Primitive Africans

I don't have it in me to write anything right now. But I have to post this blog post from Stuff White People Do (currently on hiatus) after I just had an infuriating, yet refreshingly blunt, conversation with a friend about "Africans" being more "primitive" and thus closer to our biologically-driven gender roles, since they do a lot of f**king and fighting.

Stuff White People Do - Homogenize people from over fifty country into one group: "Africans"

From that post, I'd like to quote a particular passage that was apropos to our conversation. The passage is itself a lifted from a lecture given by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie:

I was 19. My American roommate was shocked by me. She asked where I had learned to speak English so well, and was confused when I said that Nigeria happened to have English as its official language. She asked if she could listen to what she called my “tribal music,” and was consequently very disappointed when I produced my tape of Mariah Carey. She assumed that I did not know how to use a stove.

What struck me was this: She had felt sorry for me even before she saw me. Her default position toward me, as an African, was a kind of patronizing, well-meaning, pity. My roommate had a single story of Africa. A single story of catastrophe.

In this single story there was no possibility of Africans being similar to [my roommate], in any way. No possibility of feelings more complex than pity. No possibility of a connection as human equals.

...[A]fter I had spent some years in the U.S. as an African, I began to understand my roommate’s response to me. If I had not grown up in Nigeria, and if all I knew about Africa were from popular images, I too would think that Africa was a place of beautiful landscapes, beautiful animals, and incomprehensible people, fighting senseless wars, dying of poverty and AIDS, unable to speak for themselves, and waiting to be saved, by a kind, white foreigner.

My friend said there's nothing wrong with being primitive. But I take issue with his completely ignorant view that all most people in Africa (and, he later said, in South America) being primitive to begin with - not having telephones, carrying around spears and following their primal urges wherever those urges may lead them (HIV, population explosion, war). He said that because I don't see "Africans" as primitive that I am idealistic and refuse to acknowledge that US Americans live in a bubble and that not everybody is like us.

EEEEERRRRGGGHHHH. Sometimes I want to scream.

Out of breath, but breathing

I've spent the last three hours living an after-school special about Why You Don't Wait To The Last Minute To Assemble Your Applications. I guess this was a sequel to my 1L year lesson in Why You Always Check Your Legal Memo Word Count Before Saying "I'm Done" And Going To Sleep.

Anyway, I really am done now. Like it or not. And for the first time EVER, I felt an urge to run off steam. At 29, "firsts" don't come every day, but this was truly a first. So after I parked my car (legally -- check), locked it up (wheel lock -- check; faceplate put away -- check) and found the house keys I borrowed from T (in the locked car -- check), I suited up in some raggedy shorts and running shirt and WENT ON A RUN. All by myself. And not an obligatory run. I did that yesterday at the gym. This was a real "I actually want to" run. Cue the heavenly music.

Okay, so it was only a mile, and of that mile I only actually ran half of it: 2.5 blocks running, 2.5 walking, repeat. And I took the dog who had to do his business along the way. But for real, I came back sweaty and thirsty and exhausted. Yay :)

Now I am going to take a shower, await the return of my hero (T, as usual) and hopefully meet some friends for drinks and pub quiz where I will forget all about September and the Great Fellowship Debacle Quest of 2010. Bring on October!

Stick to the eye

I walked the dog to the park today, as per usual. At the end of a long day (shepardizing cases for an emergency motion to stay a deportation & taking the heartbreaking affidavit of a Sudanese refugee), all I wanted to do was get home and lose myself in a sudoku puzzle. So when I raised a stick in the air for E to jump up and grab, of course he jumped too soon and knocked the end of the stick directly into my eyeball. And of course, as I'm panicking and envisioning my eyeball being dislodged from my socket, I go running over to three complete strangers on a park bench to ask if my eye is still there. In my mind, the whole thing was nothing short of a medical emergency. I couldn't understand why they were all just sitting there, and why the one woman kept talking to my dog about how, "sorry, mom said you couldn't have any treats," like in the midst of being blinded for life I'm going to change my mind and allow her to give my dog a greenie. The man looked in my eye and said it looked fine. I wanted them to walk me home. I couldn't open my eye! Instead, I took E and stumbled across the street to Best Woman's apartment. Thankfully, she was home. She let me in, sympathized with my discomfort, did not make me feel like an idiot for being freaked out, gave me eye gel and walked me and the dog back to my apartment. What a good neighbor.

