It's snowing in the city.

Once again, I've taken a longer hiatus from this than I intended. My sincerest apologies. The simple reason for my prolonged absence from the blogosphere is that I began working three weeks ago. And it has taken over my life. Once an avid (ok, somewhat enthusiastic) bar-goer on weeknights, I have transformed into the get home from work and crawl into bed exhausted, with or without dinner, type. It's pathetic.

Ok, glad we got that out of the way. I will now address interesting things that have happened in my life since last time.

I bought my first business class ticket (Amtrak), and I will never go back to coach (depending, of course, on my financial situation). I made my way up to Beantown to see Small Asian Friend, the Cousins, and the famous Auntie Bevy for Thanksgiving. As usual, the company was superb, and the food (other than Thanksgiving Day) was terrific. In fact, I ate so much in the week leading up to Turkey Day and its immediate aftermath that when I tried on the new dress pants I had purchased way back in October for my first day of work the Monday after T-Day, they were all too small. YIKES. You'll be happy to know three weeks later they fit just fine. Phew. Anyhoo, the holiday (like all holidays, let's be honest) consisted of lots of shopping and lots of eating- things the B family do rather well. The real kicker happened on the way home. Mother and Pops were driving me back to the city on their way home, and Brother got the front seat. That meant Mom and I sat in the back, with barely enough room between us to fit my laptop. There was (obviously) a sale at some random place in Connecticut that we just HAD to stop at on the way home, and two hours later, I was sandwiched between Mother and boxes of newly purchased items, packed right up to the ceiling. The Manhattan skyline's approach was never quite as exciting as it was that day.

I saw the next installment in The Twilight Saga. What a poor decision. Other than Taylor's abs and KStew's mouth, there was really nothing of interest in the entire film. The acting was so bad, I felt weird sitting there, watching them. It was so melodramatic and over the top that I wondered whether they had actually just filmed the preliminary rehearsals and said "good enough." I guess that's what happens when you make a movie whose target audience couldn't care less about plot or character development, or acting, or...dignity. Apparently, the teeny boppers are happy as long as Pattinson is making creepy eyes at KStew, and as long as their terribly awkward (but of course deeply passionate) kisses contain enough heavy breathing to fill the theater with the minty fresh scent of Certs. Please don't make me go on.

I also saw Up in the Air. [SPOILER ALERT. Skip to the next paragraph if you want to be surprised about what emotion you're feeling when you leave the theater after seeing this movie.] It was way better than New Moon. Clooney is still the man, and while the end is incredibly depressing, I really liked the movie up to that point.

I made it out to Brooklyn for the first time since moving back to NY. Dr. Dog was playing down at the Brooklyn Bowl in Williamsburg. It was a pretty strange/awesome venue- bowling lanes on one side and huge open area in front of a raised stage on the other side. It was hipster-tastic (a sea of flannel and 80's-style sunglasses). The music was decent, too. OH, and there was fake snow! Speaking of the white stuff, it's been snowing here for most of today. A snow-capped city is so pretty. Now if only I didn't have to go outside tomorrow, it'd be just perfect. But alas, life must go on. At least I don't have to worry about how I'm going to get Otto out of the driveway or whether he has enough wiper fluid.

One final thought: So I have no idea what random email list I signed up for, but in the past two days I have received over fifty spam messages. Come on, people! Get your act together and stop selling my email address to creepos. Kudos, however, to the folks at gmail for sorting out spam with such precision and accuracy. I am extremely appreciative of your efforts.

Just say no to caffeine.

First thing's first. If you ever see me consuming a caffeinated beverage (even mildly caffeinated) after 430pm, kindly knock the drink out of my hand. Tonight was a brisk, windy evening in lower Manhattan, and on my walk back from the grocery store, I (of course) passed a Starbucks. From outside the slightly fogged window, I could see the little Christmas-y cups dancing with delight at the hope that I might venture in and take one of them home. I couldn't resist, so I went inside and ordered the only liquid sold in Starbucks that I enjoy: a grande non-fat no-foam chai. As always, I burned my tongue at the first taste of the sweet nectar, but I didn't let that stop me from sipping it all the way back to my apartment, and then throughout two episodes of The Sopranos, season 1. Yes, I like to nurse my drinks- even the non-alcoholic kind. Fast forward eight hours, and here I am, lying in bed, utterly unable to fall asleep. I have read chapter after chapter in my bedside book, hoping it will put me to sleep, but then I turn out the lights and all I can pay attention to is my heartbeat and the sounds coming from my cable box. Pathetic. Moral of the story: Starbucks is vicious. It lures you into its stores late at night, with the promise of peppermint and pumpkin spice, only to keep you from sleeping well, if at all. Then you awake the next morning, having slept for a good two hours, and desperately in need of some caffeine with which to jump start your day. So you head back there, and it starts all over again. If I didn't love capitalism so much, I'd hate it.

Moving on. If you have spent any time with me since I moved into Manhattan, you may have heard me complain about my next-door neighbor and his penchant for late night viewings of slasher movies in his apartment. Or, at least that's what it sounds like through my wall. During my first few weeks at my new residence, I would often hear muffled scary music and women screaming through the wall. This, as you can imagine, was a tad disconcerting. I also heard my neighbor during the day, usually talking on the phone, and usually about going out and using a lot of "dude" and "come on, man" and such. That led me to believe he was not some creepy forty year old man, but rather a creepy twenty-something, either unemployed or working from home. Well, I finally met my neighbor. In a building full of young people, where girls look you up and down before deciding whether to smile back at you in the elevator, and your "hello" and "have a good night" are met with half smiles or nods or absolutely nothing, it is a huge shock to the system when anyone strikes up a conversation. A few days ago, I was in the lobby waiting for the elevator. A young guy stood nearby, but did not look up when I walked over. When the door opened, he motioned for me to enter first. How gentlemanly. I thanked him and walked in and then asked him which floor. He said the number of the floor I live on. I said, "Oh, I guess we're neighbors." And he said "Why yes, I guess so. What's your name?" He asked if I had just moved in, and for some reason (probably as some sort of explanation for my being in the building midday on a weekday, clearly not in work clothes) I disclosed that I've been living here for months but I don't start work till the end of the month so I'm just chilling. He said he wasn't working right now either, that he'd be back at work next month. [Longest elevator ride ever.] We arrived at our floor, and the Gentleman stepped back as I exited first. I went to my door and as he walked past me to the door directly next to mine, he said, "We're neighbors, all right." I said, "Oh, you're next door, huh?" And he said, "Yeah, hope I'm not too loud," with a smile. I wanted so badly to say, "Well, actually, yes, you are. Especially at night. When you're watching horror movies at full volume while I'm trying to fall asleep." But I said, "Oh, it's all good." Who even says that?? So now that I've officially met my neighbor, I'm relieved to see he's a normal-ish young person, even if he likes to watch slasher movies at night. Oh, and one more thing. He plays wii fit during the day. I know the music from watching Brother play it all summer. I am tempted to one day go over and ask if I can play, too. But I think we need to have at least one more run-in at the elevator before that's acceptable behavior.

This week I did something I've been meaning to do since I moved back. I went to the gorgeous midtown New York City Public Library and acquired a library card. This place is amazing. I felt like a rockstar studying in Olin and Hugh & Hazel, but those libraries can't even begin to compare to this one. It's huge and imposing and inviting and embracing all at once. I think I could get lost for days in there and not even notice - or care. It's really too bad Carrie Bradshaw decided to try to get married at the New York Public Library. Because I would totally love to have my wedding there. But she ruined it for every New York girl. Now if I chose to have my wedding there (assuming they even allow weddings to take place inside and assuming my future Someone would be down for it, too), I'd be copying. Blast.

Good things happen in November.

I am a somewhat superstitious individual. I have to set my alarm and microwave timer to certain numbers. I have to sleep with things a certain way. I have to shave a certain leg first. And I have to wake up and, before I can say anything else, say a certain word on the first day of each month.

I forgot to say that word when I woke up on November 1, 2009.

I woke up at my parents' house on the morning of November 1, and said, "whyyyy?" to Pops, as he opened my door to wake me up way too early. He shrugged and left. Then I freaked out. I thought about all the things November would bring, and then thought about how everything might turn out terribly because I forgot to say it. So I said it 10 times really fast, in hopes that this would save my month from being a complete disaster. -- So far, so good. In the first week of November, the Yankees won the World Series and I passed the Bar Exam. Comparable achievements, I'd say.

