Things That Make Me Smile

Summer nights when it stays light until really late and then the sky turns a purplish blue before it finally gets dark and the stars come out

Fireflies

Friendly neighbors who wish me good morning when I walk out my door

Talking to my 7-year-old niece on the phone

The Sunday New York Times

Melissa Ferrick in concert

Books by Anne Lamott

Making s'mores

Singing at the top of my lungs

Friends who talk for hours about nothing in particular

Vanilla bean ice cream

Walking through Center City during the summer

Being adopted by the cat next door

The way the woods feel almost cold and really green during the summer

Kayaking in the Pine Barrens

Coming home from a run all sweaty and exhausted

When the Yankees win

Graduating from law school

UPDATE:
When old friends get back in touch
When BarBri lecturers are funny, down-to-earth, engaging and calming
When communication works and I end up feeling closer and more connected to people ... even when the conversations are hard

Things That Suck

Long exams

Mean people in customer service jobs

Murder

Purposeful ignorance

Break-ups

Sore throats

Hungry people

Disconnection

War

Fear-based reactions

Isms

Favorite MBE Question of the Day

"The deed described the property to be conveyed as follows:

I. From the SW corner of Section 25 of Township 2 North, Range 6 West, Cimmaron Base and Meridian, proceed South 45 degrees East 200 feet to teh Scrub Basin Irrigation Canal;

II. From that point, proceed South 45 degrees West 100 feet along the Scrub Basic Irrigation Canal to its intersection with State Highway 11;

III. From that point, proceed North 45 degrees West 200 feet along State Highway 11;

IV. From that point, proceed South 45 degrees East 100 feet to the starting point.

Which of the following corrections should be made for the deed to properly describe Scrubacre?

a) Direction I should be changed to "South 45 degrees East 100 feet."

b) Direction III should be changed to "North 45 degrees West 100 feet.

c) Direction III should be changed to "North 45 degrees East 200 feet."

d) Direction IV should be changed to "North 45 degrees East 100 feet."

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH THE LAW?!?!

MBE Lobotomy

I am fried like an egg. Toasted like bread. Boiled like... well, you get the picture. Today was the MBE simulated practice exam at Camp BarBri. I found out a couple of things.

1) I found out that I might be one of those people who throws up before big stressful exams. Now, I've never been one of those people, but this morning, my stomach apparently thought I was one of those people.

2) I found out that 6 hours is a very loooonnnngggg time to sit in my seat and stay focused with my flea-like-attention-span.

3) I found out that my flea-like-attention-span is even worse when I have not had much sleep.

I just graded the 200 questions I did today, and well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. [Insert primal scream.] Let's just say there was lots of carnage. More than might have been expected. Let's just say that I doublechecked the answers to see if I was using the right answer key. Twice. Let's just say that if today was any indication -- and I guess it's time that I take serioiusly that my practice exams are a decent indicator of my likelihood of passing -- I'm in a decently perilous situation. I mean, it's salvageable, but not on the current path. Let's just say I'm well below the passing mark. Let's just say that in the past four weeks, it has been a simple triumph to attend BarBri classes, let alone do any of the work associated with them.

Let's just say I have not been as familiar with the "yellow magic marker moments" as one might have hoped at this point.
Oy.

Drive

I took a taxicab home from the city last night. It's hit or miss with cabbies that time of night: they might be chatty, or pissy, or just want to drive really fast on the expressway and not say a word at all.

But this cabbie -- his name is Matthew -- was cool. He's an improvisational jazz guitarist, and he plays classical too. But his favorite is Dixieland. He was having a good night: he had just spent the night with an old friend, driving him from Trenton to Conshohocken and catching up along the way. The other reason he said his night was going well was because he just heard from a woman he liked, and she had just broken up with her boyfriend of 3 years. That, he told me, was good news.

We talked for awhile, in that way that you can only do when it's late and it's just you and your cab driver, with the night peaceful and quiet. Matthew told me the best places to hear jazz in the city are Zanzibar Blue, Chris' Jazz Cafe, and a place on 3rd and Poplar whose name he couldn't remember. Bartlieb's or Ortlieb's or something like that.

BarBri-ism

Today, the nice man from Seton Hall Law School told us to "give a big squeeze to personal jurisdiction." I'm just not quite sure what to make of that.

