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!

This is My Life

Me: Hi, is this Tim?
Tim: Yes.
Me: Hi, I’m a lawyer in Arizona, I represent someone I think you know, Dave Johnson?
Tim: ...
Me: I’m sorry, he told me that he knows you from work?
Tim: Hillbilly Dave?
Me: ... I’m, um, not sure. He does odd jobs where you work, he also rents space the... he's blond...?
Tim: Yeah, there’s three Daves here, I call him Hillbilly Dave.
Me: Ok, well then, Hillbilly Dave is in jail, I am trying to get him out, can you write a letter about what you know about his character?
Tim: Sure!
Me: Ok, and can you not call him Hillbilly Dave in it?
**names have been changed to protect all alleged hillbillies**

WesLove

Tomorrow starts a very fun Wesleyan-related debaucherous adventure in New Orleans. Tonight was a Wesleyan reception with the president of the university. There were about 50 people there, a much larger turnout than I expected. Highlight of the evening and possibly my week (was not the cupcakes from the alum's cupcake store or the spanokopita, both which received high marks) was the statement of the current Wes sophomore when I said I was a public defender. "Whoa. That's, like, legit."

Second was a senior who said he wanted to live in New York for a few years and then go to Wisconsin for law school. "I basically want to do what you did."

And it's not so shabby, is it, kids? I am insanely jealous of you that you still get to be at Wesleyan... but you can do stuff after that is, for lack of a better term, totally legit.

I also had a moment of nostalgia with a couple who graduated in '92. They have two PhDs and eight kids... and he still regrets not hanging around Middletown the summer of 1992 after they graduated. I told him I thought it was completely understandable.

Dirty 30

So I am turning 30 in a little under 6 months. I want to do something special, something 30-worthy, but I am kind of drawing a blank. I'll be with many of my friends shortly after the big 3-0 at Julah/Nolia's wedding in June. And having a party in Flagstaff, while surely better attended than it would have last year, I am still afraid would be more depressing than exciting and maybe make me rewind back to 29 in protest.

So, I need ideas. Special experiences or trips. One idea is to plan a fun warm weather trip for next fall/winter and do something smaller in May. One idea for that is a spa weekend, maybe in Sedona or Phoenix. But I want more ideas.

In general, while also feeling a general sense of disbelief, I am pretty psyched about my 30s. My 20s were, on balance, wearing rose-colored glasses and totally in retrospect-- pretty rad. It's a little like I felt when I was turning 23. I turned 22 the weekend we graduated from college. By the time a year had gone by, I felt like so much had happened and so many changes had occurred I deserved some external marker-- like being a different age.

When I turned twenty I was in Japan with my dad and his wife, I was toasted by the Japanese Communist Party leader and ate a lot of sushi. Then I lived in Boston over the summer and ate ice cream every day and walked miles to the library to check my email twice a week. Then there was September 11 and we lived in the In-town and I lived in Minnesota for a couple of months and then I went abroad and then I turned 21 in Buenos Aires. I also ate a lot of sushi then. Anyway, that was a long time ago. I am still friends with basically all my friends from then. It makes all these background checks easier. Smiley face. But I am pretty different, but also not. I am ready for a new decade to recognize it.

Now, back to the challenge, how to commemorate it?!?

Official

I think a new way of talking has people saying, "It's official, I'm ____" or "I'm officially ______." It happens a lot on facebook, but other places, too. It's the new "I feel like _____." And once you start noticing it, it will slowly drive you crazy.

You're welcome.

Framed!

I know this is weird, but I've always had this kind of dark secret... well, not really fear, but more like knowledge that someday I'll be convicted of a crime I didn't commit. Kind of like every time I get sick I wonder if this is going to be the terrible terminal exotic disease that means the end of me. I am not sure if other people think this way. Saying it out loud makes it sound super weird. But anyway, maybe connected is that I hate being blamed for things I didn't do. This is unfortunately sometimes a part of my job... but really, what is worse than being blamed for something you either weren't responsible for or affirmatively did the opposite of? Almost nothing, that's what.

