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...

Only Children

When it comes to birth order, the greatest bias is against the "only child." First, please remember, that in birth order the category is actually "only/first." But I digress. I am an only child. Well, kind of. I am my father's only child. I was an only child until a week before my tenth birthday when my mom had my sister (and I was warned, even at that young age, to never call her anything but my sister, because we came from the same womb.) But again, digression. So I identify with the only child. I know, from half of my parents what it is like to be their only child and from the other what it is to be her only child for ten years. And we get a bad rap! Truth be told, I know some terrible only children. But these are only children of intact couples, coddled along through adulthood. There is another kind of only child, the kind who was treated like an adult from a young age. And was expected to operate in an adult world. This is my kind of only child. This isn't the Veruca Salt, "Mommy, I want it NOW!" child. This is the child who learned big words and big concepts early on. This kid had a lot of adult interaction and, yes, was never in the team of kids ganging up on the parents, but had to negotiate for herself. There is no better or worse in birth order... oldest of ten kids and younger of two, it is all about explanation. However, I feel a bit hot sometimes when only children are categorized and dismissed. Because some only children feel very deeply for others and some only children are only the least little like the stereoytpes. And those only children sometimes feel like they've been fighting all the same fights "we" are now fighting, but for decades. So, odds are you know some awesome only children who have been saving your spot in adulthood... we don't need a thank you, just some kinds words the next time the dreaded "only child" comes up....

[Editor's Note: And we're only the least little bit self-righteous, too....]

DING DONG

You how they've been telling us "it's starting"* for, like, 6 years but it hasn't really been? I know four couples who have gotten engaged in the past week. I am sincerely happy for all of them- well, three of them. The other one I'm more ambivalent about (you don't know them, I promise. And if you do, you're also ambivalent.) But anyway. Holy crap. At this rate the whole world should be married by 2012. Maybe I should rethink my absolute rejection of the possibility of being a divorce lawyer.

Just kidding, engaged friends. Well, I'm not, I could make a lot of money... But I'm talking about those other people, not you, don't worry.

In the meantime, special congrats to my bloggity friends Fletcher and Lauren. I'm just going to tell people that instead of Wesleyan Spring Fling 2002, you guys got together through my blog, ok?


*Wedding-fever, that is.

TSA Math

At the store, out of toothpaste, I decide to pay $1.97 for 3 oz. of toothpaste instead of $1.50 for 6oz... because, well, I'll be able use it again after I fly back to MN on Friday.

Um, President Obama, we're in a "recession," perhaps we should de-prioritize the federal subsidy of the travel-sized toiletries industry?

Internet, Let Me Tell You Another Time I Was Wrong...

I am in Minneapolis this weekend, for the Southwest High School Class of 2009 graduation, which happened tonight at Northrup Auditorium. My little baby sister Zoe, the first and only person I have met within 5 minutes of her birth, graduated. I am also, of course, a Southwest graduate... although in my day the ceremony was outside at the football field. More changes include the dissipation of the largest Tibetan community outside of Tibet (everyone is named Tenzin, and I can explain it...) and the influx of huge Somali famlies. The hall outside was a beautiful sight, full of Somali women and children, delighted at their sons and daughters accomplishment. I wanted so badly to take a picture of a group of them with mylar balloons, but didn't know how to without being rude... so I have a mental picture I'll hold on to.

I realized soon into the ceremony that I've never been to a graduation that wasn't my own. I felt impatient and cynical, mostly the whole time. I felt like the speeches were full of cliches and repetition and at one point felt the urge to shake some of the 18 year old speakers and assure them, in the annoying and condescending tone I used to hate that I have apparently grown in to, "BELIEVE ME, it will get so much better...." They spoke about the great friends they have and the importance of these 4 years. I felt old and wise and a little jealous that they still have the last ten years I've had ahead of them. They're a great ten years, I thought better and more important than anything that came before. They've been life-changing and life-affirming and I do believe I have been probably three different adults in this time. I wouldn't trade it. I noticed that my art teacher from high school was one of the "senior advisors" and then saw her there, across a sea of purple plastic caps and gowns. She was my second-favorite teacher in high school. She was young and cool and since my first-favorite retired a couple of years after we graduated, she's now my "favorite" teacher still at Southwest. When Zoe went to pick up her diploma after the ceremony, the art teacher was handing out "N through R" or something. I went over to her, tapped her on the shoulder, she turned and said, "oh my god!" And remarked at how I look exactly the same. She asked what I am doing, I said I just graduated from law school and she said, "no shit!?" And I felt so strongly like I was going to start crying... and crying hard. But I didn't, we chatted, she continued to hand out diplomas and then I left.

