honestly. I did ok. Maybe well. I'll know in 3 weeks.

The Rest is Silence

There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?

D-Day has arrived.

SPREAD THE WORD!

Please everyone pray like the dickens for me this next week. Next Saturday's the most important, meaningful, and decisive day of my life thus far. Well, maybe 2nd most; I saw Top Gun in a movie theater last night. And that was pretty rad.

I told my mother how to access my blog. I hope that wasn't a mistake.

S.P. Confidential

PART I

I waited outside his office in the pitch black. It was raining- I remember that much. Course, in those days a dame of my breed couldn't much trust her memory- too many dizzy, scotch-soaked nights, too many blurred, head-splitting mornings. I paced across the creaking wooden boards and listened to the hollow sound my stilletos made, wondering grimly if the floor was going to give out from under me, just like everything else I've ever been fool enough to trust in. What gives? He said just after 9, I'm sure of it. Maybe it's a sting. No, I'da read it in his eyes. I trust him. And when I go with my gut, I come out of my scrapes without a scrape. Then why do I keep looking around the corners, thinking I'm being watched? If those thugs see me go in his office they'll know I saw what I saw. And in my circles, people show up missing for lesser reasons. Still, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do. I've put it off too long already, and besides, from what I hear, he's the only man for the job. Anyway, I wasn't too worried about those crooks. I was packing. Seems like those days, I was always packing.
The rain had eased up a bit and I lit a cigarette. I heard something- laughter. So eerily out of place in these parts. Here, the only sounds are the cats in the garbage and an occasional slamming of doors. No one chit-chats, no one goes for a stroll, and nobody- but nobody- laughs. Especially on a night this black. I hide behind a lamppost- that's right; I'm just slim enough to do it, too. And to my relief, it's him. He smiles and says hello. Yeah, yeah, I say to myself, let's just get outta this rain. He strides confidently and purposefully to his door. Swift turn of they key, and he's in. You don't get to be where he is fumbling round with keys. I start to stub out my cigarette, and he stops me. "Don't put it out. Please. Come right in." So I come right in. He takes his hat off and the water from the brim trickles onto his threadbare carpet. Cozy little office. If I didn't know who I was dealing with, I'd say it looked like business wasn't so hot. But like him or hate him, anybody who's anybody knows he's the best there is. He lays low- he's never been dope enough to buy into the glamour of the business- the rocks, the cash, the penthouses, the night scene. Sure, he probably has a bankroll from here to Baghdad squirrelled away for a rainy day, but he doesn't need to flaunt it; he doesn't need to surround himself with trophies to ease the pain of his sorry existence. Not like the rest of us. Not like me.
But this was no time to think of my own heartbreaks. I looked up at the walls closing in on me. Books of every shape and size bowing down the old wooden bookshelves that lined his tiny office overflowed and suffocated. Did he actually read any of this junk? But then, I figured he probably did. Real highbrow stuff too. Books where even the titles bored me. I wasn't made for any of this, but I envied it deep down. A dame like me wants real class, and that's the one thing she'll never have if she can't give up the rest. But I don't get no complaints either, if you catch my drift.
He was rummaging around his shelves and behind his desk for an ashtray. It gave me a moment to size him up. How he lives in this godforsaken town without smoking, I'll never understand. But then, there's a lot of things about him I didn't understand. That's what intrigued me. I had never met a man I didn't understand, much less a decent man I didn't understand. In this little shoebox of an office I suddenly felt how intimidating his presence would be if I didn’t know he was on the level. He was a big man, tall and fit. His age? Impossible to tell. One thing, though, he wouldn't'a had time to build the reputation he's got in these parts if he's anything under 40. Salt and pepper hair and close cropped mustache. Careworn, sympathetic face, yet surprisingly unyielding. I'd put him at 45 or so, and a young 45 at that. He was a man's man, but he could've been a lady's man if he'da had the mind to.
An empty snuff tin was what he'd produced for an ashtray. "Thanks." And it was just in time, too, cuz the end of my cigarette was about to ash itself, tray or no tray. I sank down into the client's chair and thought I was being swallowed alive. It was too comfortable and I was afraid I was losing my edge. He sat down at his desk, and the room was so cramped I got all claustrophobic, and it reminded me of when I did my nickel up in Sing-Sing. I wondered if I was daft to come here. Why would a professional of his class mix himself up with a mess like me? And I blushed. I blushed- can you believe it? Maybe it was his integrity and sincerity that caught me off guard. I had no M.O. I had no line of attack, no technique- no angle to work a man like this. Maybe I didn't have to.
"What can I do for you?" he asked briskly. As if he didn't know.
"Let's can the small talk." I said. "You know why I'm here. You know why or else you wouldn't've agreed to see me this late."
"Maybe I've got an idea. I want to hear it from you though." He never called me lamb, sugar, doll, or any of those other greasy names girls gotta put up with just to get through a day. My tough front started to give way when I realized this was a real gentleman I was dealing with, but he ain't no sucker either. I continued to smoke leisurely, trying to get my head together.
"I got a job." I waited for a response, but he just kept his keen gray eyes fixed on mine. He already looked somewhat concerned. I had to make him interested.
"Here's the proposal, black and white." I took the proposal, about two pages, double-spaced, out of my attache. I start to hand them over and he reaches cautiously, not looking away, still trying to get inside my brain by way of my baby-blues. I pulled back my left hand suddenlike and pretended to consider. With my right hand I take a final drag and blew the smoke gently across the room. Through the brief haze I saw that he was still unflinching, still letting me think I had control. He's keeping up the ruse, so why don't I? I wasn't ready to admit, not even to myself, that I was dealing with someone smarter than me. But he knows. He's gotta know.
"This requires discretion. My whole future's on the line here. And while that don't go for much in some places, it's got sentimental value to me."
"I give you my word," he said all serious-like. Somehow that actually seemed good enough.
I gave him the proposal and watched him read it. And he watched me watching him, from the corner of his eye. He nodded after he finished and tossed it lightly onto his desk. He stretched back into his chair with his hands behind his head, apparently waiting for me to initiate the conversation.
"Well?" I was getting anxious.
"Well, what?" He said laughingly. "It's a job in my line of work; I do jobs in my line of work. What are you asking me? Will I accept it? Sure, I could use the dough." He smiled broadly. Everyone knew his clientele was regular and paid top-dollar.
"I wasn't asking you if you could get it done," I replied hurriedly. "I need this handled real carefully. I need to know that whatever happens to you from taking this job- and believe you me, you might wish you hadn't- you'll remember that you're working for me. When this unravels I need to be somewhere safe and I can't afford to worry if my bases are covered. People- friends of yours maybe, are going to put the squeeze on you to get to what they think I know, and I need to know you're behind me every step." I stopped short when I realized I didn't need to say any of this. I ain't telling him anything he don't already know about this dirty business. People like him is maybe the only kinda clean people in this racket. I ain't in no place to make demands. Maybe I should just come right out with it. His eyes said as much and they shamed me.
I stood up, as if I was getting ready to leave. As if I could leave. As if I had a choice other than stare down the only person who's ever really made me question myself. Yeah, I said it. Something about him made me wonder what this crazy world's all about and I don't know that I liked it. But he can't know that. Life's tough and I got to be tougher, tough as nails if that's what it takes. He stood up and leaned against the desk, matching my glare, dagger for dagger.
"I just got one question." My voice wasn't shaking like I thought it might. But my blood was rising fast. I couldn't say if I was angry or what, but I was fearless. I ain't new at this either, Mr. Hotshot.
"Ask it then," he said quietly, goading me on with his self-control, which wasn't contrasting too nice next to my agitation.
My chin stopped trembling and my brow relaxed. I challenged cooly,
"Are you man enough for the job?"

