OF DESTROYERS and SWEETNESS AND LIGHT
(or, The Long-Ass Entry I Wrote Instead of Reading Torts)

There's someone here I don't want to get to know.

Okay, there's actually lots of people here I don't want to get to know. But this one is different. This is one is a destroyer.

Aeschylus called Helen of Troy a "destroyer of ships, destroyer of men, destroyer of cities." You probably all know someone a little like this. These are people who leave destruction behind them when they leave -- and they leave often. These are people that you can't help but like. They are charming but not sleazy. They are quietly attractive, not brassy. The first time you see them, they stand out somehow, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s not that they’re beautiful – though they can be. It’s not that they purposely draw attention to themselves by being particularly amusing or brilliant. It’s not just sexual attractiveness, though that’s always there. It is simply that, for whatever reason, they are irresistible. Should you find yourself on the receiving end of their attention, you feel the world narrow down to just you and that person.

But if you start getting to know them, you start feeling a little uncomfortable. There are troubled pasts. There are many broken hearts. There is usually something big, something traumatic in their stories. But it’s not the things that are there that disturb you. It’s not the things that have happened that give you a prickly feeling in your scalp. It’s the thing that isn’t there. Call it morality, call it conscience, call it emotion – whatever you call it, it’s not there. What’s there is coolness. Blankness. Emptiness. They’ve been able to survive Very Bad Things, but it hasn’t humanized them. It’s left them with an indestructible core against which others collide, and fall, and shatter.

That’s when you start thinking that this person’s girlfriend or boyfriend isn’t so lucky after all. You find out there have been many partners, and nearly all of them have been devastated when this person left. You find out that their partners have always been the ones to give more, to want more, and that they were unsatisfied, but couldn’t give it up. You find out about strange, intense relationships with older people. It’s all very dramatic. It’s all very tragic.

That’s when you thank your lucky stars you’re not one of them. And you run the other way.

There are two destroyers here that I know. Perhaps it’s just perverse chance that they are dating each other. I’m reminded of the old physics puzzle of what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. What happens when two destroyers meet each other? Do they both walk away, their destructiveness made neutral by each other? Do they destroy each other? Do we find out who the bigger destroyer is? Do they find love and happiness, and sweetness and light?

You don’t really believe it would wind up being the last option, do you?

In the 1993 movie “Damage,” Juliette Binoche’s character has an affair with the father of her fiancée, and eventually brings that whole family to its knees. At one point she warns Jeremy Irons that she is damaged, and that damaged people know how to survive. That is how they are dangerous. I watched that movie years ago, but I’ve been thinking of it recently. I’ve been starting to spend a little too much time with one of the destroyers, I think.

On to something a little less melodramatic – I went out last week to a Crimson College Law and Med Student gathering at a bar and re-met someone I’d met on the first or second day of school. Nice guy. We exchanged some pleasantries, I impolitely and purposely ignored him as I played pool, he disappeared. But what should appear in my student box this week but a note from Nice Guy, asked if I’d be interested in lunch or dinner someday. At the end of the note, he signed his name and added in parentheses: “we met at the beginning of the year and last week at [the bar].”

Very brave, and I applaud the courage. I appreciate the straightforwardness, too, especially in comparison to Friend, whose inability to decide anything makes hk want to repeatedly hit her head against her whitewashed dorm room walls. But … no. Sorry, Nice Guy. There just ain’t anything there.

And speaking of Friend, I have to point out some sweetness and light, because damn it, those periodic moments of sweetness and light do keep tipping things the other way when I’ve had enough. Last night I went to a grad student orchestra concert, about which I’d asked Friend multiple times about his interest in coming along – first verbally, then through forwarding the info on email, then verbally again, then verbally AGAIN about 45 minutes before the bloody concert. The last time, I got really irritated, because damn it, what is so hard about answering the question, “do you want to go to this concert?” It’s not that I was lacking in people to go with – I’d have gone by myself, even, but it turned out that there were people from The Clique going, so I didn’t care about that. I just wanted an answer (starting to sound like a familiar refrain, eh?).