In other news, my best friend just gave birth to a healthy baby boy. El bendito was born at 11:47 p.m. on Sunday, June 27th, 2010. I am over the moon and I haven't even met him yet. Mother and baby are doing great!

In the Matter of S-G-

S.G., potential ghostwriter of 9th Circuit judicial opinions, is sending emails to her fellow HLS friends just to clarify that "hey! you guys! i'm not as NOT-RACIST as i came across at dinner! really! i am absolutely NOT convinced that 100 black babies would be as smart as 100 white babies if they all grew up together on Space Mountain."

Okay, okay. That's not exactly what she said. I mean, she didn't say "black," she said "African-American"! But, seriously, here's part of it:

"African Americans tend to have darker skin. Irish people are more likely to have red hair. (Now on to the more controversial:) Women tend to perform less well in math due at least in part to prenatal levels of testosterone, which also account for variations in mathematics performance within genders.

This suggests to me that at least some part of intelligence is genetic, just like identical twins raised apart tend to have very similar IQs and just like I think my babies will be geniuses and beautiful individuals whether I raise them or give them to an orphanage in Nigeria. I don’t think it is that controversial of an opinion to say I think it is at least possible that African Americans are less intelligent on a genetic level, and I didn’t mean to shy away from that opinion at dinner."

To read the whole thing, (click here.)

This woman is on Harvard Law Review and has a Judicial Clerkship in the 9th Circuit. And I'm not saying that a private e-mail she sent to her friends should disqualify her from those positions. It happens, as often does, that her offensive emails landed on a pair of eyes that didn't like what they saw, and someone took it upon him or herself to share what they read. The point... ahem

THE POINT is that there are so many people, so many very intellectually capable, white bright people, that go to law school and remain so IGNORANT of how basic concepts like ethnocentricty and socioeconomic status work. And so many of these people, sadly, never become AWARE... because you just don't need to know about racism* or privilege to do well in law school. You don't.

And considering the legal system is so deeply entrenched in privilege and social problems, that's just effing sad.

And by the way... a shout out to Above the Law. Because wow. This guy is for serious? Really?? Don't get me started on the commentary by America's next generation of Hot Shot Lawyers. (Sample: "Why is it fine to say that most African-Americans have better sprint times and are quicker, due to a higher proportion of Type II muscle fibers, and have bigger junk (come on, does anyone doubt this), yet it's not fine to acknowledge what decades of research have shown over and over again regarding African-Americans' IQs?")

* Or sexism or ableism or genderism or classism or any of the other -isms that Lat over at ATL think are so darn unhelpful to talk about in an academic debate

ETA: I took out the (publicly available) name of the person who wrote the email because I wish to focus on the culture of law schools, not the individual whose remarks sparked this particular controversy.

Oh, Jon Arbuckle

Garfield Minus Garfield

Today, I finally refilled my Prozac prescription. While I was at it, I also bought myself a little mini-notebook and a 20-pack of blue ballpoint pens. I slept through my first class today and had no excuse for it, except that I couldn't drag my ass off the couch. I haven't had that bad of a mental health day in a long time. Funny, then, that filling my prescription is like an automatic "feel good" ticket. Without even popping the pill, I already feel better. It's the whole empowerment thing, I think. Knowing I'm taking care of myself.

I don't usually feel this bad after going off of my medication. I think it's a combination of the gap in medication, PMS, the encroaching finals season, law school burnout, my parents' health problems and panic over my upcoming 29th birthday. Anyway, one foot in front of the other.

(I am trying to ignore the little voice in my head that says I shouldn't bother to blog, because I am just coming across as whiny.)

So last night...

I went to quizzo with T and some of our friends from the neighborhood. Nobody else showed up to play, so the seven of us split into two teams. We drank while we waited for other teams to show up. We drank while we trash talked each other through six rounds of trivia. And when it was over (my team won! T's team lost!), the bar owner came around with shots of Jim Beam, one for each of us.

Yeah.

Well, I thought I was just drinking regular beer. I picked the Sixpoint Righteous Ale off the draft menu because it sounded good. Then, because it actually was good, I had another (two). Three beers and a shot of whisky is a big night, especially for a Wednesday. But T was matching me drink for drink with his Stella Artois. So why didn't he wake up with a killer headache? Why was I the only one incapable of facing the day until noon?

