Exit Through the Gift Shop

This movie is a total delight. It's a documentary about streeet art, specifically Banksy's, and it's not at all what I expected it to be. It also challenged me somewhat about my feelings about public art v. graffiti. Banksy does these political murals on the wall built in the West Bank. Art? Absolutely and not something I feel should be criminally prosecuted. The guys spraying paint, hitting each car as a train went by... string 'em up! It's destructive and... that's not art! Like the Supreme Court, I know it when I see it, apparently.

Anyway, check it out, it's on Netflix Instant which would be a really good option for those of you with a reliable internet signal...

poignant

Late the following morning, I picked her up from beside the quad. Her grin was uncontrollable as she got into the car, and her voice, usually measured, was a barely punctuated garble of names and details. Had I read Andrey Platonov’s “Foundation Pit” (she’d been to a class on it)? She met this kid who. . . . It was pledge night for boys trying to get into fraternities. . . . There was a picnic. . . . Everybody’s door was open. . . . They stayed up until after midnight, talking and singing. . . . She played a borrowed ukulele. . . . There was a boy who’d been a year ahead of her at elementary school in Seattle. . . . Everybody said. . . .
She’d picked up the slang and was talking ProFros and RoHos.
“I haven’t seen you like this since you were 7,” I said.
“I’m so excited, it’ll make the rest of high school unbearable if I get to thinking too much about it.”
She calmed down over lunch. Her great worry, she said, had been that she would never again have friends as close as those she made at high school; that college students would keep themselves to themselves and be hard to get to know. Overnight all her fears had been gloriously dispelled. Her two-house life in Seattle had, she said, helped ready her to go away. “At least I know I can survive without one parent at a time.”

This essay made me misty, poignant in a lot of ways.

The end of vacation is always boring. And logistics make it even worse, like when the sweet trip is over, I’d like to just be home in normal life. Flying and waiting for bags and getting the parked car and driving 2 hours home and picking up the dogs the next day is really just insult to injury as far as I am concerned. There’s lots to say about the trip, but for now two things that have made me laugh since getting back to work today:

1. Police report: “I initially thought he had a large piece of food in his mouth, but on closer review it appeared to be a wisdom tooth.” So gross for some reason.

And

2. Letter from client: “Especially here in Arizona, they’re mean here. Or maybe it’s just my bald melon.” (no, it doesn’t make a lot more sense in context, but did make me guffaw out loud.)

Welcome back to post-vacation, post-30 summertime!

Y211

Over Christmas we watched "It's a Wonderful Life." I didn't realize Charlie had never seen it. It's one of my favorite movies. I always forget and remember how much story comes before the seeing-life-if-George-Bailey-had-never-been-born part. My very favorite part, though, is of course the end when all of the "riff raff" pour into the Baileys' house and give what little bits they can to help George come up with the missing $8,000.

My dad said it and I agree for my own different reasons, 2010 was his "It's a Wonderful Life." It was mine, too. On one hand, I learned a valuable lesson and appreciate so much more than I think I did before. I saw I have a lot of friends and I have very good ones.
And, I mean, dudes, I was on BBC! I was in the NY Times, like, MANY times. And Foreign Policy! And I passed two bar exams while working full-time, can we revisit that accomplishment?? I also celebrated the beginnings of five new marriages of people I love. (and watched/helped another I love end hers... sad but probably also in the "good" column since "good" is being happy and healthy and whole.)
But a good portion of the year was terrible and I was so incredibly scared and unhappy and still feel so frayed and damaged about it I start crying. Less so now but by the fall I felt so tired, deep, deep down.

But. Holy shit. How bizarre. It's almost like a "be careful what you wish for" thing. Oh, you think being on BBC would be rad? Ok, well, we're going to put you through so much that six months later when the Associated Press calls you about something completely unrelated, you will have negative desire to call them back. (Yep. That happened. Last week.) My co-worker said, "it's kind of fun to see your name in the paper." Nope, not really anymore.
But enough bemoaning and verification I need to process all of this with a professional, eh?
My "Wonderful Life" illustrated all of the good for me, too. (these are not in order)
I love my job. See: previous post.
I love my man/boyfriend/joint tenant with right of survivorship/whatever- I don't need to gush over him on the internet, but he is a great person who makes me laugh, supports me in the ways I need and keeps me honest.
I have awesome dogs. See: FACT.
I have a warm house which always needs more TLC but is totally mine. Well, half mine. But, you know. Even when this happens (welcome home!):