So 45 minutes before I’m leaving, Friend says that he was going to go play hoops with the guys, but that I asked him first, so he’d go with me. I was annoyed by this, since – hey, I’m not forcing you to go, Friend! If you want to go shoot hoops, go! If you want to go to the concert, go! But don’t be all, “I’ll feel so guilty if I don’t go with you even though I’ve made plans to do something else.” (Yes, I know I do that too – hypocritical hk here.) Friend humorously and accurately said, “You know, there’s no way for me to win here, is there? If I don’t go to the concert, I’ll feel bad, but if I do go, you’ll just think that I’m going because I feel bad.” Well, um, yes. Your point?

Friend said he’d try to come to the concert after basketball, and I was like, whatever dude, do what you want. It’s okay. So I went to the concert with the Clique and we actually left at intermission, and then I found out later that Friend had actually come after intermission and looked for me. Aw. And he didn’t even try to make me feel guilty about leaving, which I totally would have done if the roles had been reversed. Aw.

Can a paper topic be worse than paternalism (DIE! DIE!)? Yes, my friends, it can be. It can be community organizing, about which I know little and in which I have no interest, and thus, nothing to say. I already vomited up 8 pages of crap for my first draft last week, which was a mess (in the words of my TA: "obviously still somewhat disjointed, and without a conclusion"), and now it's 10.5 hours before the final draft is due, and I have an additional two pages of disjointed paragraphs, no thesis, no conclusion, and no idea how to make it better.

Shoot me now. Please.

Sob.

So the basic idea is that community organizing is a way to solve a community's problems while simultaneously building up the capacity of community members to identify, mobilize and implement their own solutions to their problems. Community empowerment is the name of the game. Why should I care about this? Why should lawyers do this? I have no freaking clue. They shouldn't. The status quo is fine. Forget the whole "we're already in hell" thing -- let's just leave things as they are. The disempowered will continue to get fucked over, the power elite will continue to dine on artistic slivers of carrots at the latest $75-per-head restaurant du jour, the crunchy Birkenstock-wearing types will continue to howl soundlessly into the wind, and I will get to go to bed. After I take a shower. Because for some reason I smell awful. Is it possible to suddenly develop really foul B.O. for no apparent reason? Maybe it's a health problem. Maybe I'm becoming diabetic. God, I hate this paper.

Sometimes you do what you can and leave the rest to the gods.

After a debilitating afternoon spent in bed, unable to muster the motivation or energy to arise, I finally called Double M, who was able to sympathize me out of bed and into my clothes for dinner at 8 pm. Actually, hunger was also a good motivating factor -- it's hard to mope when you're so hungry you want to throw up.

I'm not sure why today was so hard, but it was. So I went for my usual remedy of pho, over the only reading I could stomache -- selections for my class with Famous Minority Professor that were all about how law school sucks (speak) -- and then treated myself to a smoothie.

While I was waiting for my Strawbana, the president of the mediation program student board walked in, looking for dinner. He offered me a ride back to campus. The president's a tall, nice-looking fella, with a humble and kind demeanor not usually associated with tall, nice-looking fellas. But then I found out that he went through high school being the short, skinny kid, and only got his growth spurt in college. Ah ha! You can always tell those late bloomers from the tall people who have been tall all their lives.

Anyway. I have 3 hours of crim reading that I will have to wake up in 6 hours to do, but hey. You do what you can.

Dilemma of the Day: Am currently considering fleeing to DC for reading period, to be away from the stress factory during the week before exams. But I can't find a ticket under $120. Should I go? Hm...

Oh, and reader thanks for the day: MattSal reports that a number of hk in seoul readers logged into his MusicLab experiment. MattSal gives his thanks, as do I. If you haven't checked it out yet, take a few minutes to listen to and download (legally!) some free music. It'll be your contribution to science for the day.

Traditional Korean thought holds that spring is a time of fatigue. Plants and flowers, coming into bloom, take a disproportionate share of the finite amount of energy in the world, decreasing the amount of energy available for us humans. Fall, in balance, is a time of increased energy for humans. We harvest crops and take energy from the world in the form of food. Trees and plants, dying, give up what they took in the spring and we humans benefit from that.

I am tired.

Part of it is that in the past week or so, I've been gallivanting about to various social events -- a semi-formal, a boat cruise, a bar night, dinner with a classmate -- that require a good deal of effort for an introvert like me. But who knows? Maybe it's the season. Spring is a rather hateful time of year.