For the record, could we go off the record?

So I've been sending emails to admissions offices for my 5 or 6 gee-I-hope-I-get-in-but-it-would-be-a-miracle law school choices. The email is thus:
"My cumulative GPA will be about a 3.15 but I expect a high LSAT score. Could you please give me a rough idea, off the record, of what I would need my score to be to probably be accepted? I realize there are other factors to consider, but I'm sure there is a range of what's usually statistically acceptable."
Apparently the way they respond to this general inquiry is:
"Without reading your full application, we, unfortunately, cannot give you an idea of what score you will need. We recommend that you just try your hardest. Good luck!"
Try my hardest? Hmm... so...simple. And yet, so... BRILLIANT!!! Why did that never occur to me?
They just want my non-refundable $70 application fee. Greedy jerks.

God bless the good people at Shire Pharmaceuticals.

The defendant pleads no contest.

Who needs a Gustin fix?

On calling powers above 3 'dimensions':
"It's an abuse of language that you use to mystify your inferiors." -Gustin
"But what if we just can't see them (the dimensions)?" -Elijah
"That's when people start espousing all those ideas- 'Mystery! Mystery!' But it's just garbage." -Gustin

... 3 minutes later...

"Suppose you invested $1 for one year and the interest compounded continually." -Gustin
"You'd get infinite money in an instant!" -Elijah
"No, that's cute, but you'd get $2.72. It's a swindle." -Gustin

Dude, I Still Know What Your Cruel Intentions Are From Last Summer

The smokers' patio is, and God willing, will always be a place where the most charmingly useless ideas are borne. Like finding variations on the titles of dumb movie sequels. Cruel, crueller, and cruellest suffice for three movies, but what happens when a fourth, nay, a fifth, hits Blockbuster? Most Cruellest Intentions Ever. And of course, for a prequel, Dubious Intentions.

I had a dream...

My dream was as follows: I was visiting the Schniederjans, who had just had the baby, and I asked where she (the baby girl) was, so they led me to this industrial-size walk-in freezer and the baby's all the way in the back, in her carseat. I was shocked & appalled. They left her next to a big hanging side of beef and a crate of frozen french fries. I grabbed the baby and ran out w/ her and asked the parents what in hell they were thinking.
"She had a fever," Sean said, smiling obliviously.
I asked what her name is. Anne smiled brightly and said "Clive."
In my dream I thought that was clever and even a pretty name, but I don't remember why. "What's her middle name?" I asked.
"You're going to love this," Sean said, so excited and proud that he was squirming around in his chair this way and that, like he does when he's driving. "It's 'Middle.' "
"What?"
"Her middle name is just the word 'Middle.' Isn't that great?"
"No! That's not funny even in a dumb way!"
But they weren't listening. Clive's fever was coming back so off the trio trooped to the freezer.
The end.

Not the most romantic thing.....

....when you're on a date and you run into your mom, who is also on a date, as you're bar-hopping...

Just wanted to let everyone know I'm still alive- I'll blog a lot more during the school year. A bit bummed out cuz I realized my chances of getting into UVA are about 1 in 100. Average GPA for their last incoming law class was 3.63. Mine is about 3.1. Average LSAT is 168, which is in the 98th percentile, so unless I pull about a 175, it's off to Ave Maria for me. Sigh. Can't wait to see everyone! I know the summer's almost over b/c every year around this time I have dreams about going back to school, except in my dreams I end up going back to high school & I can't figure out why exactly & no one will tell me & I just feel indignant that once again I'm wearing a plaid uniform skirt and I want to run amuck.

Wow! It's been a long time. I'm on the library computer b/c there's a guy who comes into the pharmacy all the time in a wheelchair and he gave me a computer disc w/ law school stuff that he made me swear to look at and I think it gave my computer a virus. Bastard. Probably uses his wheelchair to gain trust and sympathy.
Anyway, my summer's going dandy. My lawyer got a continuance and hopefully the court date will be in the fall. He sent me the police reports wherein I discovered that they LIED!!!!!! They said they pulled me over for failing to dim my headlights to oncoming traffic.
1. There WAS NO oncoming traffic.
2. They never said ANYTHING about dimming headlights. All they said was "Do you know where the guy who owns the truck is? No one's in the car and there's blood on the floor." That's when Josh lied and that's when they decided to make me walk heel to toe.
Just trying to cover their backs. Jeesh. Lies make baby Jesus cry.

