Thursday, March 31, 2005

Okay, I’m officially over the Divine Tracy. It’s a downer of a hotel. There is a limit to how many times a day you can be scowled at without starting to feel like you’ve done something wrong just by living.

I’m also weirded out by my own feelings of anxiety and doom each night I retire to my room. I keep thinking of horror movie scenarios and urban legends about axe murderers. Unclear why. But the result is that I haven’t been sleeping well.

Today was rather hopeless in terms of work. I caught up on entries this morning and read one torts case before lunch, and then fled to Starbucks again, where the nice guy behind the counter gave me a medium-sized caramel apple cider but charged me for a small (I refuse to call the small a “tall” – that’s crazy) and brought it to my table. It’s nice to be girl sometimes.

Double M and I were both a little blue today, perhaps because of the grey weather. She also skipped out early and joined me at the ‘Bux, and we then strolled down Chestnut Street all the way back to the hotel. After dumping our stuff off, we charged off to see “Beauty Shop,” in which all the actors were a pleasure to watch, but the storyline was like something out of Screenwriting 000. I also missed a LOT of cultural references, which isn’t surprising.

I think I’ve decided to put away my books for the remainder of the break, and try to relax. I was just SO bored today at Starbucks, reading about the public policy justifications for vicarious liability, that I packed it all away in a huff. It’s spring break, for the love of the Divine Tracy.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Well, I managed to get another room on the floor. Third room’s the charm, right? It too is nicer than the first room, which I looked at this morning. The smell was gone, but as I told the lady at the check-in desk, “I don’t feel comfortable staying there.”

There was unabashed sun today for the first time in a several days, and I certainly got my RDA of vitamin D in. I felt quite carsick in the bus to the APS this morning, and so sat in the park outside the library instead of going in with Double M, intending to eat my breakfast and head on in. But then:

- I ate my banana.
- The chatty APS curator came by and said hello and encouraged me to check out benfranklin2006.org, which was put up for Ben’s 300th birthday next year.
- A pigeon fluttered down, hoping for some crumbs. I threw it a piece of my donut, and then lectured it on the effects of eating junk food, which it ignored. After a while, it gave up and flew away.
- A gaggle of children came by with a couple adults and ran around and screamed and did generally kid things, and eventually went away.
- Horse-drawn open carriages clip-clopped by at intervals. I took note of their orange triangular “license plates.”

Eventually, I realized I didn’t feel like going into the chilly APS library, so I took out my reading and finished it up, then went on to backlogged torts reading. Calabresi and accident law and strict liability – oh my!

Double M came out around noon and we went to lunch. She told me about her experience this morning with the Divine Tracy grandmothers; she’d gone out for a jog, with her sweats under her long skirt, and came back inside dressed the same way, earning the evil eye from the Elevator Operator, an elderly black woman in a brown uniform who sits next to the elevator. She headed upstairs and then got a phone call from Elevator Operator.

Double M: “Hello?”
EO: “I have some questions for you.”
Double M: “Yes?”
EO: “Who is this?”
Double M: “[Double M].”
EO: “Do you have anyone staying with you?”
Double M (confused): “No. What is this all abo ---“
Click.

Double M was, understandably, pissed off. The DT grandmothers are not your grandmother’s grandmother, but this was pretty rude. I told her that I’d also been somewhat taken aback by the general feeling of disapproval, but that it didn’t matter, as long as I got what I wanted (which, this morning, was another room). It is disconcerting when you try to be pleasant, and you think of yourself as fairly modest and independent and all the crap that the Divine Tracy movement espouses, and you keep getting the fish-eye from everyone at the hotel.

We agreed that the skirt business wasn’t all that bad, but with all real evils in the world today, concentrating on such peccadilloes was about the equivalent of burying your head in the sand. Double M pointed out that the DT started out as part of the peace movement, so why weren’t they out there agitating for peace instead of intimidating their hotel guests? I must say.

On top of it all, the Evil Archivist is on duty today, and is, for no appreciable reason, stymieing Double M’s research. Oh, the characters in Philly!