I just came back from a 5-hour-long board retreat/meeting for the mediation program, for which I am one of next year's recruiting directors. This is an activity I enjoy and believe strongly in, but lord, do I hate administration. I really am not a leader or a manager. I know it's vital, and I am grateful for people who like and are good at it, but I just want to do my thing and do a good job at it; I don't want to set policies or ponder the ramifications of decisions. I am so not a thinker.

Went to a Passover seder (dinner) tonight at a Jewish nursing home, courtesy of Joiner, whose aunt works there. It was educational and interesting, and quite depressing as well. Old people who are active and vital are not depressing. Old people who no longer understand what is going on are depressing.

Joiner and I got back from the home and both felt low, low, low. We started talking to another hallmate, who had decided not to apply for a non-resident tutor job next year at one of the Crimson College undergraduate residences. The residences hire Crimson College law students to be pre-law advisors to the undergrads, which means that the undergrads in each residence hall have a personal advisor who looks over their application, keeps track of the deadlines, helps them gather the pertinent materials, etc. This was not the reason why my hallmate decided not to apply, but -- what the hell? No wonder so many Crimson College undergrads get into Crimson College Law School -- they have personal counselors for that express purpose. Why should they get that advantage, on top of everything else?

That led to talk about helping people in need, which was on my mind, you recall, from my TA's talk on Thursday. The rabbi at tonight's seder (who was unbelievably good-looking -- that kind of thing really should be outlawed) also talked about helping others and humbling oneself before God. My hallmate said that it was sometimes depressing coming back from visiting her "Little Sister" (she does the Big Brother Big Sister program) because she felt like nothing she could do would improve her little sib's chances in life.

This sparked the memory of a Korean saying, which I shared with them and now with you: "It is better to be alive and live in a field covered with dog shit than to be dead." Or something like that. It speaks to the hardships that Koreans have gone through over the years. I'm not sure I entirely buy it -- there are fates worse than death -- but it helps me to remember that when I get down, or when I think about the sometimes intractable nature of socio-economic class, or when I think of people living in abject poverty, or when I think of ... any number of things, really.

I asked above why Crimson College undergrads should get the advantage of personal pre-law counselors when they have so many other advantages. I'm not blind to the irony in this; I know that Crimson College law students are in the exact same boat. It's sickening how much we're given here, how much we are catered and pandered to by law firms. Double M marveled at the free coffee in the mornings, and the free feminine hygiene products in the bathrooms (yes, for real). There's a kid in my hall who has eaten dinner for free two or three times a week on average this semester because of all the firm receptions catering to first year students. I know this doesn't happen at other schools.

The irritating thing about it is that people seem to take it for granted. Or rather, they're mostly too young and immature to understand how much of a privileged position they're in. I have never been in a situation where so many people act inappropriately, or rudely, or unthinkingly, or self-centered-ly -- well, the adjectives are getting out of wack, but you see what I mean. The way people get drunk out of their minds at firm receptions. The way no one talked to the woman in my hall about her drinking problem before she drank half a bottle of vodka and ended up in the hospital. The way people come back to the dorm at 3 in the morning and play video games, during which they SCREAM and pound the table when they've repeated by asked over the year to keep the sound down after midnight.

Most of this, I am well aware, is immaturity. I was immature and inconsiderate and self-centered in college, and I would hate to be judged by the way I was at 21. But it does bother me that a lot of these kids are going to go into obscenely high-paying jobs and know only a life that scatters pearls before them. The same criticism can be made of me -- it's only a matter of relative consciousness and awareness of other avenues of life. And many people here ARE conscious of their positions of power, and understand the responsibilities that come with that power. But my god. It makes me want to scream.

This culture of entitlement and privilege makes me uncomfortable, as I suppose it made me in college, where I was less able to articulate it. I don't want power. I don't want to lead. I just want to do some good in the world -- more good than bad would be nice. I don't need all the perks and open bars and ice rinks and law firm paraphernalia. It's not just the skills valued and encouraged here that I feel alienated from, it's also this culture.

