Dog

2007-10-03T14:09:00.000-07:00

I was relieved when my first year of law school ended, thrilled when I typed my last exam, happy when I graduated, and ecstatic when I finished the bar.

But man, nothing else in my law school career -- not even getting a scholarship or getting on law review -- beats passing the bar.

2007-06-13T11:54:00.001-07:00

Garrison Keillor wrote this great essay on LA in today's Trib:

Midwesterner finds beauty in unlikely place

Published June 13, 2007

It used to be that Los Angelenos were much too cool to express outright pride in their city, feeling that boosterism is for yahoos from the Midwest, but when I was there last week I got an earful about what a good place it is from friends who never said anything like that to me before. They always talked about choking traffic, the unreality of real estate prices, the smog, blah blah blah, and now they were saying, "I couldn't live anyplace else."

The bright burst of civic feeling might have been due to the bad brush fires -- it had been a very dry winter and spring -- with a major blaze a month ago right in Griffith Park in the heart of the city. Eight hundred firefighters put that fire down and immediately became heroes to everybody, and it showed people how much they loved L.A., just like your mother's colon operation jolts you into reality.

Everybody knows the comedy version of L.A.: the celebrity-crazed city of skinny tanned women, cell phones in hand, driving Suburbans the size of personnel carriers at 80 m.p.h. taking a tiny child to the therapist to address self-esteem issues. Those jokes play well out in the flat parts of the country. A Midwesterner goes to L.A. and feels a certain sense of moral disapproval. The squalor, the opulence, the expense of natural resources to support middle-class life in an arid place, the fascination with the misshapen lives of young celebs. It isn't the Canaan it was for our grandparents. We look at it and see a run-down bungalow selling for a half-million and cars inching along the 405 and say, "No thanks."

But it's good to know there's another point of view. The sun does shine there, and people enjoy their lives -- the spirit of "la pura vida," or the love of life for its own sake, the opposite of Calvinist America, as Randy Newman sings:

From the South Bay to the Valley

From the West Side to the East Side

Everybody's very happy

'Cause the sun is shining all the time

Looks like another perfect day

I love L.A.

And then you run into extraordinary young people there who typify California, bright, motivated, disciplined, idealistic women and men who climb the slopes of academe and also surf and swim and play beach volleyball and who love the climate and nature and culture. It is more than ever a city of immigrants, the Europeans diminishing, the Rodriguezes and Jimenezes and Marquezes burgeoning. Immigrant culture isn't so pretty -- you rent a cheap storefront, work 16-hour days, scrimp on landscaping, make your kids toe the mark -- but there is dignity to it.

Unrestricted immigration is a dangerous thing -- look at what happened to the Iroquois. They failed to impose border controls and before they knew it, they were dying of infectious diseases they had no names for. In California, however, it was Spanish before it was English and now it's simply tending back that way.

I met up with a niece from Boston for dinner in L.A. She told me she was there for the first time in her life, so I did my uncle duty, got a car and took her for a spin as the sun was setting. We walked along the beach in the dark, the Santa Monica pier glittering in the distance, and then we cruised some lush streets and headed east on Sunset Boulevard, the sunroof open, traffic bopping around us, and then, looking for Melrose Avenue and the Paramount Studios with the classic front gate from "Sunset Boulevard," I lost my bearings and circled for a while, but it felt good to promote L.A. to an Easterner.

We live in a snarky time, heavy irony clacking everywhere like people walking around in tap shoes, and it's a privilege to speak up for a despised city. Seattle, sit down. New York, shut up. Vermont, this is not about you. You want to hear about New Jersey or North Dakota or Nebraska, just ask.

I like this essay for two reasons. First, I appreciate that someone is writing something nice about LA for a chance. Ever since my first day of New Student Week, I have met numerous people in Chicago who've decided, without spending any significant time in Los Angeles, that they don't like the city. More often than not, these people attribute their displeasure to traffic and superficiality, which I totally understand. But what annoys me is that they overlook the wonderful things that LA has to offer, like the beach, the variety of cultures, the proximity to beautiful and/or fun places (Baja California, Vegas, SF, and everything in between), and everything that Keillor praises in his essay. I'm not saying that everyone should be in love with LA, but they should at least give it a chance. I absolutely hated Chicago during college. It was until about four months before graduation that I even entertained the idea of staying, and when I finally did stay, it was because I realized that Chicago had so much more to offer than Century 12 in Evanston and Old Orchard.

The other reason I really like this essay is this line: We live in a snarky time, heavy irony clacking everywhere like people walking around in tap shoes. Since I tend to study in cafes and don't talk to anyone in my bar classes, I overhear many conversations everyday. Out of every 10 conversations,8 centers on complaining about other people -- neighbors, friends, family, co-workers. I know this is how people bond; I'm just as guilty of it anyone. What bothers me is that most of those complaints are delivered with a tone of disdain, as if each person being complained of has to be a complete idiot for not conforming to the complainer's world order. I've never had a good way to describe this. To myself, I identified it as the Seinfeld phenomenon because it seems like so many people have adopted the somewhat arrogant tone that the Seinfeld foursome assumed. Keillor's line, however, more precisely describes how I see these complaint-laden interactions.

can you say "needle in a haystack"?

2007-05-02T16:22:00.000-07:00

Some of you know about how my ring become, um, less than complete earlier this year. I recently had to explain the situation to a friend by email, so I thought I'd post the story for those of you who were out of the loop:

No no, I still have the ring. A while back, maybe at the beginning of February, one of the little diamonds on the side just up and left. I didn't realize that it was gone until I was on the phone with Gary, admiring my ring, when all of a sudden I noticed a big gap, like a kid who lost her front teeth. I gasped, Gary asked what was wrong, and I told him that a diamond was missing. At that point, he said, "WHAT DIAMOND?!?" Because I have a bad history with jewelry (having lost my aunt's engagement ring when she stupidly gave it to me when I was 11), he assumed the worst. He was mad for a second -- until I got all indignant and explained how it was totally and completely not my fault. So then he calmed down and told me not to worry about it because we could just replace it at the jeweler, probably for free.

But I was not about to lose a diamond and not try to look for it. So I got on my hands and knees, put my face up near the carpet, and sifted through the carpet with my fingers, hoping that a little diamond would pop out. Then I went to my car and did the same thing. I knew I probably wouldn't find it, but I couldn't help but think about how some little African boy worked long days to find that little thing and how pissed he would be if I didn't at least look. "C'mon, woman, you can at least try!" Needless to say, I didn't find it. I still have no idea where it is. We brought the ring back to the jeweler, who replaced the diamond but never gave me a satisfactory explanation about how a diamond could fall out. He ensured me that it wouldn't happen again, but you still see me, every few hours, checking my ring to make sure everything's there :)

Just for the record, that story is 100% true, no embellishment. This engagement is full of hi jinks. Just wait 'til you hear the full story about the proposal.

Oh, and by the way, only 24 hours of law school left, suckas!

friday night lights

2007-03-22T22:36:00.000-07:00

Having cable and Tivo this year has meant that I watch too much TV. I watch so much TV that I would kick major ass at any game that required me to identify actors acting in different shows at the same time. For example, Peter Petrelli's wife in Heroes is Jack Bauer's sister-in-law/former flame in 24; the former mistress in Brothers and Sisters is the president of the United States in Prison Break; the seamstress in Ugly Betty is Ricky Gervais' lady friend in Extras; Charlie from Ugly Betty is Charlie from Heroes; and I could go on. It's sort of a sick skill that I'm not particularly proud of, but I'm a third year, dammit, and I can rot my brain if I want to.

If I had to give up all my TV shows only to watch one, there's no question about which show I would pick: Friday Night Lights. It is, without a doubt, the absolute best show on TV today, better than Heroes or Lost or Grey's Anatomy or 24 or any other popular show. At the beginning of the season, I had no intention of watch a drama involving (1) football, (2) teenagers, and (3) Texas. But Gary had seen the pilot on a flight, and he was really pushing for me to watch it when it aired on television. Within a few episodes, I was hooked. Now, not only do I look forward to new episodes every Wednesday, but I also re-play each episode to savor each nuanced moment for a second and sometimes third time.

What explains this devotion? First, the show's not really about football. Of course, football provides an important backdrop to the stories, and part of the drama comes from wondering whether the football team will win the state championships, but to say that Friday Night Light is about football is like saying that Brokeback Mountain was about ranching. This appeals to me because, no matter how much Gary tries to sway me, I do not really enjoy football. I don't hate it, but I definitely won't derive pleasure from watching a show all about it.

What I like about the show, oddly enough, is that it's about teenagers in Texas. The high school thing, I admit, has been done to death on television, but none of the shows that come to mind (90210, Dawson's Creek, The OC) manage to portray teenagers in such a nuanced way. One story, for example, centers on an offensive comment made by an assistant coach. In an interview, the coach referred to his black players as "junkyard dogs" and suggested that the quarterbacks tend to be white because of their mental agility. Black players became outraged and threatened to walk out if that coach was not fired. Fearing a loss that would cost them the state championship, the white players suggest that the black players just drop the issue. On most shows, the head coach would either side with his players by firing the assistant coach or side with the coach by keeping him on board. This show, however, went beyond a superficial resolution and managed to accomplish a grey-area ending that I never saw coming. Can you think of what that ending could be? Chances are you can't, which is why you should be watching this show.

There's another reason why I like the show: when I grow up, I want to be Coach Taylor. This may seem ironic because Coach Taylor is a man and his wife is an admirably strong, confident, and outspoken woman. But I know who I am, and try as I might, I'm not an extrovert who can win people over with charm and a smile. I don't really like talking too much, but Coach Taylor shows that you can be a person of few words and still stand up against people and fight for what you believe in. I know that sounds cheesy, but those traits really are what I love best about that character. And they're played out impressively by Kyle Chandler, who is so much more than "that guy who got blown up in Grey's Anatomy."

If you're at all curious about the show, Bravo will run Friday Night Lights marathons every Friday and Saturday during March and April. That way, you can start from the very beginning. If you make your way through the season, then you can watch the last three episodes of the season on Wednesdays at 8PST/7CST. And if you want to see all the other critics and viewers who love love love this show, see the Fight for Lights website. No, I'm not getting a commission from NBC for this pitch, but I am hoping that more people will watch the show so that it comes back next season. Chances seem slim, but I really don't want Friday Night Lights to be the next Freaks and Geeks.

the perfect monday

2007-03-13T15:30:00.000-07:00

Like gas prices, temperatures in Southern California are on the rise. Yesterday, LA broke records, which my friends and I could feel all too well on our downtown LA campus. So, like any self-respecting student in her last year of law school, I cajoled my friends to ditch their afternoon class and spend the day with me at the beach. We arrived at 2, ate lunch on the pier, set our towels down at 3, and laid there -- talking, making fun of other beach-goers, pretending to read, laughing -- until sunset (7pm, courtesy of daylight savings!). After a nice dinner at P.F. Chang's, we ended the day very exhausted yet very happy by the amount of sun we absorbed and the amount of food we ate. Days like this are numbered for me because (1) my future employer probably won't look kindly upon me taking off on a Monday afternoon, and (2) I don't know when I'll ever live in LA after this year. So if you ever try calling me on a Monday from now until June and I don't pick up, you'll know why.

jammin'

2007-02-11T16:58:00.000-08:00

Last night, to celebrate my friend's birthday, some girls and I surprised her with tickets to a concert featuring The Roots at the Gibson Amphitheatre. Originally, we told her that we were taking her to the night zoo, a lame but sufficiently plausible idea that threw her off our scent, especially given how gullible she is. To get to the amphitheatre, we had to walk through University Citywalk, a tacky combination of Las Vegas and Times Square. The whole time, she kept asking me where the zoo was, and I just told her to keep walking until we hit the end of the citywalk. My friend is so gullible that when we were steps away from the entrance, she thought to herself, "Man, there sure are a lot of black people at the zoo tonight." Thoughts like these are why we love her.

The concert itself was fantastic, which isn't surprising because I love live music. In the hierarchy of things enjoyed, I place concerts above five-star restaurants, fancy clothes, massages, and maybe boat rides. What I love most is the sense of being in a crowd of fans who appreciate the music. If the concert is big and it's really good (e.g., Kanye West at Lollapalooza), I feel like the audience is one giant entity, which makes me feel oddly free. If the concert is small and it's really good (e.g., Alexi Murdoch at Schubas), I feel like it's just me and the artist. Either way, a good concert allows me to let loose in a way that I can't really replicate anywhere else.

Akon opened the show with about twenty minutes worth of songs. Apparently, he usually does longer sets, but he had to get his beauty rest for the Grammys tonight. Whenever I hear Akon's songs on the radio, I like hearing his voice but I always lament on how stupid his lyrics are ("smack that?" really?). Luckily, he sang songs from his first album, which came out in several years ago before he went to jail, and those songs are actually much better (i.e., less commercial).

After a short break, the Roots came out, and they really rocked the house. They mostly did songs from their newest albums, but they also did a great cover of a song by Bob Dylan named "Masters of War." I had never heard this song before, so it was really powerful to watch them perform each stanza. It's much better to hear these words rather than read them, but I'll post the lyrics anyway:

Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

That song was written over forty years ago.

Perhaps to lighten the mood, the Roots then went into a long string of random songs that had the house on its feet. It was like being a club when the DJ plays an especially great set, except that the band was performing it right then and there. The only songs I can distinctly remember is Justin Timberlake's "Sexyback" and that "world tour" song that all good clubs play but whose name I can't remember. Halfway through the seven or eight song set, they started playing one of Talib Kweli's songs, and two seconds in, who comes running onto the stage but Talib Kweli himself! The whole crowd erupted, and I thought my friend was going to hurl me across the amphitheatre because she was so excited. Apparently, cameos like this are common in LA shows because everyone lives around here.

As exciting as that was, I think the best cameo came at the end of the night. My friends and I sat toward the back of the amphitheatre, so I couldn't quite make out faces or anything. The concert was reaching its end, so the band formed two parallel lines and did the old Soul Train walkouts. Everyone's doing their dancing when all of a sudden, I notice a tall, skinny black guy with distinctive dancing moves sporting jeans and brown hoodie. I turned to my friend and said, "Hey, is that Dave Chappelle?" and sure enough, the Roots announced Dave Chappelle! Seeing him was the best way to end the night, even if he didn't tell a joke or two. To celebrate Valentine's Day, my friends and I are going to see Common, so hopefully we'll see the same, if not more, familar faces then too.