On the bright side, though, we went to a charming little restaurant in Rittenhouse Square, which is picturesque and full of babies and doggies and well-heeled folk. I’m getting quite a pleasant picture of Philadelphia. Who knew?

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Ugh, ugh, ugh! The toilet in my room overflowed, requiring a visit from “The Engineer,” who is an elderly man with an Eastern European accent, and one of the cleaning crew, who was very displeased at having to clean up sewage at 10 at night. I was very sorry too – I watched in horror as the bowl filled up with water, saying impotently, “No, no, no!” – but I don’t know what I could have done about it.

Due to the noxious smell, I’m in the room across the hall, which is actually nicer and cozier than the room I was in. Having been on antibiotics for the past few days, and not sleeping well for the same, I was ill-equipped to deal with the smell, and asked to move. Unfortunately, I only have the room for this night; someone’s got it for tomorrow. I’ll have to go deal with that one tomorrow – I’m not going back to the toilet room.

Ugh, ugh, ugh. Vomitous.

Thus ends what was otherwise a pleasant day. I spent all day with Double M at the American Philosophical Society library. The APS was founded by Ben Franklin way back in the day and is “the nation’s oldest and most prestigious learned society.” Or so I gather. The library is a nice, open room with a large Oriental rug on the floor and dreadful wireless connections. You can’t bring your own materials or pens or paper in without permission, which reminds me of my old Katherine Mayo research days. Sigh. Oh, when I was young and green and a depressed college senior.

I got permission to bring in my elective reading (really, they’re not strict at all about it), and procured a spot thanks to Double M’s established presence – “we don’t let people come in off the street, but if you’re her friend…” – and probably in part due to my own harmless appearance. (Never underestimate the power of being a little Asian girl. They never suspect you.)

I managed to get most of my reading done for the week I’ll be leading class with four other students, and despaired about the boringness and the fact that I have no interest in nor anything to say about lawyers as community organizers. Nada. This paper is going to be even more of a pain to write than the paternalism (DIE! DIE!) one.
Immediately after the APS closed at 4:45, we went to see “The Up Side of Anger,” which I liked, mostly because Joan Allen is splendidly angry for most of the film, as well as acidly smart, hostile to her children and Kevin Costner, and prone to daydreaming about people’s heads blowing up in her dining room. What was the last movie you saw about an intelligent, independent, middle-aged housewife?

I came back to the room at the Divine Tracy thinking that skirts aren’t so bad. I wouldn’t mind them if someone would make a pair of stockings/tights that didn’t rip or run at the suggestion of a snag, fit perfectly, and didn’t feel like a tight band of ruinous digestion around your intestines. Oh wait. That’s why they invented pants.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Philly.

It’s raining cats and dogs and elephants, with a good dose of wind thrown in, and I’m in the Divine Tracy Hotel, dry and warm after a shower. It wasn’t quite so wild when I got off the bus in Chinatown and walked over to meet Double M at the American Philosophical Society library, but after lunch at the Bourse, it started raining in earnest. Double M got me on the right bus, which dropped me off two blocks from the hotel. She also suggested that I change to a skirt in the university bookstore, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to stop off and change from my wet travel pants to a skirt that would also have gotten immediately soaked, so I swept into the lobby all wind-blown and wide-eyed and was told off when I asked if I had to change to a skirt: “Well, you SHOULD have been wearing one before you came in!” I don’t think she meant only to enter this hotel, either.

The hotel, which is located in the Penn campus, pretty much, is cozy, in a grandmotherly way. Which makes sense, since everyone who works here looks, at the very least, like a grandmother, if not a great-grandmother. There’s a hilarious set of rules that all the grandmothers are very strict about, including:

- In order to maintain this standard of Modesty, Independence, Honesty, and Righteousness, you are required to adhere to the following rules and regulations. Upon violation of any of these rules the management, at their discretion, may check out you out.
- LADIES AND GENTLEMEN ARE ACCOMMODATED ON SEPARATE FLOORS AND MAY SEE EACH OTHER ONLY IN THE HOTEL LOBBY.
- NO VULGARITY, OBSCENITY OR BLASPHEMY
- ATTIRE MUST BE MODEST AT ALL TIMES.
- Ladies: NO pant suits or slacks. NO shorts or mini skirts. MUST wear stockings.
- Gentlemen: NO shorts or sleeveless tops. NO shirts on the outside of trousers unless made to be worn that way. MUST wear socks.
- FOOD is not to be eaten in the room. Only candy, fresh fruit, (no melons), nuts, cookies and a cold or hot drink may be taken to the room.