I think my strengths lie in completely different areas than law school, which makes me sad here. I like making people feel better when they're down. I like helping people figure out the way they feel. It's kind of funny -- in my elective with Famous Minority Professor, the readings are often about lawyers taking a step back, learning to listen to the community, to the client. That seems so obvious to me that I'm sometimes bemused by the readings. Lawyers provide a service; they are part of a service industry. Of course they should be listening to clients and communities. That's their job. But the assumption seems to the opposite -- that lawyers do tend to make decisions for poor clients, or on behalf of communities they're litigating for. It's not a paradigm I identify with. I don't need to be told to listen -- that's what I do best! I need to figure out the opposite -- how to speak!

Well, I've gone on and on tonight. I'm in a weird, kind of blue mood, brought on by the seder at the nursing home, and by some (more) irritating interactions with Friend. The spring, I think, lulled me into a thick kind of acceptance, even happiness, about where I am. But I don't think it was real.

Normally I approach Famous Minority Professor's class with mixed feelings. Sometimes I'm very glad that it's so different from my other classes -- instead of frantically typing away as the prof drones on or fires nitpicky hypotheticals at quivering students, there's usually a nice discussion going on between students, as Famous Minority Professor sits and takes notes, in order to improve upon the class in future years. Groups of students create the lesson plan, around readings that have been chosen by TAs (who have taken the class) and the professor, and a different group leads the discussion every class. It's is a nice example of how law school classes could be.

But sometimes I get tired of the navel-gazing and what -- to my ear -- sounds like whining. Gosh, it's so HARD to be a lawyer when we struggle with these issues of paternalism and professionalism and adversarialism and a bunch of other 'isms. God, shut UP. It's not just the students, it's the authors of the pieces we read too, which is why I usually skim the readings, if they're theoretical or academic in nature, and reserve my full attention for the newspaper articles or first person accounts of stories.

So it's a mixed bag -- at times procedurally admirable, at times substantively tiresome.

But yesterday there was a really standstill, amazing moment. The best moment of the semester. Maybe the most impressive moment of my year.

I was part of the group leading the class discussion on community organizing, and the role of lawyers in organizing. Community organizing, as envisioned in this class, is a way to empower communities -- particularly low-income or otherwise disempowered neighborhoods -- to take control over their lives and to find solutions to their own problems. Community organizers have a difficult relationship with lawyers -- a lot of organizers hate lawyers because lawyers see problems in terms of lawsuits and courts and rules that can be challenged or manipulated in court. That's the way they're trained after all, but it's not very empowering for communities if a lawyer breezes in, assesses the problem, and files a suit to fix it, as opposed to alternative methods of solving problems. It's particularly problematic if the lawyer -- or organizer -- is not a member of the community; achieving legitimacy and being sensitive to the difficulties of representing a community that isn't your own is a major concern.

Our group's TA was a community organizer for six years before coming to law school, so when we were coming up with the lesson plan, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to ask him to speak about his experiences. He did so, and ended up by saying this:

"Now, I want to sort of preempt the arguments that often come up about lawyers' roles in community organizing, and being different from the community you're organizing. There's a piece that you didn't read -- it was in the Recommended Reading -- that profiled some community organizers. A lot of community organizers really hate lawyers. And there's a concern that lawyers shouldn't go into this kind of work, especially when they're not part of the community. There's the question of how you can do this kind of work if you're not from that community.

"But I think the question is not how you can do that kind of work, but rather how you can NOT do it.

"They say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and that's true, and I had people say to me, 'We don't care if you make mistakes, as long as you come back the next day.' So yes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but the point is: we're already in hell."

At this point, the class laughed, and the TA looked around.

"I wasn't counting on a laugh for that comment," he continued, "because it's -- it's easy to sit here, as law students, with our expensive laptops, when two floors below us -- literally underground in tunnels -- immigrant workers are scurrying around making -- basically cleaning the shit off our shoes."

The class went quiet. There was no tapping of keys on laptops. The silence hung there for a moment, tense, guilty, uncomfortable.

He went on and apologized for getting off track, but when he left the front of the room, everyone applauded.