In other news: In the past two months or so, I have been running into people I know constantly. Over 8 million people reside in New York City. Of those 8 million, I probably know about one hundred. I'm no math whiz, but I'd say the odds of running into people I know should be pretty slim. And I don't mean just running into people from school at alumni events (of which I have attended zero) or seeing someone from work a few blocks away from the office (which I have successfully avoided being near during work hours).

I ran into a friend from high school on my way to the movies, in a part of town in which none of the movie-goers lived. During a recent trip, I ran into an ex's best friend (to whom I have not spoken since said ex and I broke up more than a year ago) in a random part of LA. I ran into a college friend around the corner from my apartment, and then another one at the airport on my way home from Austin. I ran into Sister's best friend from high school at a candy store in Manhattan, and I ran into a soon-to-be co-worker who lives in Brooklyn, buying a shower curtain in downtown Manhattan. Today, while eating lunch, I ran into an old camp friend I hadn't seen since before I went to college, and a few weeks ago I ran into someone from that same camp in a Starbucks on the upper west side. There is only one explanation for all of this. I am clearly emitting some sort of magnetic force that is pulling anyone I've ever met in my life towards me. [Did I mention I just watched Fantastic Four 1 and 2?] This is a warning, people. If you see someone with newly trimmed bangs who you think might be me, even in a random part of town where I would be unlikely to step foot, it's me. Say hello. Or smile and wave. Or nod. Or just walk past me with the knowledge that you avoided an awkward run-in. (But then, if a run-in with me would be awkward, then why are you reading my blog? Huh? Right.)

One more thing: Maine, I used to like you. A lot. I shopped at your outlet malls and ate your fine fresh shellfish. I enjoyed your cute little seaside towns and trading posts and took advantage of your lower sales tax. But, Maine, you have let me down. While I will still probably do all of the things I just mentioned, I now like you less. That is all.

To the stables and beyond.

One of the best things about being back in New York is the unique opportunity for style watching this city offers. Fall is an especially interesting time to observe people's fashion choices, as New Yorkers rush to show off their new winter wear the minute the temperature drops below 60 degrees. A fashion trend of particular importance this fall seems to be the leggings-boots combo. Now, I'll be the first to defend leggings. They're super comfy, wearable with all kinds of footwear and jewelry, and acceptable bottoms at most nighttime establishments. They come in different fabrics, patterns, and colors, and you can pair them with t-shirts, dressy shirts, belts...the options are endless! And, of course, I like boots, too. I'll wear cowboy boots, short-heeled boots, suede flat boots, and UGG-type boots (but only in appropriate weather conditions, unlike most of Los Angeles...). I'm also a big fan of the riding boots lots of women are wearing these days. I have no basis for this, but I credit Ralph Lauren with the popularity of this style. Pair it with the right tweed jacket, and these cosmopolitan women look like they're ready for a day at the stables. It's so country. So British. Ah, just love it. But my personal tastes aside, some of the boots women are wearing this fall border on the absolute ridiculous. Above-the-knee stiletto pointy-toed boots? Thigh-high leather boots so tight they look like they were painted on- and without zippers? Tall boots instead of pants? Check out this slide show to see what I'm talking about. The boots and women pictured here are in Paris, but clearly New York women are taking their fall fashion cues from the French.

Brother and I spent yesterday morning and afternoon peddling our latest art prints [check out the Famous Seniors art at www.senioritis.net] in Union Square. Wow, what an interesting cross-section of New Yorkers. We set up our table on the west side of the park, next to this awesome comic writer/illustrator who describes his work as "The Far Side meets the Bible." [His name is Cuyler Black if you want to look him up.] Some of his stuff was hilarious. And who doesn't like a good Bible joke? I know I do. Anyway, nicest guy ever. He liked our work and was totally encouraging- he didn't even laugh at us when it took us 20 minutes to make our table fold back into its compact position at the end of the afternoon. The guy on our other side looked like a totally coked-out wannabe rock star slash Edward Scissorhands, tiny and clad in all black. His lady friend wore a fur vest/coat/mystery item held together by safety pins. I thought they looked like former rock stars turned homeless people. Brother said her safety pinned vest thing probably cost thousands of dollars. I was skeptical. Anyhoo, Brother googled their artwork (pretty sweet Japanese pop art) when he got home later and told me about the guy. It turns out he is a former rock star! Played with greats like Billy Idol and Joan Jett before abandoning the stage to pursue his new calling. Oh, New York, how I love thee. The day itself went pretty well. People seemed to really like our stuff, except, of course, for this one d-bag old man who was insulted that our name was senioritis, calling it a "terrible name" and warning "you really need to work on your marketing." Oddly, he remained at our table for a full five minutes, and while berating me about our company name, he managed to look through our entire book of artwork. Ha, some people are just so miserable.

In other news, Halloween is just around the corner. I have a wedding to attend on Halloween. I have one suggestion to make on this topic: if you are presently unmarried, do not plan your wedding for Halloween. People young and old(ish) look forward to Halloween all year. Girls (though not this girl) can dress like whores without (too much) judgment, guys can play with makeup without (too much) judgment, and everyone is happy. The only thing that can put a damper on such a glorious holiday is having to dress up in formal attire and celebrate something totally unrelated to gorging oneself on candy and honoring all that is black and orange. At least the wedding is during the day, and I can salvage the rest of my Halloween by attending a party with both Brother and Sister. Ideas on do-it-yourself three person costumes are welcome and appreciated.

Post Script--
The wedding was actually very fun. While they didn't have a Halloween theme or black and orange flowers, they did wrap bare branches around various objects in lieu of flowers. Perhaps a slight nod to the underworld/undead/all that is spooky? More likely a reminder that it is fall in New York. Either way, I was a big fan. And what can beat dancing to alternating 60's music and current hip hop? I'll tell you what: 80's music. All 80's, all the time.

Speaking of 80's, Brother, Sister, and I donned our finest 80's gear for Halloween night when we drove 30 minutes to join others in costumes to watch the Yankees beat the Phillies. [Unfortunately, the Yanks are having no such luck this evening, as 2 solo 7th inning homers just increased the Phillies' lead to 8-2. BAH.] Between the wedding, Yankees, and Halloween, I consumed a healthy week's worth of calories in three days. Awesome.

Just my luck.

Like most ordinary people (huge assumption here), I look forward to a nice refreshing shower after a hard workout. I had such a workout this morning, as I enjoyed my building's gym after my building-mates had left for work. Unfortunately, when I returned to my apartment and turned the knob to run the water, absolutely nothing happened. Oh, except for the hissing sound coming from the pipe. At first I wondered whether, after 5 days of being out of town, I had forgotten how to turn on the shower. I quickly turned to the sink and twisted the hot water knob. No water there either. I called the building manager and was told that there was a problem and the water had to be turned off. It would be back on in a few minutes, he assured me.

I waited thirty minutes and tried again. Still no luck. I got an email from Austin City Limits, announcing that their early bird 3-day passes for next year's festival were officially on sale. I clicked on "Buy Now" and was taken to a cyber "waiting room." I opened two more windows in my attempt to purchase an advance pass, all of which took me to the same waiting room. Finally, I refreshed the initial Buy Now window, and received the news that the advance passes were sold out. Fun morning, eh? All I can say is it's a good thing there was a Law & Order marathon on USA all day today. Oh, and for the record, Olivia Benson makes a WAY better detective than Dani Beck. [Additionally, upon imdb-ing Benson's alter ego Mariska Hargitay, I learned that she met her husband on the set of Law & Order. A useless bit of information that for some reason made me very happy.]

After five hours of waiting, I decided I could mask my sweaty exterior with perfume and a big sweatshirt, so I left my building for the first time all day. A Starbucks visit and grocery shop later, I returned to my building and was greeted by one of my fabulous doormen [no sarcasm there; I adore them] who remarked with a smile, "Your hot water has returned." Overjoyed, I practically ran to the elevator bank.

It was top 10 best shower of all time.

Tomorrow normal life resumes as I hope to make it out of the apartment sometime before 4pm.

Ok, for real this time.

Here's a list of things I have done since I last wrote:

- London and back
- Boston/Maine and back
- Westchester to meet new Baby Cuz (love at first sight)
- High Holy Day #1
- Got cable and internet (and the cable even works sometimes)
- Decided to be '80s every day by getting bangs (see facebook for proof)
- LA and back
- High Holy Day #2
- Saw FAME remake and was inspired to learn how to dance (similar to inspiration following viewings of Centerstage, Step Up, and Step Up 2 The Streets)
- Austin for ACL (most amazing weekend ever) and back

Now that that's out of the way, I can share the most important news. Two words: Girl Talk. He is this absolutely fantastic (that word is wildly underdescriptive of this talent, but I am at a loss for something more accurate) DJ that Small Asian Friend, Roomie, and I (and about 5,000 other people) saw during ACL. At first I was skeptical, wondering how a DJ would be able to compete with all the live bands present at the festival. But this guy is a complete genius - pairing current dance rap with 70s and 80s-tastic rock ballads, keeping the beats consistent throughout. There's nothing I can say but genius. Oh, and this: http://www.myspace.com/girltalk Check him out!