Unbelievable. To think that That Anonynous College actually thinks theyhave the right to threaten someone w/ not letting him/her back b/c of a DUI and rumors of what they consider to be excessive Hilltop attendance. No rules broken, just "we think you have a problem." Anyway, of course I'll be back in August, so don't fret. I got my first IFVCHPA donation today! Yay! Follow suit, you stingy bastards! Well, I'll be flying in June 14th for my court date. Any volunteers to pick me up at LAX? Call me. 703 569-6865

I am fundraising for the Impecunious Female Victims of California Highway Patrol Aggression (or the IFVCHPA, as you might know it), and funds are low. The current case we're working on is a very unfortunate young lady who's going to be paying about 3-4K and might even be in big trouble with her school. She has already quit drinking and smoking totally (5 days now) and is very determined to never again require the services we provide here at the IFVCHPA. Please be generous. As always, donations are 100% tax-deductible and earn you brownie points with God. I'll be flying out to CA next month on business, so hopefully I'll see some of you there.
Donations may be sent to:

IFVCHPA , Inc.
8105 Kenova Lane
Springfield, VA 22153

*Oh, and don't make checks out to IFVCHPA; just leave that part blank. Thanks.

I've been flirting with disaster for so long and so recklessly that, overcome with temptation, it pounced on me.
4:30 a.m., Saturday morning:
"Donny? This is Pat Carter. We have a situation. Klaske totalled his truck, Claire's in jail, Josh Clarke's wandering down the 150 being stalked by a gang of Mexicans, and I'm stranded at the Stein with Bernadette Couglin. Can you help us?"

Ridiculormque?!?

Last seminar as a junior (God, let's hope!) tonight. It was on the sonnets, so i knew it wasn't going to be good. What's that, something in my eye, you say? You don't like the sonnets? No! I do & that's the point. What I don't like is dissecting poetry, discussing it, analyzing it. Mr Baer said that if you write something beautiful you have a moral obligation to share it with others. Nonsense! Then other people (the ones who always latch onto whatever he says & run w/ it) started trying to support that but even Mr Baer was saying that their arguments were silly. Sometimes I think he says ridiculous things just to see who would side with him. He was smirking. Apparently Mr Baer never had a secret garden that no one in the world knew about that he could crawl into and revel in his hidden delight. I guess I never really did either, not literally anyway, but I saw its appeal. We all need our little secret delights, if for no other reason than to have a refuge from a sometimes suffocating life. I'm antcipating Neoteronous disagreeing w/ me for disagreeing w/ Baer, given his (Danny's) insights ( and very profound and true ones at that) into the nature of love and its eccentricity. I maybe am not making sense, but so what- it's my blog!!! te-hee-hee. haven't slept more than 6 hours total the last 3 nights. Today's 05-05-05! The next time that happens we'll all be long gone. I'm gonna get some sleep now.

I awoke this morning in the Strauss House for the last time.

"April is the cruellest month..."

....unless you're living at the Hilltop! Great bar. Dive bar. Great dive bar. I'm on a first-name basis with the regulars: Elliot, Bob, Lonny, Rodger, and who can forget the world's best bartender, Big Al? It's the new hot-spot for post-defense schnockery. And it's burning a hole through my wallet. Oh well; I'm getting back $1253 from Unkie Sam so I'm not too worried.
"Daddy" Josh Clark's defense was yesterday. McArthur kept trying to trip him up about reconciling Socrates' and Stotle's views of incontinence, you know, pretending he didn't know what Josh was saying and then very obviously trying to set traps. There was a fair amount of tittering, what with all the old men talking about being incontinent, but I think we behaved ourselves pretty well. As we were walking up to the commons to prepare our stomachs for the Hilltop (formerly known as "eating dinner") I told Daddy that out of all the defenses thus far, his was one of the most, what's the word?, I asked. Stimulating? suggested John Almeida. Yes stimulating, I said. It stimulated me to the point of incontinence.

Does anyone know where (in the De Anima I assume) that 'Totle says that the human soul is immortal? I need it for my paper. Many thanks. On a side note, see the 1982 version of the Scarlet Pimpernel. I watched it every day for about a week until I realized it wasn't good for me. It's more addictive than Marian's artificial intelligence link, which, granted, is consuming. Plus it's got Ian Mckellan (the good wizard from LOTR) and a young and very beautiful Jane Seymour, and, most importantly, Anthony Andrews (Sebastian from Brideshead Revisited). Yum yum.

these theseses

Rachel Gray got double-d for her saucy little explanation of why a state cannot secede; Patty-Mac got a little flustered but wound up doing a decent job of discussing why Raskolnikov, typifying the modern man, can (or, was) only be saved through love..... but I think the most entertaining was Big John Almeida's showdown with Berquist. John said that Aristotle should've had some account of the ecosystem in the part of the Physics that says nature acts for an end. Berquist said "He discussed it plenty in Parts of Animals. Did you read that?" Silence. Finally, "No. But he should have said it, or at least alluded to it in this part of the Physics." Ok. Then Berqusit went on about an oak tree losing acorns, few of which will ever become oaks, but they are still meant to be, per se, oak trees, etc., etc. After the defense, Rosie Finley asked Almeida why he thought Berquist was the only tutor not to shake his hand. "Is it because you were attacking Aristotle?" "No," John replied with a straight face, "It's because I shoved his oak tree analogy ***censored***"

lacrimae

04-04-04.
04-04-05.
Where does the time go?
One year to the day since I've been at my beloved Strauss House. Sigh.

Bourbon Congratulations! You're 113 proof, with specific scores in beer (60) , wine (116), and liquor (43).

