And Wednesday, and Thursday. On Friday, the drinking.
The extra exclamation points were for emphasis. So was the capitalization.
And this is the image that's going to be in my head the whoooooole time:
July 2005 Archives
Now that I've graduated from UC Berkeley twice, I'm really losing patience with college hangouts.
Dr. M and I just got back from Yogurt Park, where there was a line out the door. Sure, whatever, it's probably an orientation weekend and the kids like the yogurt. As it turns out the initial delay was being caused by a self-important young woman who insisted on sampling half the flavors before making her decision. Whatever. There were only six flavors and it didn't take that long. Then a pair of sun-bleached surfers approached the counter and, after some initial hemming and hawing, asked for another two samples.
Side note: Today's flavors were English toffee, Irish mint, caramel fudge eclair, fresh strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla. The initial sampler was double-fisting some Irish mint and eclair action, which was understandable since those are some freaky flavors. The surfer woman, who judging by the sound of her voice had smoked her weight in marijuana during her lifetime, asked to sample vanilla. Then she changed her mind and asked to sample chocolate. Her request to add five minutes to everyone's evening in order to feel out the two most common dessert flavors in the known universe lent more creedence to my ganja hypothesis.
Apparently her evening would have been ruined if she had momentarily forgotten what chocolate tasted like and mistakenly ordered it, not realizing she didn't like it. I'm glad that she forestalled that particular catastrophe, but a small part of me still hopes she immediately dropped her yogurt into the gutter upon leaving the store and then got hit by a bus trying to retrieve it.
Oh, and once she made her decision after much weighty deliberation, she took a few extra minutes to have the bewildered yogurt barista explain a few of the more outre toppings to her before settling on Reese's Penisbutter Cups.
Yes, I'm getting a little edgy as the count-down dwindles. I do not ask for your pardon, for soon the Black Tongue of Mordor may be heard throughout Middle Earth. That's right, even here in Rivendell you smug elf bastard.
This post over to[sic] GG's blog reminded me that I forgot to pick up a new battery for my stupid laptop this summer. My current battery lasts about ten minutes. No, really, Ten minutes. When the power source is disconnected it tells me it has three hours, but about five minutes later the little meter is down to about half capacity. No problem, right? How hard can it be to find a battery for a three-year old laptop?
A little harder than all that, it turns out. CompUSA didn't have them in stock, so I had to jackass all the way out to Fry's in Concord. This was actually nice, since I managed to avoid shopping at CompUSA, a store that I hate for a variety of reasons. Nonetheless I was a little irked at having to shop at a store whose radio spots I abhor:
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at Fry's."
Anyway, I got the stupid battery and now I'm all set for the inevitable power failure, flood, locust swarm, political upheaval, or whatever else the fates decide to place between me and a career as a lawyer.
And now, some comforting statistics from the July 2004 Bar Exam:
Overall pass rate: 48.2% (Ouch! BUT...)
First-timer pass rate: 62.8% (Lookin' good....)
First-timers from ABA-approved schools: 69.4%
First-timers from Boalt: 87% (Nice!)
First-timers from UCLA: 87% (Boo yeah!*)
*For a while there UCLA had the highest pass rate in California, something obscene like 94%, with Boalt and Stanford jockeying for the silver in the high 80s. Now Stanford is at 91% and Boalt hasn't gone anywhere, but at least my transferrin' heart won't be burdened by knowing my old school had a higher pass rate.
Alameda's enemies of economic freedom are currently waging a PR war against a planned multiplex on the island. I drove past a police rummage sale on my way home from the gym just now and saw a bunch of them holding signs. Most of them just said "Stop the Megaplex," but one said "This is NOT Walnut Creek!" This made me think of a few things.
First, I thought it would be funny if a married couple drove past and were arguing over whether they were, in fact, in Walnut Creek, and the wife saw the sign and said "See! Right there! 'This is not Walnut Creel.'"