Also, I love Texas. I bought a pair of real, official, authentic cowboy boots. Did I mention they're from Texas? That means they're the real thing. They couldn't charge that much for anything other than the real thing, right? They're just amazing. And the Austin nightlife is pretty crazy. Granted, we only made it to one bar the entire time we were there, but there were plenty to choose from. We certainly didn't want for alcohol, though, with all those double beers being sold left and right. Roomie and SAF were in denial about the whole double beer thing and scolded me when I mentioned their having six beers in one afternoon. They decided to count beers based on the number of cans they opened rather than the number of ounces they drank. Hey, whatever works. All I'm saying is I had a double Tecate and it was pretty gross. ACL, next year I recommend double cans of cider. I won't even be particular about which type. Maybe there are some hidden cider mills somewhere in Texas. You know, down by the Mexico border. Yeah, I'm sure you guys could work out a deal.

I will close with a few additional non-headliner ACL highlights:
- John Legend
- Dr. Dog
- Airborne Toxic Event
- Avett Brothers
- Bon Iver
- The Virgins

Oh yeah, and Lily Allen, I'm mad at you for not attending.

Addendum: As a future lawyer, I feel obliged to note that while Girl Talk undoubtedly makes a fine DJ, he is an affront to copyright law. I'm really not sure how he can possibly argue that his clips constitute fair use, but apparently he's serious in his contention. Check out a severely outdated article on the subject here here.

...aaaand we're back!

Sorry, folks. I didn't intend to leave you hanging for the past four-ish months. I promise. Unfortunately, I had to take the bar exam. After that, my brain went on a brief vacation while my body performed manual labor, moving my belongings (with the much appreciated assistance of Pops, Brother, and Sister) into my sweet new pad in NYC. The place is looking great with its plush leather couches and black, white, and red decor. During a recent visit, Small Asian Friend noted that she liked how unisex it looked. I guess it's sort of a much nicer bachelor pad. I like it. After I moved my stuff into the city, I embarked upon one of my many post-bar trips. I headed up to Beantown and saw Small Asian Friend among some other amigos, stayed with the famed Auntie Bevy for a few nights, and parTAYed with Gramps. Ohh, and I took the ferry. It was pretty sweet. Everything was perfect on my way back: a great seat right on the edge of the boat outside, a fantastic read (Pete Hamill's "Downtown") itching to be cracked open, and a peach Snapple. If only the guy to my right hadn't decided to light up his Marlboro (that's what it was; I checked.) as soon as we set sail, I would have loved every second of it. Oh well, I guess some people still haven't gotten the memo that smoking kills. Too bad.

Shortly after returning from Boston, I set off on post-bar trip #2: taking Sister up to college. We made the trip which should take 4 hours in about 7. We got stuck in a massive rainstorm, with winds exceeding safe speeds for driving, and we stopped at a Wendy's, where I consumed the grossest chicken "wrap" I've ever had. Never have I longed for Fat Burger like I did that day. [Sidenote: anyone interested in talking to the guys over at Fat Burger with me about opening up a franchise in New York? I think it would really take off.] Anyhoo, we made it up to Bing and set up her room before heading out for the night. Did I mention Sister just turned 21? She did. She and I can (legally) enter bars together! It was fun. After five days in SUN(n)Y Bing, I believe we exhausted all the city has to offer: Binghamton Mets game; $4.50 cinematic experience; nature preserve hike; numerous trips to Wal-Mart, Target, and Sbucks (yes, I fully support large chains); being whistled at while pumping gas; token senior house theme party; and tour of campus. My time in Bing gave me a new appreciation for upstate New York. I even extended my upstate experience by hiring Sister and some of her Bing friends to drive me to Ithaca so I could visit Monard and learn the differences between the lives of law students on the east and west coasts.

It is 557pm the night before classes start over here, and I'm currently sitting in the Cornell Law Library. I guess the lives of law students over here aren't very different from us west coast scholars. At least I don't have to open any law books and I can play on my computer instead! Wheee!

Tomorrow I'll head back to the city, and then the post-bar trips continue Saturday, when Small Asian Friend and I jet off to London! Again, sorry for the unreasonable delay in blog updates over the past few months. I should have internet up and running by the time I get home from London, so in a few weeks I'll begin posting regularly again. Stay tuned!

Home is where the clothes are.

I lied at the end of the last post. We did not venture through the Smoky Mountains. We completely sidestepped them, in fact, driving through rural Virginia and western Pennsylvania before cutting through the Jerz and then the city. We made great time, though (as I drove much of it), and made it home a day earlier than planned since there was nothing to see between Tenneesee and New York.

Our last night on the road, we were royally schooled by an old man. For much of the trip, Pops and I stayed at the same big name hotel chain. The wireless was free, the beds were comfy enough, and each location had a decent fitness center. We found most of our accommodations using tomtom and her "point of interest near destination" search. Tomtom listed all the hotels within the vicinity of our destination city, and once we found the chain we liked, we'd click on it and get the phone number to make reservations. This method was successful every time we used it...until Pennsylvania. We followed the same steps, finding the big name chain in a city on our way home, and made the reservation. Pops commented on how cheap the room was compared to the other ones we had stayed in, but we figured it was just a somewhat remote location, so cheaper rates were par for the course around there. We were mistaken. We pulled into the parking lot of the "hotel" to find the only other parked vehicles were two trucks (just the cab parts). The place looked like the motel Samantha lived in on Without a Trace when she went undercover as a hard up for cash lady, hoping to get drug dealers to use her to transport the goods. Turns out the 75 year old man at the desk appropriated the hotel chain's name for his own place and was luring unknowing travelers like Pops and me in with huge misrepresentations. I have no idea how this guy is still in business and has not been sued by the big hotel chain. I was so mad when we pulled in that I told Pops I'd rather sleep in the car than in that place. He would have none of that, and bought me a Friendly's shiver to cheer me up. (It seems he knows my soft spot.) As the American Idol finale was on that night, I couldn't actually escape entering the hotel room, but I told Pops to be ready to run out of the room swinging his suitcase if my car alarm went off in the middle of the night. (Otto was sitting right outside the entrance to our room, completely packed with all of my worldly possessions not already in NY.) A car alarm went off at approximately 5:05am, and I've never seen Pops run as fast as he did to get to the door. He inspected Otto, and satisfied the alarm wasn't his, Pops said, "okay, let's get out of here." I was thrilled by the thought of leaving that place and didn't so much as shower before jumping in the car. (I left my flip flops in the car and thought it would be unsanitary to shower in that place without them.)

Moral of the story: if you get a price quote from a big hotel chain that seems a bit off, don't assume it's your lucky day. Ask whether this location has a fitness center, and the answer will usually tip you off as to whether you're being conned into staying at a truck stop.

I have now been home for four days, and my bags are still downstairs, packed. I am not being lazy. The real problem is that my room is already completely full. For the past seven years or so, I have had a complete wardrobe and all the daily necessities in New York at my parents' house, and another full wardrobe and set of necessities in CT, London, NYC, or LA- wherever I happened to have another residence at the moment. This is the first time in years that all my belongings are being held under one roof, and my room just isn't big enough for it all. I'm thinking of investing in one of those build-it-yourself storage sheds to put in the backyard to house all my presently superfluous items that will once again become necessities once I move out. I have to wonder what the HGTV people would say if they saw my overflowing room. I used to watch HGTV every night before bed, and I'm pretty sure half my closet would be tossed into the trash pile if anyone from that channel ever came to make over my room. But honestly, you never know when you're going to need a poodle skirt or fifteen college sweatshirts. These items just can't be thrown out.

I was going through my wallet today, and I noticed I still had the punch card from my favorite fro yo place in LA. I expected a wave of nostalgia to hit me, but then I realized two things: 1- we have TCBY here, and it truly lives up to its name (the full name, not just the letters); and 2- I had just enough punches that next time I went in there, I would have received a free fro yo. I cannot believe it. I EARNED a free fro yo, and I'm not even going to get it! How sad. Roomie, if you're reading this, I am sending you my fro yo punch card. Enjoy a (free) fro yo, on me.

The south is a tad scary.