The room isn’t bad – the furniture is what you might find in an archetypal American grandparents’ house, but everything seems clean. There’s a bureau, a desk, a bed, a walk-in closet. On the whole, not bad – especially for $140 a week! That’s incredible.

But what’s with the melons? Are they too sexy?

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

I went to sleep at 5 am. It's now 11:30 am and I'm wide awake. What is in this flu medicine?

AFter my eyes popped open at 10:30, I debated about going to crim for a while. For some reason I feel incredibly guilty about ditching today, despite the last dregs of my sanity reminding me that: 1. I haven't read, so if I get called on, I'd have to pretend I have no voice, 2. I'm still, incredibly, sick, 3. I have a great outline and people who will give me the notes from today, 4. I got 5.5 hours of sleep, and 5. WHO FRICKIN' CARES? I'm going to have to learn this stuff by myself for the final anyway.

So I'm staging a private protest against my guilt and staying home.

In 25 minutes I'm going to have to meet my moot court partner anyway, to do a final edit on our brief so's we can turn those 7 copies -- 3 with red covers! -- in by 4 pm. I think I'll ditch torts (4:30 pm) this afternoon too. There's an interesting-looking panel on Indian nations at 4 pm that I'd like to attend, seeing as I may be working on stuff relating to native Alaskan communities this summer.

My flu medicine is actually speed. That's the only explanation.

Speaking of drugs in general, the funniest moment two weeks ago: I was sitting in the weekly meeting of the legal services group I take part in, and we were talking about the case our team was handling. We were talking about crack cocaine when the supervising attorney, who has years of experience in low-income legal services, had this to say: "You know, crack will really mess you up. I've had clients who say that after they tried it once, that was it, they were hooked. And it really takes a toll on you." Pause. "Now heroin, though -- people who take heroin can function normally for years!"

I dunno. It made us laugh.

So I'm in the library, having just spent way, waaaaaay too long finishing up and then -- the real time suck -- editing down the moot court brief due today in -- gee, exactly 12 hours! My partner is going to stay up and make the table of contents and table of authorities (the list of cases we cite). She's also planning to go to Crim in 6 hours. And do the reading. Me? As if!

I realized a little too late that the honey lemon cough drops I've been scarfing down at a rate of 4 an hour are meant to be taken 2 hours apart. Since last night, I've eaten 30. Maybe that's why my tongue looks like it's been sanded down.

In 8 hours, I meet with my partner again and we'll do a final edit and then make 7 copies -- three of them with red covers. Why? Oh, such things are not to be pondered at 4 am, young chiclet. To bed with thee.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Alaska it is.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Still sick. Voice has taken a turn for the better, which unfortunately means I'm no longer speaking in a hoarse whisper that some might characterize as sexy -- better in this context means sounding like a dyspeptic frog named Rosie with a 40-year, 2-pack-a-day smoking habit.

Talked to someone who worked in Cambodia last year and said, "If you want to try working in an NGO dealing with human rights, this organization is one of the best places you could be." And said in regard to the first world guilt when living in a developing country: "Yes, that's always there. But you're doing your part."

And then talked to my dad, who reminded me that I wanted to work internationally, and that Cambodia sounded like a better fit with that in mind. Trouble is, I'm not so sure I want to be abroad this summer anymore. If I hadn't been in Korea for the two years before this, and traveled around to SE Asia, I'd definitely be done with this choice. But something about Alaska really captures my imagination in a way that Cambodia doesn't. Or perhaps no longer does. That's another thing: trying a new place instead of going back to some place I've already been. On the other hand, maybe it's a good thing to actually build on knowledge about a particular area instead of being so flighty.