But more importantly, what's wrong with Walnut Creek? I like Walnut Creek. If you're going to criticize East Bay cities based on their ungainly shopping centers, why not start with Emeryville? Emeryville is terrible. I hate everything about Emeryville. I resent the fact that so many stores that I find myself needing or strongly desiring to shop at are in Emeryville. Also, Emeryville is a lot closer than Walnut Creek, so reminding people that there's a god-awful multiplex in Emeryville might endear them to the cause of keeping one out of Alameda. But drawing the comparison to Walnut Creek suggests that you'd have to jackass all the way into the Deep East Bay to find a giant movie theater, in which case a multiplex in Alameda might not be so bad.
So, "This is NOT Walnut Creek" Lady, if you're reading this, maybe get a new sign. And if you keep talking smack about the W.C. I'll have to punch you repeatedly in the groin.
My friend is selling her Civic, so I'm providing some free advertising space to her because that's the kind of guy I am.
I managed to lose my iPod earphones yesterday. This was very upsetting, because ever since I got the iPod a few months ago I've taken great pains to preserve the little black foam things that go over the ear pieces. And I managed to hang onto them right up until I lost the earpieces themselves.
I set off to the Emeryville Apple Store this afternoon in search of replacement earphones (I know I'm studying for the Bar, but I rationalized this decision based on the fact that I need to be able to listen to the PMBR lectures while working out). Knowing that iPod earphones, being cheap little beasts, had a fair market value of maybe five dollars, I was nonetheless prepared to pay up to $20 for them, knowing what I know about the way Apple conducts its affairs.
[Side complaint here: The Apple Store itself is a monument to Apple's irrational commitment to style over utility. Every other store at the Emeryville mall has a shingle hanging over the sidewalk, rendering them easy to locate and identify. Apple, not wanting to disturb its pristine cubic facade, has no such shingle, meaning that when looking for the Apple Store one must crane one's head up and to the right, as opposed to just up. I almost always have to pass by at least twice before finding it.]
When I arrived at the Apple Store I went over to the iPod accessory section and found a small box (not just a card with plastic molding, of course -- a fucking box) with my coveted replacement earphones, along with a remote control for the iPod. The price for this combined, inseparable package: US$39.99. I didn't, and still have not, allowed my mind to travel down the path of imagining what possible utility could be served by a remote control for a portable device. I can almost understand having a remote for those stupid speakers that you can stick your iPod into, but it simply defies rational thought to imagine earphones and a remote control being used at the same time. I don't want to dwell on this, because my head will explode.
A green-shirted hipster confirmed that the earphones were unavailable without the remote control. I thanked him, put the little box on a shelf (not where I found it), and exited the store. I walked about 100 feet and became a living illustration of how retarded it is for Apple to bundle replacement earphones with a useless remote control at double the price. Entering a non-chain audio-video store, I quickly found a pair of Sony plug-style earphones for $20. I declined the two-year extended warranty for an extra five dollars and went on my way, secure in the knowledge that Apple, arrogant though it is, has yet to develop a proprietary audio interface (my Aiwa tape deck adapter works just dandily with my iPod).
The bottom line: I cannot wait until the portable mp3 player market really opens up and Apple starts getting killed by more sensible rivals, companies who understand that apart from the dying breed of Apple loyalists, most people would trade an ounce of prettiness for a pound of utility. I don't care if I have to re-rip all of my CDs. It'll be worth it to never have to deal with Apple ever again.
I got an e-mail from BarBri this afternoon that contained two pieces of information: (1) Good luck on the Bar Exam (aw, thanks), and (2) Please return all your BarBri books by December 2nd to get your security deposit back.
I had no idea they wanted the goddamn books back. But apparently I have to gather up all the pages I've torn out ("simply insert the loose pages inside the book cover") and after the Bar Exam pack all this shit together and jackass it around with me when I move down to the Peninsula, not to mention find a place to keep it for two months while I await my Bar results. BarBri will get all my doodlings of demons and boobies and people in my class, my firm will get their security deposit back, and next year's unscrupulous black market bar preppers will have one less set of unauthorized merchandise to choose from. In your face, U.S. Copyright Act Section 109.
As part of an explanatory answer regarding why gender-segregated dorms at a public university don't trigger intermediate Equal Protection scrutiny:
"There is no purposeful sex discrimination in keeping co-ed bathrooms, locker rooms, and sleeping quarters sex-segregated."