Anyway, I had a lovely veteran's day on Thursday which was capped by this really upsetting realization that over the past several months, someone in my life has been acting one way to my face and telling deluded lies behind my back about things I never did and motivations I don't have. I mean, like, totally bat-shit stuff. My point is not to drag this loser through the mud on the internet, my point is to mention how terrible it feels to be blamed for something you didn't do. I don't need to go into details, but it is truly pathological. Like acting as though this person was trying to be my friend while bad-talking me and making things up behind my back. Ahem. Not a very big loss in terms of a potential friend (wow, that is such a classy and healthy way to act) but nonetheless jarring to hear an account of your actions that not only is false, but also makes you look like this terrible person you are trying very hard not to be.

It's frustrating, too, because in the same ways I have to walk a line between correcting a judge's misstatement about what I did or said and saying "NUH-UH!" it's also apparently not acceptable to counter a rude person by, say, bringing up what I consider their physical flaws in every single conversation like this person has. Or try to exact revenge.

I guess my frustration also comes from being really too old for this. I used to get so upset in elementary school because I didn't have many friends and my friends were always disappointing me. I remember my mom telling me that I just had to wait, that other kids would catch up and then I would find friends who meet my standards. She was right, and I have. I have a lot, a lot of great friends. I try very hard (and I think I succeed) in being a great friend and it is reciprocated. I have a lot of very successful and meaningful friendships. So it's insane to run up against this terrible person (or remember that nutso from law school who made all this friend-drama for me 1L year?) It feels very unfair to be accused of not being something I've tried very hard to be-- a good friend. It's frustrating because as much as we can know, yes it's because someone else is insecure, yes it's a reflection of them, not me... turning the other cheek can be so terribly unsatisfying.

I also don't like it because it makes me mean. Because I start saying things like this person is ugly and pathetic and I want to kick in her teeth. All perhaps true, but that kind of anger and meanness is so not productive and is really toxic. And the world is mean and toxic enough and my job involves people being or being the victim of meanness and toxicity. So I want to spend my free time with people who want to be kind to each other and be generally positive and who don't gain self-esteem by putting others down like it's 1988 and we're on the playground of Anderson Open School. Let me clarify, I want to spend my free time to with people who are kind to each other both behind and in front of each others backs. If no such people are available, I'm cool with hanging out alone.

I am additionally frustrated (for some reason this is bothering me a lot- it has been making me huffy for days now and I wish it wasn't because it's stupid and waste of energy but I can't stop) because I didn't trust my instincts. I never liked this person. But I tried. I made an effort. Even after my dad was in Rwandan jail and she made sure to tell me she had contacts at the State department but was calling them for another reason. Um, ok. That's awesome. See, that's your prerogative, but don't tell me about it. Like I should understand. Of course, thanks for letting my know exactly where my crisis fits in terms of order of importance to you. So I should have known better, I shouldn't have made an effort, I shouldn't have overlooked assholey things in the past. But I did- and I got burned.

When I was feeling really mad, I was thinking things like, "oh you want to tell people I don't like you, wait to you see what me not liking you really feels like" and then probably something about the teeth-kicking again. But in reality, nothing dramatic will happen. I'll spend time with people I like, or alone, and get the slim satisfaction out of living well and being the bigger person. Bigger person save a facebook defriending... of course. And in terms of false convictions, one uncool person thinking I am a bad friend is way better than going down for a murder I didn't commit. I guess I'll take it.

Recuerdo

This is a small story about this ring. My dad's dad (who died when my dad was 23, long before I was born) gave it to my grandma when they were dating. Then my dad gave it to my mom as an engagement ring. Then my mom gave it to me, a number of years ago. I wore it regularly and then one day- pop- hit it against a wall or something while it was on my hand and took a chunk out of the moonstone. And then it sat in my mom's jewelery box for probably 10 years. When I was home weekend before last, I took it back and brought it into a jeweler here. The size of the stone was slightly irregular and so on, but I picked it up today. It looks lovely, it's back on my finger, all polished and looks better than I've ever seen it since it came to me after 60+ years of... love . The jeweler was confused that it was an engagement ring, "well, I've never seen a moonstone for an engagement before" but admired it's art deco style. I love it. I'm so glad to have it back and to have a little piece of grandma (and my parents) on my finger.