Screw all that namby-pamby chick stuff, you're going straight for the bottle and a shot glass! It'll take more than a few shots of Wild Turkey or 99 Bananas before you start seeing pink elephants. You know how to handle your alcohol, and yourself at parties.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: http://is0.okcupid.com/graphics/0.gif">>

Funny Thing....

Well well well. Ok here's the deal. I thought it would be funny to post an April Fool's blog and then add a comment right away that said April Fool's!, but when I tried to post the blog, it said: There were errors. So I tried again. Same thing. By this time I was pissed, so I signed out, signed back in, and rewrote it AGAIN. Then I just gave up. I had no idea they all worked. Hmmm. So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and no, I'm not expelled. I don't do bad things anymore, remember? ( ;

Goodbye

Well, well, well. Spring brings a new tradition my way. Instead of just birds and flowers, it's now expulsion too. Almost one year to the day since the last mess, I get a note to see the dean who tells me that I've been caught doing something very much against the rules. I won't say what; I don't want to scandalize you. So I'm out again, only this time I won't be returning.

My apologies to Max and whomever else I ripped this joke off of:

Q:What do people say when they run into people they know in Ojai?




A: This town blows.

Tomorrow marks ten years since I was hit by a truck. Par-tay.

Me, taking Max's hand: Max, what ever happened to that date you were going to take me on?
Max, irritated: I don't have a car. Plus I'm campused. Gosh!
Me, plaintively: We could take a walk down below. Maybe by the grotto?
Max, horrified, sensing that that's too serious for a first date, slowly pulls his hand from mine.
Maggie, frightenedly: Don't go to the grotto! It's haunted!
Me, dismissively: Only by MARY! That's ok.
Maggie shakes her head with a knowing air: Nope. Mary's got some visitors.

Those of you who have seen me in the last week need not read this, as I've already talked your ear off about it. I was inspired. I had a dream*... I invented (or so I thought) People Chess, and the 2 finalists in the tourney will be playing this from the library balcony w/ a megaphone, shouting out their moves to the people below on the field, who will be sitting on the giant chess board, reading seminar or what have you. The white players will wear white plastic aprons & the black pieces will wear garbage bags & when you're commanded to take a piece, you pull a ketchup pack out of your pocket, rip it open, and squirt the conquered piece. I already have 50 people signed up.

*A "dream" in the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. sense, i.e., a vision of hope for the future, as opposed to a real dream. I haven't had a real dream about chess yet. Although it's just a matter of time. My dreams usually, surprisingly, are not representative of my daily cares and thoughts. I did have a dream last night about edible clothing made from fruit roll-ups. It didn't end well.

How to Ace your Don Rags

1. Show up with books from all your classes. Better yet, show up late, and be really immersed in one of the books, preferably the reading for whatever class you're doing lousiest in, and feel your way slowly to the seat, keep reading, let your eyes get real big, whistle as you close the book, shake your head around to snap back into reality, and say, "Whoa, that was intense."
2. I'm out of ideas.

Grandma

I think my grandmother is dying, so please pray for her, especially since she's a fallen away Catholic. She's had such a hard life: orphaned at about 10 years old with her little brother. Had to stay in an orphanage for years because her aunt and uncle, who lived in the next town, refused to take them until the state practically forced them. Worked her way through college and married my grandfather, had 3 sons in the span of 5 years, was left by her husband for another woman, had to raise them practically by herself and has been a little crazy ever since. She was on Jeopardy once! Really intelligent, but kinda eccentric. Insists she's part Jewish, but we have our doubts. We found out recently that in her college days she tried to join a Jewish militia camp in the Middle East.....
I haven't kept in touch with her, which kills me, beacuse she's always been so damned proud of me. I didn't even have to do anything. She had breast cancer about 8 years ago and went through chemo but I don't think she's going to make it through this one. It's strange. My grandfathers died so long ago that I sorta took for granted that my grandmothers, I guess, wouldn't.

Chess chess chess chess chess! Chess is my new obsession. Chess it ain't even a quesshun. Chess it was love at first sight. Chess when I turn out the lights. I love it! I had promised myself long ago that I would never learn to play chess, although I can't exactly remember why I would do something so ridiculous, but I've been playing for a week now and it's fascinating. I thought I'd be able to master it in a week, because there are only a finite number of ways it can go down, right? Granted, it's probably in the millions, but finite nonetheless, and it's not like in poker where you can't see what the other person has to work off, but alas, it was not meant to be and I haven't won a game yet, but I've gotten 2 or 3 stalemates! Which I consider to be like victory. My roommate and I were thinking of stacking lot of mattresses on our beds and painting a chess board on the ceiling and then playing with glow-in-the-dark velcro pieces with our toes. It's even an aesthetically pleasing game! It's so pretty and regal and dignified looking.

I beat Maxamataz at pool yesterday. Bigtime.

He's a poet and I didn't know it!

Sometimes Aristotle reads like a poem, or, at least, should. I am reminded of Peter Fry's coffehouse reading of the de Anima... backwards.

As in regards to the virtues some men are called good
In respect of a state of character, others in respect of an activity,
So too in the case of friendship;
For those who live together
Delight in each other
And confer benefits on each other,
But those who are asleep or locally separated are not performing,
but are disposed to perform, the activities of friendship;
Distance does not break off the friendship absolutely
But only the activity of it.
But if the absence is lasting,
It seems actually to make men forget
Their friendship.....

ok it was a whim... maybe I should actually get back to studying.
But I think I'll post another soon.

Deeelish

Mamajuana:

1. Haggle with the locals on the beach in the D.R. for a bottle of wood chips and herbs.
Do not be distracted by marriage proposals.
2. Explain over and over to the customs people that it's not marijuana.
3. Keep in room for 8 months before you summon the energy to make it.
4. Pour equal amounts of rum and red wine into bottle; top off with 1/2 cup honey.
5. Shake, close, and wait for 15 days.
6. Explain to prefect that it's not marijuana.
7. Take a swig and black out.

Nananananana Nananananananana Na na BATMAN!