In other music-related news, I found a website that has a link to Ray Lamontagne's cover of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy." I first heard the original version on KCRW around March 2006. Back then, it was such a cool song because it had this old yet funky element that I had never heard on the radio before. But within two short months, it went from KCRW to KROQ to Star to KIIS (an indie-to-pop progression that Angelenos will understand), and I couldn't really listen to it anymore. But then KCRW started playing Ray Lamontagne's cover probably about six months ago, and I've been looking for a way to buy it ever since. It's acoustic, meaning of course that it's completely different from the original. Not better, just different. Unfortunately, it's not really being sold anywhere, but luckily, I found a blog that plays the song. Listen and enjoy.

out

2007-01-29T08:07:00.000-08:00

On Saturday night, I went out. Not out to a twenty-something dinner party or out to a showing of Dreamgirls at the local cineplex, but out to an actual club where people dance and drink. This may not seem like a big deal if you knew me circa 2002, but since I've been in law school, I've never gone out with my friends in LA, not even for the post-finals "everybody-who's-anybody-goes" celebrations. So yes, it's such a big deal that I'll say it again: I went out.

Despite being a momentous event personally, the night itself was refreshingly chill. My friends and I went to the Echo, an LA club whose basement-like interior was only slightly upgraded by a few strategically-placed strands of multicolor Christmas lights. Behind the bar were unadorned shelves of liquor, which were served by bartenders wearing the same attire as their patrons -- t-shirts, athletic jackets and hoodies, jeans, and sneakers with the occasional high heel. The understated environment kept the focus on the music, a great dance-able mix of underground hip-hop and neo-soul, topped by the completely out-of-place theme song from Greatest American Hero ("Believe it or not, I'm walkin' on air...").

Going out reminded me how much I love dancing. When I'm in Chicago, we usually end up at a lounge or bar where I sit while everyone else drinks, and when I was in San Francisco, we usually went to the all-Asian meat markets where the music is usually just truncated versions of hip-pop songs. Even in my early clubbing days, my dancing was more about meeting people and making impressions rather than pure love for dancing. On Saturday night, however, it was really just about me. I wasn't looking for a man or a one-night-stand, so I wasn't out to impress anyone, as evidenced by my lack of make-up and earrings, my ponytail, and my un-sexy robot t-shirt. I just wanted to dance -- and dance I did for three straight hours. Of course, I spent one of those hours swaying and pushing my heavy eyelids open and wondering how I would possibly drive 25 miles back to my house (I can now sympathize with Flo for all those times she bailed early to go back to Northbrook!). But I did get my second wind 2/3s into the night and managed to stay up until 2am, just shy of Eddy's old goal of 2:30am. I paid for it the next day when I had to be back in LA 8:30am for a all-day production day for law review, but the aches and slowed motor skills were well worth it.

feeling guilty

2007-01-24T17:18:00.000-08:00

I carry around a lot of guilt. I don't know where this behavior came from. Some people say that Catholics always feel guilty, so it's possible that in the second grade, Sister Veronica taught me to the art of feeling guilty in addition to my Hail Marys and Our Fathers. It could also be an Asian thing, though I've never really discussed it enough with other Asians to say for sure.

I suspect, however, that the most likely source are my parents and their frequent use of emotional blackmail. If I had to pick, the birth of my guilty conscience probably took place when I was 12. My dad was home, and my mom got angry at him, so she took my sister and me to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. She didn't invite my dad, and we didn't bring anything back for him, so he was really cranky when we came home. Instead of dealing with it with my mom like a rational human being, he sorta laid it into my sister and me for not being more considerate. When you're 12, an angry dad seems like the scariest person alive, so when he was yelling at me, I made a permanent mental note to always consider the other people around you.

This is not to say that I'm an all-around selfless person. Rather, I can usually identify what other people want. Whether I actually do the thing that they want is another story (especially when they want me to talk a lot -- that's something I don't like doing on cue). The problem is, whereas my friends at school will usually do what they want and say f*** it, I do what I want and become wracked with guilt. I think about what I've done and the possible ramifications until it makes me sick. The only way for me not to feel sick is if I totally push it out of my brain, but nine chances out of ten, something somewhere will remind me of my selfishness, and the bad thoughts reemerge. And the bad part is that many times, the other people doesn't even give a sh*t.

Two things happened this week that really brought this all-consuming, usually irrational guilt into light. The first involves my mom. For a while, I've known that I was going to Chicago. There's not really any room for negotiation anymore. Gary and I may go to California in the future, but the one thing that's certain is that I will be in Chicago next year. My mom sorta knew this too, but I never really wanted to talk about it with her. After two and a half years in my parents' house, I felt like I would be abandoning my mom, like I was leaving her lonely and depressed. Sure, she has my dad, but if you've ever met my parents, you'd understand that their differences oftentimes gets in the way of them enjoying things together. So I kept making myself deadlines to talk to my mom so that I could console her about her impending loss. But every time I thought about it, it made me feel like a bad, ungrateful daughter.

Earlier this week, we had dinner together. There was nothing unusual about it: I sat quietly as my mom rattled on about random stories that she collected throughout the week. Out of the blue, she says, "It's going to be so sad with you and Chris gone." Tears started to well up in my eyes. I tried to play it off by saying that she had Nicholas (her one-year-old grandnephew), but my mom can tell when I'm crying from a mile away. She asked me what was wrong and tried to cajole the reason out of me for a good minute and a half before I finally felt comfortable saying, "I don't want you to be lonely when I leave." At which point, the woman LAUGHED. "Oh no no no" she said, "When I say that to you and Chris, I'm just trying to make you feel guilty!" Then she went on explain how she knows I'm at that age, that she has lots of stuff to do with her life after I'm gone, blah blah blah. Relieved to know that I'm not the terrible ingrate that I thought I was, I finished my meal in peace.

My guilt isn't confined to family matters; it extends to the professional sphere as well. Last semester, I offered to volunteer with an organization that I externed with last year. While I wanted to do some pro bono work, my main motivation was to work with the organization's legal director, who, in my humble opinion, is the greatest lawyer that I've ever worked for. She never takes on volunteers because she doesn't like having to supervise them, but she made a special case for me.

To make sure that she didn't regret her decision, I wanted to wow her with my extensive legal research skills. So I started the semester doing a couple of memos, and about four weeks in, she asked me to research potential causes of action for a certain case. The case involved a pretty unique fact pattern, which meant that I had to be really creative to make it fit into the law. All of this lawyer's most notable successes was based on really creative legal analysis, so I knew this was my chance to shine. The problem was, I didn't. My workload first semester was 100% heavier than I anticipated, and I let the project slide. I originally told her I would have the memo in one week, which turned into two, which turned into never. Not only did I not do the assignment, but I never emailed her during the semester to explain what happened. I felt so terrible that I had to tell myself not think about it in Vietnam. The way I looked at it, I killed the greatest hope I had of becoming the best public interest attorney I could be, and all because I couldn't send a timely email to the woman explaining myself.

To salvage respect she had left for me, I sent her a note late week. I could have called her or emailed her, but I thought a handwritten note would most fully express my deep regret and embarrassment. In the note, I went on and on about how much I respect her and love working with her and how sorry I was that I wasn't able to pull through as promised. It took a few days, but she finally responded to my note just now. And you know what she said? She said that I was SILLY, that she totally understood the snowball effect of law school, that she wasn't offended at all, and that she had another project for me if I was interested. I am, of course, relieved that she didn't chew me out, and I know this whole experience taught me to get my butt into gear, but I also feel like a supreme dork-o for spending precious moments of my life worrying about this.

I wish I could turn off the guilty conscience or at least turn down the dial a notch or two. As you can see, it doesn't mesh well with my mole-ly personality, which would rather deliberate the offense ad nausuem rather than nip it in the bud by talking with the other person. Maybe there's a support group for all the guilty-feeling moles out there. If you find it, call me.

my first bridal fair

2007-01-18T13:54:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, I went to my first bridal fair. The timing was a bit soon after the engagement for my taste, but it was one of the only weekends in the past few months where my mom, my sister and I were all in the same place, so I thought the fair would be a good mother-daughter-sister bonding experience.

Bridal fairs, in case you haven't been, are events where local vendors show off their services, ranging from calligraphy for invitations to chocolate fondue fountains to videographers. They entice you with free goodies, like cake samples and sample favors, as well as special event discounts. Because this particular event was at the Four Seasons, they also served a lot of classy booze, such as champagne and chocolate martinis, whose purpose was probably to loosen up the soon-to-be-brides, making them more likely to open up their wallets. The aisles of fake smiles also help to sucker women in as merchants 'ooh' and 'aah' over the rock on your left hand, no matter what size it may be.

Luckily for me, I don't have a date yet, so vendors tended to congratulate me obligingly right before they scooted off to find a woman in a more desperate state of mind. Also, because the wedding likely won't be for another 9-12 months, I'm not overly concerned about keeping my girlish figure for the dress and could therefore enjoy the endless supply of shrimp cocktail, mini-paninis, ahi-tuna, and chocolate that everyone else was avoiding.

My mom was feeling a bit indulgent as well; she drank five glasses of champagne during the two hours that we were there. (Obviously, I did not inherit my alcohol deficiency from that side of the family.) She says that she wasn't drunk, but it was pretty clear from her constant chitter-chatter with random Four Seasons employees that she had too much to drink. When she asked one of those employees to bring her bags to her car -- a car that was parked downstairs in valet! -- my sister and I realized that we may have to find someone to watch her champagne consumption at the wedding reception. Maybe that person can do double-duty by watching her and Gary! Any takers?

Aside from stuffing my face and laughing at my mom, I did come away a little less ignorant about weddings. I'm hoping to take Gary at some point just so he can experience it too, even if the female to male ratio is strikingly high. There's one at the Drake sometime in March, so if any of you want to come (you should just for the food), come with us!

the missing boutonniere

2007-01-09T05:25:00.000-08:00

I went to my first formal in my freshman year of high school. My date was Robert, a long-time friend whose precociously rock-hard body would make his college weight gain of 100+ pounds all the more tragic. I did everything I could to prepare: buy a nice off-the-shoulder dress, cake my face with make-up, and curl my hair for the then-standard poufy hair look. My mom helped me through this whole process, improvising as best as she could for this strange American custom known as the high school formal. When Robert arrived at my doorstep, she already had her camera in hand, ready to take pictures of my date and me in our awkward get-ups. After a couple of snapshots, Robert slipped a beautiful red rose corsage on my wrist, which I stared at admiringly for a good two minutes.

"So don't you have something for me?" Robert asked.

"Like what?" My mom and I looked at him, puzzled.

"You know -- like a boutonniere?"

We had no idea what he was talking about. For all their features on prom dresses, shoes, make-up, and sex-related warnings, none of my Seventeen magazines had mentioned this thing called a "boutonniere." From the look on my mother's face, her sources had failed her as well. Robert was of course very understanding about this insignificant detail, but my mom's mortification stayed with her for the remainder of my high school years, causing her to hound me before each subsequent formal into buying boutonnieres long before I had to.

My mom feels a similar sense of uncertainty today. When I told my mom that Gary and I got engaged, she congratulated me and immediately started worrying about engagement etiquette. Was she supposed to talk to Gary? What was she supposed to say him? What about his parents? Was she supposed to welcome them to the family? Is she supposed to throw a party? The list of questions went on and on, all surrounding the basic theme of how not to embarrass ourselves in front of Gary and his parents. Besides me, she asks everyone what to do, such as her sister, a random co-worker, and my sister (who, having no engaged friends and being the younger "I'm not getting married until much much later" sister, has no idea what she's talking about). I keep telling my mom that we'll figure it out together, that Gary and his family will hopefully understand our awkwardness, and that our family is not about stuffy formalities anyway. She understands all of this, of course, but deep down, I think the woman is still haunted by the missing boutonniere.

travel tips

2006-12-10T11:28:00.000-08:00

I'm going on a trip to Vietnam this Saturday. This will be my first time going outside of the United States. I haven't even been to TJ! My dad, my sister, and I will be touring the country for two weeks, visting my dad's old hood as well as places that my dad has never visited before. It will be an emotion trip because my father hasn't been back there for almost thiry years. Can you imagine leaving the U.S. now and not coming back for that long?

Since I've never been on an international trip, I was wondering if you all might help me out. How am I supposed to pack for this trip? I'm used to traveling to Chicago, in which case I pack half-assed on the assumption that whatever I need I can get there. Vietnam is a little different. Especially for those who have visited Asian countries, what should I pack?

nonsense

2006-11-13T12:45:00.000-08:00

I'm soooooooo tired right now. I can barely keep my eyes open. My professor called me out in front of my class and said, "Hey, you look tired." I really want to go home, but I feel like I should go to tax. Maybe I'll luck out and my prof will be sick again. How nice that would be.

I pull way too many all nighters to get writing assignments done, and now it's making me wonder if I'm cut out to be a lawyer. If I could do whatever I wanted (aside from being a rock star or just a really hip radio DJ), I'd be a kickass litigator. I enjoy twisting law and facts to make arguments, and I like writing them down in a simple yet sophisticated form as well. But it takes so much out of me to get to that point, and since I have stunted time management skills, sometimes I don't even get that far. I'm realizing that I have a Platonian ideal of what my writing should be. But it rarely ever reaches that point. I tinker (not tweaker!) and tinker, and nothing seems right. So I work straight up to deadline when all really I needed to do was put the paper down three drafts ago. I apologize for my nonsensical ramblings. Besides pulling the all-nighter last night, I had a two-day writing marathon to finish a directed research paper last week as well. I didn't stay up all night for that, but I might as well have, considering that it took me almost 24 hours after I submitted my paper to get back to normal. Maybe I just never got back to normal. That could explain why I feel like my body is melting right now -- melting like the Wicked Witch of the East!

law review lens

2006-10-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

I'm an articles editor for law review, which means that four times a year, I edit an article written by some academic. For this task, I get a group of staffers, ranging from two to six, who spend an inordinate amount of time checking citations and verifying the author's sources. For the most part, I enjoy working with the staffers because I feel like I am helping them build their various law review skills and perhaps readying them for being on next year's editorial board.

I'm learning a lot about myself through this process. For instance, I'm really bad at talking in front of people. I knew that I had this problem, but I didn't realize the extent of it until now. I have meetings with my staffers every so often, and they also come up to me in the office to ask me random questions. Despite the fact that they are essentially my underlings and they need to kiss my ass for good recommendations, I get nervous talking to them. Very lame. I try not to show any sign of weakness, but it's hard to tell what their perspective is. So I go all Napoleon-complex on them and freak out if they turn in assignments late, for instance, in the vain hope that being a hardass will hide my insecurities.