Dallas

It hardly needs to be said, but this weekend in Dallas was phenomenal and epic and necessary and wonderful. It was truly excessive in every way, except perhaps fun-- because there is never too much of that. I don't know when we're too old to sleep 6 to a room... but I kind of hope it never happens.
The wedding was so lovely, so nice, so them. The newly-married friends got together our junior year and have been engaged for 5 years, so to say there has been some, um, anticipation is something of an understatement. And it was well-deserved. The days leading up to the wedding were packed with fun and packed with friends, it was just completely... wonderful.
With a couple of exceptions of friends going through hard times, it's great to see people I love doing so well. To quote Erin, "risping." For the most part (and even the hard stuff not withstanding) friends are pursuing interesting careers and have found partners who make them happy. It's great to see. It's hard not to be nostalgic for an earlier time (say 2003-2005 or so) when most of us were closer together geographically (or, like 1999-2003 when we were in the same place.) But there was a lot more struggle, by and large, the struggle of the early and mid twenties trying to find our places. And we've come a long way toward those places. It's nice to see. And really something that these doctors and lawyers and scholars and grant-writers and editors and conservators and planning and policy wonks-in-training can still get together, laugh our heads off, drink like we got into someone's parents' liquor cabinet and stay up all night like we're still 18.


And also something to actually be close to 30 and need days to get sleep and stomach back in line with regular life. Still, so worth it.

Lately

I'll skip the b.s. since I never seem to make-up blog posts about things that have happened... since my last post Charlie's parents were here for a few days and then my mom was here for a week. A week (and then we've had another whole weekend since I started this post...) It was a good visit, I think good most importantly because there have been times, many times, in our relationship where a day-long visit would not have ended well. But this one was fine. My relationship with my mom is complicated and accounts for a lot of my "baggage" and is definitely not for public-blog consumption. BUT, perhaps through a combination of her changes and my own stability and recognition that while there are things I embrace very deeply about her (about both/all of my parents), I am not her and the things I don't like don't threaten me as deeply as they used to. Maybe it's growing up, maybe it's increasing exposure over the years to other parents, other people and the situations all kinds of people find themselves in. And maybe that all is growing up. It might sound elementary, but you can't pick your parents and you can't pick the terms of your birth. They're not perfect, they're just people.

Earlier this week an acquaintance-type facebook friend posted a rant about the SEPTA strike and how the drivers are greedy and a bunch of other drivel. It irked me incredibly. NO. I was raised, by my parents, to side with striking workers. People do not risk theirs jobs and strike unless it is important. I thought of last week, too, when I drove by people with signs in front of City Hall. My parents also taught me to, unless they're advocating something totally loony, honk and support them. They were for the public option. I honked. I thought of it while my mom was telling us the story of getting fired from her first lawyer job, while pregnant with me, on Christmas, after being elected president of her local. Thank you, parents. Thank you for giving me a head start on some of the lessons and values I hope I would have come to on my own eventually.

So yes, parents and family are flawed and disappointingly human. But I was happy to feel last week like I am increasingly able to appreciate the aspects that have made me who I am... and let the rest, as my mom would say, roll off my back.

The nerve . . .

This is my mom's story from yesterday, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

In early Spring, I put some old wooden window boxes out by the alley with a "FREE" sign. A woman came along while I was in the yard and took them, with my blessing. TONIGHT, at least five months later, she comes to the back door and explains that they didn't fit exactly right—a bit too wide, etc. I listen to her complaint about the fit. Put them out with the garbage, said I; I sure don't want them back.

Oh, she says, they're too big and the city garbage men won't take them, so I have them in my trunk, gesturing toward the alley – and she looks at me.

I am having a surreal moment. What would I do with them then?—I don't want them, I say. Oh, says batty lady, you could pay a private hauler I suppose.

No, said I – this is sort of like "tag, you're it." They became YOUR window boxes a long time ago.