I was sitting next to Donny in what I ever so affectionately call the Batmobile, and I was marvelling at the gadgets. "What's the red button do? Can I press it? "
"It's the passenger seat ejection button. You can press it but you'll die."
I pause to consider this.
"How would I eject? There's no sunroof. "
"There will be." (i.e., once I eject)
Pause. Next gadget.
"How come that thing stuck to your windshield talks to you?" "Where does this wire go to?" et cetera et cetera
Donny sighs.
"Donny?"
Donny's concentrating on sticking his arm out the window to signal, since, believe it or not, his blinker doesn't work. But he hears me.
"Yes, Claire?"
"What would you do if there weren't any gadgets?"
His cat eyes turn to me.
"I'd make them."

I CAN'T do links. You would laugh if you knew how I try and fail. And don't bother trying to explain it to me, and above all, please don't say "It's easy." It's easy if you know anything about these things. But that's tautology. I get caught up thinking about "how in the world....." and then I space out when people try to explain technichal things. I can't get over the telephone. Or for that matter the moving type.....
I still don't have a cell phone and I don't even want one. I never save papers onto discs. I print them out directly from whatever computer I'm using at the time because I somehow can't trust my precious words to a "floppy disk." It's not that I dislike technology or fear it or think it's evil.... but I don't understand it & when i don't understand something that's all around me it makes me wanna grab some people and find a bottle of wine so I can wander off into nature and forget about everything except flesh and bone and trees and birds and other happy organic things.

Mardi Gras 2005

"I'm getting my beads"
And Booty proceeds
To unbutton his shirt
For the bartender

Timeline is a movie based on a Michael Crichton book and it was as ridiculous as any Army of darkness movie, but it's not supposed to be, I don't think. My favorite 2 lines are :
" Do we look like quantum wormhole experts?!"
and
" This is definitely 1357 France!"
Ultimate nerd flick b/c it combines medieval battling with time travel.
Shudder.

Should I go to NY for Easter? I've never seen it in the spring...

falling backwards

Sitting in class, listening to others talk.
Remembering similar conversations in classes of yesteryear.
Realizing the same questions are being asked.
The same solutions are being proposed.
Leaning back in your chair, balancing yourself by pushing your knees up under the table.
Teetering weightlessly, losing your balance.
Falling backwards as Deja Vu hits you like a tidal wave.
All over again.
Looking out the window, listening to others talk.
Others whom you don't really know so well.
Wondering if your edge will give you straight A's.
Suspecting it won't.

So what?

My first lab class as a recycled junior. Mr Collins is my tutor. Never had him before. I love Newton. It's more than love. I lurve Newton. I would lay down my life in defense of Absolute Space and I pity the fool who doesn't see how it's necessary. Mr Collins, very stealthily, tried to make me second guess my beliefs today by pointing out very subtley that there's a bit of a "problem" with the notion: It's an accident without a substance. It's a measurement of nothing. To which I said that in this case it's ok to have that. For Absolute Space. If you really must. I mean, come on.

dumdeedum

Poker update:
That 18 dollars turned oh-so rapidly into 32 on that fateful day. Haven't played since. But I shall.
Kathleen Lawlor, Carl Weisner and I played Prayer Poker t'other day. The chips all stood for prayers that you'd have to pray for your opponent. The novelty of saying "I see your Our Father and raise you two decades and a Glory Be" wore off a lot sooner than I had hoped.

Ode to Poison Oak

Ahem.

Itchy, Itchy, Itchy!
Poison in my skin!

The more I scratch the more it spreads,
The poison in my skin!
My sole relief my own undoing,
Poison in my skin!

Knock me out! I can't bear
The poison in my skin!
I'll dig and claw my own flesh
To kill the poison in my skin!

Though I try, it won't die,
The poison in my skin!
It mocks my feeble desperation,
The poison in my skin!

It leaps and lands from my toes to my hands,
This poison in my skin,
Itchy, Itchy, Itchy,
Poison in my skin!

$18 in the hole today. I think I'm going to keep buying back in though, cuz like all other suckers, I'm convinced my luck will change.

Exclamations

I'm back! Everything's flooded! I have Kolbeck again! I'm happy! Although, I did wake up this morning utterly confused as to my whereabouts.

But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the skill.

Merry Christmas to all- I got exactly what I wanted- a big ol' 61 key keyboard so I can teach myself piano without driving everyone out of the student lounge. Unfortunately I also got a spasming cramp in my back from leaning over it for 6 hours. I have this theory where I don't want to start on the piddly crap like chopsticks. I got a book full of sheet music from Debussey (it didn't have my favorite, Sunken Cathedral, but it did have Clair deLune, which is dear to me for obvious reasons, and a nice little song called Le Petit Negre, or, The Cakewalk. I wish I knew how it got those names.) and so I plunged right in. It took me about 5 minutes to figure out where to put my fingers for the 6 simultaneous notes that began Sarabande, but it sounded so good (that first beat, I mean) that I almost didn't mind that there was no way in hell I'd be able to play the next beat without having to untangle my fingers and spend another 5 minutes studying how I should tangle them up again. It was like my fingers were playing a very competitive game of naked twister. But I'm the kind of person who gets ecstatic with every success, like a child, so I'm not too afraid of getting discouraged and throwing my lil piano across the room. It's got the coolest features for when I get bored of the high brow stuff.

I finally saw Mel Gibson's Hamlet. Unfortunately I bought it before seeing it. Now, I apologize for what I'm about to say; I wasn't raised to use such crass language, especially in print, but there's no way around it. It SUCKS! SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS! Gibson was ok, & I love Paul Schofield. It should have been a good movie- it had a good cast. But it SUCKED! Go ahead and disagree with me; I'll be ready. Ess-you-see-kay SUCK!