Turns out, it's because those beers I was drinking? Turned out to be fancy 7.4% ABV (high-alcohol) beers. Whoops.

I'm not gonna lie. I wanted to go big last night. After having it casually dropped in a phone conversation with my parents that my dad had a biopsy done of a recently-discovered lump...meanwhile we're still waiting for that mass they found in my mom to be removed... and then there's the family dog that apparently they expected was going to up and die yesterday, before he made yet another miraculous recovery (at 15 years, he's had quite a few). I mean, at least I was being intentional and all. But I didn't quite intend to go as big as I went. And I paid for it this morning. Ughhhhhh.

And I'm paying for it now, too, as I catch up on all the reading I should've done last night, for the classes I should've gone to today. (Just kidding. I made T help me cook pad thai for dinner, then we took the Myers-Briggs personality test online after the 10-question 2010 census didn't quite live up to T's great survey expectations.)

in other news...

I just want to give a shoutout to my other blog. I haven't done much updating here lately, but I have been happily updating Other Blog at least once a day for a while. I guess my Crimes & Immigration class has got me really inspired again.

What else is going on? Nothing, really. T & I had our 6-month anniversary, which we celebrated by eating a cupcake I brought home from a school bake sale and going out for dinner and drinks. (Not necessarily in that order.) Last night, we went to a Jersey Shore party. Really. I did not dress up. Today, I am working on cover letters and trying to echarle ganas. I'm really trying, ya'll.

Better get back to it.

Chicken Sudado: Adventures in live-blogging!

Because this is what happens when I'm left alone in the apartment for 48 hours with nothing but a dog to keep me from falling into the abyss of my new laptop... I am going to a potluck in T minus 2 hours 21 minutes, and I have a paper due on Tuesday for which I've written nothing but a meager outline and a thesis statement.

One of the 30 things I want to do before I turn 30 is perfect my mom's chicken and rice, which is really a misnomer because it's actually an awesome Colombian chicken stew-type dish that must be served with white rice. It was my favorite dish growing up and I've only made it a couple of times as an adult. Last time was 4 years ago, and let's just say that night was infamously affectionately dubbed the "Night of the Salsa de Plastico".

So, without further ado.... #3: Perfect my mom's chicken & rice: LIVE-BLOG FORMAT!!!

3:15 - I walk to Whole Foods feeling totally blessed to live only a block and a half from Whole Foods Market. With weather this cold, it's awesome that a trip to the store is just a skip, hop and jump away.

3:25 - After spending $8.38 on hydroponic tomatoes (p.s. wtf are hydroponic tomatoes??) I feel slightly less blessed by WFM.

3:30 - Sidestepping vomit in the alley on the walk home, I just want to be back inside.

3:40 - To E (the dog): "Let's live-blog this biatch!"

3:51 - Trying out the Emeril dutch oven for the first time. Had been waiting to season it, but I just decided it must have come "pre-seasoned" because this is the only pot big enough to hold 10 thighs and 5 drumsticks. Yes, that's way too much chicken. I don't care. I only make this every 4 years!

4:00 - Chicken is cooking in dutch oven on medium heat, covered, liberally sprinkled with salt. One chopped up large yellow onion and two chopped up large tomatoes are stewing in with it. Also added 2 T. of olive oil. I can hear the juices stirring. Sidenote: "sudado" means "sweaty" which is exactly how the chicken cooks - in its own sweat. Yum!

4:02 - Last time I cooked this dish, I was dancing around the kitchen to bachata. Not much room to kitchen-dance in this place:

But I can still sing along to K95 country. "Hell yeah! Turn it up!"

4:13 - Emergency phone call to Mom: "Do you peel the potatoes?" Mom says yes. Damn. I guess striving for perfection has its costs.

4:23 - All in! Roll call: 12 thighs, 6 drumsticks, 4 yukon gold potatoes, 6 carrots, 3 tomatoes, 1 onion (should I add more, I wonder?)... and 2 T. of olive oil. Now to let cook, covered, on medium heat for 30 minutes or so, before I stir it some more...

4:29 - What's worse than your dad nagging you to clean up? Your husband nagging you to clean up. What's worse than your husband nagging you to clean up? Your husband adopting your dad's catch-phrases to nag you to clean up. What's worse than all of the above? Hearing your husband and your dad nag you (in unison!) to clean up when you are completely alone in the house. "Clean as you go!" they nag. I know, I know...