So, I have to get rid of them," asks the woman who took them for free and now acts like I sold her a Lexus with a warranty …. I think so, said the nice lady in the yellow house.

**Other parts of the live-telling of the story include the woman looking at my mom as if to say, "I am never shopping here again!"

Summer Blockbusters!

I've seen a lot of movies lately. For me, at least. We've been going to Sundance 608 for Tuesday night 2-for-1 student tickets the past few weeks. Plus I have gotten serious about Netflix again. So, here we go, the movies and my mini-review:

27 Dresses. You know you want to see it. Katherine Heigl, like a non-annoying Anne Hathaway.

He's Just Not That Into You. Weirdly the opposite lesson as the book. Their Bennifer (Aniston and Affleck) is something I've been talking about a lot when drinking lately.

Man on Fire. We didn't finish it yet. Charlie mentioned the best part of the second half is going to be that Dakota Fanning isn't in it. Because, you know, she's been kidnapped.

Inside Man. Really good in the Denzel caper genre. A Spike Lee Joint, so had a 50% chance of being good. Delivered!

UP. Supercute. In 3D. Balloons most impressive?

The Hangover. Funny. I liked, but I think I already said that.

Rudo Y Cursi. Sweet and cute and I love Gael. Not predictable either, really.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Like Spike, Woody has about a 50% success rate. Not sure I'd put this with the winners. Gosh, ScarJo is pretty and grating. Also, "Vicky" and "Cristina" are two different characters, not Penelope Cruz's name... this is apparently a common misconception. At least at our house.

Wow.

It's still a good idea, even in St. Paul. It just amazes me we're on par with NY, New Orleans, etc.

No analog in Mpls public schools, so far.

I am so mad!

And hoping complaining about it will allow me to refocus on what I should be doing-- learning Remedies and Business Organizations for the two exams I have tomorrow and Thursday!
But. I just got this phone call and it made me cry with frustration and stress. It was a collections agency, telling me a private college loan was more than 60 days overdue. It started out ok, I explained that I had gotten a letter about this, called the servicer and subsequently sent in a verification that I am still a full-time student, so the loan should be back deferred.

But this is where she gets crazy. She says the loan is owned by "First Modelhead." I say "MODEL head?" She says yes. We go around like this a few times, including my SPELLING "model" and her confirming, before I remember my former fluency in Masshole. Turns out she is saying "Marblehead."

She starts telling me that this loan, no wait, NO loan can be in deference. And this one especially can't be, because it's been more than four years. I tell her, actually, it's been over nine years since I took it out... and 5.5 since I graduated from college. And now 2.5 since I've been back in school and not paying it. So why call me and tell me about it for the first time TONIGHT? She tells me I had forebearance... and I ask how that would happen if I never applied for it. And she tells me I "must have." This is the beginning of the end... so I ask whether she works for the lender or a collections agency, she becomes incredibly condescending and tells me twice "I work for the people who gave you the money to go to school." Now I am really mad. I tell her I am not going to give my credit card number to someone who calls me, telling me about a debt I have never heard of without some kind of verification.

Then she tells me I have to pay her $126 before 7:30pm (two hours from when she called.) I literally said, "or what?!?" She tells me some bullshit about "breach of contract" which I know not to be true and a lot of mumbo jumbo words.

I hung up for the call and cried, so pissed. And slightly suspected it was competitive classmate trying to throw me off my game for the exam tomorrow.

I think at one level pissed plainly because I have two exams in the next 36 hours and am just stressed. But I think also pissed at how much things like this affect me and how helpless I feel, even though I know it's ridiculous and even though this is supposed to be part of the career I am entering. I am supposed to fight for little guys but I can barely stick up for myself? It makes me mad how much power some bitch like she has, when I actually know what these words mean and know she's being tricky, but it still scares me. Kind of like when I got pulled over right before Thanksgiving and the cop told me I could "sign here promising you'll pay the ticket" or be taken into the station. Intimidated the shit out of me even though I know that can't possibly be the law.

And lastly, I think frustrated because I have all these stupid private student loans that I can barely keep track of. And none of them are for that much individually, like I think this one is $4 or $5k... I just really so wished I had the money to pay it off so that mean woman would never call me again.