I have so many friends. When in crisis or joy, I feel they're family I created for myself. Which brings me back to "Wonderful Life." George learns his friends, the riff raff, are there when he needs them. I learned my own riff raff, a coalition of people I've collected over the years, care about me. This is maybe stupid and oversharing, but for a kid who read Little Women on the playground when she was friendless in 1st grade and whose mother freshman year told her her college friends didn't really know her because if they did, they wouldn't like her (crazy shit, right?)... it's incredibly significant. It's significant and gratifying that I've picked amazingly high quality people to befriend and they've picked me back. I am both lucky and reenforced that I must be pretty darn ok if these awesome people all showed up at the house with whatever donation they could make. And then we sang Auld Lang Syne. No, wait, that was the movie.
Anyway. I can't trade experience. Do I wish lots of 2010 never happened? Yes. Do I see the value in the struggle? Yes, that too. Did a learn lots about myself and other people? Um... yeah, ok, fine. Am I pleased as fuck 2010 is over? Yes, ma'am.

On these first days of the new beginning, here's hoping for us all 2011 is a year of health and happiness and lessons learned as least painfully as possible.

Life is Weird

It is. I almost want to make an "it gets better" video for early and mid-twenty-somethings. Because I feel like it does and no one tells you and I'm there and it's so much better than it was. But I was just looking at pictures of someone's trip to New York on facebook. And whenever I do that, I get a little sad.
I get sad because I love New York. I do. And I think of the 2003-2006 period when I lived there and the friends and times and experiences that happened there and then. Now I love going there and being there and have a connection to it, maybe a little like I feel with New Orleans also, where it feels like the place/life I could have lived and therefore it will always be a little bit "home." But then there's the weird thing about adulthood... I feel like I've realized that while I love and respect New York... it's not the right place for me. I proved I could make it there, but then chose not to. And that's a "right for me" decision... the things I need from the life I want don't have to happen there. But they could. And that's the crazy thing. I don't think it's particularly interesting or admirable, but I've moved around a lot in the past ten years. East Coast to midwest to southwest. And here's the thing... there's a lot of places I could be and could be happy. Changing homes so often means both I carry my home with me, but also that lots of places are a little bit "home."
I remember talking to high school seniors applying to Wesleyan--both in Madison and here in Flagstaff, and I'd remind them that something like 96% of people love college (of course this was meant as encouragement if they didn't get into their top choices.) Yes, that's not everyone, but of those 96% people... do they love it because somehow they selected the right college for them? No. College is awesome. They loved it because it's awesome. Of course, if everyone went to Wesleyan, it would be 100%, but that would destroys the specialwes. Anyway. My point is the weirdness of life and how there are so many different paths and directions but how so many of them to lead good and great things. The other week, Erin remarked something like that it's so weird that I'm a public defender and I lived in Flagstaff, Arizona. And it is... but for a Minneapolis kid, is it really that much weirder than being an assistant in Manhattan? Not really. A different kind of weird.
And is life in general like college? Well, literally, no. Tragically it is too little like college. But metaphorically, can things be great if you land in variety of different places? Yeah, I think. Of course this does beg the question... if we can do awesome anywhere, why didn't we pick a place closer to people we love? It's the adventure. Or that's what we say. There this on Jezebel last week, about what a dad should teach a daughter... and I like it. Partly because most of things I did learn from my very excellent dad-of-a-daughter but one is probably missing-- landing on your feet. It's a skill. It not a skill learned like changing a tire, but that's part of it. Being self-sufficient and flexible is what I'd like my kids to be... and if it means they successfully build a life in a place none of us anticipated... I think I'd be proud. It's a good sign. Then again, it doesn't matter where it is, I'd be proud and I am proud of a successfully built life anywhere.

Brush with Fame

I got my haircut last week. But this isn't about that. While I was in the chair, this song was playing:



A guy from a neighboring restaurant came to deliver some food. He said, "hey, this is my cousin's band!" I thought, "wow! I wonder who is cousin is. Does Jeff Tweedy's cousin work at a bbq place in Flagstaff?" And then he said, "yeah, the Rembrants!" Remember these guys?