Driving in the south has been an interesting experience. Even though we're driving on a pretty rural highway, we haven't seen nearly as many billboards advertising the world's largest ant farm or the Corn Palace, like you see on the more northern route. But the south is in no way lacking in billboards. Indeed, one particularly horrifying board caught my attention. It was in Arkansas, and it was so disturbing, I really wish it were a dream. But no, it was real. It read: "Use the rod on your children. Save their lives." There was some quoted Biblical verse underneath it, but at 80+ miles/hour I didn't catch it. I don't even know how to comment on this. I've seen lots of anti-abortion billboards, a fair number of "Jesus Saves" ones, and a whole bunch of public service announcements telling the public to buckle up or to not drink and drive, (oh, and one billboard for "the largest cross in the western hemisphere," which, by the way, was absolutely huge). But this was just ridiculous. What kind of organization puts up money to tell people to spank their children? South or no south, that is not okay. 'nough said.

We managed to find something worthwhile in Arkansas: The William J. Clinton Presidential Library. Wow, what a neat place. The building was modern and gorgeous, and the archives inside were pretty incredible. I read letters written to Bill and Hill by Mother Teresa, Oscar de la Renta, Paul Newman, and many others. I saw the bicycle/bike shirt/helmet Lance Armstrong gave to the President as a gift. I saw the china the Clintons used, the limo Bill drove in, and the numerous saxes he played. Not to mention the binders filled with Mr. President's daily agenda during his years in office. Wowweee. Even Pops, who's not a huge fan of the Clintons, loved it. Thank you, Little Rock, for making Arkansas a positive experience.

We made our way to Memphis next, and it was heavenly. Three blocks of cobblestone streets were filled with people drinking beers and cocktails out of plastic cups, listening to live music. There were blues and jazz players all over the place. Bbq joints, blues clubs, and beer windows lined the streets. I think if I liked beer I might have stayed another few nights. Just fantastic.

This morning we drove over to Nashville, and while it was fun in its own right, I liked Memphis better. Country music stuff was everywhere, but more spread out than the blues joints in Memphis. I did, however, catch some really great singers at some of the open mics. We hit up the Charlie Daniels museum (pretty sweet, although the only song I know of his band's is The Devil Went Down to Georgia, and only because it was prominently featured in Coyote Ugly) and this fantastic music store with more country CDs, DVDs, and memorabilia than I've ever seen in one place before. I got a sweet Nashville guitar pick and am now determined to spend every hour of the summer (when not bar studying) practicing. All it takes is the right pick, you'll see. We left Nashville and headed further east, making good time, and eventually ended up in Knoxville. There's not much to see in Knoxville.

Tomorrow we'll being heading north, through Great Smoky Mountains National Park and beyond.

Today I saw an armadillo.

There is more road kill on I-40 between Arizona and Oklahoma than I've seen in all my nearly 25 years of life, combined. Several of these dead creatures were armadillos. Armadillos are not very pretty animals when they're alive and in one piece. Check this out if you don't believe me: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Nine-banded_Armadillo.jpg. Similarly, they are not very pretty when dead. I do have to say, however, that their armor shells must be pretty powerful, as they don't get flattened by tires the same way other small desert rodents do. Cheers to evolution.

Pops and I have made our way through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and half of Oklahoma thus far. Of course, the miles go by much more quickly when I am driving, but we're sharing the driving duties pretty equally. Unfortunately for Otto, pops likes to snack (a lot) in the car and has managed to get chocolate all over the steering wheel and driver's seat. Otto will be in desperate need of a good wash once we get to NY. That aside, the trip has been really fun so far. It's only day three, and I've heard numerous stories about growing up in Brooklyn and Queens in the late 50s and 60s. I picture my dad as a kind of mix between Benny "the Jet" Rodriquez and Squints Palledorous- always super athletic but also pretty dorky. Pops' stories, paired with clips of Now and Then (which have become forever embedded in my mind after watching the movie upwards of 100 times), make me wish I had been born in a few decades earlier. But I guess if I had, I wouldn't be writing this for my millions of loyal followers to enjoy at their leisure. Ah well, the grass is always greener, I suppose.

So yesterday we hit up Sedona, Arizona, and felt the 90 degree heat beginning at 9am. The town is gorgeous, with red desert rock everywhere. The stores were all super touristy, though, so while it was a beautiful place to stop and take pictures, it wasn't the best stop we've made thus far. After Sedona, we made our way to Albuquerque for some Southwestern food and sleeping accommodations. The old part of town wasn't much to talk about, mostly some old buildings centered around the plaza. But it was cute and worth a brief stop. This morning we drove a bit north of I-40 to Santa Fe. This town was just great. It had the old part with "the oldest house in the U.S.," which the visitor's center lady told us was 800 years old, but whose sign said "circa 1646." I'm not sure whether her math was off or the sign was off, but I feel like there must be houses that were built before 1646 in New England. Anyhoo, the old part was fun, complete with a church that had a wooden spiral staircase with no central support, built entirely without nails! How cool is that? I am easily entertained by history, especially when seeing it firsthand, so I was pretty excited about Santa Fe. Then we made it over to the shops and cafes around the plaza, and it totally won me over. For those of you planning a brief jaunt through New Mexico, I definitely suggest stopping over in Santa Fe for a few hours. You won't be disappointed. Oh, also, remember that just because these states are in the southwest, this does not mean it will be hot. Today's temperature hovered just below 60, dropping to 50 at times. No one even got to see the Don't Mess with Texas t-shirt I sported just for the occasion, as it was covered by a sweatshirt all day. (PS- Shoutout to British Friend, for explaining the origin of that slogan and for making Texas a barely tolerable state. On that note, I look forward to it becoming much more tolerable during my ACL trip next fall.)

The rest of today was spent passing trucks and slow-moving cars, stopping for gas, and being very grateful to Tomtom. She (yes, my GPS is a she, despite the masculine - and redundant - name, because of her lady voice) is just wonderful. Good riddance, Mapquest!

Next worthwhile state on the agenda: Tennessee!

On the road.

Goodbye, LA. Last night Awesomeness (and fiancee), Hollywood (formerly "LA Friend"), and I went out for fantastic sushi as my last dinner in Los Angeles. Awesomeness ate his weight in some sort of baked roll, Hollywood noticed a famous person sitting at the table next to us (Skeet Ulrich, of Scream fame, apparently...oh, and he drives a mini cooper), and I had a California roll. Pretty standard. Pretty perfect. Turns out I am going to miss LA (or at least my friends there).

It took pops and me about two hours to pack Otto up this morning, but miraculously everything somehow fit, and we were off! We drove about 500 miles today, stopping in a tiny town (if you can call a gas station, a visitor's center, and a diner a "town") along historic Route 66. Oddly, the visitor's center was closed by the time we got there, but there was some sort of tourist group (I think/hope that's what they were) gathered around a man showing off dead desert animals and explaining what they were. He had some snake skins and dead arachnids, and he didn't have an Australian accent, so needless to say he was pretty weird. But he totally had a captive audience in the tourist group/lonely locals/whoever they were. Good times.

We managed to navigate around the highway crossing elk and ended up in Flagstaff, AZ for our first night of lodging. Pops, undoubtedly impressed by my superior taste in music, asked me to grace his ipod with some of my sweet tunes. My pleasure- anything to not have to listen to talk radio. We actually found some pretty great oldies and country music stations out here, though, and pops promised me a record turntable when I get my new apartment, so I'm a happy camper. Tomorrow it's Sedona (really pretty town where everything is red) and then off to Santa Fe!

School's Out.

Friday was the big day. We law students donned our mortar board and velvety accented robes for a chance to shake hands with the Dean and listen to numerous speeches whose themes centered around what an awful time in history this is to be graduating. Luckily, Awesomeness was sitting next to me playing Pee Monkey and other fantastic games on his iPhone, so the time spent sitting in the quad was not altogether useless. The class president mumbled his way through his seemingly impromptu speech, making way for the clearly better of the two student speakers. Next up was the definite highlight of the ceremony- Professor of the Year. This guy knew how to make my second year tax law class enjoyable. His speech was perfect- it was brief, dryly humorous, and it mentioned John Adams. What more could a grad want? Absolutely nothing. I wanted to get up and leave after that, but I thought my parents might be disappointed if they didn't get to hear my name called and see me (or the tiny speck of me, as they were sitting quite far away) "get hooded." Then there was some more talking at us by a politician of sorts, and then finally we got our hoods. All I have to say is, good job getting the shade, friends. Friday could have been a lot worse. The best part of the day was probably introducing a professor I had 1L year to my parents and having her call me by my name. I am memorable! Sadly, I had to say goodbye to Shmind and British Friend, as neither wasted any time skipping town the minute the festivities were over. Ah well, such is life, as they say. Little do they know, our friendship is far from over. I fully intend to send mass emails updating them on my bar study progress. (Wait, that's a total lie. I detest mass emails.)