The best part of any class here is when people tell stories from their lives. In this class, touchy-feely as it is, there have been some really memorable stories:
- The man who felt he had to work in transgender law because he used to be a woman, even though his real love was animal rights.
- The woman whose father is a coal miner, who went to a fancy French restaurant as part of a firm function, and ordered steak tartare. When she got the raw meat, she couldn't eat it. She'd only ordered it because she thought it was steak with tartar sauce on it.
- Another woman's side comment that her mother didn't understand why she was choosing to go into nonprofit work, because she could do anything, and anything to her immigrant mother meant taking a prestigious, high-paying job.
- The black man whose grandparents and parents deferred to his opinions now that he was a Crimson College of Law student.
- Famous Minority Professor's own story about being dissed by a former president for a top governmental position.

The TA's talk was the best of the best. He's normally quiet and extremely respectful of people's feelings and opinions, so his comment about the maintenance and cleaning staff was even more powerful. It was ... electric. Completely devoid of the bullshit and the complicated theories and the hyper-intellectualism of this place. It was real.

The members of my group and I missed a great opportunity after he spoke to explore people's reactions -- we stuck to our lesson plan and had Famous Minority Professor speak, and then heard from two students we'd asked to talk, but no one had the effect that the TA did.

I think probably everyone in this class (and hopefully in this law school, though I'm doubtful) struggles a little bit with our roles in society when we comes out of this place. We're so privileged, and so powerful relative to many segments of the population, and yet the vast majority of graduates work at corporate firms when they leave law school. Probably an equally vast number leave those firms for other jobs after a few years, but I don't know how many end up in nonprofit work, or any kind of work that addresses social inequity. Certainly the percentage that go into that kind of work right away is very, very low.

I don't mean this as an attack on corporate lawyers -- lord knows I'll probably be one for a few years myself -- or a criticism of the different priorities people have. Jobs should fit the talents, skills and goals of the worker, and not every job has to directly address social problems. I think the TA's comment struck a nerve with a lot of people, though, because there is that nagging feeling that we should be doing something more. Few people say, "I'm working for a firm" with unabashed pride -- almost everyone says it almost bashfully, as if they know they should be doing something more socially redeeming. Like I said, there are a lot of new lawyers who leave corporate work after a few years. But there's a sense of guilt about doing it in the first place. And there's also the frightening ease with which we all get used to creature comforts, and become creatures of our habitat, so that the guilt slowly dissipates under the weight of pressing deadlines and projects, so that the image of immigrant workers scurrying around underground while we type frantically away on our expensive computers slowly fades, so that it's hard to remember why we are already in hell. Here. Now.

Went on A Certain Ethnic Law Students Association's boat cruise last night, which was surprisingly jolly and fun and at which I drank a fair amount, resulting in drunken knocking on Friend's door when I got back to the dorm, which resulted in another maddening and overly analytic conversation about the nature of certainty and knowledge (i.e., the idea of instant, instinctive knowledge about the rightness of a decision versus the gradual acculturation of a new idea), which included me drunkenly and imperiously demanding, "Don't you know who I am? Don't you know how goddam lucky you are?" and which resulted in me going to bed (alone) at 3 am or so.

This morning, then, it was not so pleasant to be woken up at 10 am from drooling, delicious, much-needed sleep by a commanding knock on the door. I fumbled for my glasses and opened the door to find suffering. It was in the form of a classmate who is having a doozy of a break-up, and who seems to have no one else to confide in. So I canceled my plans to go out with Gen (not once but twice -- first to move plans to noon and then to cancel them altogether), and listened and tried the best I could to be a soothing dampening rod to a shaken, agitated and teary reactive core.

Around 2 or so, my classmate left, and I cast about for something to do in order to avoid work. Ended up going out to a 12-ounce Bloody Mary brunch with Joiner, and strolling around in the sun, shopping. Very pleasant. I took a nap after all that hard work and liquor, and woke up at 8 pm. With an 8- to 10-page paper due tomorrow at noon. That I have not written a single word of. Am. So. Very. Fucked.

But I wouldn't change a thing about this weekend. Well, I suppose I should have danced at the semi-formal on Friday night when Joiner asked me to (she was worried I wasn't having a good time), and not made such a big deal about not wanting to dance, but otherwise, I wouldn't have changed a thing. Oh, except the creepy phone call at 5 am yesterday. And the unsatisfying talks with Friend. Oh, all right. It's spring, and the sun and warmth have gotten into my brain, requiring me to forgive all and smile like a fool.

Ladies and germs of the jury, I present to you -- men.