So, only slightly less cool, I met the cousin of some guy from the Rembrants.

Hey guys, remember... my last post? Well amazingly soon after that, I was offered a job. Excuse me, not, a job but a job doing exactly what I want to do. Like, I was in the interview and they asked what I wanted to do as my career and I stopped for a moment because I couldn't figure out how to say it without sounding like a total kissass. "This job, I want to do this." And I think it worked because it's totally true. I am so excited to start. Like... soooo excited. One reason I'm excited is because I feel like I don't really have to hide certain substantial aspects of my personality like I have for the past year. My dad referred to it as me "coming out." Except I'm still not gay. Just a lefty.
I feel incredibly fortunate. Because I am. Because I got this job by making myself completely qualified (oh yes, I worked very hard for 4 years now to do that) but also by hustling like hell and being really nice and reasonable to everyone for the past year. PS- once I heard all of the secretaries in the office liked me, I knew that was VERY good. Job seekers-- NEVER underestimate the administrative staff.
Anyway, the future starts on Monday, for a day. Then I go to New Orleans to hang out with friends and radical lawyers (there is much overlap between these categories to be sure) and then I start for real for real the following Monday. I have purchased things FOR MY OFFICE, like a lamp and ipod speakers. I got some new clothes, too. And I'll get a new day planner and pens before I really start, too. You know, back to school and all.
I'm kind of over the moon and have been for 2 weeks now. It's funny because a number of people have pointed out how additionally lucky it is that I hadn't gotten another job before this-- I wouldn't have been available or hustling like I was. Of course, this is impossible to really believe when you're in the thick of it, but they're right. Things worked out really well and really in the right way. The relief of working for/with people who a) guessed I was going to New Orleans for this convention and b) knew all about my dad's case (compared to perhaps where no one knows what a) is and about a month ago I was asked how my dad was doing in Rwanda...) is huge.
This is a lot of jumbled thoughts. Another jumbled thought is that I've been thinking about what to do with this blog. It's finding that comfortable middle where I am not just talking about the dogs, but am also not divulging private information and am also not compromising clients or my professional reputation by expressing opinions about more substantive things. Then again, I can no longer even find this blog when I google myself there are 6,670 hits. Wowza. So much for privacy.
Oh and one more time- YAY!

Relationships

New local lawyer acquaintance, trying to figure out why I moved here: "So, is one of you in some kind of relationship with Charlie?"
Me: Giggle. "Um, me, we're in 'some kind' of relationship."
Charlie: "Um, we prefer Joint Tenants with Right of Survivorship."

Either way, 'some kind' of relationship, all right.

Snowflake

On the way to BWI last week, I boarded my flight from PHX to Cincinnati. When I got to my seat, I was supposed to have the window but this older couple had sat themselves in the window and the aisle with a bag in between them. I have had terrible luck lately on airplanes and had my seat taken by other more frequently than it should. I don't really care, so long as I don't get stuck in the middle when I'm supposed to have an end. But even then I don't make a big deal about it, just silently brood most of the flight. Anyway, I got to the seat and gave them my best midwestern grin, "Hi, sorry, I'm here, too." They remarked they didn't mind sharing so long as they had such a jolly companion. As Erica asked upon the retelling of the story, how did they know you were jolly? A good question.
I sat on the aisle, they asked me questions. They were from Snowflake, AZ and as the conversation went on, I realized, they were Mormon. Now, I don't like to think of myself as someone immediately creeped out by someone because of their religion, but apparently I am (maybe helped by questions from strangers like, "so, are you GOING to get married?"). Overall, they were perfectly nice and kind of like a satisfaction of my earlier strong interest/obsession with Mormonism. They at one point asked if I knew anything about Mormonism... an honest answer would be I wrote a lengthy research paper in college on the sensationalistic anti-mormon polygamy literature of the 19th century, I am almost done with Under the Banner of Heaven and if I have met a fallen Mormon after a couple of drinks over the past 10 years, it usually ends with me poking them in the chest and getting way too excited. But I said, "yes, a little."
Snowflake, as you will now know if you clicked on that link is a Mormon town in Arizona named for Mr. Snow and Mr. Flake. The husband of this couple is a Flake. Through our conversation, I learned they were headed to Nauvoo to see their daughter and grandchildren in a religious pageant that I deduced was in honor of Pioneer Day. They were carrying with them a family tree with accountings of which ancestors had been saved. Holy crap, this was like super Mormons. It was basically like some really bizarre dream come true. And way more entertaining than my seatmate from BWI to Atlanta on the return who forced me to feign sleep most of the way after she said (in a completely and inappropriately loud voice) "PHOENIX! WELL THAT MUST BE A WHOLE DIFFERENT... EXPERIENCE." After a full-day of little sleep and hangover recovery, I had no idea what this meant and I didn't want to explore. So I said, "well, actually, I don't live in Phoenix, I have a two-hour drive ahead of me when I get there" and closed my eyes. Oh, modern air travel.