I've also learned that people who don't pay attention to details drive me crazy. One of my staffers is no doubt very smart and very capable of doing more complex tasks than citechecking. But he really sucks at citechecking, which makes my job more annoying. He should probably get a little slack because it's only his second or third time doing this, but I have a team of six during this production cycle, and he misses simple things that each of the other five staffers picked up the first time. He also annoys me because he spends so much time on the assignments, writing me these long memos about how he reached certain decisions, but he doesn't even see the missing period at the end of the sentence! I'm annoyed also because I think he thinks he's really smart and doesn't need to read the Blueblook, but the Bluebook is all we have to go by! I try not to show my annoyance, but that, like my insecurities, probably shines through. Damn my expressive face!

balloons!

2006-09-20T08:22:00.000-07:00

the comeback roadmap

2006-09-15T08:11:00.000-07:00

I predict that Whitney Houston will make a major comeback within the next two years. She's already taken the first -- and most critical -- step towards this goal: ditching that no-good Bobby Brown. For her next step, Whitney should admit herself into some fancy-schmancy rehab clinic where she can ween off the drugs and gain back some weight. Then, she has to go television with a reputable but soft news personality, perhaps Barbara Walters or Diane Sawyer, to offer her mea culpa for her bizarre behavior over the past few years. Although it would be a little uncouth to use Bobby as the scapegoat, I think America would totally understand. She have to be willing to re-visit her "crack is whack" interview, show some embarrassment, and then talk about how God has helped to find the way back to the right path and, more importantly, back to the music. By this time, she should have already wrapped up a fantastic album with more of her Bodyguard-type music and less of whatever was on her last album. That way, the interview will spur album sales, rocketing her once again to the number one spot of America's greatest female pop singer ever. All she needs right now is a smart person to guide her through this transformation.

Gary disagrees with my prediction, but I'm pretty adamant, as are my friends here at school. If Marv Albert and Mariah Carey can do it, then I know Whitney Houston can too.

my guilty pleasure

2006-09-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

I don't like disappointing Eddy. So here I go.

After literally two years of empty promises, my dad finally installed cable last week. It wasn't anything spectacular, like the start of the new football season or the waste of having a huge yet fuzzy TV screen, that prompted this change. Instead, my dad finally bit the bullet because of Project Runway. He watched a marathon run of Season 2 over the summer with my sister, and he was hooked. Ah, the perils of living in a house with three women. The ironic thing is that he's on call on Wednesday nights, so I can't even watch brand new episodes with him.

As an aside, I have to say that Project Runway and America's Top Model are far superior to Dancing with the Stars. No question about it.

Anyway, the cable (Direct TV, to be precise) is set only in the living room and my parents' room; I purposefully kept it out of my room for fear that I would never leave. Although a good idea, it doesn't actually solve my problem. Now that I know there is cable, I always want to watch it, which means that I now camp out in my living room and hop around from station to station like a little boy who ran out of Ritalin. I'm hoping that the novelty of cable in my house will wear out, and I'll return to my normal life, but that may be wishful thinking.

To my surprise, my favorite station is not MTV or VH1 or even National Geographic (Dog Whisperer!). It's SoapNet. For the uninitiated, SoapNet is a station devoted to soap operas. Soap operas usually air during the day for stay-at-home mommies and daddies, but SoapNet re-airs them during the evening for the working folk.

One of the soaps they air is All My Children, which is just my absolute favorite soap. I started watching it one summer in junior high. I don't know why exactly: maybe I watched it with my mom one day, or maybe I was just bored. In any case, I've been watching it on and off since I was probably 12 or 13. I tried watching other soaps, like One Life to Live and General Hospital, but neither compare to All My Children. I can't even explain why. Even though I know the general plotlines of the other soaps through commercials and the random viewing, they just don't engage me like All My Children does.

Watching a soap opera is not really cool, so I try to keep this under wraps. I first felt guilty about watching in high school, when my high school teacher compared girls watching soap operas to boys watching porn. (BTW, Gary has a tres funny story about Donald Faison and porn. Ask him about it the next time you see him.) As far as he was concerned, both warped your sense of relationships and doomed you to unrealistic expectations. And then there are all those nay-sayers who say that soap operas are so trashy and lame. So I tried to stop watching for a while, but then I would catch a snippet here and there, and I was hooked again. There was even a brief period of time when I even checked discussion boards, but that phase ended a long time ago.

Try as I might, I can't really let go of watching All My Children. Normally, this isn't a problem because I'm usually at school or working, so I usually don't have access to a TV during the lunch hour. But SoapNet has changed everything. Not only do they re-air each day's episode at night, but they also air the previous weeks' episodes on Saturday during the day. Five consecutive hour-long episodes of All My Children ... which, I, um, watched on Saturday. I didn't mean to!!!! But I was editing papers and I needed some TV to keep me from falling asleep and I watched one episode and all of a sudden it turned into five!

I didn't feel that weird about it until I told my sister last night ("What's wrong with you?!?"). And then the weirdness finally set in when I realized that I wouldn't be home in time to watch the 6 o'clock airing of today's episode and then I considered TIVO-ing (another great addition to my household!) the noon episode. Do I really need to know what happens to the autistic girl in the woods today? That can wait until at least Saturday -- at least, that's what I keep telling myself. I also tell myself that watching All My Children can't be worse than watching Laguna Beach or The Hills, where ridiculously rich teenagers share their oh-so-hard lives. At least the people on my show don't say "like" all the time, something that Gary can perhaps appreciate.

i hate asian chauvinism

2006-09-06T11:18:00.000-07:00

... and the fact that AP did not report that Princess Kiko has three daughters until paragraph seven.

my new favorite things

2006-08-23T13:31:00.000-07:00

Despite generally hating on-screen violence, I think HBO's Rome is fantastic. I started watching it when Gary came home with me last week. It began as me humoring his interest in the show, mostly because costumed actors are usually not that cool to me. Within 48 hours, though, we sat through episodes 1-10, neglecting the remaining two episodes simply because of a lack of time. Procrastinating my fellowship application, I watched those episodes last night, and I found it very difficult to tear my eyes away from the brutal yet fascinating violence in the gladiator arena. Heads were decapitated and legs sliced at the knees -- and I loved it. Adding to the show's charm is the "Roman" vernacular, which includes sayings like, "Soldiers like us make girls wet as October" and "Her majesty requests that you enter her." No wonder it's up for so many Emmys!

Outranking Rome, however, is the Hotel Monaco in Denver. Gary's probably sick of me talking about it, but it was simply the best hotel I've ever been in. The exterior was nothing to brag about, but when you step inside -- oh! the inside! -- you're magically transported into this French whimiscal, Alice-in-Wonderland-type place. The motif of the room was stripes of every shade and width, drawing attention to the high ceilings and large windows. The hotel also had a six-year-old Jack Russell Terrier named Lily as its mascot, and Lily would play in the lobby and let everyone pet her. And the ultimate best part was that the hotel provides goldfish for your room upon request to "cure loneliness." (yes, there was free Starbucks and New York Times in the morning and free wine and appetizer at night and they let you bring pets, but it was all about the goldfish). I could have stayed there forever.

My last favorite item is Clif ZBars. I like Clif Bars once in a while, but they always leave this slightly-artificial taste in my mouth and a lumpy feeling in my stomach. Whereas Clif Bars are for adults, Clif ZBars are for kids, which means that they taste (and settle in your stomach) better than the regular bars. They also comply with California's recently-enacted school nutrition law, which imposed strict rules on the nutritional content of food served in public schools. In other words, they're not fatty, sugary, or salty, and they still manage to taste really good and satisfy my cravings.

I hope you get to try at least one of my favorite things!

not so far away

2006-07-14T08:41:00.000-07:00

I've never understood the conflicts in the Middle East, and my attempts to end my ignorance have been lukewarm, at best. When Bush justified Israel's bombing of Lebanon's airport as a necessary means of security, my narrow-minded liberal side didn't want to hear anymore. My friend snapped me out of my indulgent stupor with the email below.

Greetings from Israel!

It has been nearly two weeks since I arrived in Tel Aviv and I can not begin to tell you what I’ve experienced, felt and struggling with since then. My journey began last April at [school] when a visiting professor asked me whether I was interested in visiting Israel along with other students from various law schools. At the time, it seemed like a wonderful idea. But as you may already know, there is tremendous turmoil in this region.

I am studying at the Bar Ilan University just 20 from the city’s center. There are some 60 students from here from across the nation. It is a somewhat conservative bunch, with what I would consider radical views, but no different than what I am used to (after spending 5 years in Boston I can deal with pretty much anything).

Israel is interesting. It’s a religious state but in my opinion, the primary faiths are politics and security. People eat, sleep and drink politics. I try to stay out of it (surprisingly).

I’ve been traveling as much as possible. I was supposed to go to Haifa today (Friday). I was planning on visiting the border with Lebanon and temple of one of the newer religions (the Baha’i Faith). That was before Lebanon succeeded in hitting Haifa (the third largest city in Israel). The conflict began to escalate a few days after I arrived. On June 25th, an Israeli soldier was kidnapped by Palestinian militant groups in Kerem Shalom, an area that borders the Gaza Strip (one of the
Palestinian territories Israel once occupied and recently returned to the Palestinian people).

Israel is smack in the middle of the Middle East and borders Egypt (to the south west), Jordan (to the east), Syria (also to the east) and Lebanon (to the North). After the kidnapping, Israel re-deployed troops into the Gaza Strip (taking control of the power station and three bridges and cutting off water in certain areas). Israel demanded the soldier’s release. In return, Palestinian groups demanded the release of all Palestinian woman and all Palestinians under the age of 18 being held in Israeli prisons. On June 30th Israel carried out 20 air strikes and hit the Interior Ministry in Gaza. In response, Palestinian groups changed their demands – demanding the release of 1000 prisoners. Things have just gone down hill from there with Palestinians shooting qassam rockets into Israel.

Two or three days ago, a group from Lebanon entered northern Israel, killed 8 soldiers and kidnapped 2 others. Israel conducted air strikes and destroyed the Lebanese airport in Beirut and shut down the sea ports, fuel storage units (cutting off electricity in parts of the area). The mission: to bring back the kidnapped soldiers, and wipe out terrorism by striking strategic targets in Lebanon (E. Snider – Spokesperson for the Israeli Defense Forces). Dozens of people have been killed (mostly Palestinians [50 civilians according to CNN], but Israelis as well [ten soldiers]). Lebanon believes the attacks are subjecting the Lebanese people to collective punishment (air strikes) and that Israeli strikes are disproportionate the actions taken by the militant groups. And back and forth they go.

Despite all this, life goes on in Tel Aviv. No one believes the Palestinians or Jordanians have rockets strong enough to hit the city, but everyone said the same thing about Haifa (a northern city in Israel near Nazareth and the Jordanian Border). They were wrong.

Before canceling my trip to Haifa, I sought out the opinion of with several people (professors, journalists, even high ranking military personnel). All said that it was safe to travel there. But I wasn’t convinced. So I decided to cancel my trip. 45 minutes later, Haifa was bombed. According to the tour guide, they are still planning to go, minus one person – ME. More power to them.

So…here I am…in my hotel room, watching Larry King Live. I’m very concerned about this conflict. There is no doubt that it will escalate. All the parties involved have an enormous amount of pride and I sincerely doubt any one will back down. It’s frustrating. I’m taking several courses, one focuses solely on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict (Israeli’s fight for self-preservation and the Palestinian’s fight for self-determination). It is truly enlightening and I encourage you all to take the time to research it and try to better understand why these people are at war (I won’t throw myself into the political fray here, but would be happy to share some of what I’ve learned since arriving in Israel).

In the meantime, I will continue to go to school, and take all
necessary precautions until my departure at the end of the month. Thank
you all for your emails and prayers. They are greatly appreciated and
much needed.

signs

2006-05-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

You know things are bad when you literally crave alcohol and a cigarette -- and you don't even drink or smoke.

3 things I love about my school

2006-04-28T10:33:00.000-07:00

(1) Ending their classes with sincere words of inspiration about the profession, two of my professors were moved to tears saying goodbye to us. It sounds hokey, but really, it's the perfect way to send us off to finals.

(2) I'm always tempted to jump in on a game of catch, but my lack of skill always stops me. I do, however, enjoy watching students play catch with some of our janitors. I never saw anything like that during undergrad.

(3) The school provides free coffee, tea, and hot chocolate during finals. That simple service shows their support.

need a lawyer?

2006-04-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

A real advertisement that my ethical lawyering professor shared with my class:

To the other woman ...
Your man or maybe just your good friend faces divorce. He is rattled, vulnerable, and in his All-American-Boy way he is ready to give away his future to the woman he has left oris leaving. He should not do it. You know he should not do it. It just isn't right. There is a man who can help him. A man who has been there. A man who only works with men in divorce situations because he knows men do not usually get a fair shake. His name is Atty. **** *. ****. You can reach him at (***) ***-****. Tell your man to call, or make the call for him. Either way, it may lead to a bright new day for him. And you?

disaster averted!

2006-04-24T20:38:00.000-07:00

My cousin's friend retrieved my files!

happy thoughts

2006-04-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

My computer fried on Monday. Until the computer gods descend from the heavens and bless my poor little VAIO with their healing grace, I've lost everything -- my notes, my outlines, my videos of Brian and Gary playing Malaysian slayers. Finals start in ten days, so I've tried to cram my thoughts of rage and despair into little crevices of my brain. But those crevices should have been filled by now with rules about searches and seizures, piercing the corporate veil, and other doctrinal nuggets. Which makes me more than a little frustrated.

Thankfully, I've gotten some help from fellow classmates, for which I am tremendously grateful. I keep reminding myself that if the files are gone, they're gone, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm also trying to keep happy thoughts today because I don't want my negativity to catch some cosmic wave and reach my sister or Gary. She's taking the MCAT again today and he's preparing for trial, so they need all the good feelings they can get. To conjure these good feelings, I'm making Jack Johnson's "Upside Down" my anthem for the next three weeks.

Who's to say
I can't do everything
Well I can try
And as I roll along I begin to find
Things aren't always just what they seem

MCT circa 2002 would be appalled.

paranoia seeps in

2006-04-13T10:42:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I sent all of my work-related emails out of my Google account. Thrilled with the fact that I could access them all with a simple word search, I was surprised when one of my recipients scoffed at my email address. "Gmail, huh?" he wrote. "I have my mailbox set up to throw all gmail messages in the junk folder." When I pressed him on this strange practice, he explained that Google archives everything, making it easy for Google to track down all conversations. If Google can track it down, so can the government. Because this guy epitomized anti-establishment paranoia and because Google has always been plain awesome, I just wrote him off.