And now I am pretty sure I am wrong. If those years were so cynically wasted, why did her hug bring me to tears? Was it yearning for a time when teachers were also part social worker, I could cry and tell her my fears about the newest stage of adult life? Was it the undeniable that when Southwesters get together, for a wedding like September 2008 or on my deck over my birthday weekend, there is something reassuring about being with people who have known me for a long time? Longer than the new new law school life, longer than even college life (which is now almost ten years, and believe me, I value more than I can blogsplain)? Because, as I think I have mentioned before, I left Minnesota and thought I was so done and ready to start a new life-- and I got one. But it's refreshing and necessary to be around people who connect the old life with the "new" life with the new new life.

I liked one part of the student speeches very much, it was about how lots of things we think are important now will stop seeming as important. But that they are important, because they are a reflection of the choices we make and the choices we make are who we are. Soon I will switch to an even newer life, not completely alone as I have been for the past two incarnations, but a new life anyway. So, here we are Internet, I think I was wrong. It's not cool to be cynical and thinking high school didn't matter is... wrong. Those were choices, it's all part of me and connecting 28 year old me with 14 year old me... is, well, an ok reason to cry.

It's Friday the 13th, Let Me Tell You About Seeing Dead People

This December I was in Santo Domingo with Kristina and Sylia (and Johan and many more Alcantaras, but I don't believe any of them where there for this.) We were taking the bus back into the city from the beach at Boca Chica and passed what looked like a pretty nasty car accident with a bunch of people standing around and what looked to be a white sheet over a body on the ground.

That came up later, I think when we were in taxi en route to drink some caipirinhas or maybe some ice-cold Presidente. Kristina and Sylia thought it was strange, maybe even one of them said they'd never seen something like that before... and I had this realization that I have seen a lot of dead people while traveling.

In probably 1992 or so, my friend Hannah and I were walking along the beach in Mexico and passe some policias wrapping up a body that appeared to have washed in from the ocean. Later that night, my mom's friend told us it was probably a guerilla from Chiapas. I pretended to know what that meant.

In 2001 I went to Japan for two weeks. I spent about half the time in Tokyo where my dad and his wife were living, and half of the time traveling around. I was very taken with the place, the culture, how everything was so different and efficient. At the end of my stay, the three of us were waiting on the subway platform for the train to bring me to the airport. As the train pulled in going the opposite way, a man on the opposite platform jumped in front of it. My dad and I were the only non-Japanese people in the station and were in shock, I was looking back and forth between the mess that used to be a person, my dad and the people around us. Everyone in the station immediately got on their cell phones, obviously annoyed that the station would be shut down and they'd have to find another way to get where they were going. Men with white sheets came out from who knows where and started cleaning up the blood and body parts. Masako said that this line, the Chuo line, was nicknamed the suicide line and that once a day, somewhere in Tokyo, someone does this. Maybe they lost their job, maybe they are failing their families. The curtain fell and I was no longer in love with that culture, I was disgusted. I hadn't known how I felt about it, but all of the sudden it was clear-- I don't think you should kill yourself because you lose your job. I think you should stick around and take care of your family and get a different job and... oops, I was about to miss my flight, we made a mad dash to the airport. I spent the time waiting there talking to a man who was in the military and now comes back to visit his girlfriend in Okinawa. It was very retro. And my dad and I didn't speak of this whole episode for over a year.

I went to South Africa with my mom and sister in the summer of 2006. My major memories are me doing all the driving (manual transmission on the left side of the road? I'll collect my badass badge later) and World Cup soccer. Oh, and also it was really, really pretty. Anyway, one day I was driving along the Southern Cape, my mom and Zoe were asleep and I passed an accident. An accident that didn't look all that terrible, but there was clearly just a dead person laying in the road. South Africa is strange because in some ways and in some places, it is so developed. And there, for those black South Africans and their dead friend... it was completely third world. (That term is like "retarded," sometimes there just isn't a better one.) It was dusty and no ambulance was there and everyone looked dazed.

I thought there were more examples. Maybe there are and they will come to me. It's interesting how different death is in other countries, whether just more people die and they have to get used to it, or so many people cause their own deaths and it's socially acceptable. When Erin and I were in Peru, I remember having what seemed like an epiphany. Maybe our silly modern life is overburned with safety features and padding, maybe we should just be living more simply and more dangerously. A short time later, I saw a man with a tumor taking over his face. And after we left, the same bus we'd taken, white-knuckled, form Trujillo to Huaraz drove over the side of a mountain and everyone was killed. And then I had a second epiphany, which was that I sure am a moron sometimes.

