a disclaimer

I sent notice of my blog to just about everyone I knew who might be interested (very modest I am). My computer, however, had other plans and selectively sent these notices to a handful of people.

a craving

Okay, so this guy in my class is trying to set up a regular poker game. Do I dare join? I miss playing with my Chicago boys, but like Gary says, these people could be playing for completely different stakes. If there's one way to get me out of my shell, though, it's gambling. What to do, what to do ...

Yay!

Today is a good day.

Bonding

Sometimes people bond over homesickness. In the absence of people who miss Chicago, I've had to find my bonding moments elsewhere.

Bond no. 1: Cheapness

My dad sent me on a quest early Saturday morning to score a laptop for $699 by being one of the first 16 people at the Office Depot grand opening. The store opened at 9am, so I foolishly believed that arriving at 7am would seal the deal. That, however, was not as foolish as my dad who thought he would be the only person there at 8am.

After reading Civ Pro for a while, I started talking to the people around me, who told me stories of what time they meant to wake up; what time they actually woke up; how many times they've done this; when the next big grand openings will be; what they planned to do with the computer; etc., etc.

Most importantly, I got to bond with my dad, who is the Original Mole. He went up and down the line trying to figure out how many of the 24 people in front of us really wanted the laptop [all of them]. He got me donuts and coffee to keep me alert. He threw all sorts of products at me with the "Hey, it's cheap!" look in his eyes. There's nothing like the pursuit of cheap useless goods to bring two people together.

Bond no. 2: Fear of looking stupid

Professors keep telling us to stop being arrogant and to start making comments in class even if you might be wrong. But let's face it: nobody wants to look stupid. Couple this concern with a general aversion to public speaking, and you have me -- a student who you might never hear from if it weren't for a wonderful thing called office hours.

You might be asking, Why is office hours so great, nerdo? For one thing, I get one-on-one time with the teacher who gives me real feedback on my line of reasoning. Even better, though, is meeting other students in office hours and recognizing the same reluctant understanding in their eyes. This isn't about brownnosing; it's about realizing that their skills of articulation are just as under-developed as yours!

Anything that helps me regain my sense of normalcy is good, even if it means revelling in other people's shortcomings.

Hilarious

To force stubborn stragglers out of the library before closing, the librarians blast music throughout the place at 11:50am. An ingenious stategy: How can I read about insurance policies with Michael Stipe singing to me about Orange Crush?

Like a little man on my back

So maybe my backpack isn't as inconspicuous as I thought. After strutting around with this thing for weeks, my Civ Pro professor and the security guard at the library commented on how strong my back must be. I renege on my earlier comment: Gary is keeping me from having friends.

To Tedd and Teresa

Oh my goodness. I near choked on my coffee when I heard about this on the radio this morning.

Sunday is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

My mom asks Gary

"Is it common for law students not to talk to their parents?"

reality in three acts

[My tribute to Ira Glass, whose picture I inadvertently saw yesterday after months of deliberate avoidance]

Act 1

One summer in college, at the height of the commercial Screen Actors Guild strike, I worked at a law firm with a handful of struggling actors. They greeted me each day with updates, and they liked to remind me about the strike's higher mission. Besides deserving to get paid more, they said, actors need to teach the studios to repect the value of their talent.

And then Plan B arrived: reality shows.

Talk about a plan going awry. Now, instead of paying real actors money for quality shows, networks pay wannabe actors for doing inane/disgusting/mean things -- and some of them don't even get a cent! Apparently, this year NBC has four sitcoms. Four. Not four new ones. Four period.

I wonder if those actors ever regretted their decision.

Act 2

The Guy in my section stands out. He's older, he sits in the middle seat of the second row of every single class, he used to be some company exec, and he never falters when called upon in class. Everyone wants a piece of him, and the schemes students use to get to him are both aggravating and entertaining.

Today, a friend witnessed three classmates plotting their moves to get The Guy into their study group. We've never seen these boys hang out together, so conspiracy says that the self-proclaimed smart ones sought each other out. Oh, and did I mention none of them are (1) girls, or (2) of color?

Cut to scene: The Guy walks out of the classroom. The trio ambushes him with an offer ("We've decided to form a study group, and we want you to be part of it.") The Guy -- fully knowing that he's the No. 1 draft pick of the section -- politely declines and counteroffers with diplomacy ("I'll be happy to help you guys out, but ...)

At this point, the trio notices my nosy friend's not-so-subtle eavesdropping. So, they enchance their offer with the incentive of a date of lunch and library, where they can commence negotiations like the good law students they are.

Law School Survivor has begun, and it's not pretty.

Act 3

Actual thought in my brain on the commute this morning:

"What time will have I have to leave school in order to make it on time for The Apprentice?"

So lame.

My mom asks

"If I have ideas for John Kerry, do you think I can just email them to him?"

I finally got called on in class today [first time!]. It has half-expected because my criminal law professor mercifully calls according to seating order. I didn't do spectacularly, but I didn't do terribly either. By the end of the semester, I will wow her with my much improved eloquence.

The best word I heard today: incognegro. As in, Black Republicans will often go incognegro until the Republican National Convention rolls around. Courtesy of Fluffy.

a little temporary self-indulgence

I have this masochistic streak in my personality, which compels me to seek out friend-less situations. This reasoning led me to choose my undergrad and, to a lesser extent, my post-college job. Without question, both choices ended up fitting me perfectly, but friend-less situations come at a short-term personal cost: self-doubt.

Each new environment I find myself in requires a mandatory adjustment period, akin to my first semester of high school. At 14, Mr. Corso's aged [read: barely 30] wisdom pulled me out of my funk. For every subsequent period, though, only I could do the pulling myself.

This, of course, is the most socially healthy way to go. Starting at a new school again, though, reminds me how relentless my inner mole is. I've met cool people in my classes, but I am definitely still in this period of semi-isolation, which puts me at odds with myself throughout the week.

On one hand, I've been through enough of these transitions to know that I always manage to make strong, long-lasting friendships despite major personal faux pas. Case in point: Teresa became [and still is!] my friend after first encountering me (1) wearing brand-new old-man sweatpants (2) and big eyeglasses (3) while running laps for crew. If I can make a friend in this intense dork situation, I'm more than socially adept.

On the other hand, law school administrators and professors keep giving the "the-friends-you-make-now-will-determine-the-REST-of-your-legal-career" talk , which injects an unnatural element of social darwinism in every encounter. It also doesn't help that my campus is tiny, and I experience acute fish bowl syndrome with each casual meeting. But still. Do I need to think that the next person who asks me for my notes in Civ Pro might be the partner looking at my resume in ten years? NO.

I try to disregard these pressures and keep some perspective on the purpose of being social. But mild paranoia kicks in when I start asking myself, "Should I be making more of an effort to go out with people?" [maybe], "Am I doomed to quiet weekends under my parents' roof?" [hopefully not], or "Are people not going to like me if I don't drink?" [who cares!].

I have to remind myself of how my true friendships with people like MT and Dave and even Gary didn't start until well after we "met" each other. And then I force myself to calm down and not feel so much pressure to change what I already am. After six years of being more than content with my mole-ly tendencies, why should a few growing pains force me to overhaul myself?

If you know what I'm talking about, you might enjoy this cartoon. [Disclaimer: I have no qualms about mental health or about anti-depressant medication in general. But c'mon, Zoloft uses a cartoon head to hawk its product, and for this reason, my family and I will never stop making fun of it.]