Just in from my dad, over email: "I think you deserve taking some rest in a cool place like Alaska this summer after a year of hard work. ... Count my vote in for Alaska for your summer job place." Aw.

Have 23 hours to decide.

Why do I have these paralyzing periods of indecision? Sometimes I really would like to kick myself.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Laryngitis and possible bronchitis. Dee-liteful. (Though admittedly, the hypochondriac that is me is pretty damned pleased.)

I had a mini-drama with Friend last night because you know, the flirting don't stop, even when both parties have AGREED that nothing is going to happen. Both parties seem to have zero control over selves. which makes this party decidedly un-joyed at self and Friend. Hence, mini-drama. Which everyone needs from time to time, I admit.

So after that, I finally settled down to work on my moot court brief, which despite J1 not coming to town, I had not started revising. So from midnight to 4, I worked on that and got some decent stuff out. Anything to do with writing, I like, even when it's a fake appellate brief about internet defamation.

Woke up at 8 for no particular reason except that my body wants to hurt me.

Went to health services at 2:15, was told to come back and see a doctor at 3:20. Went to see doctor at 3:20 and was given a prescription for antibiotics (again, hypochondriatic hk very pleased).

Agonized and paced and fretted for a couple hours about where to go for the summer. Hawaii is out -- the job I'd be doing seems boring. So it's down to a legal services organization in Alaska that focuses on native communities, and a nonprofit in Cambodia that runs legal training programs for Cambodian officials. Have been going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Got some good advice from various folks. Gonna sleep on it.

Speaking of which, must sleep. Nyquil plus 4 hours of sleep plus laryngitis and possible bronchitis = zzzzzzz.

(Possible bronchitis! Whee!)

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Well! I must say. Life can turn around quickly. I had an extremely low number in the housing lottery, but today I got the room I wanted anyway, because unlike in other years, the building I selected did NOT fill up the first day. Very strange. And very happy!

Additionally, I have the entire evening to work on my moot court brief, when I was despairing of working on it at all because I thought J1 was coming into town today. Turns out there was a date mix-up and she's not here at all, which is not normally a cause of celebration but is tonight because I need to do work. So -- yay!

So ... still hating law school, of course, but having a pleasant day. Marvelous.

Monday, March 14, 2005

I left you all on March 5, having eaten good Chinese food, seen Keanu's new movie, and having hooked up with a hallmate and friend (in one, not in succession). Good times. Except the last thing, which was a big helping of bad idea. I wasn't too pleased with myself or friend that weekend, and sank into a post-busy-period, post-hookup black hole, sleeping several hours during the day on Saturday and sitting glumly around my dorm room the other couple hours I was up. Sunday the 6th was a bit better -- I left off feeling gloomy and started getting annoyed with self and friend, the end result of which I, in a fit of pique, posted myself onto Match.com.

Now, I know what you must be saying, as you shake your head slowly: "How could hk, she of infinite and dazzling charm, effervescence and delight, she of beauty and light, she of brilliance and wit, not be able to conjure up hordes of starstruck admirers with a snap of her delicate and graceful fingers?" Many is the time I have asked myself the same, young grasshopper. Maybe it's the New England thing, maybe it's the palpable resentment oozes from my pores when I am on campus (sticky, that resentment stuff), maybe it's the fact that I purposely hold myself back from exhibiting my true charms so as to give others a chance -- in any case, what's done is done, and my face and words, they be up on Match.

A word about the logistics of Match.com: you set up a profile of yourself, and you can then receive or send messages or "winks" to other members (a wink is a step below an actual message, it's just an indication of interest). Those helpful Match makers also send you a list of people each week that seem to match your requirements for a mate. So in the past week I've gotten several winks and messages, which has been interesting, I tell ya.

Now, I'm going to be stereotypical here for just a moment, but I must say -- what is up with men? First of all, my hookup partner tells me last Sunday (the 6th): I think you're practically perfect; you're my favorite person here, I'm really attracted to you, and I just don't know why I can't take that final step to, you know, date you.

To which I will refer you all to Bridget Jones' Diary, where Bridge's friend complains: if he'd only get over HIS commitment issues, he'd see that I actually have sigNIFicant commitment issues too. In fact, my commitment issues are just as big as his, but we're so stuck on his that mine just never come up.