I've Always Wanted a Hobby...

A week or two ago I went into Starbucks. Now, I wanted a medium, skim, sugar-free vanilla latte, but I am hip to their lingo (aka trained like a Pavlovian dog) so I asked for a "grande skinny latte." I move to the end up of the counter and wait, eventually the barista puts a drink up on the end and says, "grande standard." I didn't take it, no one else took it and they called it again, "grande standard" then kind of giggled and said "grande skinny vanilla latte."

Now I never really thought I was going to Starbucks for the respect... but this seemed to cross some line. Like you extort $4.50 out of me for a coffee and then you say I am just like every other ugg and leggings-wearing bimbo to walk through these doors (except, notably, with neither uggs nor leggings)?? I don't think so.

So I engaged in what I plan to become my hobby-- complaining to corporations. I spent longer than probably necessary on Starbucks.com telling them how on one hand their success to due to them serving the exact same thing all over the world... on the other hand they have had this whole campaign of expressing yourself through your coffee. Either hand means it's bad business to alienate your customers and make them feel like losers. Or try to, since in reality it didn't really work. But on starbucks.com, I was very offended. And it resulted in two free drink coupons in the mail. A little righteous indignation and 6 minutes of work for a $10 value? This is like having a job or something!

So my new plan is to complain to lots of corporate HQs, in the hopes of being similarly compensated. The one kind of rule I created is that I can't make up what happened, but I dial up the actual outrage I felt in the situation. So, for example, Chipotle will soon be hearing how offended I was that they told me the guacamole was extra-- I am just unsure whether to explain it was because they didn't recognize me as a "regular" or because I felt like they were calling me "poor."

I'll let you know how it goes.

Could Have Been Hilarious

I am sitting in the grass outside of the law, having just completed my Evidence exam. And there are all these kids being taken on tours of the University. Kid-kids, like approximately 7 or 8 years old. And they stop in front of the law school and their tour guide tells them, this is the law school, this is where we train the lawyers. "Does anyone know what a lawyer does?" So this could have been really funny and cute... but instead the kids says kind of boring (but uplifting things) like, "they fix things" and "they go to court when people have to go to court." Then the tour guide tells them that the law library is the quietest library IN THE WORLD and that when you go in, you have to open your bag and give the librarians your computer and cell phone. This is a lie. He says this is because when you're training to be a lawyer, you have to read very difficult things and can't be distracted. I did not show him the scrabulous game I was working on. He then told them that the law school is sinking into the hill and that the glass structure in the middle of it is what keeps it afloat. I had never heard this before, but for good measure, I plan to stay away from the building until August.

I'm Sure This Has Happened to You

You know when you just always assumed an expression meant one thing and then learn you were wrong? I recently realized when discussing what is the "carrot" and what is the "stick," I had been thinking the stick is what you use to lure the donkey to do what you want them to-- by using the stick to hold the carrot out in front of the donkey. Like so:



BUT everyone else is talking about hitting the donkey with the stick. Which is frankly disturbing and maybe cruel. Anyone else have any realizations lately? Is this stupid?

A "huh" moment.

Not to be confused with an "ah-ha!" moment. A "huh" moment comes when one, for example, is trolling the internet and sees that the other member of one's last serious relationship is now "in a relationship" of his own. Huh. Of course, now much time has gone by, I was "in a relationship" first (and a good one. Wink, wink, babycakes.) And so forth. Anyway, it doesn't warrant much more an a "huh." But definitely produces one.


Huh.