MEN ON TRIAL -- CRIMES:

1. Fuckwittage.

As per SOP, I got upset at Friend last night during a hook-up because really, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? You clearly enjoy spending time with me. You seek out my attention and time. You've taken the time to get to know me. You aren't interested in anyone else. You find me attractive. You missed me over spring break. And yet you're not sure if you want to date me. So I ask you -- what do you want from me?

I know I made Friend feel bad, and I admit to even purposely doing so. I just don't understand. I don't understand.

2. Creepiness.

After Friend left, I -- weary, confused, and PMS-y -- sat and cried for a little while, despising my own wishy-washiness in this whole messy business. And then I turned off the lights and crawled into bed. It was about 4:45 am.

Around 4:55 am, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Good morning," a man whispered. "Did I wake you up?"

"Who is this?"

"Don't you know who this is?"

I thought for a second. For a moment I thought it was Friend, but I dismissed that as crazy -- why would he call now? And why would any of my guy friends be calling me at this ungodly hour?

"No," I replied, "Who is this?"

Again in a whisper: "Guess."

"I don't know. Who are you?"

"Don't you know?"

"I'm hanging up."

Click.

A moment later, the phone rang again.

"Hello?"

The whisper: "Why'd you hang up on me?"

I hung up without saying anything.

MEN ON TRIAL -- MITIGATING FACTORS:

1. Caring.

The freaky thing about this phone call was that someone else in my hall also got a similar phone call at a similar hour, but she had mistaken the guy for her boyfriend for a minute before realizing. The creep actually said to her: "Take your pants off, I'm coming over," before she hung up and, freaked out, went over to her neighbor's room.

If it had been during the day, I would have been annoyed, but would have dismissed it to some loser trying to get his jollies by making idiotic phone calls. But in the week hours of the morning, with the sky still dark and no one around, the sibilant whisper got to me. What if the caller knew where my room was? What if he wasn't just a harmless creep? So I went to Friend's door and knocked.

After telling him the story, he came back to my room with me so I could shut and lock the window, and lock my door. He then spent 20 minutes searching for the email that both of us sort of remembered addressing this caller, and got the Crimson College campus police number for me. And he offered to let me stay in his room. I declined.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "No, I'm not!" I answered in a higher-pitched voice than usual, born out of general fatigue and unease about the phone call. "Well, then hold on," Friend said, soothingly.

I did end up sleeping in Friend's room, which was a lot more comforting than lying awake thinking some creep was outside my window.

MEN ON TRIAL -- FAIR TO MIDDLING:

I woke up at 8:45 and decided to sleep the rest of the morning in my own bed. At around 10:30, I got up to go on my blind date at Chi Chi Hotel Restaurant. Gen had set us up, most because (I think) we're both Korean Americans. Which -- whatever.

The food was adequate, which, in light of the $16 entree prices, was kind of unacceptable. But I offered, he paid, and we had a smooth full hour of conversation. It was ... unoffensive. No sparks, but no awkwardness. Neither of us was particularly impressed with the other, I felt, but we weren't disgusted either.

MEN ON TRIAL -- JUDGMENT:

Oh, you knew there wasn't going to be a judgment. This was just a cutesy way to get all the events in of the past 16 hours. But here's a wrap-up of the events:

1. Creepiness.

I filed a report on the creepy caller. When I called the campus police, they said this guy apparently got a hold of the student directory and has been calling women on campus the whole year. They think he's based in Florida. It's random, and he seems to want to make women believe that he was their boyfriend, in order to elicit some reaction when they realized he wasn't. He calls at 5 in the morning to catch women off guard. I asked if he'd be charged with something if they ever caught him, and the officer said yes, harrassment, but I don't know about that -- since he calls different women, can it be harrassment? Can you be charged with harrassment of a community of women? I don't know. I do know, because the officer who took the report said so, that he called someone last night too.

I doubt he'll call me again, but no one should have to receive a phone call like that. It's violative of your personal space, your safe zone, your home. The woman two doors down from me was so scared that she went to her neighbor's room crying. I'd personally like to beat the crap out of him for being such a fucking creep and getting his jollies from scaring women.