4:41 - Panicked and added another half an onion. E apparently took advantage of the crisis to sneak a chunk of potato from the kitchen to his spot in the living room. Then decided it wasn't cooked enough for his tastes. What a snob.

4:42 - Back to work on my immigration paper. Good-bye, country music.

4:47 - Nevermind. Dog is whining. Can I take the dog outside while the chicken is cooking without burning down my entire building, I wonder? Or if I feed him, will he leave me alone so I can write?

5:06 - Dog let me feed him and left me alone. I've written 375 words. A 2,000-word limit is a lot less than I thought. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, the smell of that chicken is making it harrrrrrrd to concentrate.

5:45 - Chanced a trip outside with the dog while the chicken simmered on the stove.

5:49 - Returned to find the apartment happily still in tact.

5:50 - Started the rice. Listen people, this is how you make good rice:

1. Put a pot on the stove and dump in a little oil (1/2 - 1 T is probably enough).
2. Heat up the oil on medium-high
3. Put in the rice - say 1 cup.
4. Shake the rice around a bunch until its coated with the oil.
5. Add twice the amount of water as rice - in this case, 2 cups.
6. Shake salt into pot liberally to taste.
7. Bring the water to a boil over medium-high heat (or high, if you like a little burned rice on the bottom of your pot, like my dad).
8. Let it cook, UNCOVERED, until the water is boiled down to the point where you can't see it and there are holes in the surface of the rice.
9. Reduce heat to low and cover the pot.
10. Cook 20 minutes or until fluffy/done.

6:02 - Just tried the chicken it is AMAZING. Added more salt. Per mom's instructions, I am now letting the chicken cook uncovered for the last 20 minutes, to allow the sauce to thicken up.

6:07 - How the hell am I going to get 7 blocks on foot with a giant dutch oven full of chicken, a pot of rice and Taboo? Is this one of those tricks with the fox, the chicken and the bag of corn?

6:17 - Uh oh. Here's something I didn't expect. I'm falling asleep...

6:26 - And... DONE! (The picture doesn't do it justice, but I had to take a closing shot!)


Buen provecho, ya'll :) Let me know if you like it!

1/2 way to what?!?

Full disclosure: I am drunk.

I went to our school-sponsored party for 2Ls. It's a celebration of our being halfway done with law school.

Since T went down to VA without me, I figured I would attend the party with one of my girlfriends. On account of my recent chest cold, I decided to cab it up to her place. The cabbie and I discussed my evening plans:

"We're going to Mc....something..."

"McFaddens?"

"No..."

"McGlinchy's?"

"No...."

"Finn McCools?"

"No...."

And on and on... We got into a conversation about drinking and bootlegging in Greece (his home country), and eventually snagged my girlfriend. Then off we went.

Okay. Going out is fun. It's nice to socialize, there's no doubt about it. I like getting to talk to the girls in my old 1L section and gossip and generally get the facetime in. But I missed T. Everyone wanted to know where my "man" was. I only put it it quotes because, literally, everyone used the same word. I liked bragging on him and talking about our wedding with people I've hardly had a conversation with all year.

In the end, however, it was more of the same. I went to another bar with some of my friends. I called T from a restroom stall and asked him to talk to his friend in VA about having kids and what that's like. I am pretty sure I laid all my cards on the table for his buddy, as T repeated back to me my request, apparently in front of his friend. Then I went back to the bar and told my good guy friend V about my faux pax. He said: "So you want to have a baby." And I didn't really care that he put it so bluntly, because just an hour earlier, he had come out of the closet.

And that, my friends, is law school. A whole bunch of self-induced drama, mixed up with some alcohol and black letter law.

Law School: the meme

I'm going to try my hand at a law blawg meme, because it beats the hell out of working on cover letters!

LAW SCHOOL: The Meme (a work in progress)
In class, have you ever:
Handwritten your notes? yes, it's all i do.
G-chatted? no.
...with other people in class?
...about things people are saying in class?
Secretly read classmates' computer screens? all the time.
Raised your hand? yes.
...during the last 5 minutes of class? yes...shh...
...to correct a professor? no
...to correct a classmate? no

In the library:
Earliest time you've arrived: 8:00 a.m.
Latest you've stayed: 12:15 a.m.
Favorite place to study: the first floor - it's less embarassing to fall asleep when everyone coming in and out can see you.
Ever...
eaten in the library? yes
been given dirty looks? yes
been asked to move or be quiet? yes...sorry.
asked someone to move or be quiet? yes
witnessed someone flipping out? no, but i narrowly missed someone being escorted out by police once during finals
flipped out? not out loud
sabotaged a book or old exam? no way
been the victim of sabotage? i checked out a book and a couple pages were missing once..