What It's Like Here

The fireflies are out tonight in my front yard. They're flying around, lighting up their bodies like tiny glowsticks at a dance party. It's a hot humid sticky night, the kind of night that's pregnant, just waiting to deliver up a roaring thunderstorm. The kind where the rain comes down in sheets, drenching you the minute you step into it. The kind that smells like summer. The kind where you just stand, with your arms out and your face turned up to the sky.

BarBri: The Movie

Typically, they give us live lecturers each morning to tell us jokes and point out the "yellow magic marker moments." Today, we got our first video, a lovely fellow from Duquesne who apparently specializes in Pennsylvania constitutional law. Seems like a bit of a niche market, but, well, okay.

Anyway, the video was sort of Blairwitch Project-esque, as if someone was videotaping while running in place, or through the woods.

"State constitutional law (bobble, bobble, bobble) can be broader (bobble) than the corresponding (jiggle, jiggle) federal ..." And then, his head would disappear from the screen for awhile. Or it might appear at a tilt.

The sound correspondingly worked and didn't work. Sometimes, it was like listening to someone talk underwater. Think Finding Nemo meets Paper Chase. And just when my mind was wandering, it would come back, booming and clear, to startle me into re-focusing.

Now, this was all amusing and entertaining, though I think I'd be pretty bitter if all I got were a bunch of videos like this. I mean, at $2,500/head, you'd think that BarBri might invest in some quality videography. Or at least a tripod.

BTK Confesses

The serial murderer BTK confessed to 10 murders yesterday. He gave the judge and prosecutor and family members the gory details of why he did what he did, and how he did it. (I'd link to the story, but something weird has happened with Blogger, and all of my options to link stories have disappeared. If anyone knows how to get them back, please email me.) I hope that his confessions bring the family members of the victims some peace, if not today, then some day in the future. I hope that they find some solace in knowing the truth about their loved ones, though my heart thinks it's unlikely.

My 12-year-old cousin Katie disappeared from a friend's house 23 years ago. They never found her body, but Glenn Barker was convicted of her murder in 1983. I remember parts of the trial, though not much. I think it would have helped my family if Mr. Barker had confessed to Katie's murder, and told us where he took her body. We just wanted to bring her home, and bury her, and say goodbye. I have to wonder whether it's worse to actually know what happened to your loved ones in their last moments, or to have to imagine it. Is there some finality, some peace, that might come with knowing with some certainty the horrific last moments of your loved one's life?

Quote of the Day

[From Anne Lamott's "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith," which I would link to if my Blogger had not gone all wacky]

"How are we going to get through this craziness?" I asked. There was silence for a moment.
"Left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe," he said.

[And a special nod to Sherry Fowler at Stay of Execution, for highlighting the book on her blog earlier today]

Public Service Announcement

I tried to change things up a bit today. I wanted a second cup of coffee during BarBri, and the 10-minute break makes it tough to get to WaWa and back in time. So I went to 7-11. Branching out, trying new things, you know, it's a brave new world.

And I found out that there is a reason that people don't really go to 7-11 during the break. There's a reason they don't buy their coffee there. And the reason is that their coffee is really, really bad.

BarBri Dementia

I think I have some sort of bar exam senility. I mean, I know I'm pretty young for that, but I think the past 3 years may have fried my brain. Last night, I lost my car. Now, granted, that's nothing new for me. But then this morning, I left my wallet at home. And pens to write with. And the bag of quarters to feed the meter. And I looked down midway through the morning to find that I had forgotten to zip up my shorts. It's amazing I got out of the house dressed at all.

I wonder if my brain is full, and is rejecting any new information. You know, sort of like when you have a stomach virus and can't keep any food down? Maybe my brain can't fit anything more in it. Maybe it's got a giant "No Vacancy" sign flashing inside it. How oh how am I going to keep it all in?

Ode to myPod

It was love at first sight, my iPod and me. It's small and cute, it's my favorite color (green), and it holds all of my music. But I just realized the best part of my iPod this morning. When I turn up the music really loud, I can sing at the top of my lungs and not hear a single note I'm singing off-key. And there are many. Of course, this probably also makes me the crazy lady running around the neighborhood singing at the top of her lungs.

Shoulds / Shouldn'ts

About 11 years ago, I had back surgery. It was really traumatic, and in the weeks before the surgery, I remember thinking that I would never take walking for granted again. Or sitting or sleeping or moving. It was the kind of pain that made me see stars. I remember being very sad and miserable.