The stupid and enraging thing about this is that it's been going on all year. Like in the case of the Peeping Tom (who, I hear, the school found but who has not been kicked out), Crimson College doesn't seem to put great priority on informing students. One woman in my hall suggested I unplug the phone from certain times. But why should I have to do that in order to be free of creepy phone calls? It makes me angry -- angry at Crimson, angry at men, angry about the world. And I get angry that more people don't get angry. Apparently, the woman across the hall from me also got a call this morning at 5:15 am, but she just hung up. This is the same woman whose window, during the night a few days ago, was wide open in the morning and the screen shoved halfway open. Our RA, overhearing this, said that last year, someone climbed into a girl's room through her window, but left after the girl screamed.

Why weren't we told about this? Why are women placed on the first floor of the dorms, which are easily accessible from the ground (I have entered and exited through dorm windows with no problem)? Why hasn't the Peeper been tossed out of school, or identified to the women students? Why has the school resorted to electronic monitoring of who goes into women's bathrooms, when the real problem is the fucking Peeper and his sicko ways of getting kicks?

2. Fuckwittage.

Friend and I had a short talk this afternoon. I basically said, look, it would be fine with me if we dated, but you've got to want to do it, not feel pressured into it by me or the situation. At one point he said, "Okay, let's try it," and I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. This would be a kind of fucked up way to start dating.

We're going to talk again later.

It's a very postmodern, overly analytical situation.

It's fucked up.

No, it's stupid.

No, I'M stupid.

3. Caring and Fair-to-Middling

The officer who took my statement said he was angry that this happened to me, he would be angry if it happened to his sister, and he sometimes thought it would be a good idea if the guy had to confront all the women he's woken up at 5 am with his whispered "Good morning"s. I wouldn't mind having the chance to give him the best right hook I have. Or better yet, I wouldn't mind having the chance to make him feel creeped out and unsafe. This is not a feeling that a lot of men can fully empathize with, and I so wish they could.

The Blind Date said he'd email me in a week or two, so he and I and Gen could all hang out. I don't expect to hear from him, but hey! Thanks for lunch, dude!

April 12, and it is snowing in Crimson City. I shit you not.

As far as I'm concerned, this has officially made it 5 months of winter (the first snowfall was in early November).

I have my moot court oral argument in a two hours and 45 minutes. Yep, it starts at 8:45 pm, and because I'm the second speaker for plaintiff-appellee, I won't be speaking until 9:30 pm. Great.

Oh, spring. You make me crazy with your fickleness, your false promises of beauty and youth that in a few days fade into shriveled blossoms ground underfoot by passersby, your tendency to cause people to whip off their shirts and socks and reveal winter white skin totally unsuitable for tanning -- didn't y'alls' mamas tell you about skin cancer?

Spring has hit Crimson City hard. Just last week I was wearing my orange wool coat about and today I was lying in the grass with nothing but a sleeveless tee and jeans on. (And a big ole hat, of course -- the sun is the enemy of my skin!)

I normally despise spring, but five months of dreary Crimson City weather and life wore down my usual resistance to the charms of spring, such that -- to my utter disgust -- I feel my spirits and countenance wearing a smile.

Of course, spring is the season that makes people a little crazy: all that time cooped up from the chill of winter, stuffing one's face with eggplant grinders while watching TV or attempting to read torts, and suddenly -- freedom! The increase of light decreases appetite, increases energy, and stimulates sex drive.

Speaking of which, I had a morning taken right out of a French comedy. Last night, after being very upset with Friend after he kissed me, to the point where I really thought we were going to not speak anymore this semester, I did a complete 180, succumbed to hormones and spring, and ended up hooking up with Friend. Again. (Hoots and jeers from the gallery, and ironic bows from me. Next act: self-loathing.)

Fast forward to today, noon. There's a knock on my door. Friend and I realize that it's Joiner, who organized a lunch trip to a restaurant today. We freeze and stay quiet, because you know, it's such a BIG SECRET that we're hooking up from time to time. I hear people talking about how the reservation is for 1 pm, so we have to leave bit early, and where are Friend and myself, anyway?

This is tricky; I sleep lightly and everyone knows it, so if I were in my room, I'd certainly have been woken up by the repeated knocks on the door. Friend is a far heavier sleeper, so he can say that he just didn't hear any knocking on his door. But I'm just going to have to say that I wasn't in.

I remember at about 12:10 that I was supposed to go running with Gen at 10 am today. Shit! I check my email and find, fortunately, that Gen canceled. Whew.