Yeah. So, okay, friend and I talk about it, and I suggest that, you know, it's been several months since you've known my perfection, both personality and looks-wise, and if you don't know by now, perhaps it's a no go. 'Cause if you know, you know, you know? And friend agrees. And says he feels bad. To which I think, oh LORD.

On to more complaints. About men. On Match.

It's never easy rejecting someone, but there are several signs that I have recognized that cause the rejection process to kick in more quickly:

1. When the guy is 42 and he lists his potential partner as "between 18-42." Oh, LORD. Is it okay to date a TEENAGER when you are middle-aged? No. No, it is not, sir. It is, in fact, a sure-fire sign of grodiness. And heaven forbid that you date a woman even a year older than you. Actually, heaven forbid that you date anyone at all. Gross.

2. When the guy has "done extensive traveling in East Asia," "loves ethnic cuisine," and "speaks English and Chinese," it don't matter that he's listed both "Caucasian" and "Asian" in his preferences for partners. It is the sign of the yellow fever, my friends! Do not be fooled by the too-casual references to "love to travel," for he is only interested in sailing on the Yellow Sea. Heed my words, young grasshopper, and you shall not be stung by the yellow jacket.

3. When my profile requests partners to be within "10 miles of Crimson City," and dude lives in New Haven, CT. Read what it says, my man.

4. A trickier topic -- when the guy seems nice and all, but is, say, the desk clerk at a hotel. It is unbecoming and un-PC-ish to admit your social snobbery, but hk plunges into it, eyes closed and anticipating a blow or two: anyone who might possibly be impressed by my going to Crimson College Law School is not for me. Just don't want to deal with that kind of social distance. Sorry.

So what's left? I've "winked" back at two winkers, and have yet to hear back. I'll keep you posted, of course.

Aaaaaand, this weekend. Yes, so this weekend was a black hole. I tried to work on stuff, I really did, but I fell into the black hole. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but I could not stop crying yesterday. Yeah, I dunno. Same with today. I got the news that I have a really, really crappy room draw for next year (219 out of 245), so there's no way I could escape living in the same compound of prison-like buildings that I currently live in. To make it worse, the people I like in the hall are either living in an apartment, have special status so can pick their rooms before everyone else, or got a great lottery draw, so it's just me in the prison-like complex. It's unfair, yeah, but should that have wound up with me crying in bed and then taking Nyquil so that I could avoid being awake? I think perhaps not.

The trouble is, I do have a lot of work to do and some significant decisions to make (where to work this summer, for example, and if I want to live off-campus now), but I simply cannot think of anything worth doing if I got up out of bed. Put that together with a sore throat (where did that come from?), and that equals another several hours in bed today. I must admit, I'm not doing too well. Ugh. I hate this.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Yesterday I finished up my paper and my midterm by 3 pm -- most excellent. Even more excellent was that it wasn't like pulling teeth this time with the final draft. Somehow I was "on" when I needed to be, and I emailed my stuff to TAs and admin assistants with a satisfied sigh.

So endeth a month of pretty hard work, mostly concentrated in the past two weeks, with this paper and presentation and brief and midterm due. I could finally do laundry! And vaccuum! Very exciting.

Also exciting: meeting up with Neener, who insisted I pick a cuisine I wanted (Chinese) and essentially dragged me into Chinatown, leaving Crimson Square behind for the night. We ended up at Noodle Alcove, where the waitresses sigh and look put upon and answer questions with loud, accented complaints about how she can't possibly tell you what's "good" since everyone is different and likes different things and why aren't you, Asian girl, breaking it down for your white friend here? For some reason, this waitress really cracked me up -- it was like, how DARE you ask me to recommend something? Just freakin' pick something, moron.

After dinner, we wandered over to the movie theatre and discovered two important facts: (1) we had missed the start of "Constantine," the new Keanu movie, by 10 minutes, and (2) there is a movie called "Shark Bunnies" coming out. There is no way I can miss "Shark Bunnies" when it comes out. It reminds me of RosaG's old drawings in college of "El conejo de la muerte." I seriously considered asking for the movie poster and mailing it to her, actually.