The Rest

"As surely as the Earth is not the center of the universe, that the flaming ball of gas that sustains us is not Divine, there is no black and white distinction to definitively separates male from female. I see that as beautiful and amazing, and I label laughably ignorant our persistent subscription to our inaccurate categorization of gender as intrinsic substance rather than characteristic accident. I further reject the notion that instances of ambiguous gender are actually the shameful and regrettable result of Sin. Since gender is the result of the _expression of a combination of complex genetic signals, it cannot be an Is or Is Not like we have been raised to believe, and on which we base the infallible doctrine of requirements for the priesthood. And since that infallible doctrine is founded on a misunderstanding about the essence of gender, how can it stand? And ultimately, how can any infallible doctrine be so unquestionable?

"As I continue to learn about this universe and the life within it, my notions of religion and God begin to melt away. How can I profess to be so damn certain that there is an afterlife at all, much less that there are precisely three possible destinations in that assured afterlife, and that my destination is determined by a detailed list of Do’s and Don’ts categorized quite neatly into mortal and venial sin? Isn’t it patently absurd to believe that the master author of this breathtaking universe of unfathomable complexity and grandeur would bother with laws that prohibit humans from eating meat at certain intervals of their tiny planet’s rotation around its insignificant sun? Or to profess to be certain that the penalty for breaking such a law is an eternity in some hell? As another example, we have infallible doctrine that lists specific humans who have certainly achieved eternal paradise and declares that we can invoke them to help us do the same. What arrogance and self-importance to claim to have reached such masterful understanding of the cosmos and its Cause! It is more likely that the Church is a making of our own curious minds; to make sense of the world with the best of our ability, to comfort our inadequate selves, to address our innate desires to feel central and important, significant and eternal. To create an impervious, unquestionable authority from which to try to see that justice and fairness are executed, however we determine such things to be.

"And so, I have stopped allowing myself to feel guilt over not experiencing anything spectacular or supernatural when I went to mass. In fact, I have stopped going altogether and, for the first time, do not fear that eternal misery may be the consequence. In openly admitting that I have failed to find a way to pacify my spirit by living as a professed member of the Church, I have found freedom and closure and relief. It has taken exhausting courage and effort to reach this part of my own continuing journey. In breaking from the Church, I am rejected by my family as lost, ill, the victim of some secular mind-poison, the prey of Satan, a pitiable loss and even a danger to my children. Alex says I am disloyal. Mother undoubtedly thinks I have conjured up a new level of rationalization and justification for my own disgusting sinfulness. But I see it differently.

"I uncomfortably face the prospect that this may very well be the only life I have to live- that my existence here- a relative fraction of a flash in the story of creation- is quite possibly finite and fleeting. And if it is not, I cannot reasonably bring myself to conclude that whatever comes after this approximates what we arrogantly profess to have practically mapped out. And so, in spite of the possible result – the destruction of my immortal soul- I reject what has been drilled into me by my catechization and I choose to begin anew. I will spend my life, what time I have, in pursuit of truth and understanding, without the crutch or perceived comfort of relying in Faith on what those before me have professed as Revelation. I will not live my tiny life in personal sacrifice and misery as Mother has, remaining committed in marriage to someone whom I do not love, respect, or desire to be around, just because I was too afraid and weak to stand up and refuse to marry him in the first place. I will not throw the rest of my life away in hopes of achieving some eternal reward for my selfless sacrifice. I reject what I have been taught by example: to go to Church faithfully, and then leave seething and festering with hate and condemnation for the filthy people who brought guitars and tambourines into God’s house or allowed their little girls to participate in certain roles within our contrived traditional ceremonies. I choose something different- and honestly, I don’t know what that something is yet, just that it is not what I have been going through the motions, pretending, for such a tiresomely long time now.

"This is not the exhaustive enumeration of my arguments for what has you all so frightened for me, rather a sampling that I hope will help you begin to understand, at least in part, the reason for my choices. I have others, in various stages of consciousness; some I am not yet able to articulate clearly, formulate tangibly, or test reasonably.

"I find comfort knowing that I am not alone. I read some lines from Emily Dickinson that ring so true for me that I had to jot them down. They eloquently say exactly what I feel but am, so far, unable to convey in a sensible way myself.
“The Christian who longs too keenly for heaven must reject the living world that keeps him from heaven. Such a Christian welcomes death, and in doing so, cultivates dying a little every day. “ Emily saw mankind’s identity and achievements as “insignificant specks in the great whirling cloud of the solar systems.” I think that closer to the truth that the alternative, that which I have been brought up to believe."

So, what can one do? I very much love the person who wrote this, and I can address every point raised, but still, I might never make a dent.

A Letter

"As I study molecular biology, I marvel at the chemical code that drives the mechanics of every living cell. I watch in amazement as a four letter alphabet of ATCGs instructs cells to produce the tens of thousands of unique proteins that make us alive. I read about the recent discoveries of sulfur-based life in the thermal vents on the ocean floor that revolutionize our very definition of life. The practical inevitability of soon finding water and microbial life on one of Jupiter's moons, and fossils on at least one of the dried ocean beds of Mars: these are the tangible facts that excite my curiosity and vitalize me in indescribable ways. I consider that it has been in the relative blink of an eye that humanity has gone from just a tiny nomadic group venturing out of the African plains to populate this tiny planet in an unfathomably vast universe. I read journals about the analysis of mitochondrial DNA that carry in its sequence the maternal lineage of humanity itself in its brief existence here. It might as well haev been just last week that we worshipped the sun, that wondrous, inexplicable life-force in the sky on which we were dependant for survival and went to great lengths to placate. That distant ball of explosive gas was our God, and Earth was the center of all of creation.