But.

It'll be okay, I talked to the servicer, I think that woman is crazy and lying and it'll be able to go back into deferrment. Hopefully not being too damaging to my credit before that happens... meanwhile, the other thing worse than receiving vague and condescending threats... is reading about Business Organizations.

"I'm Still Hoping for a New Day Every 24 Hours"

That's a quote from one of the Restorative Justice class participants I saw graduate from the program on Monday at Columbia Correctional Institution. There was a lot that was really cool about it-- not only did the official diploma holders and speeches and so on mean a lot to a bunch of guys in maximum security prison, many of who have never successfully completed anything in their lives... but it was also cool that the reverend who runs the program brought all of these parishioners from his church to watch. Most of them had never been in a prison before, and now their experience was moving, uplifting, eloquent and replete with cake! MLKJ was quoted no fewer than 7 times and a really lovely allegory (it's all over the internet, like here) was told in the graduation speeches.

I hate prison. I hate the idea of it and I hate what it does to people. Going to prison is exhausting, even for me, just for the day. I find myself thinking about people who are in prison while I am going about doing other things... they are just still right there. It's interesting and depressing to see the different stages of acceptance and growth inmates have. I am not sure what I would do. At lunch on Monday, one of the social workers from the prison told us going to prison is her worst nightmare. She claimed she would kill herself before going to prison. I have been doing this small job since last spring, responding to inmate research requests from the federal supermax. Read about what it's like to be there. Twenty three hours a days in a cell alone. One hour of exercise. No contact with other people. I can't even imagine. I've responded to letters and had regular correspondence with some pretty illustrious guys over there... famous in the world of crime and "terror." This semester since now I am on a flatrate instead of an hourly payscale, I have found myself getting annoyed with some of the requests... I got one the other day, though, that jarred me out of being annoyed. I had provided this guy some divorce materials for Colorado, forms he could fill out and file himself. He wrote back, thanking me profusely and asking for a couple of other things. He included a copy of a form letter from the Colorado Bar... he had asked for referrals and they gave him an sheet of websites and phone numbers. Well, he mentioned, he doesn't have access to the internet. Or a phone. So could I just go to the website and tell him if there is a mailing address and what it is. "We are only allowed to send letters." Today I sent four letters to four different guys who, according to an old New York Times article were convicted together, two are cousins... I wondered if they even knew the others were there also? Did they all find me separately? How would they tell each other to write to me?

Anyway... most prisons are nothing like that. I am continually impressed by the brotherhood among inmates and how many help one another out. So I saw that on Monday, as well. Even though I missed out on the cake.

I'm Endorsing Obama and Crying All the Time

Ok, I mean, duh, right? I have endorsed Obama for President since 2004. There is a moment stuck in my mind and it comes up whenever I think of Barack Obama. Election night, 2004 in the old apartment in Brooklyn. Erica and Daniel are watching coverage on TV and I just can't handle it anymore, so I am in bed, listening to NPR. They report from the living room that Kerry has conceded Florida... and I start crying. NPR announces Obama has won in Illinois, making him the third black senator since reconstruction. And that was when I started wailing. Not only were were looking down the road of another 4 years of George Bush... but howfuckedupisthewholefuckingcountryanywayohmygod.

I've been getting really emotional about the election recently. I voted yesterday and started crying while connecting the arrow next to the Obama/Biden ticket.



Perhaps it was that I had waiting in line for 2 hours... but I think maybe the Hope has gotten to me. And not really hope for the country or hope that things could be better, but hope that it's my place after all. By far the hardest thing in 2004 was feeling like I could see so clearly how badly things were going, what a schmuck G.W. is, and then the country voted (and even if not all the votes were counted) many, many (most) of them voted for Bush. I felt so alienated from my country and just kind of afloat. Now, the idea that most people could vote for Obama... well, obviously it makes me cry. But for partially very selfish reasons-- it means my home is a place I want to be.

I cried about the election a second time yesterday. After voting, I was driving to get some Halloween supplies and passed a man standing on the side of the road, wearing Obama gear with a giant handmade sign that read, "VOTE!" I honked and gave him the thumbs up and we shared a milisecond of smiles.