House Woes

You know how homeowners are always like, "oh! groan! owning is a house is such a pain and so expensive!" And how potential homebuyers are like "renting is such a waste of money! how bad could it be?" I am transitioning from the latter to the former, quite quickly with the below-pictured jacking up of the kitchen/bedroom area of the house to replace all the rotted wood underneath in the addition that the former owners seem to have completed themselves. "I hope you guys got a good deal on this place," says handyman Jim. Jim, I am less and less convinced of that with every $1,000 we pay you....

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

I thought about this quote a lot over the past month, fighting my hard battle. There has been a lot that has been very strange about the past month. I mean, really bizarre. The psychology of the whole thing is really beyond my armchair pop psychology abilities… in others, it’s fascinating, uplifting, disappointing to see who was there, who stepped up and who didn’t and how others reacted. There was this amazing, completely indescribable outpouring from the world. I said something like this at the press conference back in Minnesota, but without the Wailing Wall portion—I remember being at the Wailing Wall and feeling this energy… because whether or not you believe it has its own sacredness, there is so much human energy being focused toward it, it was palpable. I found the same to be true over this month, I felt like I could actually feel the energy and work and support of so many, many people. I was like the mom who lifts a Volvo off her toddler, there was this superpower that was fueled by that energy. Amazing. And lots of other words that are so overused that when something that truly incredible happens… they sound weak.
But in this extreme crisis, I was amazed at how both beautifully wonderful and completely cruel strangers can be. So much, more than I will ever know, of our success is due to friends and strangers reaching out, taking action and making this critical mass work. And I can't be more grateful. But to the woman who yelled at me to "get off the phone!" the day my dad was arrested and I was standing at the side of the gas station talking to a reporter? And the woman who was incredibly rude and put out when my dad's wife knocked over her empty glass while getting into our table at a restaurant after learning hours earlier that my dad would be released and preparing to eat our first meal of the day at 3pm after attending the UN Security Council Meeting? And to the reporter who misquoted me, causing me to called my father’s despicable lawyer daughter in the comments of the article-and every other one to come? And to whoever called me a prostitute in some other comments? And to the man who yelled at the overworked medical resident to move her car after she'd driven over an hour to see her friend who lives across the country and whose father was just released from 3 weeks in Rwandan jail? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? The vitriol was astonishing. You’re calling me and my family monsters and wishing us ill? See, I (the monster or at least spawn of the monster) would never say such cruel things about anyone. I would never delight in a family’s misery and fear and call names. Why? Because I was raised better by that monster. Even just being rude because you're having a bad day... unacceptable, you never know the effect of your unkindness on someone in the middle of their battle. On the flip side, woman at JFK, you'll never know how much it meant when you handed me your unlimited metro card, for no reason. It works both way.
There are so many more examples of the ways people were extraordinary, though, I don’t want to downplay that. I am more sure now than ever that I have amazing friends and I have met many more amazing people. Strangers, who have remained strangers, were amazing. For someone who isn’t good at asking for help, owing so much to people I’ll never meet is… humbling. Humbling is both knowing that people will help you because they know you and they care, and that people will help someone they don’t know because it is the right thing to do. The overwhelming lesson was really 1) people can be beautiful and 2) the internet is assholes.