"I cannot articulate the wonder and amazement I feel when I contemplate all the complexity and beauty and brilliance I see as I study creation both on the atomic level as well as in the scope of light years' distance. Everything I was raised to believe begins to disintegrate, until only one precept remains. There is a Cause; something brilliant and worthy of worship behind all that I see. I feel ecstatically close to It when I watch through a microscope as enzymes flawlessly replicate a sequence of millions of genetic letters to allow one tiny cell, human or bacteria alike, to grow and persist in its struggle for order in a universe characterized by increasing entropy. A thrill of wonder and adoration of this Cause races through me the first time I understand that time really is relative, and my previous understanding of the sensible world must be completely upheaved and reorganized to satisfy the implications of that truth, just as with discovery that the earth is not the center of all, and that the sun is not God. The conclusion i reach is this: I am not willing to subscribe to a religion, Catholic or otherwise, that professes with such ludicrous certainty, to have the Cause figured out to the degree that they do. My world view has been completely reordered as I have to incorporate the amazing facts I have encountered through observation and study, and my already precarious Faith did not survive the reordering.

"As one example: I remember learning about "substance" versus "accident" in terms of some theologian's (Aquinas?) explanation of Transubstantiation. The substance of the host was the essence of Divinity, the accidents were the physical appearance and sensible characteristics of bread and water. These concepts of substance and ccidents are also applied to our definitions of ourselves. Our gender is part of our substance, not an accidental quality like hair color. This concept of gender as substantial rather than accidental is inherent to the infallible doctrine of prohibiting women from the priesthood. But on a genetic level, I have learned that gender is absolutely as accidental as hair color, only a bit more chemically complex in its determination. Gender is nothing more than an expression of a combination of genes. The first cause the exact same developing sex organs to either remain in the bocy and act as ovaries, or to descend outward to be named testes. Then hundreds of other genes that code for hundreds of unique proteins must be individually turned on and off in perfect concert to induce specific chemical signals that cause all the secondary sex characteristics to phenotypically express themselves. Individuals can and do end up landing anywhere on a chemical spectrum that determines whether they are more male or female, depending entirely on variables like which protein hormones get made, at what concentration, and at what stage of development. Granted, the vast majority of us develop in such a way as to end up safely ans unmistakably at one extreme of that spectrum, but what about the rest?

"And so, the reality is revealed: God did not simply make us male or female. It only appeared that way to our best sensibilities until recently. Now we can see that the truth is much more beautiful and complex than that. There are humans all over the spectrum, including some right in the middle who are anatomically both male and female. Are we too embarrassed by this and show Christian sympathy for those individuals, while trusting that the Almighy had a reason for making this "mistake"; this failure to create within the parameters that we have drfined as normal and right? I am taught to recognize such "deformity" as a cosmic consequence of original sin, as is all suffering and deformity."

More of this letter later. I'll also explain why I'm posting it.

Where does it end?

Neteroneous called me Thursday night to tell me he was in the area (in fact he had never been east of Arizona till this past week) so since I had Friday off we spent the day whizzing around DC, trying to get in some of the sights. Mostly I just got us lost. Ah, tradition. We went to a lecture @ CUA given by Alistair McIntyre (now that's a name!) and when the lecture ended, out flooded TAC grads! Everywhere! Jamie Spiering, Vic Vincent, Pat Bissex, Wink! Neteroneous & Bissex were getting into a critique of the various Thomists here and I, impatient to get to the Dubliner and settle into a tall foamy beer, picked up on pieces of the conversation and said, somewhat sarcastically, "I didn't even know there were different schools of Thomistic interpretation." Pat looked a little at a loss for words, and Neteroneous looked at me mischeviously and said, "That's because they only teach you one kind at TAC." Hmm.... sheltered at TAC from... other Thomists...

I am officially reaccepted.

Go ahead. Give your neurosis a name.

Gamophobia Fear of marriage
Rhytiphobia " " getting wrinkles
Arachibutyrophobia (a personal favorite) '' " peanut butter stuck to the roof of one's mouth
Homilophobia " " sermons
Onomatophobia " " hearing certain words
Ephebiphobia " " teenagers
Genuphobia " " knees
Necrophobia " " death
Scoleciphobia " " worms
Anuptaphobia " " staying single (wow I guess it would suck to be gamophobic and anuptaphoic)
Myxophobia " " slime
Amychophobia " " getting scratched
Chionophobia " " snow. Oh come on!
Novercaphobia " " one's stepmother
Coulrophobia " " clowns.

So many cute little adventures in New York! I got lost in what I thought was just a very very black neighborhood on the upper west side, filled with black people fighting and selling cds on blankets. Everyone was angry. Even the t-shirts they were selling were angry: one was an angry t-shirt that yelled: JESUS WAS A BLACK MAN and it listed arguments in support of this. The streets were all black-themed, too: African Avenue, Martin Luther King Blvd, etc. After I told Liripipe about this all-black and angry neighborhood in the upper west side, she smiled, patted me on the head and said, "You were in Harlem, dearie." Ha! How fun.

Another adventure that tickled my heart was outside of Port Authority on 42nd, late at night, where, in my humble experience, I believe there to be the highest concentration of weirdos in the city, there was a crazy black guy (ok, yes, black again. I'm not racist; I'm just painting the picture for you) yelling all sorts of obscenities and telling someone, or maybe no one in particular, to perform something vulgar on his person, and then, like the Red Sea, the crowds parted and up strutted a brigade of New York's finest. Strong, tall, authoritative & fearless. There were about 7 of them and they marched up to where the little nasty man was. His eyes bugged out, he dropped his umbrella (which was about 4 ft long) and ran like hell. The tallest policeman stooped over, picked up the umbrella, and WHACK, snapped it over his knee! I don't grudge them little liberties like that.