Or so I thought. It seems that he unsettled me more than I initially admitted. Since then, stories have come out about the government subpoenaing Google for search records. And today, Google's CEO said that the company will comply with China's restriction, including a prohibition on searches of words like "Tibetan" and "democracy."* Though I don't necessarily think Google needs to work to flout China's laws right now, Google's compliance undermines its commitment to protecting free speech from government encroachment. I think the company will fight the U.S. government on some issues, but at what point will they hand over our information? Even now, do you or I reasonably expect that whatever we write online is private? When I write an email on Gmail, this entry on Google-owned Blogger, or an event on the new Google calendar, will I really be surprised to learn that someone somewhere is monitoring my activity? Probably not, but that doesn't mean it doesn't worry me.

By not having a reasonable expectation of privacy in these activities, I lose my Fourth Amendment rights to be free from the government's unreasonable search and seizure of these online writings. Which means that if the government wanted my stuff, they could get it, even if they don't suspect me of doing a damn thing. If I'm not doing anything wrong, then I shouldn't have anything to hide, right? I guess, but that still doesn't comfort me. So as awesome as I think Google calendar is, I just might stick with my trusty dayplanner. And go back to handwriting letters. And call you all instead of blogging.

* I wonder how extensive the list of prohibited search words is. Practically speaking, it seems like the government cannot effectively censor these ideas by relying on search terms alone. Anyone who plays Taboo knows that when you can't use a word, you use its synonym. But I guess using synonyms to get around China's censorship requires a command of the language that not every Chinese person has. I bet Gary has some opinions about Chinese people playing Taboo.

not so moley after all

2006-03-09T16:35:00.001-08:00

I extern on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I mostly research and write, which I generally enjoy. What I don't like is the room I work in. It has a dreary beige motif, and the walls are covered with papers dated 2004 and earlier. The fifteen desks are empty, and there's a big sign on the wall that reads "Welcome Summer Interns." There are no windows and, because it's an enclosed room, no passers-by. Sometimes, an intern on a special project from another department will sit at one of the desks, which adds some life to the room. Most days, however, I'm stuck in this ghost town of a room, driving myself mad with utter isolation. Today is one of those days.

The only things that keep me from going completely mad are listening to iTunes and looking at this cutie.

curtilage? seriously?

2006-03-08T14:03:00.000-08:00

Monday is "Dress Like Your Favorite Criminal Procedure" Day. My professor is requiring each of us to wear a costume that depicts something we've learned this semester. Criminal procedure covers subjects such as the right to be free from unreasonable search and seizure, the Miranda right, the privilege against self-incrimination (i.e., pleading the 5th), and a host of other yummy protections against governmental intrusion. One rule says that police must have a warrant to search your house and your curtilage; curtilage is the area surrounding your house, like a porch. Last year, someone showed up as a curtilage. How? I have no idea. The point is, I have to come up with a costume by Monday, and I have no idea what I'm going to be. If you have suggestions, let me know. If you're lucky, I'll post up a picture on Monday.

being quiet

2006-03-07T13:09:00.001-08:00

I am by nature a very quiet person. I tend to speak when spoken to, and I generally detest jibber-jabber. When my professors ask me questions in class, I instinctively respond with a terse "yes" or "no," which puts me in stark contrast to my classmates who like to wax philosophical about society's injustices. If someone tries to force me to articulate myself beyond what I've already said, I become physically uncomfortable, which frustrates the other person and occassionally throws him into a fit of rage. I feel safe to share my opinions among friends, but even then, I favor one-on-one rants rather than mass tirades.

This quietness doesn't jive well with another quality of mine -- namely, the fact that things piss me off all the time. I didn't realize how incompatible these qualities were until last week. Without going into details, I spoke at an on-campus event, which garnered a lot of debate among the panelists. The next day, the moderator sent an email expressing certain opinions that I disagreed with. The opinions probably wouldn't have pissed me off so much if I thought they just came from the moderator, but I knew that these opinions also come from my school, whose tunnel vision sometimes hurts their students. Being generally passive agressive, I shot off an email to the panelists explaining each of my problems. For many, it was the most they had ever "heard" me say. "Why haven't you talked about this before?" they asked. The only thing I could think was, nobody ever asked me.

This is a really dumb attitude to have, be it in personal relationships or professional settings. This attitude is especially unproductive in the legal field, where attorneys are advocates who don't get paid to wait for someone else to prompt them. If I'm going to work for the little guy after school -- the person whose voice has gone unheard for so long -- I'll never get anything done if I can't even use my own voice.

I've considered trying to go the opposite direction and become the lawyer that we all hate -- brash, schmoozy, loquacious. But I'm afraid that people will see right through the act, which will only make me look like a massive tool and thus annoy myself. In between these extremes, I'm struggling to find a happy medium, as cliche as that sounds. I have a dreadful feeling that this medium doesn't exist, though, and I'll eventually have to choose one over the other. It's times like these that I think being a tall white man would make my life much easier.

aspirations

2006-03-03T16:24:00.000-08:00

For Lent, I gave up english breakfast tea lattes from the Coffee Bean. I convinced myself that I needed the concentrated tea, sweetened by wonderful vanilla powder, to give me that extra kick in the morning. Once the baristas at not one but two locations began to greet me by name, though, I realized I had a problem. I hope to kick the habit by the time Easter rolls around, though I think that addiction may just be replaced by another (Dove dark chocolate Easter eggs).

Speaking of self-indulgence, I thought I should try to blog regularly, at least for the remaining 37 days. My keeping-in-touch frequency is set at abysmal six-month intervals, a problem which law school only compounds. To ensure some regularity, I'm going to be less ambitious with the writing (and eat my oatmeal everyday). No great revelations or insights into mankind. But no mundane Seinfeld-ish quips either. Just my life. Should I veer toward either extremes, stop me. Whatever lands in the middle of these could turn out to be quite a bore, so consider yourself forewarned.

This semester has been a drag. I started off this year really enthusiastic about all the things I could do, but something happened between the first week of finals and the beginning of the second semester. Everything that really excited me just petered out. Take my law review note. My goal is to be published, but the earliest that will happen is next year. This is my fault. I got ambitious and picked a problem so difficult that when I complained to my faculty advisor, all he could say was "Well, that's why I haven't done that problem yet." Okay, Mr. Smartie Pants. Of course, he follows up by telling me how much more rewarding it is to tackle a complex problem rather than writing a simpler piece, but those words don't help me when I'm sitting in front of my computer, wondering how I, a lowly second-year, am going to solve a problem that a renowned expert has not. I'm still plugging along, though, footnote by f'ing footnote, but as of right now, I'm pretty demoralized.

On a lighter and completely unrelated note, I would love to create an IMDB-like site that tracks Hollywood relationships rather than movies. I'm always trying to remember who went out with whom, and sometimes it's just too difficult. My technical expertise, however, goes no further than basic HTML, and I would probably burn out trying to keep up with George Clooney alone. But wouldn't it be awesome??? It would be my contribution to the world of snarky celebrity blogs. For now, I'll settle for Defamer , Fametracker, and, my new favorite, PinkIsTheNewBlog.

choose my movie

2005-12-12T12:43:00.000-08:00

After my Con Law exam on Wednesday, I would like to watch a movie, but I don't know which one to see. To make room in my brain for actually learning the equal protection clause, I'm letting you, the audience, pick my movie. I'll go by sheer majority. Remember, the enjoyment I get out of these few hours of relaxation rests on your shoulders.

Here the choices:

Walk the Line -- I have some qualms about watching this because I'm not a fan of Johnny Cash. I don't dislike him either. I just feel like everyone who wants to see this movie talks about what a legend he is, and those people are either (1) true fans or (2) posers. Since I am not the former, I don't want to look like the latter. But if you tell me to, I'll go see Reese Witherspoon say, "Baby baby baby."

King Kong -- I hear the movie is "overlong" (Why don't movie critics just say "too long"?), but if I can get a gratuitous shot of Adrian Brody's abs, I'm good.

Brokeback Mountain -- I have to see this movie with Gary, so don't vote for this one.

Memoirs of a Geisha -- I don't really want to see this movie because a non-Japanese director directed (mostly) non-Japanese cast in a movie based on a play written by a non-Japanese author. And because the Arclight says that the movie is "set in a mysterious and exotic world which still casts a spell today." Gag me with a spoon. On the other hand, if this movie tanks, it'll be a long time before we see a movie with an all-Asian cast again. So I'm ambivalent.

Syriana -- Fat George Clooney.

Good Night and Good Luck -- Black and white George Clooney.

Capote -- Phillip Seymour Hoffman in a funny voice + Catherine Keener as Harper Lee selling stuff on Ebay = hilarity. Just kidding.

Write-candidates are welcome. And Gary reserves the right to veto. Polls close Wednesday, December 14th at noon.

no struggle, no progress

2005-12-09T15:19:00.000-08:00

If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation are men who want crops without plowing the ground, they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the terrible roar of its waters . . . Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will. . . . Men might not get all they work for in this world, but they must certainly work for all they get.

-- Frederick Douglass, 1857

a song

2005-12-08T17:09:00.000-08:00

I once knew a girl
In the years of my youth
With eyes like the summer
All beauty and truth
In the morning I fled
Left a note and it read
Someday you will be loved.

I cannot pretend that I felt any regret
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread
Someday you will be loved

You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved

You may feel alone when you're falling asleep
And everytime tears roll down your cheeks
But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet
Someday you will be loved

You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved

You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved
Someday you will be loved

-- Death Cab for Cutie

plex: the band

2005-12-05T15:36:00.000-08:00

I stumbled across a band called The Foster-Walker Complex. The lead singer sounds a little too much like the main character in Rent, but otherwise the band is pretty cool.

kicking the abused dog outta me

2005-12-05T11:36:00.000-08:00

I'm like an abused dog when it comes to relationships and my parents. My mom very much disliked my last boyfriend, so I learned never to talk about him, much less my feelings, around her. I don't think my dad cared much about my relationship either way, but I couldn't talk about it with him either because ... well, I can't really talk to him about anything other than computers, dvds, and vacation-planning.

When I started dating Gary, I didn't tell them for at least six months, and even then, I leaked the news to my sister, knowing full well that it would travel to my parents within a few hours. Accustomed to our "don't ask, don't tell" policy, I was content to keep my relationship to myself, and I grew suspicious if they ever asked me questions about him.

After putting it off for a year, our parents, Gary and I had dinner together for the first time a few weeks ago. Inside, I was actually dreading the encounter. I convinced myself that my dad was going to be severely anti-social, much like the time when he didn't say anything to Gary when my mom and I left them at a table by themselves. And then I knew my mom would talk too much and potentially bring out a toy robot that she conned some dorky comic guys to give her. We would sit there in silence as Gary's parents would wonder what the hell kind of family we were. I didn't dare tell Gary because I didn't want add any pressure to an already pressured situation, but all my friends at school knew my angst. "Everyone's parents are weird!" they said. Their attempts to comfort me were in vain. I resigned myself to utter awkwardness and humiliation.

Then, wonder of wonders, my parents were normal. I couldn't believe it. My dad actually conversed with Gary's dad, asking him questions and offering his opinions on the most corrupt countries in Asia ("Philippines, definitely the Phillipines.") My mom and I glanced looks at each other that communicated, "What the?" My mom left her robot at home and enjoyed talking with Gary's mom. Together, the four of them reminisced about fruit from their motherlands while I sat there, giddy with relief.

If you couldn't tell, that dinner made me very happy. Gary sometimes complains that because of our distance, it doesn't feel like we're progressing toward anything. But that night, I felt like I had crossed a major hurdle. For a long time, I've worried that my parents might one day decide that they don't like him, and that would start a exhausting and saddening battle. The dinner, though, relieved those fears and readied me for more interaction.

Last week, he spent Thanksgiving with us. Before he arrived, I was still nervous about how to act with him around my family, but everything flowed naturally (at least for me). The funny thing was watching how my family would act around him. My dad, in particular, does little things to impress him. You might think that this is because he wants to ensure that Gary will like our family and stay with me, but honestly, that's not how my dad works. I think he likes having another man in this house of women, and he likes doing things that another man might appreciate.

For instance, for the past 11 months, our 55 inch Sony widescreen television sat on the floor of the living room. I told Gary about this over the phone, which he always complained about. It didn't matter to us, though, because my family and I were content to sit on the floor to watch television. The day before Gary arrived, though, a large, very nice stand arrived in the mail, and my dad even suggested hiring some day-laborers to help him set it up. So unnecessary. Anyway, over Thanksgiving, for our Lost- and Arrested Development-watching enjoyment, we had a properly set-up television, complete with surround sound.

I'm thinking of all this today because I just received an email from my dad. We're going to Vegas the day after Christmas, and Gary's coming with us. I've been to Vegas with my family too many times to remember, and we've stayed at the mid-range hotels mid-week to get the lowest rates. Lately, we've been staying at Bally's, a great place to stay because it's relatively inexpensive yet readily accessible to Paris, Bellagio, Aladdin, and other high-class hotels on the Strip. For this upcoming trip, however, we're staying at the Venetian. The VENETIAN. What is that? When my mom finds out, she's going to crack up. I've only stayed there once, and that's because we crammed in NINE other people. Of course, all this makes me feel very uncomfortable: my abused-dog mentality is wary of my dad's nice treatment of Gary. I'd probably feel more comfortable if they disliked him just a little. I shouldn't worry about it though. When Gary comes back at three in the morning smelling like stripper, we will probably reach our natural state of equilibrium.

give me a paper bag

2005-12-02T18:24:00.000-08:00

I start to hyperventilate when I think about how much I have to write in the next three weeks.

10-page research memorandum + 20-page case strategy memorandum + 15-page complaint + 15-page discovery plan + a multi-page assortment of cover letters + a 40-page note (due January 10, but still) = mental pandemonium

Oh, how I long for the days of the b.s. known as undergraduate papers (see above).

save the pinkos

2005-12-02T10:59:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I received this letter:

Dear mct,

Each year, a number of donors and foundations contribute very generously to [law school]'s scholarship program in the form of endowed funds.

As a scholarship recipient for the 2005-06 academic year, we are pleased to inform you that all, or a portion of the award you received, was funded by the following donor, scholarship fund or foundation: [Mr. Pinko-lover Moneybags].