My red head girl was voted off American Idol. I heard this news days before I finally got around to watching the episode, and I still cried my way through her final performance. Even though I never expended the effort or money (Is voting free? If so, scratch the money part) to vote for you, Red Head Idol Girl, I am mourning your departure from the Idol stage, and I will totally buy (read: illegally download) your first album as soon as it is available.

A busy intersection near me recently put in a brand new diagonal crosswalk so people can shortcut to their destinations rather than waiting through two light cycles. I am not a big fan of this new development because we still end up waiting through two light cycles (since the little red hand stays illuminated even when traffic is moving with the would-be pedestrians) and we encounter angry old people whilst engaging in the diagonal cross. For instance, a few days ago I set out across the street diagonally and an obscenely old man walking towards me, also crossing diagonally, suddenly glared at me and barked, "IN the crosswalk, putz!" Completely startled, I turned around to see who he was looking at, and found the road behind me deserted. I really don't believe I have ever been called a "putz" before. Interesting. Additionally, while I can appreciate that this man chose to berate me using a word from the Old Country, I also have to wonder why he felt it necessary to call me out for being six inches outside the diagonal crosswalk. I thought the whole purpose of having a diagonal crosswalk and all the little walking men flashing from each screen at the same time was so that people could walk throughout the entire intersection without fear of being run over. I'll bet he was very upset when they decided to put in diagonal crosswalks. Just as he feared, first step: diagonal crosswalks, second step: bold pedestrians walking wherever they want. We're just a few more steps away from people walking across the street completely nude. Oh, progress.

As I depart from this town in a mere four days, I guess it is probably time to start packing. The thought of it is just so daunting, I really can't bring myself to begin. If only Otto came with those expandable zippers, it would make life so much easier.

People who are famous for no reason.

I have been studying. A lot. That means I have been alternating between listening to my soothing, yet encouraging "study mix" and a classical/instrumental jazz combo. The study mix includes such greats as Jack Johnson (shout out to Awesomeness, formerly "Friend from the Valley," who loves JJ's tunes as much as I do). I share this to segue into a a topic only tangentially related: the Jonas Brothers.

I watch Chelsea Lately, and E! news directly follows it, so I see lots of teasers for what will be discussed nightly. Some of E! news' favorite people to stalk (I mean report on) are three "brothers" who apparently create "music." I am usually fairly up to date on the music scene. I love the stuff and just can't get enough. Why, then, have I never ever heard the Jonas Brothers actually create music? Are their songs on the radio (other than Radio Disney)? Do they perform in music videos, or do they just stand there while tween girls swoon? Hanson's stuff actually traveled the airwaves back when they were the only musical brothers people cared about. (As a sidenote, Hanson's electric album from several years ago was actually pretty good. I recommend it.) I get the feeling the Jonas Brothers - like so many sad celebrities today - are famous because they're famous. And on a related note, who are Heidi and Spencer? Gawker and E! have informed me they tied the knot- again, and apparently lots of people I've never heard of attended. And even one girl who swore she wouldn't attend did. Seriously? What happened to the good old days when celebrities were famous for having done something noteworthy in their lives? Marilyn and Frankie Blue Eyes had talent. Jackie O had great fashion sense, married a Kennedy, and emitted elegance. WHY are famous people just regular people now? I don't like it one bit. If I wanted to watch humorous things happen to regular people, I'd spend a few hours with my family.

That is all I have to say on that.

The perks of being a wallflower.

I had to take Otto in for service today, and he turned out to need way more than just an oil change (I've apparently been driving around with a nail in my tire for quite a while now...), so I was forced to navigate this city by foot. Joy! I do prefer walking to most other modes of transport; however, this week I am studying for finals. That means I am carrying around a laptop, casebooks, notebooks, and all the essential studying accoutrements (yes, I spelled that the British way). So I found my way to a Coffee Bean and sat down on the outdoor patio with Wills and Trusts to bang out some serious studying. If you have never had the opportunity to sit outside a coffee shop for five hours on a nice day in LA, well - I'm not sure if I recommend it. But my experience was rather interesting, so I will now tell you about it. Then you can decide whether this is the sort of position you would like to put yourself in.

I arrived around 930am, spread my books out, whipped out the ol' iPod, and got down to business. About ten minutes into the slow abrogation of the Rule Against Perpetuities, a man came and sat down at the table in front of me. He pulled a stack of about 45 unopened parcels of mail from his backpack and proceeded to sort through them. He then made a phone call. It ended, "Great, I will see you in a few." I got back to reading as I awaited his mystery coffee date and was a tad thrown off when it turned out to be a woman at least thirty years his senior. His mother? No. Too formal. A lover? Exciting! Well, not quite. It turns out this woman was his therapist. I will spare the details, as I don't know much of it myself because as soon as I realized this was a patient-therapist conversation, I turned the volume way up and tried to tune them out. At one point I heard the therapist ask, "Do you love her?" and he equivocated a bit before saying, "Yes. Yes, I do." Okay, I'm sorry, but isn't there some sort of fiduciary relationship here that calls for meeting in a more private place? What about confidentiality? Doctor-patient privilege? I don't even care about this patient's privacy so much as I care about my right not to have to hear Freudian psychobabble while I'm trying to learn about trust administration! I mean, I could have jumped in twenty minutes before this lady started talking about the guy's relationship with his mother. The whole thing reeked of Oedipus right from the start. I totally called it, too. But I couldn't talk to anyone about it because I was in a public place - a place where one should never EVER have a therapy session. (As a sidenote, I am not at all against therapy. I think it is a useful tool. I just think it, like several other things I can think of, should not be done in public.)

Moving on. While that guy was being shrunk (er, artistic license), a group of three sat down at the table to my right. I gathered pretty quickly that the youngest was there for a job interview. Boring, boring, trustee duty of loyalty, diversification of trust assets, boring boring. Believe me when I tell you I was not even listening. I have little interest in hearing personal details of people's lives, especially when I don't know the people involved. But I absolutely could not help but overhear this one part of the conversation. The man interviewing asked her what she had been doing these past few months (the standard gap in the resume question), and she - I promise I am not making this up - said that she actually couldn't do much because she was recovering from her breast enhancement surgery. Well, actually, she clarified, this one was a breast reduction surgery. She had gotten enhancement surgery and they made them way too big, so her fiancee ("such a sweetheart") paid (as an engagement/wedding present) for her to have them fixed. Again. I should add that this was not an interview for a stripping job, or for a new Playmate, or for a bartender, even. It was for production of mechanical parts for some whatever or other. Now, I understand that this is LA, and people are perhaps a bit more open with their bodies than in NY. But, in no way is this appropriate during a job interview. NO WAY. I wasn't even part of the conversation, and I was offended. My virgin ears.

Ok, other than those two meaty offerings, I don't have much more to share about my experience at Coffee Bean. Two grown men played chess with Simpsons chess pieces. I thought that was mildly humorous. A law student I had never seen before sat by me with his First Amendment textbook and flashcards. We exchanged glances of mutual understanding re the woes of finals studying. He said Wills and Trusts looked like the most boring class ever, and I thanked him for his input. I complained about having an open-book exam, and he said at Southwestern all the exams are closed-book. I decided to stop complaining. An interested bysitter overheard our discussion of law school and noted that UCLA has an extremely high bar passage rate and is a great school. I told him I was aware and that I was pleased with my decision to attend such a fine institution. I mentioned I was promptly returning to NY after graduation, and he said, "Oh, from the little I know, I believe NY and CA are the two hardest bar exams." I told him I had heard the same thing. (This man clearly knew nothing about law school but read all the law blogs the same way my pops did when I first started law school. This guy, however, was lounging around on Coffee Bean's patio at 130 in the afternoon on a weekday in way too short shorts and a fanny pack. My father would never wear a fanny pack.) Eventually, he caught on to my curtness and began asking the male law student about a player for the Dodgers. Did he do this to politely allow me an escape from the conversation? Did he think because I'm a lady I wouldn't understand that thing the menfolk call "sports"? Eh, who cares? I got back to my studies, and he tossed a "Good luck on the bar" in my direction when he left.