Bon Courage*

So they're in the appeal hearing, deciding whether to grant my dad bail, again. I can't believe this has gone on for so long. I can't believe all of this... hasn't worked. For the first ten days or so I wasn't really eating and only kind of sleeping. I didn't get hungry, I didn't get tired. I've never responded to stress that way.
I went back to work last Tuesday, but I'll likely have to take off the end of this week, again. It shouldn't really matter, I'm not "there" when I'm there. Most people don't seem to "get" it, "how's your dad?!?!" Um, in prison in Rwanda, being brought food once a day from the embassy so he is not poisoned, held for doing his job as an attorney.... thanks for asking?
I bought a fax machine because I started needing to send things to international faxes and realized the last thing I need now is to lose my job because I was using county resources to send international, political faxes. I mean, I am actually currently applying for another job with them... it would be bad. But it's strange how little I feel. I got a call that the job that was offered to me was given to someone else. I don't care. I tell media without sufficient emotion in my voice that I am terrified for my dad's safety. And it's true, I am just so tired. Tired of being terrified for two and a half weeks. So now I only cry when I have to write letters to strangers about my feelings, which happens more often than you'd think, or when I think too hard about the prison.
There have been some amazing people who have come out of the woodwork, friends of my dad's from elementary school, former clients, my old friends. I feel let down by every institution. Barack, didn't we say yes we can? Bill, I didn't care about Monica. I defended you against my dad's criticisms, for crying out loud, both of you! I supported you, now I'm s.o.l.?
And I continue to just really miss my dad. There was/is a bat in our house. It's disgusting, we keep thinking it is gone and then 2 days later it reappears. You know who would know what to do? My dad. The worst part of this whole thing is that the one person who would know how to get my dad out... is my dad.
One thing I have learned through this, guessing what he wants and not being able to speak to him, is that I know him very well. "I told you so" is unkind and counterproductive in dealing with the family, but... I'm usually right. I know what he will do, I know what he will say, I know what his coded messages sent out of jail mean. I am my father's daughter- not in all ways- but the same closeness that causes me so much personal pain now is what gives me that insight. Like everything, a blessing and a curse. And now back to waiting for the bail ruling...

*In this new life, I talk to many french speakers and international lawyers. There is something somehow better about bon courage. It makes me feel tougher than "good luck." I guess because courage sounds involved.

Dad in Rwanda

I am pretty sure there is no one who reads this who wouldn't already know, but my dad was arrested in Rwanda yesterday morning. He was there, as an attorney, representing the opposition presidential candidate in her own criminal case. There are some stories about it here and here and here and here.
It's been truly exhausting, so far two days of near-constant phone calls, emails and calling/faxing the government when not otherwise occupied. If you want to know what you can do, that's really it. Call the State Department, call your Congressional Delegation and call the White House, ask for them to demand he be released immediately. This is a list of phone numbers, This is a press release a group I am working with generated today and This is the Hotel Rwanda Rusesabagina Foundation Press Release.
Anyway, I wrote my dad a letter today, trying to work on some of the feelings that I haven't really been feeling because I've been running constantly. I'll put it here because this remains my space, for doing things like writing weepy letters. I'll give it to him when he comes home. Right after a great big hug and possibly a proverbial punch in the nose (possibly also literal punch in the nose.)

Dear Dad,

It’s late afternoon on Saturday here in Arizona. I’ve spent the last two days emailing, faxing, calling and answering calls from what feels like everyone in the world. I’ve talked to your colleagues from all kinds of work you’ve done. Work in Africa, Minnesota, Amsterdam… really everywhere. We had two conference calls yesterday and it was so heartwarming to hear the voices of these friends you’ve made all over the place. This has become the hardest part for me, personally, so much of this action and organizing, you would love to see. I keep wanting to tell you about something that happened, some amazing connection people have made and demonstration of the power of all of these people working together. You would love to see it.

There has been an unbelievable outpouring—people from all parts of both of our lives have come out of the woodwork and showed their support. All of the parts of our family, the National Lawyers Guild, the Law School, long-lost friends and colleagues. When your brother spoke to the State Department yesterday, the woman said, “It seems like you all were ready for this to happen.” He said he just laughed and said, “No, we’re all just really motivated and stubborn as hell.” You would be so proud.