At this time we ask that you take a moment to thank the donor or the foundation for the support they continue to give our students.

Sincerely,

The kickass people at Financial Aid

When I read this, I felt like one of those third-world children in those Save the Children campaigns. My godparents used to participate in that program, so every time I went to their house, there was always polaroids of random children they sponsored with the 33 cents they saved everyday. I am inspired, therefore, to send pictures of myself making good use of Mr. Moneybags' money at school. A dinky letter can't express my wholehearted appreciation for this education. So I thought I could send pictures of me doing my favorite things:

Sitting at my computer in my corner of the library, alternating between studying evidence, checking out Hollywood gossip at defamer.com, and devising ways to overthrow the system;

Rolling my eyes in class when certain people open their mouths;

Printing reams of cases from Westlaw, only to toss them in the recycling bin;

Mocking the fancy girls pursuing their M.R.S. degrees; and

Scavenging for free food at all the student group functions, including those for BLSA, the Federalist Society, and the Tax Law Society.

To top it all off, I'd bear a toothy grin in each photo, holding up peace signs in each hand. A perfect way to show gratitude indeed.

The above comments are in no way meant to disparage Mr. Moneybags' generous gift. Without it, I most definitely would have already succumbed to a life of doc review.

crunchtime

2005-11-30T09:48:00.000-08:00

This morning, I received a list of all the sample sales in LA this weekend. Even though I did no prep for my finals over Thanksgiving, I started to plan which ones to attend. Just then, one of our janitors came into the room and told me how he watched Harry Potter over the weekend. "There's dragons and wizards and all these great special effects!" he said. "You should really watch it -- but only after finals are over. You can't watch it now." Then he left, and I pouted, closing my email and opening my con law book.

"ummm... your lsat score?"

2005-11-18T18:30:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, my Con Law professor started her lecture on freedom of speech, and she asked us whether there were such things as unutterable truths.

After class, I had my staff review, during which an editor told me that he scored a 178 on his LSAT.

I wish those two events had been in reverse. I just might have said it.

what brings you

2005-11-18T13:00:00.000-08:00

It's funny to look at the referral websites for this blog. Today, someone came here by googling (on altavista.com) "secretarial spread." I am very amused. This is pretty amusing too.

the all-nighter: why do we do it?

2005-11-18T08:56:00.000-08:00

I'm an early riser, so I usually come to school around 8:30 in the morning, stopping first at the law review office to check for assignments. At least twice a week, I find some poor soul knocked out on the less-comfortable-than-Plex-furniture couch with his or her papers strewn across the floor. Sometimes, a few people manage not to succumb to sleepiness, but their blood-shot eyes betray their exhaustion. It's become so common now that sometimes I wonder if I should be equally hardcore, but then I realize that (1) I'm not a first year anymore that needs to follow the crowd, (2) all-nighters are a bad habit, and (3) my mommy won't let me.

Leaving aside reason #1 & #3, I would prefer if I had never been introduced to the concept of the all-nighter. In high school and during my freshman year of college, I was very diligent about working on papers. I started well in advance, collecting notes, making outlines, writing rough drafts. I even handwrote my papers to give a tactile element to the process.

Then came winter 2000, or as I think of it, the turning point of my academic career. I had three papers all due on the same Monday; on the preceding Friday, I had none done. I don't remember the exact cause of my procrastination at that time. I might have been too busy doing nothing at 1835. In any case, I felt a deep panic because Friday turned into Saturday which turned into Sunday morning. Knowing that a report card chockful of Cs were coming my way, I locked myself up in the Kresge computer lab for 14 straight hours and hammered out three long long papers.

You know what comes next: I get my As and, as a consequence, lose my fear of time. I came to embrace the pressure, the sounds of Evanston birds at 4am, the rush that comes with running to turn in your barely-finished, newly-printed, miserably-written paper.

The problem is that this afflicion has followed me to law school, where documents should not be written so last minute. Try as I might, I can't bring myself to finish a paper well before the deadline. I could attribute this to my workload, but really, it's just because I like watching TV.

I think all-nighters also makes people feel like they're working really hard, like they're really dedicated to the task at hand. This is true in some respect: the girls who flyered the campus all through the night for Mr. PanAsia 2001 definitely wanted people to see the performance of the raver's version of "My Heart Will Go On." But, for me, it's more because I get lazy and therefore not really as dedicated as the all-nighter might suggest. I want desparately to stop doing it. Maybe if my mommy tells to stop, I will.

my first ticket

2005-11-17T10:41:00.001-08:00

My nine-and-a-half-year streak ended last night when a CHP officer gave me my first ticket.

The time was 8:30pm, and I had had a very long day at school. I also had just found out that contrary to my visions of Gary lying dead in a gutter, he had been drinking with his work buddies (who, I might add, are dancing perilously close to the blackhole of girlfriend disapproval). Adding to my pissiness were these two jackholes who wouldn't let me merge onto my freeway. See, after my on-ramp, I immediately have to cross two lanes to get onto my freeway. If I don't, I end up on a totally different freeway. This merge, therefore, is critical. Most drivers understand this. They usually slow down, let cars with a blinking lefthand light go in front of them, and go on their merry way. The two cars last night, however, plowed on through, causing me to shout unladylike obscenities into my cellphone and, consequently, into Gary's ear.

Determined not to miss my freeway, I straddle the painted triangular area you find at most freeway forks. I wait for one, two, three cars to pass, and then I merge. Only the last car isn't really a car so much as it's a motorcycle with a freakin' CHP on it. "Maybe he'll keep going, oh please, let him keep doing," I hoped. But then the lights start to flash, and I know I'm in trouble.

There are some things you should know before I continue, things to give you a sense of why I don't trust police. First, my ex-boyfriend really hated the police. He had some shady past before we started going out, and I absorbed these feelings in the course of five years. Second, all semester long, I've been doing a project about racial profiling, which involves "clients" who have been called racial epithets, handcuffed to the point where their circulation cuts off, and thrown to the ground. Lastly, I saw Crash. Obviously, I have an overactive imagination, and some of my fears may not be grounded in reality, but they are fears nonetheless.

Back to the freeway. I didn't want to pull over on the freeway because that's dangerous for me and the cop, and I didn't want to pull over in a dark corner where the cop can frisk my ass. So I wandered for a little while, trying to find a nice lighted area with people around. If I was black, the local news probably would have started their live car chase coverage, but since I have a deceptively harmless demeanor, he let me wander. I felt like a dumbass, still hoping that he'd let me off with a warning yet knowing that that's so not going to happen.

My conversation with the officer is not really worth noting, except for one comment. He told me, "Even if you think you might get lost, you really shouldn't cross the divider like that because it creates an extremely dangerous situation for everyone. You put other cars in danger, and you could have killed me." That made me feel so guilty. Gary asked me later why I didn't try to fight it. I just felt so bad that I wanted to get my ticket and get the hell out of there (plus Lost was on in less than fifteen minutes). I hate driving to school so much because it makes me tired and because law school makes you acutely aware of the dangers you face when you get behind the wheel everyday. So when he suggested that I could be the cause of something that bad, it made me sad and not want to drive. The problem was that I still had twenty-five miles left before I could go home and snuggle in front of my massive TV.

Plus, this whole situation took little chips out of my driving confidence. Like I said, before last night, I had never gotten a ticket, but I had never gotten to an accident before either. I always thought that I could spot a cop way before he got me. So now that I did get a ticket, I started to think about how I could get into an accident, and that freaks me out even more.

This seems like way too melodramatic of a reaction to a simple ticket, but I guess that I'm just that kind of girl.

ipods are great but ...

2005-11-17T09:33:00.000-08:00

LA has its share of bad things: traffic, no place to walk, Lohan-wannabes. But radio here is the best. Some of Chicago's hip-hop stations are good (but definitely not B... whatever that station is), but most of the songs blend together with the same pop feel, whatever genre they fall into. And San Francisco -- don't even get me started. Trance is so 1999, yet thump-thump-thump fills the streets. Some of this has to do with the Castro population, but that's no excuse. Even when DJ Sammy isn't playing, the playlists are still a few years behind their time. I mean, do you really think it's appropriate to still be playing Nelly and Tim McGraw??

Down here in SoCal, though, I get to listen to great little ditties to make my morning commutes much more enjoyable. AND I get to listen to Kevin & Bean, who (I've realized) represent my inappropriate, insensitive, smartass id. I LOVE them. Even KIIS-FM with annoying Ryan Seacrest in the morning plays some good new songs.

Anyway, there's a reason why I wanted to sing praise to LA radio this morning. There's a great reggae song that KROQ's been playing lately, and I wanted to buy the album as my November CD (a personal rationing system that I'll explain at another time). I looked up the group, and it turns out that the band is Hasidic Jew. It's a freakin' Hasidic Jew reggae band. Their name is Matisyahu, and their current single is "King of the Crown." Check it out.

getting married in style

2005-10-08T14:16:00.000-07:00

My favorite spot in the library is the desk in the northwest corner on the second floor, which is surrounded by windows for people-watching. Down the street is a church that usually hosts weddings every Saturday. Today's wedding party is the best I've seen. The groom and his groomsmen each wore black Dick Tracy hats with white bands. They rented out two limousines, one Navigator and one Hummer, complete with spinning rims. It would have been more entertaining if the bride has a tight Jessica Rabbit dress, but alas, she wore traditional white.

the inexact science of the elite

2005-10-07T18:16:00.000-07:00

Princeton Review released the results of its annual law school survey today, which asks students questions about their school's academic environment, their career prospects, and the extent to which their professors rock. My school found itself in the top three of three lists, which made me laugh. What made me laugh more was overhearing my classmates revel in our rankings, as if these arbitrary lists will make an actual change at our school. Our school is good as it is. We'd probably round up some more applications and alumni donations if we went up a few spots in the U.S. News Report, but otherwise, I find the gerbil-wheel pursuit of elite-hood to be nauseating.

Malcolm Gladwell (The Tipping Point, Blink) wrote an article for the New Yorker discussing "the social logic of Ivy League admissions." Through a brief history of admissions at Harvard, he highlights the fact that entrance among the elite depends on a highly subjective process -- which, I believe, characterizes just about every situation in life where people compete for positions, whether it's in a sorority or a college or a firm or a non-profit. If anyone doubts that our society is not a meritocracy, just ask this lady:

don't call them siamese turtles

2005-10-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

what to do

2005-10-03T18:06:00.000-07:00

I made a new school year's resolution not to eat candy, and five weeks in, I've stuck to it. I'm in a bit of a quandary, though, because the law review editorial board* decided to stock our office full of delicious candy. Instead of chalky Smarties or tasteless Mexican gum, they lined the shelves with Jolly Ranchers, M&Ms (regular AND mini), and Sour Ropes, just to name a few. I discovered this treasure trove this morning and have been debating all day whether to break my personal candy-fast.

The reasoning behind this decision goes like this: Because cafeteria food sucks and because I am cheap, I will likely eat candy for dinner. Although this was not a significant problem during my first year, my current average of 80 hours/week on campus increases the likelihood that I will resort to a three-course meal of Snickers (protein), Skittles (fruit), and Sweettart Chewies (dessert). The resulting sugar rush will accelerate an already-rapid-fire attention span and thus prematurely end my legal career. Furthermore, each little unnecessary calorie will attach itself to my butt and -- combined with the long hours sitting at the library -- will create what my ex-boyfriend's parents affectionately called a "secretarial spread." (No offense to secretaries.) Finally, dropping change into vending machines every day will slowly bleed me of funds that I need without the benefit of any nutritional value.

To recap, eating candy leads to eating candy for dinner, which leads to (1) a bad study habit, (2) a big butt, and (3) no money.

I started off this post with the intention to weigh the importance of the three reasons with the hope that the result would have rationalized the end of my candy-fast. However, given that I'm surrounded by incredibly-thin Angeleno women on a daily basis, the possibility of a secretarial spread is enough deterrence to keep me from the free candy. Thank you for walking me through this difficult decision.

*Ironically, our current issue is a symposium on food marketing and the negative effects it has on nutrition, and one article specifically addresses the link between the amount of candy in school vending machines and child obesity. I don't want to be the smartass who brings this up, though.

pet peeve: typos

2005-10-02T15:15:00.000-07:00

I hate seeing typos in my casebooks, especially when the mistakes are relatively easy to catch, such as not capitalizing the first letter of a sentence. It irks me because I pay a heck of a lot for these books, which entitles me to pristine print. The sloppiest textbook of all time is Cohen, Varat, & Amar's Constitutional Law, Cases and Materials. Not only does that book cost $110, weigh ten-plus pounds, and have a terrible structure, but it also contains an inordinate number of capitalization omissions that the bat-blind proofreaders somehow missed. I have a little shitfit every time I see one.

Disclaimer: Do NOT point out my own typos on this blog. If, however, you find typos in the articles that I cite-check for law review, feel free to thoroughly and mercilessly mock me.

P.S. Irony = Blogger's spellchecker does not recognize 'blog.'

civil rights for kids

2005-09-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

Over the summer, my organization discussed strategies on how to push our progressive agenda so much that I started to wonder to what extent the right organizes its troops. One way to win the ideological wars is to indoctrinate the young, which the NRA knows all too well:

Description, Prizes & Deadline: The NRA Civil Rights Defense Fund(NRACRDF) is once again sponsoring an essay contest celebrating the Second Amendment as an integral part of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. The theme for the essay is “The Second Amendment to the Constitution: Why it is important to our nation.”

Essays will be judged in two categories: Senior (grades 10-12) and Junior (grades K through nine), with separate prizes awarded to the winners in each category. First prizes are $1,000 in U.S. Savings Bonds; second prizes, $600 in Savings Bonds; third prizes $200 in Savings Bonds; and honorable mention, $100 in Savings Bonds.

The entry deadline for this contest is December 1, 2005. Essay contest winners will be selected by the NRACRDF and notified not later than January 31, 2006. Winners will have their names published in InSights, and one of the Official Journals.