During finals:
Longest time without showering: 5 days
Longest time without eating: 12 hours
Favorite procrastination method: cooking, wii, blogs
Favorite study aid: E&Es
Outlining: yes or no? yes
Study groups: yes or no? no, sadly
Earliest you've finished outlining: 5 days before an exam... usually it's hours before...
Most ridiculous thing you've been jealous of not being able to do: grocery shop
Ever...
gone two or more days without changing? yes!
...underwear? ...yes...
gone two or more days without stepping outside? i don't think so...
had a meltdown in front of others? yes
...who? my BF/fiance/husband is the only one whose had the pleasure of witnessing them
wished you didn't go to law school? duh
avoided classmates? yes, i hate them during finals
avoided live-in significant others? yes, sorry T
avoided phone calls or visits from parents/loved ones? 12 new voice messages...yes!

Study habits:
Group or solo study? i study best alone
Best advice you've received about studying: just do the reading, don't worry about extra stuff, and you'll be on top of your game.
Do you...
highlight? yeah!
...How many colors? six
...What is your yellow highlighter for? Facts
...Green? Reasoning
...Blue? Issue / Question presented
brief cases? nope
...How far into the semester?
...In the book or separately? i kind of book brief sometimes
belong to a study group? No
finish most reading before class? Until the last third of the semester.

In general
"What kind of law do you want to practice?" - what's your standard answer: Public interest; immigration or employment law
On a scale of 1 to 10, rank your school: 7
Best food truck or eating option: 24-hour cookie truck
Ever been called a gunner? Yes! Can you believe it?!
If you hadn't gone to law school, what would you be doing right now? Living in VA, working in HR probably.
Belong to any clubs or extracurriculars? Yes
...what's one? NLG
Would you do it again? Yes, mos def

Adult humor

T and his friends used to joke about "adult humor" -- the kind of automatic wisecrack that spills out of people's mouths at the office (especially Mondays and Fridays) or in line at the grocery store. These are the kinds of jokes that broadcast one's passage from hip youth to embarrassingly unfunny adult. At least, that's how I always imagined T & co. interpreted them. It was always good for a laugh to point out when one of us indulged in adult humor, either on accident (in the course of being polite to strangers) or by design (oh, irony).

It occurred to me this morning that my joke to a cashier at 10,000 Villages yesterday was adult humor to beat all previous attempts... and I wasn't even trying! I present to you the following exchange, which took place as a sales clerk spotted me looking around the crowded store for fireplace pokers and trying to locate T:

Saleswoman: "Can I help you find anything?"
Me: "Do you sell fire pokers?"
Saleswoman: "No, I'm sorry, we don't."
Me: "Well, in that case, have you seen my husband?"
!!!!cha-CHING!!!
Saleswoman: "They tend to get lost around here."

I have to admit, I am smiling to myself a little at the cleverness of it right now. I guess the appeal of adult humor is that it's just so *easy*. Maybe that's why T makes jokes about being in trouble with the wife. Even though they drive me crazy and I don't think they're funny, I imagine they are irresistible to him.

No No No Si Si Si

Want to know how to ruin a perfectly good date? Easy! Go to a Mexican restaurant where there are televisions in every corner blaring reggaeton music videos, and allow your eyes to stray back to the gyrating dancers every time your date takes a bite of food.

Want to know how to ruin a perfectly productive morning? Easy! Go to YouTube and look for all the reggaeton videos you saw last night on your date to the Mexican restaurant so you can post links on your blog.

Want to guess who'd rather be perreando than studying? Easy! :)

Toiletbowl 200

Went to quizzo last night with T and some friends. On our way back, we walked down an alley where we discovered a toilet seat on the curb awaiting the trash pickup. T & I instantly looked at each other, gasped and then burst out laughing. I grabbed the seat and lugged it back to our apartment.

Why?