As much as I enjoyed my time in the sun on Coffee Bean's patio, I nearly jumped for joy when I called and found out Otto was ready. I returned on foot to the dealership and found a happy, shiny Otto, new tire and all, waiting for me. I also found an eager Subaru man waiting next to Otto. My Subaru man and I have a nice rapport. He was deeply saddened when I told him (pre-Coffee Bean) my cross-country road trip was only going in one direction. He asked if I could come back and visit, and I told him it'd be difficult to swing, but I would do my best. After handing me my keys and discussing my car, my Subaru man and I shook hands, and he gave me a Subaru card with a number written on the back. He said he would love for me to call him if I had time in the next two weeks before leaving. I told him I was studying for finals, but I appreciated the gesture. And he said, "But you are such a happy girl! Always with a smile. It makes my heart so warm." I couldn't help but smile in spite of it all. (Perhaps he's just used to seeing disgruntled car owners who have to make alternative arrangements to get to work after dropping their cars off for service.) I do have to admit that my crass NY attitude/sarcasm and my perpetually cheery outlook on life don't always mesh well, but this Subaru man totally saw through me, and I loved him for it. I told Subaru man he would always be my friend, and we parted ways.

I would be a horrible paparrazo.

The other night Shmind and I were dining at this great place in West Hollywood called Cafe Med. The menu is extensive, the portions are humongous, and the patio heat lamps are pumped up to the max. When I walked in to find Shmind donning a goofy grin and eagerly texting away on her crackberry, I knew something was up. I approached the table and she mouthed to me, "turn to your right!" (You may wonder how one can mouth an exclamation. It's all about the eyes. Go ahead, try it in a mirror.) I turned my head to the right, expecting to see Britney or Brangelina, but alas, all I saw was a man with long blond hair and grossly red dried out skin. I looked at him and his table for a while longer than I should have, trying to fit any of them into my somewhat limited mental bank of celebrities before deciding he must be some famous chef I've never heard of or seen since I don't watch Top Chef or Hell's Kitchen. I turned back and Shmind whispered, "You don't know who that is?" I said no, and she said, "But you were born in the 80's!" (Shmind is just a few years older than me, also an 80's baby.) "Have you ever heard of Fabio?" Of course I've heard of Fabio! Who could forget the bird in the face on the roller coaster incident? I should have known with the long blond hair. But this Fabio was about 20 years older than any Fabio I'd ever seen, so I was thrown off. Then I felt like an idiot for having squinted in his direction for longer than I should have. He probably thought I was checking him out. Gross.

So I have decided to live at my parents' house on Long Island this summer as I study for the bar. I am pretty pumped despite the fact that my room there is overflowing with clothing and I have to somehow fit my entire LA apartment into that room. Living there means a fully stocked refrigerator, a world class collection of DVDs, and zero rent payments. Wahoo! Additionally, we are totally bringing back the 80's (a style which I, as you should know by now, absolutely love) in that brother, sister, and I will all be living under that roof. Ha, it's going to be quite a summer. Oh, and since the shift to a summer on Long Island gives me one more week before the bar course begins, Pops and I are going to drive Otto (mi coche) back to NY! While it won't be nearly as crazy a drive as my east to west adventure with Small Asian Friend, my dad is actually a cool guy (when he's not making me listen to talk radio), so I'm rather excited.

In other news, Subway is no longer offering its $5 footlongs. Major bummer.

In more exciting news, I recently purchased a ticket for next fall's Austin City Limits. I've never been to Austin, TX. I've never been to a 3-day music festival. Needless to say, I am stoked beyond belief. The lineup hasn't been announced yet, but rumored to be performing among the 120 or so bands are Kings of Leon, Pearl Jam, DMB, Most Def, John Legend, and Beastie Boys. Wowweee! Small Asian Friend, Roomie, and I are all set for three days of hippie/hipster/music-lover indulgence. Now all I have to do is study for and take finals, graduate, drive back to NY, study for and take the bar, and then I'm free!

I took my first-ever spin class yesterday and totally loved it. Unfortunately, my bony bottom is so sore today I can barely sit on my excessively padded desk chair. I think if I continue to attend spin classes I'm going to have to invest in a pair of those padded biker shorts. I always thought those were for pansies. But really, why can't they make bike seats a bit more padded? The bike I had as a kid was awesome- the seat was like a couch cushion. Perhaps that's the problem. I was so spoiled as a child, I never built up the resistance I needed to ride a real person bike. I guess I am officially a pansy.

Dine at your own risk.

I was out at dinner with an LA Friend the other night. (She asked to be called Gossip Friend, but as a one-time watcher, turned hater of that show of a similar name, I couldn't consent to such a name for someone I actually enjoy.) We were at one of those trendy tapas places where they like to get as many people in as possible, so you're basically sitting on your neighbor's lap, and you can't hear the people you're eating with, let alone the waiter as he sneaks up behind you since there's no room for him to stand in between tables. (Please excuse the run-on sentence.) The tables of the different parties have a tiny space between them, so it's not actually one of those communal places where you're literally sitting at the same table as everyone else in the joint. But we might as well have been. So we're ordering our small plates in shifts, two to share, another one to share, and one each since we couldn't agree, shouting to actually be able to converse with each other, and having a grand ol' time when our neighbor sees our food arrive. He leans over to our table (conveniently located about 4cm from his table) and says, "Wow! Those look good!" He was, of course, referring to our patatas fritas, which indeed looked good, but were entirely too salty. He asked what they were, LA Friend responded, as I tend not to enjoy obnoxious dining neighbors, and that was that. Now fast forward about twenty minutes. Obnoxious neighbor again leans over to our table (leaning completely over the girl in his party seated to his left and my right) and (I'm still in shock that this happened!) sticks HIS fork in OUR patatas fritas. He doesn't ask; he doesn't say, "oh excuse me," to which I obviously would have responded, "excuse THIS," while ripping the fork from his fingers and bending it in half. He says nothing. I give him the death stare. The girl seated to his left looks absolutely mortified. The guy sitting across from him says, "Sorry. He's been drinking," or something to that effect. LA Friend picks up the patatas fritas plate and places it on our neighbor's table.

Who thinks this is an okay dining practice? Emily Post certainly would not approve! I'm not usually one to be picky about etiquette. An individual with whom I was once intimate criticized me at one point during our relationship for the way I use my fork and knife. I happen to think I use my eating utensils appropriately, and I blame any odd cutting and eating behavior on my being somewhat ambidextrous. But my shortcomings aside, I can spot rude, totally disgusting behavior when I see it. This was it. I know people in LA are supposed to be superficial and all wrapped up in appearances and image and whatnot, so this guy must have been visiting from the boonies somewhere to not know you don't stick your fork in someone else's food without asking. (That last part sounded like a euphemism for something else. Totally unintended.) So, eaters beware: if you prefer the trendy-overcrowded-we're-all-one-big-happy-family eateries, you just might encounter a neanderthal like this creature.

On the more humorous side, LA Friend reported to overhear a fantastic snippet of conversation as we left a post-dinner bar:
Person #1 (attempting to pick up Person #2): Hiii. [There may have been a "how are you?" or some other line tacked on there, but my memory now escapes me.]
Person #2: Um, we've made out.
Person #1: Oh. [Pause.] Recently?

In other news, I have reverted back to my 13-year-old self. No, I have not developed a crush on teen "heartthrob" Zac Efron. I'd rather stab a pencil in my eye. No, this is much better. Last night I watched the 2008 smash hit Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist. I had completely forgotten netflix sent it to me before my Florida trip, so I decided to forgo studying for a night (I often find urgent reasons to forgo studying) to watch it. I loved it. I can't even explain what it was about this movie (I dare not call it a "film") that captured my attention and my heart for much longer than the 1 hour and 29 minutes I spent watching it. Perhaps it was the central role music played. Perhaps it was the fact that I was sort of misfit-y in high school, in my own world, like Norah.... Oh, who am I kidding? There is no rhyme or reason to it. I thought it was awesome. I don't have to defend it. Now I must be off to go do grown-up things...like drink wine.

Paper overload.

About five months ago, I subscribed to two magazines. While I'm not generally a magazine connoisseur (or enthusiast, even), I decided a year of The New Yorker (to prepare me for my re-immersion into the great City) and The Economist (because it's pretty fantastic) couldn't hurt. The only magazine I've consistently subscribed to during my years in LA is Women's Health, and I read each issue cover to cover the moment I receive it each month. I figured adding two more magazines into the mix would not interfere with my lifestyle in any way. I was wrong. The New Yorker and The Economist are both weekly magazines. That means I am bombarded with 200 pages of news, ads, culture, cartoons, and editorials EACH WEEK. Did I mention I'm a law student? Why would I subject myself to even more reading than I already have to do each week for class?