Yes, that's right: your kindergartener, first grader, second grader, and so on may win a cash prize for his or her illuminating essay on the right to bear freakin' arms. I'm reserving my February edition of Insights today!

conflicted

2005-09-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

Part of the reason I'm enjoying second year better that first year is because of my classes. First year, I took the standard first year classes, which meant that the only time we touched on social justice issues was during the occasional discussion on unconscionability in contracts or res judicata in civil procedure. This year, however, I'm taking the civil rights litigation seminar as well as a class on individual rights in constitutional law. That means I'm spending the semester read Roe, Korematsu, Brown, and everything else my pinko heart desires. Every day I come to school, I reminded of all the reasons I wanted to go to law school in the first place

This daily reminder also brings a bit of guilt. Tomorrow, I have a callback interview with an area firm, where I am expected to lie about my public interest aspirations (if asked) in order to secure summer employment. The brightside is that, unlike another firm that bragged about its work defending Walmart against single-plaintiff employer discrimination suits, this firm doesn't have any clients that make me want to vomit. Well, that's a gross generalization because I haven't actually investigated its list of clients yet, but one step at a time.

Anyway, I feel guilty because I feel like a sellout. A debate rages in the public interest arena over the necessity of working at a large firm. On the one hand, many public interest organizations don't have the resources to train law school grads; therefore, the argument goes, working at a law firm actually advances your public interest career because you get the training you need to be an effective advocate for the underprivileged. This, I believe, is a bunch of crap. Yes, there are dysfunctional non-profits. But there are also unbelievably wonderful offices that take their new attorneys and cultivate them with the understanding that these people will elevate the organization and the public interest community as a whole. I had the fortunate opportunity to work at such a place over the summer, which is why I have such a hard time believing the whole "better training" argument.

Other people argue that working at a large firm helps relieve graduates saddled with debt, but I can't hide behind this one. My school gave me a whole lot of money to pursue my public interest career, and even though they couldn't care less about whether I honored my commitment or not, I do not want to be a hypocrite.

For all these pro-firm arguments, there's quite a few people that I know and respect that didn't even participate in their school's on-campus interviewing program, much less work as a summer associate. These are the people that cause me the most internal strife -- not because they chastise me (because I know they wouldn't), but because their experiences have taught me that I don't need to work in a big firm to do what I want to do. Plus, I know that, deep down, the reason why I want to work at the firm this summer is because I want to prove to people that I can -- a sentiment that puts me among the ranks of prestige whores that this profession produces.

But I shouldn't jump the gun. No offer is in my hand, so there's no need for overdramatic self-flagellation just yet. I'll just see how tomorrow goes and browbeat myself accordingly.

balance

2005-09-22T12:31:00.000-07:00

[To me, evidently, blogging is all about proscrastination. Over the summer, I had grand plans to re-vamp my website, write lots of illuminating posts about life en genre, and create a name for myself in this great blogosphere. But alas, the only time that I actually want to blog is when I am faced with an impending deadline. It's time to stop fighting the inevitable.]

I have to re-connect with my Asian-American roots. After undergrad, I was burnt out with working on Asian American issues, so I made the leap to public housing work. The different demographic was actually quite refreshing to me. It showed me another part of the world that I had never experienced, and it made me appreciate more fully the complexities of how this country deals with race and class.

I'm afraid, though, my sabbatical from Asian American issues has turned into a self-exile, which reflects badly on me. My Asian friends in school last year were noticeably few, and I feel a little awkward talking to the only other Asian in one of my classes, even though he warmly approached me on the first day. I've been a little better about seeking on my former Asian section-mates who I rarely talked to last year, but, on the whole, I'm not yet comfortable with hanging out with Asian people on campus. All this despite the fact that, as Gary cried out when while looking through my facebook, "there's a lot of Asians at your school!!!"

My evolution, as it were, is now in its third phase. In high school, I felt isolated from the Asian kids. College was all about Asian power. Now I'm experiencing a subtle form of self-hatred which I really have to get over. Amongst these three options, there must be some sort of balance.

I'm thinking about all of this because I have to choose a civil rights organization to work for next semester (the practicum component of a civil rights litigation course I'm taking this year). The first choice that came to mind was the NAACP, mostly because I'm inspired by its great legacy and by that fact that Bill Lann Lee was so successful there. This troubled me because one of the best Asian American civil rights organizations, the Asian Pacific American Legal Center, is located here as well, and that option just was not as appetizing. Why do I think like that? I wish I didn't.

cool

2005-06-20T14:14:00.000-07:00

MTV is creating channels aimed at Asian-Americans. This story makes me think, "Wow." I can't explain precisely why. It just does. Click here.

2005-05-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

Three hours and forty-six minutes.

2005-05-11T18:53:00.000-07:00

My life returns in 17 hours.

confidence

2005-05-06T12:10:00.000-07:00

I've been getting a lot of questions about what an incoming 1L needs to prepare for her first year. Like everything else in law, there are differing schools of thought over whether to read ahead; whether to take a Barbri course; whether to have the last rocking summer you'll ever have (my personal favorite). To me, the most important asset an ambitious 1L must have is confidence.

I just got back from office hours, and the resident spaz of my section hyperventilated and rattled off incoherent questions for close to an hour. She began every question with, "I know this is a stupid question, but..." (and, no, my prof didn't give her the "there's no such thing as a stupid question" spiel.) While someone else was talking to the professor, she asked me a question, and apparently my answer conflicted with her understanding. As I spoke, her eyes enlarged, and the heavy breathing began. Then I fantasized about slapping her in the face, grabbing her by the shoulders, and saying, "Look, you crazy b----, chill the f--- out!" And then I daydreamed about slapping her again for good measure.

Contrary to what you may think, I sympathize with pre-exam panic attacks. I have them myself: two mornings before my Property exam, I woke up at 5am with my stomach in knots, and I didn't eat until 2pm that day -- and I never skip breakfast. But then I mentally slapped myself, yelled at myself to get it together, and attacked my property book like an animal.

What I don't sympathize with are people who indiscriminately freak out in front of anyone and everyone, expecting some sort of reassurance. I don't know this girl that well, and she only talks to me when she's freaking out. (Note: Law school is not filled with people like this. This is only one girl, and she earned herself this reputation. Ask anyone in my class. Anyone.) Anyone who does this in front of strangers day in and day out are sheer attention-getters, no question.

Anyway, back to confidence: For a lot of people, law school tends to do a number on your self-esteem, at least for the first few weeks. I'm a pretty confident person, but the second week of school, I wondered whether I was really law school material. Me! The girl who's wanted to go to law school since forever! I started to learn (through the helpful perspective of all those who have traveled this path before me) that everyone feels this way. To keep it from destroying me, I chose (1) to stay away from braggarts who like to destroy other people's confidence, and (2) to exude nothing less than the most carefree demeanor. This demeanor makes my fellow classmates believe that I know what I'm talking about, even when I haven't the slightest clue. This in turn insulates me from all but the most extreme situations of freaking-out-itis, which allows me to focus on studying my exams and kicking ass.

Moral of the story: Don't be the resident spaz in your section because other classmates will laugh at you.

the market participant exception. my dad.

2005-05-02T15:42:00.000-07:00

I only have fifteen minutes to write because all the teenagers took the unlimited time computers here at the library. So --

The most frustrating feeling coming out of an exam is realizing that you know way more than you were tested on. This is inevitable since a 3-hour essay exam can't possibly trigger every single concept of constitutional law, which has percolated for over 200 years. Nevertheless, I now feel that I have much too much useless information in my head. Did you know that a state cannot regulate interstate commerce, but if the state participates directly in the market -- say, by selling cement or buying services -- it may exert full leverage on the market? Did you know this is true even when the state is the only market participant and is, for all intents and purposes, "regulating" the market it inhabits? See, what the heck am I supposed to do with this now?!?

****

Saturday was the thirtieth anniversary of the Fall of Saigon. My dad was a doctor for the South Vietnamese Army and was captured several days before the Fall. The North Vietnamese placed him in a re-education camp for two years, and during the first month or so, he didn't know where my mom was. He sent a letter to her home in Saigon, which eventually got to her, and he basically told her how he loved her and missed her; that he didn't know where she was; that even though it broke his heart, she should leave the country because it was too dangerous and because he didn't know when he would be let out. My mom always complains about my dad to me, but this was one of the first times that I saw her speak so tenderly about something he did. My father probably could have avoided this fate several times: (1) by taking the scholarship to go to the US years before to study medicine [he was scared], or (2) by running away before they captured the city he was assigned. His medical doctor friends escaped, but he stayed -- he believed that leaving at that moment wasn't the right thing to do. When he eventually tried to escape, he got in a boat off the coast but was almost immediately captured.

I had friends whose grandfathers were in WWII and had these amazing war stories to share. For a long time, I wished that I had someone like that in my family, not realizing that the man in my house that likes to watch Survivor re-runs and to talk about Amber and Rob was a hero in his own right. I can only hope that the same passion and commitment to something good stays with me for the rest of my life. My dad's not perfect: he's anti-social, temperamental, and stubborn. But I'm happy to have him as my father and to have his story to guide me.

weezer!

2005-04-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

Being in SoCal has turned me into a white surfer boy. My favorite car right now is the new Ford Mustang (it's schweeet!), and I believe life would be much more comfortable if I wore long boardshorts everyday. I used to when I was ten -- why not now? Part of this transformation is my taste in music: KROQ here is so good that I can name more songs by Incubus than by 50 Cent. To celebrate my manhood, does anyone want to go to Lollapalooza with me? I haven't been to a concert in ages, and the lineup includes the Killers, Digable Planets, Cake, Billy Idol... and Weezer!! C'mon, let's relive the 90s!

good he is

2005-04-20T21:58:00.000-07:00

My last Civil Procedure class was today, and it was very sad. Somewhere at the beginning of the year, I sat in that classroom and marveled at being a new law student. I daydreamed (or day-nightmared) about the year ahead and couldn't contemplate the end. But the end was today, the beginning seems blurry and the future right now scares me.

My sadness, though, was less about 1L sentimentality and more about my professor. Only one other teacher in my life has been as invested in me as a student and a person, and that was when I was fourteen years old. I think of my professor as Yoda: he's a plain, unassuming, little man. Underneath the mild exterior, though, is a tough teacher who pushes his students. He has generations of students who learned his techniques and manners of thinking, including several faculty members and over thirty years of alumni. Every time I meet someone who was in his class one, two, ten, fifteen years ago, they say how honored they feel to have had him.

I feel the same way. He's talked with me for over an hour past office hours to explain personal jurisdiction. He offered to do research on public interest organizations for my summer job. He encouraged me to explore my options for next year and even suggested some schools. I'm grateful that I had the chance to sit in his class, watch him draw pictures, listen to his jokes, suffer through his moods, and learn from the master. Whether I stay or go next year, I will be hard-pressed to find another teacher of this caliber again.

my voyeuristic side

2005-04-10T03:04:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago, I came across a website comprised of postcards from anonymous people sharing their secrets. An artist distributed blank postcards to strangers in DC and asked them to send the cards back with secrets never before shared. He also encouraged them to be creative. These directions combined to produce some intense but moving cards. He puts up new cards every Sunday, which I've come to look forward to. I debated whether to share this site only because some of these cards are very depressing/scary/potentially offensive/weird. But since we all harbor some secrets, I decided to share. www.postsecret.com

For anonymous introspections with less drama, check out jeffharris.org.

patience

2005-04-09T10:18:00.000-07:00

After a middle-aged man in a new black convertible Mercedes Benz honks at me and cuts me off, the best feeling is pulling up right beside him at the red light and letting out a big fat grin. Even better is the satisfaction from passing the frowning man, whose weaving landed him right behind a slow landscaping truck. Don't mess with the little Asian girl in the Toyota.

my eyes hurt

2005-04-06T11:52:00.000-07:00

I appreciate the normal use of capitalization in all correspondence, especially email.

ALL CAPS -- ESPECIALLY WHEN A SLIGHTLY CONDESCENDING PROFESSOR IS ANSWERING QUESTIONS -- MAKES ME FEEL UNPLEASANT. (PLUS IT'S HARD TO READ.) I REALIZE HE IS TRYING TO DISTINGUISH HIS ANSWERS FROM MY QUESTIONS, BUT I'M SMART. I CAN FIGURE OUT WHEN MY QUESTIONS END AND HIS ANSWERS BEGIN WITHOUT FEELING LIKE I'M BEING CHASTISED. I THINK I'LL JUST GO TO OFFICE HOURS FROM NOW ON BECAUSE THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR MY PRESENT DELICATE STATE OF MIND.

whIle I'm On thE sUbjEct, thIs mAkEs mE wAnt tO hUrl mY (or is it 'my'??) cOmpUtEr AcrOss thE rOOm And sEt It On fIrE.

this is much less offensive to me, but it should be limited to very informal emails. i once got an email like this from an attorney at one of the most well-known asian-american non-profits in the country. to top it off, he signed, "thx." who does that?

small

2005-04-04T19:38:00.000-07:00

I was probably seven years old when the Pope visited Los Angeles. He celebrated mass at the Coliseum, and I remember freaking out after seeing my parish deacon, who was assisting with the service, on tv. Only one degree of separation existed between the Pope and me, and the world seemed very small.

Watching the world's reaction to the Pope's death makes me feel the same way today. Granted, I don't know these people mourning on TV and my relationship with the Catholic Church is much more tenuous than seventeen years ago. Nevertheless, I feel like part of something tangible. Part of this comes from never before witnessing reactions on such a global scale. I'm used to seeing reactions from first-world countries, like England or France or Germany. When I do see other countries, it's usually because those countries actually suffered the tragedies, such as Indonesia or Thailand. With the Pope's death, however, I see pictures from people all over the world of all sorts of religions. At a time when we politicize a family dispute over a woman's death, this unity simply amazes me. Even my father -- who rests his butt on the pews while kneeling in church -- 'shed tears' this weekend.

My reaction to the Pope's death was less dramatic. He's been sick for a while, and I've expected his death for a while. I disagree with some major principles of the church and have yet to find a way to reconcile them. I am unsettled by a two-thousand-year history without women leaders. Yet despite these fundamental differences, I can't help but feel sad by the Pope's passing.

With the death of Terri Schiavo and the Pope, I've been thinking a lot about heaven and souls. I was taught in grade school that when you're in heaven, it's like having your mind without your body. That seems to assume, then, that your soul is what you think. Which makes me wonder: If you're in a persistent vegetative state, what does your soul do for fifteen years? Does God have a special place for popes? When you're in heaven, do you finally see how small the world really is?

spring break my butt

2005-03-25T08:42:00.000-08:00

I miss the quarter system. Three sets of finals can be a pain, and, sure, I always wasted away spring quarter returning to a healthy state of brownness, but at least I had a real spring break! I'm in Chicago now, and I'm having a lovely time. Gary's cooking me yummy food, and I drive 1/10th of my daily commute dropping him off at work. I don't need to schlep myself to class or wake up pre-dawn or suffer bad cafeteria food. Nevertheless, my brain persists in school-mode. Last night I couldn't sleep because visions of applications, outlines, and casebooks swirled in my head for an hour. Good thing Gary's wine-scented breath lulled me to sleep.