After the surgery, I was told I shouldn't run anymore. I was active and athletic then, and in good shape. I had been on the track team all through high school, and continued to run some in college. It was the best, and really only, way I knew how to be fit. The way I felt about running was similar to the way I often feel about writing: I didn't necessarily like to run, but I liked to have run.

For the past decade, I have not run. The little voice stayed in my head. "You can't run. You have a bad back." And I've gotten increasingly unfit.

I realized this morning that it didn't really matter anymore what the doctors or my parents said. My back had begun to hurt again in the last few months, and I think it's probably because I was/am out of shape and sedentary, and about 30 pounds heavier than is good for my medium-sized frame to handle. Not running has gotten me here.

So I'm trying something new. I'm running again, not pushing myself, but running enough to see how my body feels and what hurts and what doesn't. Day 3 of running seems to be going well enough, and my body feels better than it has in at least six months. For now, I'm chalking "not running" up to a long line of "shouldn'ts" that I let myself follow unwittingly for far too long. It's right up there with "You shouldn't shave your head," or "You shouldn't date girls" or "You shouldn't quit your lucrative-but-unsatisfying job to go to law school." Next time someone tells me I shouldn't do something, I hope I remember all this.

Carma

I lost my car tonight, sort of. I had some vague recollection of where I parked, but couldn't quite remember where I had left it. This thing happens to me more than one might think prudent, but it always kind of amuses me. (Except, of course, when it doesn't.) I mean, I know I left the car somewhere, so why get all worked up about it? It'll be there. I am grateful for the thingamajig on my key chain that makes my faithful Honda beep when I'm within firing range. That's a bonus, and shortens my aimless wandering in giant shopping mall parking lots by at least a couple of miles. Anyway, the car showed up, about 5 blocks into my search, sitting there, patiently awaiting my return. He looked happy to see me.

Gotta Run

Someone told me today that weight gain is a good indicator that something is/was wrong with your relationship. I gained 30 pounds last year. That's a lot of wrong, no?

So I decided that this summer was the right time to start running. Well, really, I decided that today was the right time to start running. It wasn't a long run. In my track team days, it would have been a warm-up run -- you know, before the real run. But still, it felt pretty good. Except for the mild asthma attack at the end. (Note to self: Take inhaler before running. Makes that whole breathing thing easier.) There's nothing like running down the street, or in the woods, or somewhere and watching the world whoosh by. (Okay, today, it was a pretty slow whoosh, but still.) And the high... there's nothing like it.

My Mom Retired Today

For the past 15 years, my mom has taught pre-K and Headstart students at The Livingston School, a public elementary school in central New Jersey. We figured it out tonight, and she's taught about 800 students over the years. It's a pretty amazing thing, being a child's first teacher. She's the one who teaches them the ways of the world: their colors and shapes, their numbers, and all about how to play nice with the other kids. She teaches them about different cultures, and holidays, and helps them make really cool pet rocks.

My mom and I are very different, in almost every way possible, from politics to lifestyle to general approaches to living. And though we may often disagree, I can say with the utmost certainty that my mom is an amazing teacher. One of the best. I've seen it with my own eyes, and I've read the letters that her students and parents have written her over the years. Mothers of past students have begged her not to retire, so that their younger children might have "Mrs. B___" as their first teacher. But today was her last day, after a month of parties and send-offs by other teachers, the PTA and the Board of Education. I didn't want the day to pass without writing something commemorating such a special occasion. Hats off to you, mom. The Livingston School won't be the same without you next fall.

BarBri Recap: The Barren Cow, Mixed-up Chickens, Bad Yogurt, and the Guy Who Stole My Seat

7 hours of Contracts is 6 hours and 55 minutes too much. Really, it challenged my attention span, which is flea-like to begin with. The picture in this post is of David Epstein, who was today's lecturer and is typically a professor at SMU. He has a good sense of humor, but well, I don't think I learned much. Something about a barren cow and mutual mistake, some chickens, and coffee beans that ended up having rat poo in them. Don't ask.

While I didn't learn much to help for the bar, I did learn some other important life lessons, though:

No. 1: I learned that WaWa coffee is a very important part of my life. There was a bad accident on Lincoln Drive this morning, and it took more than twice as long to get to BarBri this morning, about an hour. To make it on time to class, we would have had to forgo the java. The coffee's not even that good-- I mean, it's Wawa -- but well, the thought of no piping-hot-energy-in-a-cup just about made me want to cry. So we were late.