Because earlier in the day we had talked about how we would need a toilet seat to perfect the awesome Halloween costumes we were going to make. (Each of us silently thinking, "Where the hell are we going to find a toilet seat?") On the early morning walk to work, I was joyful breathing in the fall air as T grumbled about the cold. Since the prospect of Halloween being around the corner did not fill him with the same child-like excitement brewing within me, I told him that I was making it my goal to reintroduce him to the simple joys of Halloween of our youth. And then we saw our Isaiah Zagar on his way to work, and I came up with the best costume idea ever. Amazingly, T agreed.

Now, I have come up with great Halloween costume ideas before. There was the year I decided to go as the hunchback of Notre Dame in 7th grade, but realized that stuffing a pillow up my shirt just made me look silly for the 30 seconds before it fell out the back. Then there was the year I was set on going as the female reproductive system. Our kitten died the day before, so instead of scrambling to figure out how I would make it all work, I went to Walmart with T and bought a shovel to bury our first pet. But this year, oh this year. The year of promise.

Today was an interesting day, by the way. The class gunner called me the class gunner. Needless to say, I was more than a little perturbed. It didn't help that our "conversation" took place in a crowded elevator on our way to class, mere moments before I was slated to give my first closing argument. At the dinner table tonight, I told T how I was "on fire" during class. "So you had your Kevin Arnold moment?" he asked. "If it were an episode of the Wonder Years, there would be black and white footage of enormous crowds cheering," I assured him. In other words, I was not called a cop for the second week in a row. Score one for me!

And if this post wasn't random enough, this is my 200th post!

scromph

i notice a lot of "om nom nom" on the internet these days. i like it. it reminds me of cookie monster. (that's supposed to happen, right?) but i tend to get annoyed when i realize a phrase is cool. like in high school when all of a sudden all my buddies indulged in a 5 second prelude to every sentence: "duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude!" better known on the internet as, "d00d!" then later T got into calling everyone a "dump" and it was quickly picked up by his roommates (as most of his phrases are). it became the word of choice for making fun of friends around his house. flashforward some years and bro-in-law introduced us to the "epic fail" thanks to some friend's proclivity for hanging out on nerd-core message boards. (i am certain i just used the phrase "nerd-core" improperly just now.) next thing you know, everything is a FAIL. almost literally. i was once at a party a couple years ago in Richmond when i noticed this picture taped to my friend's refrigerator. it was an enormous (real!) walrus with a bucket looking ecstatic, with the caption, "I HAS A BUCKET!" and then another picture of a man taking the bucket and the walrus looking very upset and the caption, "NOOOOOOO!! THEY BE STEALIN MY BUCKET!" and i laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and seriously would not stop laughing the whole way home. the next day, i realized i was the last person on earth to have learned about lolcats.

how did i start talking about all this?

oh yeah. because i wanted to start a real blog post by mentioning the delicious sauted bananas i made for dessert tonight. my new thing is frying fruit. yum yum. and that's where this came from. because in my head, i literally heard a delicious noise and remembered there's a meme for that now: "om nom nom." except i don't want to say om nom nom. i want to say SCROMPH! because that's exactly it sounds like in my head. not the same ring to it, i know.

in other news, i did exercise today for 30 minutes. i think i read trust and estates for about the same amount of time. ah, early semester studying. it seems so easy and relaxed right now...*

*note: i am not on law review or any of the other major extracurriculars!

Who lies? You lie!

You know what? As amusing and obnoxious as it was that Rep. Joe Wilson (R-SC) shouted out at the President in the middle of his reassurance that (don't worry!!!) illegal immigrants will NOT receive health care under his plan....

As amusing and obnoxious as it was, and as tempting as it is to get my blood all boiled up, the fact is that I respect his right to do that. I remember it was really not that very long ago that I longed to be inside any given crowded, silent room with President Dubya, just so I could shout at him that he is a 'f@#*ing idiot'!! (Confession: I wouldn't have actually yelled at him, but I always was relieved when somebody was able to sneak in and shame him on my behalf. I got close enough a couple of times that I actually panicked and had to think about what I would do.)

So. Fine. Shout away.

I disagree with Ol' Fuss 'n' Feathers Wilson on his P.O.V. It's a stupid battle he's chosen. Obviously as long as there are rules that say you have to have a certain number and a certain ID to get certain benefits, there will be certain people creating, selling and using fake IDs and fake numbers in order to gain the benefit for themselves. It's inevitable that "illegals" are going to find a way to game the system if they really, really want to. And as long as there is rampant inequality and ginormous injustice in the way we do trade and the expectations and accountability we place on corporations, there are going to be unqualified people who really, really want to game the system to get a job here. Most aren't going to try their luck by using our health insurance. None that I know would even dare. Hell, they hardly have the trust in our system to call the cops when a guy holds a gun to their head and takes all their money and their son's bike.