Sak's. It doesn't say Sak's Fifth Avenue; it just says Sak's & Co. It's on 5th Ave., so that would be superfluous. I marvel at how cute that is. I went shopping there, bright & early the day after Thanksgiving. 9 floors, not counting the 10th floor, which no one can get into unless they have an appt., and probably a Fortune 500 husband. It's the salon and the escalator to the 10th floor was roped off to keep out the riff raff like me. I wanted to buy my mother something cashmere from Sak's. I asked a man in a suit, who didn't like the fact that I had a backpack on in his store, where I could find socks. I figure cashmere socks is more in my price range than anything else. He looked momentarily disgusted that I came to Sak's on the busiest shopping day of the year with my bookbag and unbrushed hair to bother him about socks. I debated telling him that it's ok, because I'm only interested in cashmere socks; I'm not a yokel. When I found the cashmere socks I found that they were $60. You don't believe me, I know! You think I'm trying to spice up a drab scok story by exaggerating the price! Well I'm not! Sixty, I tell you! I found a cashmere sweater for the same price, so I bought that instead. Then I went outside and bought a, ahem, cashmere scarf for ten dollars. I went cashmere crazy. I couldn't stop. It had a sticker on it that said it's made in england and that it's 100% real and the lady selling it to me had very bloodshot eyes and she had a lot of trouble figuring out the change for a 20 dollar bill. But enough of this.
I will leave you with a disturbing lil tidbit: More Americans went shopping last Friday than voted this year.
Discuss.

Forget the Greeks

Beware of intoxicatingly handsome Irishmen bearing drinks.

it came! it came!

I got an email from Mr. McLean. Sounds good, but keep those fingers crossed.

Sometimes I think Rayna is the only one who reads my blogs. If this is not, true, I relaly wish other people would comment, you know, just to say hello.

I don't know if any of you have read the Washington Compost during the campaign, but I think it's very cute that they always referred to Kerry as John F. Kerry. I guess it didn't help him seem presidential enough, but God bless 'em, they tried.

blah blah bleh

Still not sure if I should go to NY for Thanksgiving. Money, of course, is the factor. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. I can do it for under $200, but until I find out how much I can borrow to go back to school in less than 2 months, I'm freaking out over every dime. If only McLean would write me back!!!! Every day I search the mail in a cold sweat, but I find nothing. Yes I think I will go to NY. I think I shall buy tickets now.

Waterloo Bridge

This is a 1940 movie w/ Vivien Leigh (Scarlett O'Hara) about an English ballerina and a handsome soldier who fall in love and get engaged right before he has to fight in the last year of WWII. She finds out her ballerina friend got her medicine when she was sick through prostitution, hanging around soldiers just coming back or heading out. Viven gets word her fiance's dead and since there's nothing to stay true to anymore,and she feels abd that her friend is bringing in all the money, she sells herself too. Fiance turns up not dead, in fact he sees her in a flashy dress at the train station, thinks she miraculously decided to show up there, waiting for him. He whisks her off to his Scottish manor, introduces her to the folks, etc., all the while she keeps wincing whenever he says anything tender. Finally she runs away, leaving a Dear John. Meanwhile his mother knows what happened, cuz Vivien broke down & told her, but made her promise not to tell. Which brings me to the point of this blog. This guy, who's painted to be Prince Charming, has this to say when ballerina friend helps him look for her, but fails to find her in her usual places, and explains to him that Vivien's been selling herself for food and shelter: "She is lost from me. I will never find her, but I will never stop looking."
Then, unbeknownst to him, Vivien throws herself in front of a truck. The end.
My dormant feminist rage has awakened! " She is lost and I will never find her" !!!?Is that supposed to be Mr. I'll always be there and forgive you and love you? I ususally find 1940s/1930s movies more inspiring and truthful, but this one ticked me off big time.
Recommendation: How Green Was My Valley. Makes me proud to be Welsh.
PS Why are my blogs always movie reviews?

Haha! Land Ahoy!

I changed my template! Something I've wanted to do for awhile. It's crisp & refreshing; just like me, just like the sea air! Arrrh, mateys!
BTW I'm about to embark on an adventure of sorts, one I've never had the guts to do, so wish me luck, ye landlovers!

I'm pretty sure that the reason wintry air tastes wet is that it condenses in your mouth while you breathe.

N.B. See Eternal Sunshine if you haven't. Blew me away. Reminds me of my own crazy trips to the beach with certain people for random reasons. People who maybe thought they wanted to erase those memories themselves. Hmm. Beach. Talking. Sand whipping your face, getting in your beer. Trying to block said beer without geting it warm. Thinking, half-consciously, if the wind makes me so cold, why doesn't it do anything for the beer? But you know the answer so the question dies on your mind's lips. Trying to light a cigarette at the beach, behind a blanket, while the sun is setting/rising(either, it doen't matter which; you've done both), and that turns into an opportunity for someone to wrap his blanket around you, ostensibely to help you light your cigarette. "Light me one too," he says, rubbing your back, trying to keep you warm. Nobody ever told you California could be so cold. You wonder how the hell you got to the beach and why you didn't buy more booze when you had the chance. Oh well, it's almost 6 am, you can buy some more. Does that make you an alcoholic? You smile. Sun's definitely up now. Magic's fading. gotta be a useful member of society now. Says who?! Says they.... they who write the rules, unwritten rules but still, what are you gonna do about it? Gonna revolt? Ok, but for how long? Got a lot of seminar to read. Wish you could melt in his arms. You yawn. Shatters the sexiness. Or not. He senses you're tired but, better still, he senses you want to be bundled up in the moment so he stays still. Rubs your back harder. Draws you near. You don't fight it anymore. Cars on the 101, you wonder, why are they rushing past the beach so fast? You want to be swallowed up in his thoughts forever, thoughts that keep you whole and loved, and always there in the front of his mind. He'd take you to the beach anytime. Even just to sit and try to light cigarettes and down a box o' Lucky and try to solve the puzzles on the caps. Finally the silence is broken. It had to be some time or another. I'm not in heaven yet, you say to yourself; this had to end somtime. Might as well be now. "Want a Hot Pocket?" He knows your desires. You smile. Yeah. But one more cigarette. God, don't ever let me forget these moments. Here, let me light that, he offers. We got a beer left too. Wanna go back to school soon? You put your head on his shoulder and try to memorize the rhythm of the ebb and flow. No, you say. Wake me up only if you absolutely must. As you close your eyes you feel the strengthening sun. You fall asleep to the sound of the sizzling cigarette he's smoking, and seagulls in the crashing waves.