No. 2: Yogurt is not always your friend. I was so proud of myself, having some raspberry yogurt for breakfast -- nutritious and delicious, I thought, when I pulled it out an hour into the lecture. First, I averted near disaster when the lid almost slid off my little board-that-serves-as-a-desk and into my lap. And then, a little later I realized how very ill I felt. Vomitous. Vomoli. Nauseaous. Digestively compromised. You get the idea. Anyway, nothing like sitting 10 rows up in the most cheaply constructed stadium seats money can buy, and trying to figure out how to walk down them and out of the auditorium without a) tripping or b) losing my cookies, er, yogurt.

At the risk of offering up too much information, I'll let you know that I averted the horror of barfing in the public stalls with a brisk walk to CVS and a nice big dose of Pepto Bismol. Bad yogurt or lactose intolerant? You decide.

No. 3: Be suspicious of people who wear big numbers on the front of their shirts. I have been Row J, Seat 1 since the first week of BarBri. I like the aisle. I feel at home there, surrounded by my BarBri buddies who laugh at my jokes and offer me Twizzlers. It's like a second home. And I think most people are all settled in: Amber and Park behind me, Lisa on my left, Joan and Kristen in front of me, Christina and Bob and Ryan across the aisle. Everyone's got their seats. Except No. 45. He stole my seat today. Leaving me in Row H, Seat 3. I was not happy. I felt squished, uncomfortable, like a fish out of water.

The only solace that came from the whole matter is that my seatmates were properly outraged by the incident. Amber even kicked his seat a couple of times for me. If he comes back tomorrow, I'm putting a horse's head on his seat. It'll be war.

Being Gay in 2005

Tonight, I was part of an anti-homophobia workshop for a summer program of 18-24 year-olds from around the world. Though I've done things like it before, tonight I was mostly observing. And I'm so glad I did, because it was so great to be able to see their different facial expressions: some were really into it, and excited, and others looked sort of surly, and others like they were really struggling and thinking about oppression and sexism and homophobia and it was really pretty great.

At the end of the night, we did the "privilege walk." Everyone lines up across the back of the room, and the facilitator reads statements, like "I never feel afraid to walk alone at night" or "I have never been yelled at for being in the wrong sex bathroom" or "My family accepts the partners I bring home into our family." The idea is for it to be a visual representation of the way oppression and disenfranchisement work in our society: some people end up way in the front, and others in the back, just like in real life.

It made me think about how being a lesbian has shaped, and continues to shape, my life. I am openly gay to everyone in my life, because it was the only thing that made sense for me. I spent a long time trying to be someone else, and it didn't go very well. I am politically aware and active, mostly because I am mad at the ways that I am continually discriminated against, and I hope that maybe one day, it won't be like that. I live in an area of the city that is gay-friendly. But it goes deeper than that. Sometimes, in these times in particular, it just feels so frustratingly sad to be gay.

To be sure, it's better to be gay now in the U.S. than at any other time in history. And my privilege in other ways sometimes shields me from homophobia. But I am also acutely aware of the ways that my second-class citizenship impacts not only my decisionmaking process, but also, my relationships. My brother recently brought a new girlfriend to a family gathering, and my parents fawned over her, as perhaps they should. They asked her questions, and were friendly, and generally made her feel welcome. I thought back over the last three years, and how they treated my now ex-girlfriend. And though they tried to make her feel welcome, they often failed. They didn't know how to talk about our relationship together. They didn't really ask about our relationship, except in the most cursory ways, until it was over. And now that it is over, they aren't quite sure how to act.

The result is that this impacts my relationship not only with them, but also with my brother and his new girlfriend, and with my (now ex-) girlfriend. I don't entirely, or even mostly, fault my parents for this dynamic. I expect that they will continue to learn and grow to the extent that I ask them to. But sometimes, I wish it weren't so fucking hard. And here's the thing: this experience is not unique. It's one of the hidden costs of institutional homophobia and heterosexism. It plays itself out between families and friends and co-workers and colleagues and acquaintances every day, again and again and again. And tonight, that's what makes it feel so sad.