To soothe me during the day, I've listened to Jack Johnson's album, oh, twenty times this week. Since my ex-boyfriend ran away with another brown girl who loved Jack Johnson, I couldn't listen to his music without being physically ill. The worst part was that she raved on about how great he was long before "Bubble Toes" came on the radio, which means that she could have been ... cool. Ewww. Try as I might, I couldn't resist him. Damn him and his clever lyrics and his catchy beats and his classical guitar and his artful CD jacket and his handsome good looks. Damn him!

trimspa baby

2005-03-14T12:48:00.000-08:00

This morning, in Property class, my professor projected her notes directly from Microsoft Word onto two jumbo screens on both sides of the classroom. She was lecturing about easements when, unbeknownst to her, a pop-up popped up in the lower right hand corner of her screen. I squinted my eyes and read the words "Quick Clips: Wild Anna Nicole and more!" I bit my lip and hid my face to keep from bursting as my prof droned on. Gradually, the rest of the class caught on, and judging from the look on my prof's face, she thought we were all crazy. Then she looked up at the screen, walked over to her computer, and clicked on the link out of curiosity. The class was on the floor. There was major potential for huge Anna Nicole MTV-boobies, but luckily the feed didn't come in right away. My friend turned to me and said, "Man! No porn!" My thoughts exactly.

fussy

2005-03-10T12:17:00.000-08:00

Eating is a chore to me right now. If I didn't have to eat, I'd be really happy. For instance, I have to finish an assignment for Legal Research now, and my stomach is getting very angry with me. It must be done before 2, so I don't really have time to eat. So I neglect my stomach for a few hours, which makes it even pissier. When I finally get time to eat, it turns a cold shoulder and refuses to take in more than few mouthfuls. By that time, I've wasted precious time trying to please it, only to get an ungrateful response. Geez.

macauley used to be so cute

2005-03-02T00:50:00.000-08:00

Tonight is my first night home alone ever. My mom went to visit my sister up north, and my dad is on call at the hospital. I've been alone at night in apartments before, but there multiple tenants, a common locked door, and second-story windows gave me a sense of security. I've been scared of my house since I was a child, and remnants of that irrational fear linger today.

When I was little, I spent most of my time in my room or my sister's room. The living room was set up for guests, so we never played there. At night, I would stare down my hall looking into that dark and ominous hole as the rest of my family stayed in the other side of the house ("other side" being no more than 15 feet away). Whenever I had to get something from the living room, I peeked out my door, mentally mapped my plan of attack, and ran to whatever it was I absolutely needed. Then I would run back, carefully slowing down near my parents' door to effect a cool demeanor. If you've ever been to my little house, you know how ridiculous this is.

By high school, I became afraid of the garage. One winter, a bunch of maniacal rats entered our garage, chewed up my dad's engine (resulting in $3000 in repairs), and maimed most of my childhood dolls. Shortly after that incident, I saw a huge rodent scurry across a beam in my garage, which scared the crap out of me. Ever since then, I hate going in there at night. I realize that rats are smaller than me, but remember, I irrationally fear small animals. Plus, because of all the trees in my backyard and my neighborhood, my family and I practically live on a wildlife reserve. Opossums, (freakishly big) squirrels, raccoons, peacocks, birds of all sizes, and, of course, bees all hang out here. Once in a while, they somehow show up dead (perhaps after a small animal rumble), and I make my little sister take care of it.

My friends at school generously offered to let me stay at their place tonight, but I figured I should just deal with this. Though, I think I subconsciously avoided "dealing" with being alone with my house at night: with a research memo, forty pages of constitutional law, a torts assignment covering "the hardest material of the semester" (quoting my torts prof), and a large latte in front of me, I might not have to sleep alone in my house after all.

meet the parents

2005-02-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

My dad bought himself a 55" Sony HDTV for Christmas (which he unconvincingly told me was my present), and I gave him a fancy-schmancy DVD player to match. So why is he now watching Collateral on his 17" flat screen computer monitor via DVD-ROM? When asked, he responds, "So that I can fall asleep on my leather chair!"
---
Last week, my mom discovered 100+ bees outside of her bedroom window. Wanting to get rid of them for free, she called the local sheriff. The operator asked her if she wanted to file a report, and she says, "No. I need someone to help me with bees."
"Bees?"
"Bees! They're everywhere!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't deal with bees. Maybe you should try calling an exterminator."
"Why don't YOU contact the Terminator for me? I hear he's in Sacramento now."
The operator was not amused.

don't annoy me

2005-02-28T15:10:00.000-08:00

Four of my friends and I decided to work together on our legal research project today, and in front of everyone, I chastised one of my friends for using "gay" to describe our annoying project.

Welcome to my inner dark side.

The words came out like a tidal wave. I don't know what came over me. I guess that the combination of (1) the tediousness of the project; (2) the constant chatter that drowned out my concentration; (3) my growing claustrophobia in a 8x8 study room; and (4) my visceral reaction to any pejorative use of "gay" pushed me into crazy-land. I wasn't yelling or anything. I just went into condescension-mode, which is not a pretty place.

With my law school friends coming from diverging walks of life, I'm often outside of my comfort zones. I don't really hang out with Asian Americans, and I'm definitely not surrounded by crazy liberals like those at my old office. Sometimes, I bite my tongue to hear other people's points, to get a sense of where they're coming from. But those feelings well up, leading to situations like today.

I feel bad because I should not have said those things in front of all those people. I have a pretty chill image in my class (for those that even know me), so I think the other people were taken aback. Oh well.

inching toward the 20th century

2005-02-18T12:02:00.000-08:00

My dad agreed to get cable! The last time we had cable was when I was a baby. My parents put me in one of those clicking self-rockers and put me in front of MTV. My mom likes to ask me, "Don't you remember watching Cyndi Lauper's 'Time After Time'?" Sorry Mom, my mental capacity had not yet formed.

Now if we could only invest in some call-waiting...

2005-02-17T17:26:00.000-08:00

My 1L job search is officially over, and I'll be in San Francisco this summer. This was completely unintended: I hear so much about how regional schools have limited reach in terms of employment, so I didn't think I could get a job somewhere I had no connection to. The best part about being there, though, is that my sister and I will finally be living in the same area -- if not in the same living quarters -- for the first time in many years. This is a treat for me because I've watched Gary and Brian's cute little snarky relationship, and I've always wished that my sister could live close by. Of course, she could have lived with me in Chicago if she hadn't purposely rejected NU for fear of being associated with her sister. But I'm not bitter.

It'll be fun but kinda weird too. She already invited me to happy hour with her friends, and I'm likely have to meet her male "friend." I inherited social awkwardness from my dad, so I don't know how ready I am for these situations.

Anyway, until my last interview, my interviewers had been generally laid-back with nice low-ball questions. Not yesterday.

Interviewer: So, what do you think the root of poverty is?

Me: (Huh? Root of poverty? What the? Why don't YOU tell me what the root of poverty is? Dang, that's a really good question. Shoot. Poverty, huh? The Man? No. Can't say that. They're trying to see if you can think logically and thoughtfully. Hurry. They're staring at you. Poverty. Hmmm. Shoot. Still staring at you. Hurry!) That's a really good question. Let me see ... [an embarrassing barrage of blah not fit for publication]... and that's what I think the root of poverty is?

Interviewer: Um, okay. Um, well. Given that, how should the public interest community strategize to fix this problem?

Me: (shoot shoot shoot) We should all work together. Yeah. That's it.

I'm smooth.

2005-02-02T13:46:00.000-08:00

Now, really. What am I supposed to do with 50 Gmail invitations? The people at Google are mocking me.

2005-01-26T17:17:00.000-08:00

Excitement is getting an interview with an employer for a competitive position.

Frustration is having that interview rescinded because you're one level too low on the law school totem pole.

*harumph*

who's your favorite person in history?

2005-01-26T11:25:00.000-08:00

Yay! I'm learning about the tort of intentional infliction of emotional distress (curb your enthusiasm). Specifically, I'm reading about Huster Magazine v. Falwell, in which an ad parody appears in Hustler suggesting that Falwell's first sexual encounter was "a drunken incestuous rendezvous with his mother in an outhouse." The Supreme Court held that this did not amount to an intentional infliction of emotion distress, and writes:

Were we to hold otherwise, there can be little doubt that political cartoonists and satirists would be subjected to damages awards without any showing that their work falsely defamed its subject. [...]

"The political cartoon is a weapon of attack, of scorn and ridicule and satire; it is least effective when it tries to pat some politician on the back. It is usually as welcome as a bee sting and is always controversial in some quarters." Long, The Political Cartoon: Journalism's Strongest Weapon, The Quill, 56, 57 (Nov. 1962).

Several famous examples of this type of intentionally injurious speech were drawn by Thomas Nast, probably the greatest American cartoonist to date, who was associated for many years during the post-Civil War era with Harper's Weekly. In the pages of that publication Nast conducted a graphic vendetta against William M. "Boss" Tweed and his corrupt associates in New York City's "Tweed Ring." It has been described by one historian of the subject as "a sustained attack which in its passion and effectiveness stands alone in the history of American graphic art." M. Keller, The Art and Politics of Thomas Nast 177 (1968). Another writer explains that the success of the Nast cartoon was achieved "because of the emotional impact of its presentation. It continuously goes beyond the bounds of good taste and conventional manners." C. Press, The Political Cartoon 251 (1981).

Despite their sometimes caustic nature, from the early cartoon portraying George Washington as an ass down to the present day, graphic depictions and satirical cartoons have played a prominent role in public and political debate. Nast's castigation of the Tweed Ring, Walt McDougall's characterization of presidential candidate James G. Blaine's banquet with the millionaires at Delmonico's as "The Royal [55] Feast of Belshazzar," and numerous other efforts have undoubtedly had an effect on the course and outcome of contemporaneous debate. Lincoln's tall, gangling posture, Teddy Roosevelt's glasses and teeth, and Franklin D. Roosevelt's jutting jaw and cigarette holder have been memorialized by political cartoons with an effect that could not have been obtained by the photographer or the portrait artist. From the viewpoint of history it is clear that our political discourse would have been considerably poorer without them.

how property relates to me

2005-01-26T10:24:00.000-08:00

Today I learned about deeds in property. I figured out how to convey my house quickly if I need some extra cash, say, in a high-stakes poker game. This is interactive learning at its best.

I also learned that property case law involves many husbands who tried and failed to prevent their would-be widows from getting their land. Tsk tsk. Good thing I'll be a lawyer. No one's taking nothin' away from me.

2005-01-24T10:38:00.000-08:00

I wonder how Little Mike is doing. He must be in his third year now. I am very proud of him.

2005-01-23T23:34:00.000-08:00

I'm always slightly disturbed when I browse in the women's magazines section of the bookstore. Along the top shelves are magazines devoted to weddings. Directly underneath are the ones for prom. I think of how much money these companies make off of the fantasies of women and girls for "that one special night," and it makes me slightly nauseous.

That being said, I'm a little embarassed by my ignorance of most things bridal. Like the nice girlfriend Adrienne is, she invited me to a bridal show last year. I promptedly said no. If you asked me to list diamond cuts, I would only know princess and (as of tonight) pear. Ask me to point them out in a jewelry store, and I would be lost. Looking through wedding magazines for me is like looking through FHM -- helpful for undertanding this other "species" of human but ultimately irrelevant to my thinking.

My mom created this monster. She thought she married too young and instilled this desire to get married later in my sister and me. Actually, now that I think about it, my sister buys wedding magazines for fun. Okay. So it's only me. If I were single now or if I were dating a commitment-phobe, I would be screwed.

I will likely change as more friends get married, as I get further away from college. For now, I'm content with my blissful existence and take comfort in knowing the few things I do want out of my wedding: lots of flowers, all my friends and family, a real waltz with my husband, more flowers, and, if I'm lucky, an ocean view.

happy to be a 1.5L

2005-01-10T15:50:00.000-08:00

During the last half of finals, I was a fog of semi-depression. I took practice test after practice test for Contracts, but once it came time to perform, I choked. The constant tap-tap-tapping of keyboards blared past my earplugs. My eyes kept diverting to the screen next to mine. Thoughts of offer and acceptance were quickly displaced by questions like "Why are all these people going to the bathroom????" And once the proctor called time, I threw my materials onto her desk and ran to my car. After months of scoffing at people who couldn't take the pressure, I sat in the garage and cried. It was the lowest I felt in a while (which, thank God, testifies to how fortunate I have been in the past few years ...)

After a tearful venting session with Gary, I bought ice cream and rented "Angels in America" in a perverse attempt to purge these feelings of inadequacy. I still had two tests left, dammit, and one session of stupidity wasn't going to corrode my entire semester.

Even though I felt better about the next tests, and even though finals anxiety turned into winter break glee, a cloud still hung over my head of what doors my grades would quickly close. "Maybe I can pursue a career in radio," I thought. "Or maybe I can start a business. Oh, why didn't I just become a doctor because really, what good can my legal theories do for people like those affected by the tsunami?"

I was able to forget about these thoughts momentarily when I arrived in Chicago. I was ready to re-connect with friends from the not-so-distant past and with a place which has essentially been my adult home. I didn't have to worry about grades and my future because it was just too much fun to be silly again, to spend the day watching a humongous TV, to eat food with bibs, and to re-acquaint myself with my friends' various states of intoxication.

But then people went back to work, and I was left again with my new companions, the Ugly Red Casebooks. Former colleagues asked about finals and grades, and my throat constricted. "How's law school going?" they ask, and all I could muster was a faint smile and shrug "It's okay."

I wish I could say that these negative feelings gave way to a mature realization that grades are insignificant in the grand scheme of life, but alas, my mood remains hopelessly tied to those damned letters. I got a grade back on Sunday, and life doesn't seem so somber (although the never-ending rain here creates that effect). I'm ready for this new semester -- if only I wouldn't fall asleep reading Marbury v. Madison.

I didn't share my thoughts about my contracts exam when it happened because it felt too self-indulgent to mourn my grades -- and it still does. Then again, isn't a blog by definition an act of self-indulgence?

2004-12-27T19:30:00.000-08:00

My mom and I were window-shopping at Neiman Marcus today. I overheard some ladies behind us casually speaking about how "like, totally crazy" those tsunami pictures were, and I suddenly became sick at myself looking around at the grossly overpriced clothes.