But back to "Constantine": so we missed it by 10 minutes, and stood around debating whether to go see it somewhere else, when the somewhere else was at the other side of town in an utterly charmless neighborhood with one of those improbable New England names and where the theatre was a half mile walk over a freeway ramp from the subway stop.

Of course we went.

Such is the pull of the Keanu.

And of course the movie was dreadful.

But it wasn't Keanu's fault. The story was incomprehensible, the lead female character was undeveloped and unbelievable, the pacing dragged -- but gosh, that Keanu Reeves is mighty pretty. And Tilda Swinton as Gabriel is mesmerizing. And Peter Stormare (the eyeball replacement doctor in "Minority Report") plays a great Lucifer. And Keanu is mighty pretty. I may have mentioned that before.

I came back to the dorm in a post-big-project, Chinese-food, Keanu-driven happy haze, helped by the fact I only slept 5 hours the night before. Had a leisurely cigarette outside. Then went in and hooked up with someone in my hallway. With whom I have hooked up before, and known it to be a bad idea both times, and yet -- as I used to sing with BC -- baby, it's cold outside. But oh, baby, what a bad idea.
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Postscript: Because I am amused and astonished at the way life can be so circular (or Groundhog Day-ish, if you prefer), I checked my entries for this blog for this day, a year ago. Happens to be the day that I wrote a marathon entry about KB, my week-long fling last spring. Must be something about early March. KB, my friend, I'd miss you if I thought about you, and there are even times when I do. Think about you, that is. Thanks for the memories.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Heh heh. Tonight I convinced my neighbor to hold his weekly poker game in my old room down the hall instead of across the hall from my current room. Loud Midwestern boy helped in the convincing and then gave me a smile and a handshake as he said, "I've got your back." Nice, but could you also get my back the three times a week you wake me up with your loudness? The two girls also in proximity to the usual poker room also gave me high-fives and encouraging sort of "You go!"s and "Way to assert yourself!"s. Odd. Nice, but odd. Perhaps my long-suffering visage, seen in the halls at 2, 3, 4 in the morning on various days has had an effect.

Anyway, am perfecting my sphere of silence. Heh heh. And yay.

Talked to Stave today, which was a lovely surprise. Otherwise, have been inside my room all day doing the crim midterm and torts reading and worrying about how the hell I'm going to pump out a decent final draft of my paper on Paternalism (the topic that won't ever, EVER go away -- die, Paternalism, DIE!) for my elective.

Well, seeing as I skipped both classes today, I suppose I can skip two classes tomorrow too. Besides, Stave said I could. And also, since Famous Minority Professor (for my elective) has a no extensions policy, I figure I have a right to skip her class. I mean, damn, look at my past two weeks:
Last Monday, 2/21: 15-page moot court brief due. 8- to 10-page stupid paternalism paper draft due
Monday night: edit Paternalism lesson plan
Wednesday, 2/23: lesson plan shredded apart by Famous Minority Professor
Wednesday night: exhaustedly revise lesson plan 12 hours before class
Thursday, 2/24: lead class
Thursday night: read and comment on someone else's stupid Paternalism paper
Also Thursday night: end of "All Paternalism, All the Time!" week. Secretly vow to do some brain surgery and excise the part where the Paternalism files are cowering

But then:
Thursday night: get sick
Friday, Saturday, Sunday: move rooms, be sick
Monday: catch up on crim reading so I can do stupid crim midterm
Tuesday: give up on revising my worse-than-crappy moot court brief before meeting with my legal writing instructor
Tuesday night: meet with legal writing instructor. Start crim midterm
Wednesday: skip all classes to do crim midterm and reading for torts

And now it's freakin' Wednesday night and I have not starting rewriting the elective paper. Oh, and I asked for an extension but Famous Minority Professor only gives 'em in emergencies. So...aaaarrrrggggh. See also, damn. See also, SO SCREWED. And for further exploration of the topic, see DIE PATERNALISM DIE.

Must. Go. Write. Stupid. Freakin'. Paper. Oof.