Ten days out, I'm laying my PMBR books to rest once and for all. It's BarBri or nothing from here on out.
As I've mentioned before, I greatly resent California's gross over-emphasis on morality and ethics with respect to becoming an attorney. This resentment has translated into a mental bock regarding all the ethical crap I need to know for the Bar Exam, though after spending a few hours on it this morning it's beginning to crystallize.
I'm finding that, despite the fact that California makes you do four morally-related feats of strength before becoming a lawyer (a semester of Professional Responsibility, the moral character application, the MPRE, and the Professional Responsibility coverage on the Bar Exam), California is actually a rogue state when it comes to legal ethics. Bar takers are responsible for the ABA rules along with California's deviations therefrom, and California's deviations are many and significant.
For example, under the ABA Rules a lawyer may breach confidentiality if the lawyer believes it is necessary to prevent death, serious bodily injury, or serious financial loss to a third party. In California, a lawyer cannot breach confidentiality to prevent financial harm only. Another (more mundane but slightly more revealing) exception concerns lawyers purchasing the intellectual property rights to the the client's story. Under the ABA rules the lawyer has to wait until the representation has concluded. In California, the lawyer can buy the rights during trial, as long as the judge passes off on it. Our lecturer's advice in this regard was "Think Hollywood."
But my absolute favorite California distinction concerns perjury in criminal cases. Under the ABA rules (and the Constitution for that matter), a criminal defense attorney lawyer cannot prevent his client from testifying, even if the attorney knows that the client intends to commit perjury. When faced with this problem, the ABA rules require the lawyer to (1) attempt to talk his client into testifying truthfully or not testifying at all, and, failing that, to (2) withdraw from representation and (3) tell the judge if necessary.
In California, you're supposed to try to talk your client out of it. If that doesn't work, you may (but are not required to) withdraw, and you may allow your client to perjure herself as long as you don't provide any affirmative assistance. This means that a lawyer can allow a client to testify "in a narrative form," without furthering the perjury with specific questions, and the lawyer cannot refer to the perjury in closing argument. This means that a lawyer can knowingly present false evidence in a criminal trial in California.
So perhaps the real reason for all this emphasis on professional responsibility is to ensure that California lawyers know exactly what they can get away with.
For most of my life I've been keeping a secret from everyone I know. I've managed to fool my family, my wife, my friends, my colleagues, I've even managed to fool myself. Until today. Today, after two and a half decades of deceit, I was forced to confront a terrible secret that has shaken the very foundation of my identity.
I'm not allergic to nuts.
I had an appointment with an allergist today in Walnut Creek. The main purpose of the visit was to determine whether I'm allergic to fish and shellfish (spoiler: I'm not). Dr M and I figured this would be a good thing to know in advance of our trip to Hawaii after the bar exam. So I went in for a full allergy skin-prick test. I told the doctor that I had been allergic to nuts and peanuts all my life, and yet for some reason he decided to go ahead and include all the nut tests in the work-up (along with representative samples of grass, weeds, trees, fish, dander, dust, and mold).
When the time came for the pricking, I laid patiently on my stomach while the nurse tore her attention away from my gym-toned physique long enough to apply twenty or so toxins to the topmost layer of skin on my back (sadly, she chose not to test guinea pig dander). She returned twenty minutes later and told me that I had a bunch of positives - mainly grass and trees. But I also had a lot of negatives.
Pine nuts: Negative.
Walnuts: Negative.
Almonds: Negative.
Cashews: Negative.
Surely, this was poppycock. In 1999 I ate pesto for the first time and had a violent reaction that could only be explained by pine nuts. The first time I ate at Smart Aleck's I broke out in hives, no doubt because their stupid hippie veggie burgers were loaded with nuts. The doctor had made a mistake.
So they tested again. They gave me an undiluted dose of pine nut on my forearm, so I could see for myself. Five minutes passed. Nothing. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Nothing. No reaction at all.