Here's a list of all the organizations collecting goods and money; there's bound to be one near you (click here)

2004-12-07T23:57:00.000-08:00

Don't ask me how, but I just came across this picture album of my Governor Schwarzenegger's recent trip to Japan to attract trade with California.

As you look through these pictures, ask yourself these things:

1) Does Ah-nuld really consider Japan his second home?
2) Doesn't the picture of Arnold standing in front of his own image seem a tad dictator-ish?
3) Who told him it was okay to bring the Terminator motorcycle?
4) Isn't his staff sick and tired of making up puns (e.g., album title "Governor pumps up California in Japan?")

I will give credit to the designers of the dictator image. You've got NorCal represented by the Golden Gate bridge in the left eye, Central California represented by the fields in the right eye, and SoCal represented by Ah-nuld's big fat Hollywood head. So clever.

one down, so many more to go

2004-12-07T21:53:00.000-08:00

First law school exam ever. Done.

I perfected my verbal vomit skills and performed to my expectations today. This property exam is the easiest out of the four I have this semester; she asked us what property interest "To A and his heirs" created, which is roughly the equivalent of asking us what "2 + 2" equals (yes, I did check the question five times to make sure I didn't miss a trick)

I felt fine all day yesterday and this morning. Something about seeing my classmates congregated on campus, though, gave me a mini-fit of anxiety. I repeated my uber-successful 3L mentor's mantra in my head ("You can't worry about what other people are doing...") and ran for cover in an empty classroom.

I'm afraid that I was guilty of increasing someone else's anxiety, though.

(For the record, I always study with pencils, but today for some reason ...)

I didn't have pencils, and my friend gave me a pencil -- without an eraser.

So I looked over at the girl next to me, and she had two pencils and one big eraser. I thought, "Odds are, this girl only brought two pencils with her and will probably think I'm a big loser/mooch/dumbass for forgetting my own." But I had to ask.

The look in her eyes was panic. "Um, yeah, well, I, uh, have only..."

To prevent a breakdown, I tried to broker a less burdensome deal, "Oh no, if those are your only pencils, don't worry. I've got one right here. I was just wondering if maybe, by any chance, I could take the eraser off the top of your pencil [girl: confusion] because I don't seem to have an eraser on mine [furrowed eyebrows] and you have that big eraser with you [wondering why this unprepared bitch is bothering her] but I don't want to inconvenience you [more confusion] so it's up to you."

At this point, I'm thinking "Crap! Why you gotta mess someone up like that, Claire?!"

So she hands me the pen with distinct hesitation, and I again suggest an idea that wouldn't deprive her of the benefits of two pencils. "Here," I said as I put the eraserless pencil in between us. "If you need more lead or something, you should absolutely take this."

*big smile from me*

No smile from her.

She thanks me and looks away, still in the same confused state as when I first saw her. I realized that this girl was panicked in general, and I felt BAD for being soooooo unhelpful. So I took the sheet we had to sign that certified that we "promise not to discuss the contents of this test with other students until grades come out," and I say, "Isn't that a bunch of bullshit?"

A little bit of a grin peeked through as she probably thought, "Hey! Stupid girl is funny!"

This past Sunday, my friend told me that to psyche people out, we should read the question (which usually consists of a page-long hypothetical) for 2 minutes and start typing furiously. Then, once our neighbors are sufficiently unnerved, we could go back and resume the test at a reasonable pace. I thought about all the people who bother me in my class and about how awesome that would be.

But I couldn't let the freaked-out girl sit there and fester this morning. Weird.

speed blogging

2004-12-05T23:00:00.000-08:00

I'm becoming a prolific typist as the finals come near. I have spared myself five minutes to tell you why I do not like my property class. At first, I thought maybe because it was rooted in uninteresting medieval practices. Then I blamed the 8:30 start time, which forces me to trudge through a 1 1/2 hour commute.

But what I figured out today is that my professor values rote memorization more than thinking. I've asked her several questions about the reasoning behind some of our material, and I usually get an answer to the effect of "Because I told you so." That drives me nuts! You're supposed to teach me how to think like a lawyer, lady! If I wanted to practice pure verbal vomit, I could just go back to college.

Man, I'm not as fast as I thought.

2004-11-30T16:59:00.000-08:00

Okay, I lied. Here's another post.

I have a weird habit of buying clothing and shoes and not wearing them for a long time after the purchase. Buyer's remorse isn't really to blame. Rather, I think I just feel self-conscious when I wear something new, and I try to put off those feelings as long as possible.

Last spring, I bought a pair of scarlet Pumas in Belmont. Once I brought them home, I thought they were way too bright and clashed with all my sadly-grey clothing. So they stayed in the shoebox with the little preserver packet until yesterday.

I capitulated to SoCal winter nights, which are not conducive to flip-flops. And now everyone keeps telling me about how cool my shoes are. And then they all laugh at me when I tell them when I bought them. So now I feel marginally hip. Yay :)

Yes. Underneath this tough exterior is a little girl yearning for attention.

Another case in point: when I first went to office hours for my Contracts professor, I nervously introduced myself, and he gave me a funny look. "I'm not gonna remember your name," he scoffed. What a way to put a 1L at ease.

As I left his office hours today, he called after me and said, "Hey mct, is this yours?"

Awesome.

tidbits to munch on

2004-11-29T22:05:00.000-08:00

I got to see Gary on Friday. Very cool. We worked on our respective projects in the morning like the un-sexy couple we are, and then we ate, and then we watched the Incredibles, and then we ate again.

Here's some Incredibles trivia: Edna is supposed to be half-Japanese, half-German, which is supposed to explain her excellence at combining design with function. And her weird voice.

One of these days after my finals are over, I'll go into a big monologue about why teenage couples feel the need to stand around and hug each other in public. I study at my local library, so I see them everywhere: near the cubicles, in the lobby, on the steps. Hugging as if letting go with sever their love forever. Or something naively romantic like that.

Or I'll discuss little girls with ponchos.

Or how my annoyance with boys in my class will quickly overshadow Gary's disgust for girls.

Or why Lost is awesome.

Until then, I will be buried in practice exams and outlines and flowcharts. (I'm in a weird mood, in case you can't tell)

can this be true?

2004-11-09T18:39:00.000-08:00

Today starts the four-week countdown to finals. *gulp*

r e d

2004-11-07T01:41:00.000-08:00

I was bemoaning our presidential election over dinner with Adrienne and Tedd last night (yay!) , and I said how a district-by-district map of the US might be less striking than the sea of red in the state-by-state electoral maps. Man, was I wrong. (see here) Even California, my beloved home state, is Bush country east of the San Andreas fault. And is it really possible that Kerry won no counties -- not one -- in Nebraska and Oklahoma? This befuddles me.

clarification

2004-11-03T19:34:00.000-08:00

On second read of my first post for today, I realized that "Al" could be construed as Al Gore. My apologies. I'm done with him. I'm talkin' about Rev. Sharpton!

I just walked into my house, overhearing my mother telling her friend how it's so weird to have the daughter that didn't go to Berkeley be so liberal, and how it's because she's young. aaaarrrrggghhhh. THIS is why I did not want to tell her who I voted for. I respect my parents, and I can see why they might support Bush. But I don't like Bush! So leave me alone!

*pouts in the corner with arms crossed*

Ahead to 2008

2004-11-03T15:05:00.000-08:00

I've been saying for weeks now that I "knew" Kerry was going to lose. I was trying to prepare myself for the worst (or, at least, the undesired), and I also just had a feeling. My Republican friend couldn't understand my conviction; to her, the race was a dead heat.

And yet, ever since I heard that Kerry was going to concede this morning, I've been a little ... sad. Not because I feel bad for Kerry. Not because I think this country is going to hell. Not because I think 59 million people did the wrong thing.

I feel sad because it's over. I don't want more months of partisan jabs, but what do we do now with the grassroots momementum? I want to get excited for 2008, when I'll be a lawyer and actually have a little bit of money and power to push John E. or Hillary or Barack or Al into office. On the other hand, didn't massive amounts of people try to make that happen today, and didn't all those efforts not work? I feel like I can't sustain enough excitement because the ugly face of failure keeps bringing me down.

Is this what not being able to hold an erection feels like?

Two thoughts have been helpful in relieving the sting of the results.
1) Barack Obama. He better do a good job. I will NOT be disappointed by the first politician that I'm actually excited about.
2) Howard Dean. If he can move on, I can too. Check out his funny radio commercial (mp3 here).

my thoughts ... with a roadmap!

2004-10-30T19:45:00.000-07:00

When the government limits who can vote, things like this happen. I realize that the government did not outright disenfranchise public housing residents, but banning voter registration isn't exactly progressing an inclusive America. If I had the time and inclination, I might find try to find examples of Democrat shadiness, but I have neither.

Or maybe Republicans are trying to get out the vote, as this story from the Onion suggests.

[from politics to kids]

I overheard a little boy say, "Auntie, my dad says Bush is a liar because he saw this movie called, um, um, Fahrenheit, um, 9/11," to which the aunt responds, "You better go tell your daddy he's wrong!" What will we all talk about come November 3rd?

[from one kid to another]

I love Halloween. It's the best to be a kid in a clown suit strutting around in a restaurant and not the least bit self-conscious your huge multi-colored jumpsuit.

[from confidence to lameness]

My Contracts class was cancelled yesterday, so some classmates and I went to a local Italian restaurant at lunch. When it came time to pay for the bill, I calculated my share ($8 X 1.25 to account for tax and tip), and then it hit me: the last time I had to do this was when I ate with my friends in Chicago. In other words, I haven't eaten a nice meal with my peers in 2 1/2 months. When Adrienne and Tedd visit, I'll be like a woman who's travelled through the desert with no water. Only a few more days away ...

adding to the mix

2004-10-29T16:36:00.000-07:00

I wished for an end to all the gross descriptions of Curt Schilling's ankle (heroic, yes; but ultimately stomach-turning), and the media gods granted my wish. Too bad I got Schilling's Bush endorsements instead (see here)

"I'm not your monkey"

2004-10-18T21:21:00.000-07:00

I have no access to cable, so this might be old news already. Jon Stewart was on Crossfire to promote his new book, and instead of being his usual funny self, he called the hosts on their lack of journalistic integrity -- to put it mildly. Among the highlights are Stewart telling the host that he should go to journalism school, pointing out the purpose of bow-ties for 35-year-old men, and calling the host a dick.

When I grow up, I want to be like Jon Stewart.

priests and points

2004-10-15T18:06:00.000-07:00

A classmate and I were talking today about priests today . She's orthodox Christian, and in her church, a man must be married before he can become a priest. They believe that a priest who has never had a family is not qualified to give family advice to his congregation. Nor can he really understand his role as "father" of the congregation. Also, they believe that celibacy would actually backfire because a man is unlikely to resist today's sexual temptations forever.

This makes more sense to me than Catholicism. It's hard for me to get serious about church again after the latest wave of molesation accusations. I realize that the issue concerns individual priests, but you can't compartmentalize the church from its ministers. Sometimes I think organized religion is not the only way to reach God, but that feels like a cop-out too. Look at me, thinking about religion again. Religion is so much more appealing to me when people aren't constantly telling me what to think.

On a unrelated note, Westlaw and LexisNexis are the two leading internet legal research companies who are in heavy competition for law students. They both give points for every time you research, and if I get 19,000 points on Westlaw, I get a mini Ipod. Need some legal research done? Ask me, and I'll let you listen to my Ipod in the next year or two.

a hazard of being in l.a.

2004-10-14T18:03:00.000-07:00

I can't wait for mini-skirts to go out of fashion. If you have to keep your arm stretched behind your rear to avoid inadvertant flashing, it's too short. If people can see how little underwear you're wearing when you're walking down the stairs, it's too short. If you have to sit on the edge of your seat to prevent obscenity, it's too short. My delicate sensibilities can't take it anymore!

why (obviously) lie?

2004-10-06T15:21:00.000-07:00

During the vice-presidential debates, Cheney alleged that last night was the first time he had actually met Edwards, thereby insinuating that Edwards hardly ever showed up for Senate.

On this morning's Today Show, however, Tim Russert spoke about how Cheney's remarks was a blatant lie and how Cheney and Edwards had been on Meet the Press together early this year.

The fact that Cheney and Edwards have met twice before does not disprove Cheney's allegations. If Cheney wanted to challenge Edwards' dependability, though, he could have easily done that without saying that he's never met the South Carolina senator before (i.e., without lying). What a dumb move. Blatant lies seem out-of-sync with Karl Rove's typically tight campaign. This, of course, does not preclude Rove's reliance on obtuse lies. Take Halliburton. Allegations and lies come up all the time, but the multiplicity of issues and the general public's lack of familiarity with government bid process decreases the risk of public outrage. Frankly, people don't understand and they don't care about Halliburton. But we regular folk can handle an easy analysis of last night's comment: either (1) Cheney met Edwards before, and or (2) he didn't. If it's (1), he lied. If it's (2), he told us the truth.

If there's some 1.5 hidden here, please educate me.

Bill O'Reilly also tackles the issue of lies but in a slightly different context -- a children's book. *shivers*

reconnection

2004-10-03T11:08:00.000-07:00

I spent about 80% of yesterday working on my Contracts outline, and I finished only half of my goal. Being the anal retentive student I am, I would normally freak out in my quietly fuming way. But yesterday I re-connected with some friends gave me some peace of mind in my stressful little world.

One of the best feelings is when I talk to a friend after a long period of separation and it feels like time never passed. At dinner last night, I ran into my old doubles partner from high school. It's been over six years since I've talked to her, but she recognized me instantly. To be honest, there's no reason why she wouldn't, but you would think the brain would need some time to warm up to reach those tucked-away memories. We only talked for a few minutes, but the reunion was palpably exciting. I have friends with whom I've kept random contact since high school, but I haven't had an accidental encounter like this since my former crush delivered a pizza to my house four years ago.

And on a less dramatic though equally good note, I got calls from Sandra and Wayne yesterday after a few months of unintentional neglect.

Moments like this make me realize how quickly, rapidly, turbulently time flies, but they're also nice reminders of how people who've shared a part of your life can ground you along the way.

a disclaimer

2004-09-25T13:35:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-22T13:49:00.000-07:00

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!

2004-09-22T13:26:00.000-07:00

Today is a good day.

Bonding

2004-09-21T17:27:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-20T23:50:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-20T21:00:00.000-07:00

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

2004-09-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

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.