God forbid an illegal immigrant get hit by a car, or choke on a hot dog, or sustain life-threatening damage to their lungs from working around pesticides, and they actually want care! Shit.

But I digress.

I totally, 100% support Joe Wilson's right to shout out. Yes, even at the President. I wouldn't make a habit out of it. I'd expect more from a U.S. Congressman. I agree it's irresponsible and sets a bad example. Anyway, if it were me, I'd find a way to get one of my prized interns to do the shouting for me. But, whatever. We live in 'Merica, folks. This is also part of our character, like it or not. I feel like I need a shower.

growing up and down

just spent half an hour in bed bonding with my new husband. we had some loose leaf paper, a #2 pencil and a slew of bank accounts in list format. hawt, right? yeeeep. at 11:45 on a sunday night we decided to tackle the ol' albatross together. we now know who has what credit card balance, which of us has what investments where, and exactly how tall is the mountain of debt upon which my budding legal career is teetering.

other weekend fun included...
- watching a very drunk bachelorette lean on an unlocked door at a karaoke bar and collapse out onto the street, never to be seen again (her girlfriends re-surfaced later to dedicate a not-so-rousing rendition of "Another One Bites the Dust" to the passed out bride-to-be);
- wandering over to a law school party at nearly one in the morning, to find the whole place was wrecked, getting laughed out of a bar for not having my ID and then winding up at Best Woman's house to smoke and drink and watch the Golden Girls;
- falling asleep on the couch at 8 p.m. with 6 highlighters and a trust & estates casebook at my side, and bits of macaroni and cheese on my shirt.

sometimes i think i'm growing up. sometimes i think i'm growing down. i'm not sure there's a difference.

First day post-internship

I'm not gonna lie. I just spent 20 minutes reading about beef curtains. What a weird phenomenon that would probably not exist without the internet. I need a nap.

Tomorrow T and I are supposed to go camping. It's the weekend before the wedding. We finally have our photog and our officiant (fingers crossed). That means the Big Stuff is officially done. I am now mostly just excited.

And, evidently, bored.

Jim Goodman

Who is Jim Goodman and why did he put on such a shoddy prosecution? What the hell happened? I'm still pissed about this.

Here's a great summary of the trial at the outset. Before people knew it was going to end so quickly with "simple assault" as the most serious charge against a couple of guys who jumped this Mexican immigrant, sucker punched him and left him with his brains seeping out of his skull.

This can't be justice...

I followed the death of Luis Ramirez, a guy who was:
- 25 years old
- an undocumented immigrant from Mexico
- father to two young kids with a US citizen woman
- boyfriend to that woman's 15 year old half-sister
- a farm-worker of 7 years
- resident of Shenandoah, PA
He was walking through a park with the 15-year old when some high school boys, drunk from a block party, said to the girl, "isn't it a little late to be out?" according to the lovely AP article, "this enraged ramirez who began yelling at them in Spanish and calling people on his cell phone." from all the affidavits given prior to trial, i understand that he made phone calls only after the boys and him began fighting, asking his friends to come by because he might be in trouble. six drunken dudes, one sober guy on a date.

one guy went running after him, giving him a running punch that knocked ramirez to the ground. after ramirez was unconscious, one guy kicked him in the head, causing ramirez to go into convulsions and, ultimately, killing him.

So, flash forward to a jury trial, which only came about because the Feds got involved and media attention basically forced the local folks to press charges. The prosecution rested far sooner than anyone expected, which raises questions for me. Defense barely said anything. then, the jury deliberated, and according to the foreman it wasn't even a close vote. The two guys on trial were found guilty. Of simple assault. The end.

I feel sick.

sallying forth

i'm starting to worry. for about a week now the inside of my head has looked something like this:



seriously. this is not a "law school reading is dry" problem either. i was up until 1 in the morning yesterday because i had it in my head to write out the previous blog post. i downloaded oregon trail to my cell phone yesterday. i completed an entire crossword puzzle, a sudoku and all but the final answer of that stupid jumble puzzle during con law. and, as previously noted, i am way too concerned about sally forth:



i wonder whether this is medicine-induced. back to trying to focus on property. i am struggling this week.