Still skeptical, the doctor told me to go get another test at the Tang Center lab. He also gave me something to take for my constant throat clearing, which was good. He also told me that I was severely allergic to dust mites (or, more precisely, dust mite poo) - in fact, I'm more allergic to dust mites than I am to peanuts. I'm not allergic to fish or shellfish at all. He didn't test insect venom or horse dander.
Cut to a few hours later, when Dr M and I are enjoying a much-delayed Italian dinner at Lo Coco in Berkeley. I order pasta with two giant meatballs. One meatball later, meatball number two crumbles open to reveal several whole pine nuts. I had just eaten pine nuts. A whole giant meatball's worth.
It was time to get to the bottom of this once and for all. At Dr M's suggestion, I forked an entire pine nut, put it into my mouth, chewed, swallowed, and lived. No tingling in the throat, no swollen tongue, no irrational compulsion to eat everything in sight to get rid of the taste.
Since returning home I've eaten two almonds. Almonds taste pretty good, it turns out. Make that three almonds. Also, since leaving the restaurant Dr M has been naming every food she can think of that has nuts in it that I can now eat. Fresh pesto sauce, walnut chocolate chip cookies, almond butter, Almond Joy!
This is all very strange to me. I'm not sure I know myself anymore.
The good news is, I'm still allergic to peanuts. That's one thing I'm not giving up.
Stop it. All of you. Stop starting blog entries with the word "So". It adds precisely nothing to your post and just looks ridiculous. Especially when it's the fourth or fifth introductory "So" I've seen in the past twenty minutes of blog reading.
I don't know where people picked up this casual over-use of the word "so," but I suspect it's somehow related to the popularization of the use of "so" as a verb modifier ("I am so going to the store right now."), for which I blame Friends. First, "so" showed up as a cutesy, meaningless emphasizer in mundane sentences, and the next thing you know it's the obligatory introduction of 90% of the nation's blog entries. It doesn't have to be. Stop it.
What I really think is going on here is that people are trying to blog like they talk. In conversation, people often start out with the word "So" in order to indicate to their listeners that what they're about to say may be vaguely interesting, but not important. For example, consider the differences in hearing the following two statements.
"So I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants this weekend."
"I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants this weekend."
If you heard option one, you'd think to yourself, "This person is just talking to me because they feel like talking to me, which is fine, because I like this person, and it doesn't really matter what we're talking about because we're friends. We'll talk about The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants for a while, then maybe talk about something else, and maybe we'll make out later. Not in a gay way, but whatever happens happens."
But if you heard the latter option, you'd think to yourself, "Oh my God, this person really wants to tell me about The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. She said it with such force and purpose that this movie must be the sine qua non of our present conversation, and she wouldn't be talking to me if she hadn't seen The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants this weekend."
That's all well and good. It makes sense in conversation. If you're just hanging out with someone, you don't want to make it seem like anything is particularly important, because the experience of visiting with someone is more important than what you actually talk about. But blogs are different. Blog entries are published material. You read a blog. You don't need to be disarmed by a de-emphasizing "So" at the beginning of the blog entry. You can draw your own conclusions as to how interesting the post is. When I see the word "So" at the beginning of a blog entry, I think to myself, "This person is just blogging because they're bored. Whatever they have to say must not be very interesting to them, so why the hell should I be interested absent the benefit of direct, interpersonal interaction? Screw this, I'm looking at porn."
So please. For the love of Blod. Save your keyboard the wear and tear of those three useless keystrokes and leave out the word "So." Or use it only for its intended purposes: to emphasize an adjective or adverb (not a fucking verb, you Friends-quoting roustabouts), or as an indicator of causality. For example:
Correct: Matt is so handsome.
Also Correct: Matt writes so well.
Incorrect: Matt is so going to pass the bar.
Lame: So I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants this weekend.
Acceptable: I have terrible taste in movies, so I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants this weekend.
A combination of a kick-ass performance on the simulated MBE last week and the fact that this is a holiday weekend has inspired me to put down the books for a while and make a comic strip. It's the largest strip I've ever posted in terms of frame count, but it doesn't have any ink on it. Always a trade-off with me.
For the record, the girl in frame seven is not based on anyone in particular.