Bar Prep v. Exam Prep

Me preparing for the bar exam looks a lot like me preparing for final exams. Today's process, after this morning's inane BarBri lecture (see earlier post):

* Lunch with best friend

* Contemplate a nap

* Contemplate the dishes

* Contemplate the laundry

* Drink some Fresca

* Look in the fridge

* Play with new computer

* Decide to import all of my CDs (about 150-200) onto my iPod

* Begin importing

* Update blog

* Email almost every friend I can think of that I have not spoken with in the past 48 hours

* Update blog

* Contemplate study methodology for the bar

* Decide that I like colored index cards

* Search desk drawer for colored index cards

* Update blog

* Check email

* Check email

* Check email

* Decide to go buy colored index cards

Things They Tell You at BarBri that They Really Shouldn't

1. "Bring 5 pencils." (It's better than the 3 pencils that the Bar Examiners recommend.)
2. "Bring pens."
3. "Bring pens with black ink."
4. "Bring ID."
5. "Make a photocopy of your license if you don't have a passport in case you get mugged and your driver's license gets stolen the night before the exam. They might not accept the copy as valid ID, and it is illegal to photocopy your license, but you should do this anyway just in case."
6. "Look at maps so you know how to get to the testing center."
7. "An common abbreviation for Negligent Infliction of Emotional Distress is NIED."

The Joy of the Fluffernutter

I might have written about this before -- it seems vaguely familiar -- but I am astounded once again at the simple joy that comes from the Fluffernutter. Just like a little slice of heaven here on earth: 2 pieces of whole wheat bread, some Skippy (creamy, not chunky) peanut butter, and a bunch of Fluff, washed down with a big glass of milk (Lactaid skim for me).

The Best Answer I've Heard to "How did you end up in law school?"

"I read 'What Colour is Your Parachute?' and did all of the exercises, the journal entries and everything, and I talked to some of my parents' friends who are lawyers, and it seemed like the right thing for me." It just seems like such a thoughtful way to approach finding a way to be in the world. If you don't have that "I know in my gut what I should be doing with my life," I think this is the next best thing.

Camp BarBri, and How Life Changes When You Least Expect It

So, not done after all.

It's a cruel joke of the law school experience that they hand you a diploma just a couple of days before they send you off to Camp BarBri for daily 3-7-hour lectures and lots of legal Mad Libs. For the unitiated, BarBri is the monopolistic bar review course that most students take before the bar exam. They give you a half-dozen or so 2-inch thick books, and send professors to lecture to you in a fill-in-the-blank format. Sort of reminscent of the teacher in Ferris Bueller's Day Off who says "Whaaaat economics? Anyone? Anyone? VOO-DOO economics..." Or something like that.

I'm a little rusty from not blogging the last month. Forgive me.

Pre-BarBri, law school graduation was one of the happiest days of my life. I've wanted to go to law school since I was 10 years old and watched the trial of my cousin's murderer, and it was just so cool to put on my cap and gown and walk across the stage and shake the dean's hand and get this giant diploma and smile a lot. For so long, I've been talking about wanting to go to law school, it feels a little surreal that it's actually over.

But the weeks following graduation have not been what I expected. My partner (of 3.5 years) and I split up. Well, really, she broke up with me, but that makes it sound more one-sided than it feels to me. She moved out of our home last week. It was and continues to be amicable and caring and complicated and often, sad.

One of the things I have learned in the last month is that I have great friends. They have taken care of me and fed me and taken me to do fun things (see below) and not-so-fun things (like buy all of the household items that were suddenly not in my household anymore). I feel comforted by their care, and by my ability to take care of myself. To write and draw and go to therapy and go to the grocery store and do all of the things that make me sane. I didn't do a lot of those things for a lot of this past year, and really, it made me a much grumpier person. At least inside.

I've also met some really great people at BarBri. Cram 250 of us in a big lecture hall, and well, I feel like we should just sing Kumbaya and have s'mores. The social-ness of it has been a blessing for me. Of course, I should probably be a little less social, and a little more, er, with the studying. With the breakup and moveout, I have not been so much about the studying.

I spent the weekend painting my new home, and rearranging, and thinking about how I wanted my home to feel. I also saw Melissa Ferrick and Holly Near in concert. If either is coming to your town/city/state/continent, go see them. They were inspirational in the very best sense of the word. And the concert was outdoors, which makes it better. Pretty much everything is better outdoors, in my mind. (Yes, that too.)

The other big thing that happened is my hard drive died. (When it rains, it pours, eh?) I got most of my files off of it, thanks to a computer guru at Temple that I will forever be indebted to. (Thank you, Dan.) I bought an iMac, which is cool, but weird when all of my PC-minded shortcuts don't work.

So that's the update for now. I'll write more later, just wanted to finally get something up.