And then I started crying again...

This time, I think, because it has also been so touching and inspiring how people have gotten into this election and taken ownership of the process and the candidate. Every election I've been able to vote in has been a disappointment... but all these people, they have that Hope, too. And they're making their own signs and spending Friday afternoon standing on a street corner.

There is a lot I can identify with in this article. Until about a week ago, I couldn't let myself go- we've been so devastated before. I can't let my hopes rise to have another 2004.. but maybe that's been this "hope" thing the whole time. And I don't want to live in fear or be a victim of the political process in my own country. Apparently, neither do others-- and so this is what has been so exciting about this election.

And, also... YAY! There will be crying on Tuesday night no matter what (Charlie, be warned). Here's to the happy kind!

For You Law Nerds Out There

In an interview with the public defender of a state that shall remain nameless, but is sometimes thought of (by me) as Vermont's evil twin (although less so now that they're apparently going blue):

Interviewer: What's your favorite Supreme Court case?

Me: Um... Is the right answer Gideon? Because that's the case that means we have jobs?

Interviewer: YES! Yes, Gideon is the answer-- and I've been waiting three days for someone to say it!

Other highlights include making up potential responses to the rumored Philly question, "do black people make you uncomfortable?" So far, we have:

a) Do white people make you uncomfortable?

b) No, no, I've spent a lot of time in prison.

Or, my contribution:

c) Um, everyone makes me uncomfortable.

Baddest Ass

Friday morning I flew from Milwaukee to New Orleans at 6am. (Thursday night I had dinner with my step dad and this guy and this other guy who represents Guantanamo guys and Padilla and other cool stuff.)
The weekend was wonderful. I was there for a wedding and got to spend great time with new and old friends. It was a beautiful ceremony (including a reading from the law nerdily appropriate Goodrich v. Dept. of Health.) I discovered I still had "it" when I caught the shuttle to the airport at 3:50 a.m. on Sunday, still wearing my dress. I had actually decided to leave the rest of my stuff in New Orleans and fly back as-is... but made a last-minute good call.
And so, I am still recovering. I arrived home without my cell phone charger but with some kind of upper respiratory infection. Nevertheless, internet, please know, I am badass.

)

Musical Reviews

I've gone to concerts for free the past two Friday evenings. You wouldn't know it. In fact, if you only read this, you'd know very little about now.

Friday before last, Charlie won tickets to Langhorne Slim. I've found it very easy to win tickets to minor concerts in Madison. Basically, if we both enter three main sites (Madison.com, the Onion and Muzzle of Bees), we seem to have a better than 50% chance of winning. Overall odds are helped by incidents like where I won tickets to the Avett Bros. from both Madison.com and the Onion. Anyway, the show was really high energy and fun. I didn't really realize his following is approximately 8-10 years younger than me... but it was cool. We just sat in the balcony with the old people. I don't know his music that well, but the other fans did and it always makes me happy to see a bunch of people get SO STOKED when a song comes on.

Last Friday I registered people to vote at the Neko Case show, one of the first acts of Madison's ingaural Forward Music Fest. Yeah. That's right, I exercised my giant muscle of democracy while being entertained by a slightly-less-hot-than-I-remember-but-still-pretty-hot Neko. I am a really good person.

My good personality continued through Saturday morning when I participated in a 5k raising money for public interest law students. It was a lovely day in Madison. Riding to the race along the lakeshore path, I mused that if UW were located in a more temperate climate... it would be the hardest school to get into in the country. Because, let me tell you, on a nice day, it's unbelievably lovely. Post race we did what Wisconsinites do when it's nice outside... start drinking. And kept drinking. All day. Until 10:30 or so at night when I caught 20 minutes or so of SNL and decided that "the free market... not looking so free lately..." was the cleverest joke I'd ever heard. And then I fell asleep.

Now, see, this is why I don't blog more often. I try to talk about music and it turns into some minute by minute rundown of my day to day. Lame.

Tim Wise Does A Really Good Job

White Privilege and the election, via my mom.