Household Pests

I will level with you internet, one of my greatest fears (I mean, literally, GREATEST FEAR) is getting mice in the apartment I live in alone. This is only moderately tempered by having a boyfriend who, whether he would admit it now or not, would be required to deal with the dead mouse bodies and put me up... well, forever, or until the mice were gone. I can deal with a lot things. I consider myself a strong person and I think I've weathered a lot and surely there's some shit coming down the pike. But. I. Cannot. Deal. With. Mice. Roaches, fine. Gross, but fine. As the original residents of 340 8th St can attest, if we lay traps and kill a mouse, I kid you not, all I can do is scream. Julia eventually ordered me out of the kitchen when my screaming also included breaking a glass. So then there was a dead mouse and broken glass. Awesome, Sarah.
Anyway, thank BABYJESUS, there are so far no mice here. But there are flour moths and there are fruit flies. The flour moths are easier to deal with because, honestly, I don't keep that much food around, so I just threw some of it away and it seemed to get better... but a girl forgets one plastic bag with an apple in it in the fruit basket for a couple of weeks... and there is no going back. They are everywhere, they are sitting on my toothbrush when I go to brush my teeth. They are sitting on the clean dishes in the dishrack. Gross. Ok, fine, I learned my lesson.... no more produce. Thats what they are trying to tell me, right?
So. I did what any reasonable person living in 2007 would do (except for the person who emailed me to ask how long it takes to drive from Madison to New Orleans. I, as nicely as I possibly could, referred her to googlemaps and/or mapquest), I googled "get rid of fruit flies."
The websites suggest putting a banana in a jar, covering it with plastic wrap and poking small holes in the plastic wrap to trap the fruit flies. Ok, fine, except everyone knows how hard it is to buy ONE banana, so I'd end up with, say, 4-5 bananas in this scheme. And we can't refrigerate bananas, so they'd go in the fruit basket. And isn't this EXACTLY WHAT THE FRUIT FLIES WANT? I think so. I think the fruit flies have made it to the internet and are posting in these forums.

Yes, I will tag this post both "theories" and "the deep end." Thank you for your patience.

Last Refuge of the Feeble-minded

My supervising attorney/clinical professor from this summer had us do this reading in the beginning of the summer, it was basically about how law school f's you up and why lawyers are bad writers. Especially why law students are bad writers. It's the whole interesting theory about when you're put into a new environment and learning things quickly, you revert. It's a kind of defense mechanism. Which explains why I am a worse speller than... well, I have ever been. And why I am never sure of a single grammar or punctuation rule. Ok, so the effect is supposed to be wearing off by now... but stay with me.
So I am in this seminar with 20 or so graduate students, PhDs in Sociology and Latin American History, some Education. And I really haven't felt this useless for awhile. Granted, we've only had two classes... but I am sooo out of practice. When the Argentine education PhD refers to Foucault's theory of Power... my blood runs cold. Not because I've never heard of this, but because I have... but... goddamn it... it seems so long ago... and my head is so full of eminent domain and supremacy clause and consideration and jurisdiction. Tort! Tort! And all three times I've spoken, I've gotten the distinct feeling they're all humoring me. "Uhhhh.... huh...." It's kind of a raw deal, because they can all bring up whatever they've been writing dissertations on... and out of fear of being "law girl," I kept quiet when I actually knew something they didn't about International Law. Damn them.
Anyway, I am hoping this is another case of being torn down before being put back together and the feeling will pass. Because, my god, if I am going to feel like I waste of space every Friday from 2:30-5pm... it should be because I am hungover.

Partners

So after reaching a certain age we have probably all come to the conclusion that you can't get everything you need from one person. This isn't cynical, I don't think, but more the realization that we're complex creatures and we need all kinds of things and finding one person who can provide all of them is an impossible task... that being said, I spent an hour this morning, naked with a man and paid him for it.

It was a massage through health services and it was fantastic. I would highly recommend it. And since I have yet to find a romantic partner who is willing to rub my back and feet for 50 minutes while playing soothing music and attending to my every relaxation need...* now I have Jonathan.

*this is not at all to diminish anyone in my life who I don't pay and their devotion to my relaxation or backrubbing... it's just... different.

Flipping the Script

I was debating whether to write about this, since it's possible the subjects may read it. More likely they won't. And, even if they do... it's true and I could use a reckoning.

So there is this group of people in my class who spent all of last year talking about "public interest" jobs and campaigning for a viable Loan Repayment Assistance Program. They held events, they circulated fliers debunking peoples' excuses for working at large firms. They worked in clinics like I did this summer.... and come late August, they donned black suits and started fighting tooth and nail for these large firm jobs. One, who is also a friend, told me today she thinks she wants to go in to copyright. Um. Excuse my french, but what the fuck? I can't imagine spending as much time as they did on public interest/LRAP stuff unless I felt passionately about it. I can't imagine abandoning something I felt passionately about at... well... the first opportunity.

The thing really isn't their working at a big firm, I have nothing against that. Ok, really I do, because I have this silly feeling like my life should have some social utility and want my job to reflect that. But honestly, there are plenty of people who have said big firms are where they want to be from day one and have reasons why. And that is really ok with me, I don't understand it, I don't agree with it for myself... but it's their prerogative and god bless.