At first, I managed fairly well. I was excited by the newness of it, I guess. I was able to partake in conversations (though I sometimes feel The Economist should spell certain proper nouns phonetically, so people like me don't feel self-conscious raising them in everyday conversation. Though, that might kill the esoteric vibe of the magazine, and SIR's followers wouldn't like that). Those first weeks, I also felt a renewed (and welcome) sense of New York superiorism that had seemed to simmer away these past few years. But then things changed. The social life kicked in again, and free time meant reading for class or discovering the joy of tivo. I started running outside to work on my tan, so I didn't drag the magazines to the gym for an hour of perusing whilst ellipticizing. Basically, my entire point here is to lament the stack of glossy paper collecting dust in the corner of my room. The problem with weekly news-ish magazines is that after a certain amount of time they just become old news. And who wants to read old news? No one, that's who.

To those of you who subscribe to weekly magazines and manage to read them cover to cover each week, I salute you (and seriously question your priorities). To SIR and the editors over at The New Yorker (who are undoubtedly reading this), I apologize for using your issues as coasters for my morning oatmeal bowl and various glasses of water throughout the apartment. I resolve here and now to make a better effort to at least open each issue that comes my way.

I wonder if I'm contributing to the slow death of print media. At least sister will be happy if everything turns electronic. She's into the trees, ya know. Ok, that is all.

Into the home stretch.

After a week of no internet access in Florida, I have returned to the homeland (New York) for a few days before heading back to LA to finish up the last week and a half of classes. Sweet! Sister and I ran all over Orlando, hitting up Sea World, Epcot, Universal's two parks, and plenty of candy and fudge shops. We saw our fair share of fanny packs, descended upon the resort pool only to find it overrun by elementary schoolers and their parents, and nearly ran over a possum in our pimped out Chrysler rental car. A great time was had by all (er, both).

Slight back track: Before departing for Florida, I had the great fortune to see Katy Perry live in concert out in Palm Springs. She was super. Opened with Hot n Cold, closed with I Kissed a Girl, and sang some awesome cover songs in between. Oh, did I mention this performance took place during a White Party? I'm never more excited than when I get to wear cropped leggings with an oversized shirt of the same color, and a thick belt of a contrasting hue. Trust me, it's hot. I don't care what anyone says - the 80's contributed some fine flair to the fashion world. Wheee!

So tonight I return to the smog of tinsel town for one last month of finals, west coast friends, and humidity-free sunshine. More to come.

Sweden rocks; the Queen does, too.

Great news! Sweden has become the seventh country to permit same-sex marriage, beginning in May 2009. I've always liked Sweden. The Swedes have given so many gifts to the world: ABBA, those nifty Viking hats, Ace of Base (my first CD, tied with Boys II Men), Swedish meatballs, the word (and the thing) "smorgasbord," and now marriage equality. I even have an Adidas track jacked that has the Swedish flag on it. Incidentally, I was planning to sell said jacket to a used clothing store here in LA this weekend, but I am now reconsidering.

Last week I gave my brother an iPod. Yesterday, Vote for Change gave Her Royal Heiness an iPod. Interesting timing, Mr. President. That's all I have to say about that.

On Sunday I depart for Florida. Sister and I will enjoy a week of sunshine and togetherness (and a $27/day surcharge on our rental car since I'm two months shy of turning 25). Apparently, a tornado touched down in Florida this morning. Super. I was, in fact, oddly obsessed with The Wizard of Oz as a child; however, my great tornado scare while driving cross-country with Small Asian Friend during the summer of 2006 was action enough for me. Aren't tornadoes supposed to stick to the midwest?

Back to life.

Oh, spring break, you passed me by so quickly.

Today I had my first actual (slightly) embarrassing moment in law school. I made it nearly three years without any major blunders. But today, for some inexplicable reason, I was unable to pronounce both the words "revocable" and "irrevocable" while trying to articulate my question in front of the professor and the class. There was really no way to get around this, as my entire question focused on a difference between revocable and irrevocable trusts. I finally broke down and said "a trust that is not able to be revoked." Stupid. Luckily, I am just about a month shy of graduation (yippee!), and I don't really care that my entire class laughed at my fumbling for words. I am a tough cookie, as my grandpa says. Luckily, Friend from the Valley was there to continue making fun of me during our next class together. (I should add that he has been known to have trouble pronouncing words himself, but I would never make fun of him because I am a thoughtful and compassionate individual.) Good thing I have high self-esteem.

I would like to take this moment to share that I have become enamored by a certain dark haired, light eyed singing sensation. If you watch American Idol, then you no doubt know the dazzling star of whom I am speaking. If you do not, then you can disregard the rest of this paragraph and move on to the subsequent one (like a create your own adventure story - whee!). He wears black nail polish and tight jeans, has a bigger vocal range than pretty much any person ever, and does a pelvic thrust rivaling Elvis and Conrad Birdie. If only he were into ladies, we could meet, have a torrid romance, and make beautiful, talented, blue eyed babies. Though, talent aside, I think I'd rather make babies with the guy who performed last in tonight's show. I don't remember his name, but he has a Jack Johnson type of musical appeal and a killer smile. Swoon. Additionally, I would be remiss not to mention that I think the girl with the crazy red hair is an absolute rock star, and I hope she makes it to the finals. (She's definitely not my girl type, though, so no baby-making there. Plus, she's only 16. I draw the line at 21. If I can't have a legal drink with you, no thanks.) Black nail polish vs. red hair dye could be a finals showdown worth watching. Ok, enough about American Idol. Who cares? I don't even own a television.

Tomorrow I register for the Bar exam. And so begins the beginning of the end. Come summer, I will have no life other than studying and working out. Actually, that doesn't sound like a huge departure from my life over the past three years. It's like I always say: Who cares if no one outside of the Barbri course is going to see me, as long as I can run circles around all of those bookworms, I will feel super. Yes, that is what I always say. Ask anyone.

Wild turkeys on the highway.

Yesterday was ridiculous. There's really no way to explain it other than to just start typing.

My cousin was driving me into Boston to meet up with Small Asian Friend for an evening of long overdue festivities. Cousin's two kids (7 and 3) were in the backseat (adorable blue eyed children, I should add), being hilarious in the way only kids can be, when we pulled up next to a van at a stoplight. I have no clue how the van's driver was able to stay on the road the way her two hands were occupied. She had a cigarette in her left hand and an inhaler in her right hand. While at the stoplight, she alternated taking puffs of the cigarette with taking puffs from the inhaler. This is not a joke. The woman was literally killing her lungs with her left hand and then trying to breathe better using her right hand. Oh, did I mention the van had the words SCHOOL BUS on top of it? Well, it did. At least there were no kids in the van/bus. I was tempted to roll down my window and ask if I could sneak a puff, then see if she got confused as to which item I wanted to borrow.

We pulled away from the light and continued down the busy road for a bit. This road, you should know, was no small fry- it was Route [some #] and had a few lanes of traffic in each direction. After a few minutes Cousin says, "look, kids," and points out the left side of the car. I look for the object of her attention and see the largest wild bird I've ever seen in real life, trotting along the grass median. Yes, this bird was on the median in between the two directions of traffic. I was absolutely astonished. I asked Cousin what it was, thinking it might be a peacock whose ornate tail was detached in an unfortunate hit and run. She told me it was a turkey and looked at me a little oddly, as if I were a fool to not know a wild turkey when I saw one. It seems wild turkeys, while somewhat of an oddity here in LA and in NY, are fairly run of the mill out in the suburbs of Boston. Who knew? I must admit seeing a turkey out in the wild, just doing its thing, made me feel slightly guilty about consuming a turkey sandwich nearly every day. But only slightly. I have to be realistic. Subway's $5 foot longs are such great value for the money, I just can't say no.

Last night I went out on the town with some college friends. I wore a plaid flannel button down somewhat flowy shirt (apparently plaid flannel is back in) but became concerned halfway through the night that I might look too much like a lumberjack in the club's dark mood lighting. In order to solve the problem, and boost my self-esteem, Small Asian Friend decided to approach assorted club-goers at random, and ask them whether I looked like a lumberjack. If an individual responded in the negative, Small Asian Friend would tell me, "see? You look great!" If the person said yes, I did look like a lumberjack, Small Asian Friend would jump in with, "But a hot lumberjack, right?" and usually the person would respond affirmatively. This did nothing to assuage my concern, but it did provide some entertainment. I am confident, however, that I did sweat off a few pounds wearing the flannel shirt. A word of caution: think twice before wearing flannel out when you anticipate shaking your groove thang on the dance floor. It creates a real hot mess.

I am old enough to pump gas.