I’ve realized some things over the past two days. One is that we have taken far too few pictures together recently. I saw that when I had to send one to a Minneapolis TV station. We need to fix that when you get back. I’ve also realized how much your work means to the people who benefit from it. I’ve received dozens of facebook messages and emails from Rwandans thanking me for your work, for standing up for them and for now bringing light to their situation. They love you. I can’t tell them how I really feel in my heart of hearts, though, that selfishly I hope when you get out, you’ll open up a solo practice doing Wills or something. That when I stop moving, as I only have a couple of times since we got news of your arrest yesterday morning, I am so, so paralyzingly and blindingly scared and my heart is so heavy. I know that theirs are too and that you have been someone to lighten theirs… but I want you to be here to make me feel better. Because you’re my dad and that’s what you’ve always done. I stop and I am so angry at you for putting yourself in this situation, I want you to come back so I can scream and yell at you about how angry and scared you’ve made me.

Someone else told me to remember a righteous wind is at our backs. And I know this. From all the messages and all the support, I have been reminded of how proud I am of you and your work. All joking aside about the fact that I’ve become an attorney, too, so much of the person and lawyer I have become is due to the person and kind of lawyer you are. I’ve learned to work like hell from you and I’ve learned that all people deserve respect from you. I’ve thought about some of the things you’ve told me over (and over and over!) all my life—to figure out who you want to benefit from you work and the rest comes easily. That a society is best judged by how they treat their weakest members. Not to believe everything you read. That history is written by the victors. I would like to remind you now about the MLK quote, the arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice. I miss you terribly, I love you so much and I look forward to writing this history with you, as victors, on the side of justice.

Love,

Sarah

Jane & Elmer

An artist and neighbor of my grandparents made these prints for our family. My grandpa died in 2002 and my grandma this last fall- our family owned their house in Lakeside for over 55 years, they lived there full-time for as long as I can remember. They were pretty much institutions in the town. Anyway, my aunt recently sent me my copy of the print and it's hanging in the hall now. It's really very nice, both a thing to say about them and to look at.

Jolly Roger

Have I mentioned our family crest? Whenever we see skull & crossbones out in the world (which happens more and more often, the world is getting creepier?) we say "he's in our family!" "she's in our family!" It's just a little thing we do...

Dog collars and keychain from here, dog tags from here.

Simmering

At our house right now...

Slow Cooker Chipotle-Lime Chicken Thighs Jamaican Rice and Peas

and

Cuban Black Beans

and

Tuna Tostadas

Post-bar life is grand!

The Other Side!

Here I am, on the other side of the bar. Man, it feels really awesome. I've never studied for something for three months, been tested for two full days and lived to tell about it. But now I have and here I am. I never want to do it again and will probably spend at least a moment of each day between now and early May thinking about/hoping for good results. They tested Secured Transactions for the first time in over twenty years. Historical!

I had some misadventures getting down to Phoenix, which at the time seemed incredibly major and interesting. My story of trial, tribulation and triumph was probably going to be a Lifetime original movie. Turns out, it's not really interesting or all that dramatic. Basically, the windshield wiper transmission (there is such a thing...?) needs to be replaced (for $450...) and after the high drama, I finished the trek to Phoenix, courtesy of Rain-X and a really nice mechanic outside of Camp Verde, AZ.

Since returning home on Thursday, I've started in on the list of things I haven't been doing for 3 months a.k.a. My "Bar Trip."

Clean Bathroom!


Paint Bathroom (unclear if this marigold, excuse me "squash" counts as the "orange room")


Painted the guest room! Liquid Blue!Got my nails did (photo obviously post-guestroom painting.) "Chop-stick it to me." So awesome the woman next to me changed her mind from some purple and totally copied me! And then apologized for looking at my feet, which I found strange and unnecessary.

And a massage (not pictured)! And now you owe me an apology for looking at my feet.

And also, a real heartfelt thank you. I can't really explain how much it meant in the last few days pre-bar to get so many well wishes and notes. It's a little silly and sappy but it really made a difference in my mental state, also something I've never really experienced before. I mean, good wishes and good luck are always nice, but this time, as I was cresting the 3rd floor of the Phoenix Convention Center on the escalator, holding my laptop and bag of pens so tight I couldn't feel my fingers... well, I felt like I had a small army/cheering section/booster club behind me. Turns out it was just some sweaty ASU Law 09 grad. Well, him AND the small army. But seriously, it was really nice. So, thank you.