The people that are irking me lately are the sneaky ones, the ones who have been dishonest somewhere along this route. The ones who told us not to work for firms and then suited up at first call. Perhaps they are the biggest gunners of all and we've been fooled by an elaborate hoax... ? Hmmm... I don't want to totally alienate them. I'll be toiling away at my silly social justice issues and using my law degree to improve peoples' lives... and maybe they'll take me out to dinner. I'll be so hungry. So very, very hungry.

5 year Plan

I've long been frustrated by the time-space continuum. No matter where I am, the bastard keeps me from being able to hang out with my favorite people. The t-s c is especially nasty here in Madison, I had been almost gaining on it in New York that first year... but I digress. I have often fantasized about all my friends moving to the same place. I was imagining Louisville for some reason, but based on some recent convos, there is a new plan:

Hear Ye, Hear Ye. We're all moving to Seattle. I realize you might be in the middle of something, so your presence will be expected there no later than 2012. Think on it.

The cold, hard truth

The truth is, not really that nothing has been happening. But that I've felt insanely busy. I've been leaving town every weekend (which, except for this weekend, will continue for awhile.) And the days are packed at work, squeezing in SHN stuff and then coming home and working on SHN and journal stuff for a couple of more hours. It's been very minimally social during the week, and feels kind of strange since I think it's the least social I've ever been. It's also a strange feeling since I can see into the future and this is how it's going to be. I didn't really enter this thing (life? law school? trying to make things better?) to work 9-5 and come home to watch tv. I mean, some of that is great, but... Anyway, the point is not only to make distant excuses to my readership/friends about my shitty communication skills, but also because I feel like I am learning to live and be happy (I think) in a completely different way. Unfortunately for my past, but fortunate for my future, finding intellectual and emotional fulfillment from work is kind of a new thing... and I kind of like it.

I also nominate MILLER CHILL for "Beer of the Summer 2007." Votes?

I love

I love buying plane tickets, since getting a "deal," going places and accruing frequent flier miles are #s 2, 3 and 4 after "drinking beer outside" on the list of favorite things. But I don't get it. I am shopping for ways to get myself to New Orleans in August, I might have a meeting. So it costs $376 to fly non-stop from Minneapolis to New Orleans. But if I fly from Madison to Minneapolis to New Orleans... it's $304. To fly the same flight, plus the MSN --> MSP leg. But, of course, if I wanted to just fly Madison to Minneapolis, that's $302. Maybe that's why I like it, the thrill of the challenge, the problem-solving. Man, if the LSAT had included a travel-logic section... I'd, well, have done a lot better.

Really good idea....

So I was just thinking about this the other day... it has been more or less agreed upon in my informal poll of my friends from college, that the men we went to college with look worse now than they did then, and the women look better. We used to think this was because the men used to play sports and drink excessively. But now they just drink excessively. Anyway, so my idea what that this phenomenon has more to do with sexual peak. Could it be nature's way of procreating us? Making men the best-looking at 18 and giving women until 35 to look their darn best? Is this even true? It was just an idea.

Something I like

Is not being a in state of transition. Going back to Fall of 99 (not counting the 14 yrs previous of staying at a different house every couple of days, switching elementary schools twice or any of that other crap...
August 99: Move to Connecticut, start college, don't know a single person.
May 00: Move back to MN, summer at camp.
Sept 00: Back to CT, move into the Copenhagen.
Jan 01: Move into A2.
May 01: Move to Boston.
August 01: Back to CT! And Intown.
Dec 01: Back to MN....
Feb 02: Move to Chile.
August 02: Back to MN
Late August02: Back to CT! Move into 42 Home.
May 03: Homeless for a month.
June 03: Move to NYC, start Temping.
December 03: Start first job.
Jan 05: Quit job, go to Peru.
March 05: Come back from Peru, start new job.
May 05: Move to next apartment.
April 06: Quit job.
May 06: Move out of NYC. Go to Africa.
July 06: Move back in in Mpls.
August 06: Move to Madison.
......
April 07: renew lease.
.....

... same "job" and same place for 2 years? A novelty. I'm digging it. I even cleaned out my closet to celebrate.

What I learned on Wikipedoa this morning...

I followed the link from Lauren's post, and learned:

Andrew W.K.'s real name is Andrew Fetterly Wilkes-Krier. His father is James Krier, professor at Michigan Law and co-author of my property case book.


Thats's it.

**It has been brought to my attention that the international internet sensation and basis of most of my knowledge for the International Law exam on Tuesday... is not, in fact Wikipedoa, but Wikipedia. Apologies. However, there is some good shit on UNCLOS III and Alien Tort Claim Act at www.wikipedoa.com.**