I was riding in the passenger seat this morning when my mom pulled into the trusty Mobile station across from our temporary living accommodations. I, being a fantastically helpful daughter, hopped out of the car to fill 'er up (and test the limits of my new stoplight red down vest). I was about 5 gallons down, 7 to go, when a Mobile attendant bolted out the mini mart door and made his way towards me. "Excuse me, are you 17?" Who, me? In the stoplight red vest? Whose fingers are likely frozen to the damn gas nozzle because that contraption that's supposed to lock it in place is broken? Breathe. That's not his fault. Be civil. I replied. "Am I 17? [obviously shocked he could have dreamed up a number so low] I'm 24." He smiled goofily (I don't care that it's underlined, I'm declaring it a word), and said, "Ah, stay the way you are." Then he walked away. I was forced to relay the contents of our interaction to my mom and cousin sitting in the car. They thought it was a real hoot. Yeah, a reeeeal hoot.

Tonight I was reminded of the genius that is Dana Carvey (thanks, brother). Check out his political personality impressions here. Two thumbs up, holiday fun at its finest.

Baby, it's cold outside.

It really is. According to weather.com, the temperature outside my window right now is 30 degrees, and it supposedly feels like 20. I walked into my place of accommodations this evening and cranked the thermostat up to 75. My mom made me turn it down about 15 minutes later, saying it felt like a sauna. I don't understand what's bad about that. When it feels like 20 degrees outside, I don't mind it feeling like a sauna inside. Saunas are quite comfortable on a chilly winter night. I mean, people voluntarily enter saunas every day - even when it's hot outside. Given the choice between sleeping in a sauna and sleeping under conditions conducive to frostbite development, I'll likely choose the sauna, and I certainly will tonight.

Ok, enough about the weather.

Today I realized babies are really smart. Well, at least as smart as those dogs Pavlov kept. I was standing outside an adorable baby girl's hospital room when I came to this realization. (Don't worry, I am not a creepy baby-in-the-hospital stalker. I was actually visiting someone whose room was right next door, and I was told to wait in the hallway while the doctor was in the room.) Anyhoo, the baby's room was right across from the nurses' station, and as soon as she started crying, the nurse would walk over to the open door, throw on a mask, gloves, and one of those smock things, and enter the baby's room, talking in a soothing high-pitched voice. The baby would stop crying and start smiling as soon as the nurse entered the room. The nurse would stay in there for a few minutes, telling Baby Girl she should go back to sleep, and then leave the room. Upon leaving the room, she would remove the smock, gloves, and mask, and toss them into the "soiled linens" basket. As soon as the nurse made her way back to the station, Baby Girl would begin to cry again. The nurse repeated the same routine four times during the 20 minutes I was in the hallway, taking a new smock, new gloves, and a new mask each time Baby Girl started to cry. Baby Girl had the nurse wrapped around her chubby little baby finger. All she wanted was some attention. And boy, did she get it. What a smart kid.

In other news, I was told today that I don't look a day over 18. I am 24 and three-quarters. (And no, I do not think it's juvenile to tack on "and three-quarters." It's just more precise. I enjoy precision.) I suppose this is supposed to be a compliment, but do I really want to look like a high school senior when I start life as a lawyer? I guess, if nothing else, it will psyche out opposing counsel. They'll think it's Bring Your Daughter to Work Day, and then I will knock their socks off with my vast knowledge of the Commerce Clause and the elements of a negligence cause of action. They'll never see it coming. I'll be my firm's secret weapon. Sneak attack. Boo-yah.

After twilight.

I awoke this morning to find an email announcing the midnight Twilight DVD release party that will be taking place at my local Borders store this Saturday. Nothing like a bunch of goth kids crowding a book store on a Saturday night, swapping vampire fantasies. Apparently, the party starts at 10pm, and the DVD will "officially" be released at midnight. I erased the email quickly so as to not seem like a Twilight freak if someone at the law school happened to hack into my gmail account today and come across the party announcement. Now, I have to admit I got totally sucked in (no pun intended) by the books (thanks, sister), but I just can't understand the movie craziness. I mean, are these kids who probably saw the movie more than once when it was in theaters really going to collect their shrink wrapped copies at midnight, then have their parents pick them up at their local Borders, and go home and watch the thing before bed? Maybe it's all about the lasting friendships that will be formed during those two hours - the black nailpolish that will be shared and the fake fangs that will be passed back and forth among the group of teenagers as they froth at the mouth.

(Good thing I'm hopping on a plane to Boston tomorrow morning; my absence from town Saturday night has saved me from actually deciding how early to show up to this thing to ensure I get a cool Twilight bracelet.)

Moving on. Yes, I am jetting off to Boston tomorrow. Joy to spring break! If only I remembered how to dress in 40-degree weather, my suitcase might not weigh 70lbs. I must sleep now, so as to best prepare myself for five hours of in-flight television (go Virgin America), but one last thought before I go: E! needs to find a new late-night movie to air. I've seen parts of Happy Gilmore every day for the past week. And while I am now strangely confident in my ability to sweep the fairways with the entire roster of LPGA ladies, I have finally reached the point where Bob Barker doesn't even make me laugh anymore. Sigh.

Horrifying postscript: I googled "twilight," and one of the "searches related to twilight" suggestions that came up at the bottom of the page was "blood and chocolate." Gosh, I hope that's a book title. I am thoroughly repulsed.

The talk of the town.

I turn now to the conversation I had Friday night - my reason number 2 for creating a blog yesterday. Prepare yourselves; this is a deeper topic than I should endeavor to comment on so early in my tenure here on blogspot, but I promise more light and fluffy topics later.

I was at a party with law students (control your yawns, please) when the subject of Chris Brown and Rihanna came up. This story has been all over the news for the past few weeks, and even before the party, I was having trouble dealing with the way the media has handled it. The man I was talking to at the party basically said Chris Brown is a disgusting person and should be locked up. Fair enough. Then, someone else piped in and said, "Rihanna is just as bad for going back to him." Just as bad? Pause. Raise eyebrows. Really? Sure, she's setting an incredibly poor example for her young fans as well as the millions of women who are themselves victims of domestic violence. But how can we sit back and blame Rihanna for what appears to be a blatant example of what women with battered women's syndrome experience every day? Both of these individuals need help. Judging Rihanna for "forgiving" him just feeds the cycle.

Yes, Rihanna's abuse has taken place on a much larger stage, before a much larger audience than the millions of other domestic abuse victims in our country, and yes it is horrible to see two people whose careers and personas influence so many embroiled in such a tumultuous relationship; however, this story could have helped the less famous abuse victims begin to fight back. I think the media has gone about this horribly wrong, in framing Chris Brown as an anomaly. It has treated him as a wayward youngster, in need of anger management classes, and time away from his lady to rehabilitate himself. The media has not, so far as I have seen, done anything productive to showcase this relationship as illustrating the huge problem we have in this country with domestic violence- to show victims they are not alone, and that they can (and should) get help. Oprah and Tyra Banks both discussed the topic on their talk shows during the height of the media coverage of the Chris Brown-Rihanna story, but neither of their websites (homepages) so much as mentions domestic abuse today, just a few weeks later.

One in four women will experience domestic violence during her life. ONE in FOUR! Why, then, do we only see it when a celebrity is a victim? (And if this statistic is to be believed, then many other celebrities are suffering from domesic abuse, but they have not been spotlighted in the way Rihanna has.) As sad as this story is, it should not be shocking news. And as upsetting as it is to see Rihanna return to her abuser, she is certainly not "just as bad" as he is. She needs help. He needs help. And we need to stop talking about them as if they are the only people alive involved in this sort of relationship.

Today, I start a blog (and use lots of commas).

Before blogs, I'm not sure there was a method of expression that so perfectly combined narcissism and voyeurism. Well, except maybe E! True Hollywood Stories. But then, the people whose stories are told on E! are usually warranted in being self-obsessed. Bloggers, on the other hand, have less reason to believe that people out there will want to read their commentary and everyday observances. But that is where voyeurism comes in. I know I am an ordinary person, with a fairly pedestrian life, whose musings are only worth as much as the next girl's; however, I am publishing this blog for you. I publish to feed the hunger you people have for reading about other humans, for feeling connected to others, and for believing that there are other people out there who are just as neurotic, absurd, and - well - opinionated as you are.

I should also state here that I'm starting this blog today for two reasons: 1) it is a cloudy Saturday in LA, and I'm waiting for the sun to come out so I can run and work on my tan at the same time; and 2) because of a conversation I had last night. Stay tuned.

One more thing: in case you are wondering, I am holding a mini leather-bound U.S. Constitution in the picture to the right. My excitement at receiving such a gift during the 2008 holiday season should be apparent.