Haitian Beef

All of these companies that are attaching themselves to Haiti relief are really starting to irritate me. No, Hyatt, I don’t want to donate my rewards points to Haiti. I want you to donate your profits to Haiti and I will donate my points to someplace with hotels for people in stay in! Chase, although it’s our money anyway (as my astute junior cultural anthropology-major hairdresser pointed out), make the donation yourself. “HELP HAITI NOW” on the Avon catalog looks opportunistic and silly to me. And I think lends to fatigue over the whole thing. Haiti doesn't need a signature color of liptick... it needs short and long-term just aid and recovery.

It’s similar to how my work sends around requests for donations of leave. I mean, I get that we’re in a budget crisis and all… but the right thing to do is have more liberal leave policies, not unpaid FMLA time, and let the rest of us keep our vacation days. Or when the airlines want you to donate your frequent flier miles to bring kids with cancer to the hospital or Disney World or whatever. Um, why don’t you use your airlines to do that and not take credit for a program that sounds charitable but really just saves the company money. Or gives them a good name and lets them break even.

Maybe I just want to keep my Hyatt rewards and frequent flier miles and am letting my cynicism get the better of me. Or maybe I'm just mad I don't have a signature shade of lipstick (wait until 200 years after I hold my successful slave rebellion and then am decimated by an earthquake made worse by my long-term underdevelopment caused by global colonial powers, then Scarlet Sarah will be all the rage)… but this is my beef for the day.

Promises, Promises

I promised, to myself and to you, that I wouldn’t complain about bar preparations very much here. And I think I’ve pretty much stuck to that, but my first real bar-related melt-down last night is a good reason to make a rare exception. I was upset in a way that only a tremendous amount of stress and a couple glasses of Sunday night wine can make a person. I had been pretty blasé about the bar, until I started studying. Out of the hundreds of people I know who have taken bar exams (aside from kooky ones like Louisiana) only a handful haven’t passed the first time. Even counting Louisiana it’s a large handful. Arizona isn’t considered particularly easy or particularly hard-- 84% of first-time test-takers pass. The rate is significantly lower overall in February test administrations, but that’s because of the way higher number of re-takers. I went to a good law school and I am not a moron. I know all of this. Yes, I’ve never been in the bottom 16% of anything (I’d say I’ve never failed anything, but those who have been with me for long enough may remember the 12th grade post-college admittance dance class debacle. Fun fact.) I’ve never failed anything I’ve attended, how about that?
The thing is… neither have most people who don’t pass bar exams. The people I know who haven't passed... well, some of them are morons, but some of them are great people who I greatly respect. The opposite of moron!
These truths (and the appropriate and appreciated reassurances from the one I sob next to) don’t do a lot for the blind fear I am entering. Not only would I be disappointed in myself and frustrated by the approximately $5k I've sunk into this whole stupid episode… but I have become pretty profoundly unhappy in my current situation and the thought of continuing the way I am until October (instead of May or even July) is enough on its own to make me cry.
I am grateful to be employed and really, really like getting paid regularly (little as it may be…) And this situation continues to be about as good as it can be seeing as I chose to move where I am not licensed (for the Constitutionally-inclined, a friend on his upcoming move from IL to TX, “The irony of studying article IV privileges and immunities for the multi-state AGAIN because I can't change states and stay in my profession without jumping through multiple flaming hoops lit with hundred dollar bills from my wallet is not lost on me.”) Again, the difference between what I know and how I feel. I have a lot of things going really great. Charlie’s work situation is not ideal, but his work itself is great and we can bide some time until he can work within commuting distance from our house. Our house! That’s great. The dogs are awesome. Yes, there is so much good, but goddamn it, I want a career! I want to do things I am excited about and be a professional and not be the bottom rung of a situation very similar to the one I went to law school to escape. I hate when people talk about deserving things and being “entitled” to things is for jerks… but these are things I really want, have put the time and work into and have been very patient (I think) in waiting for them to happen.
The bar is three weeks from tomorrow. I am going to continue trying to conquer the extreme fear of “what if” and soldier on through. There is so much material… But, in 3 weeks, 2 days and 9 hours, I am going to drink soooo much more wine. And probably cry again. But hopefully in a good way.

Divine Intervention

Just the other day I wondered aloud where we were going to get girl scout cookies this year. And sure enough, this evening a knock at the door from our mini patched and vested neighbor and her dad! Two thin mints, one samoa and one tagalong, please! Praise Jesus.