At about 12:30, Friend peers out cautiously and slips out. Success.

I formulate the plan that I was, uh, running with a friend, and thought we were leaving at 1 pm, and ... yeah. That'll do.

Except that I can't freakin' leave my room to pretend that I came in, because people are standing in the freakin' hall. Shit!

12:32. Still standing there, dammit.

12:35. I look at the window and get an idea.

12:36. I discard the idea.

12:37. I renew the idea.

12:38. I discard the idea. What is this, a frickin' French comedy?

12:39. They're still in the hall! I'm going to have to do it.

12:40. I do it. I put on my new exercise clothes from J1 and bigbro (apologies for using them the first time for such a devious deed!), push the screen aside, push the window out as far as it will go, and jump out of my first floor room onto the ground. I jog around the side of the building to the door and let myself in.

12:42. I walk into the hall, greeted by, "There she is!" I apologize profusely ("I thought we were leaving at 1 pm!), and am told to shower in 2 minutes.

1:10. We hit the restaurant, get seated, and I shake my head at myself. I feel badly about lying. But what do you do when your life is freakin' sitcom?

My legal writing class instructor got half of our section in to observe oral arguments in the First Circuit appellate court yesterday, necessitating a trip into town early in the morning. The best/worst moment was when one judge said to one attorney, "Well, then, you have completed misunderstood the law. I'm trying to help you out, counsel. Do you have any other arguments to present?" He didn't. Burn!

I didn't stay the whole time, but apparently the consensus was that the trip was a confidence-builder -- we have our mock oral arguments next week, and hey, we can't do much worse than some of the lawyers arguing yesterday in front of actual appellate judges.

I left during a break with several other classmates, and said goodbye when they entered the subway to go back to school while I walked on in my oppressively uncomfortable shoes toward that palace of pleasure, DSW. (Discount Shoe Warehouse, to you uninitiates out there.) I don't always find something to get there, but yesterday the shoe gods were with me -- Kenneth Cole Reaction heels in the exact style I wanted, in the exact size I needed, for $19.96. It just doesn't get better than that, dawg.

I considered buying a pair of Saucony retro sneakers for $40, but couldn't get myself to do it. The cheapskate in me just won't die. I tell ya. And I know it's not all that expensive either! I just -- dunno. It's a thing.

I walked around a little bit after that supremely successful shopping experience and enjoyed the spring. Yes, it's come to Crimson City and its environs -- 60 degrees yesterday, with a tiny bite to the wind, but otherwise perfect. It almost made coming back to campus bearable.

Working backwards... I went to class on Monday with disgruntlement in my heart, which continued into the afternoon, when I just could not focus to do any work. So much for the break being a period of relaxation so I can push through the final 6 weeks. But! Met J1 in the little Italy section of town for dinner and had an excellent time over a bottle of wine and lobster ravioli. Yum. And fun! Sometimes I wish I could be more like J1. So stylish. So confident. So enjoying of life. I know I'm such a downer sometimes.

Ah well. At least I get to wear the hand-me-ups of the J three (J1 and her two sisters).

Sometimes I do think I'm the only one who is so bothered about law school, but I was walking with a classmate today who also took a walk around town after oral arguments yesterday, and she said she didn't want to come back to campus either, that it was so nice to be away from school. There really are a lot of people who don't like law school -- in fact, the majority of people, I'd say, aren't too fulfilled or interested by the classes. The difference is that a lot of them do enjoy the whole experience of it -- when you don't know anything but school, what can you compare it to?

And working forwards... tonight we had practice oral arguments, where we delivered our arguments in front of our sub-section classmates and then -- worse yet! -- had to watch ourselves on videotape afterwards. There's something about being on the judge side of the bench that sends even the most mild-mannered on a power trip. It's that unlimited power to interrupt the earnest lawyer on the other side, when that lawyer can't do anything about it, and has to pull out the respect for you no matter what. It's heady.

Appellate oral arguments usually consist of the judges asking lots of questions, interrupting you, and generally wreaking havoc on your prepared speech. Which you shouldn't at all expect to deliver. It wasn't so bad tonight, with classmates acting as judges, although I flubbed a couple questions. Everyone said that I had a very calm, "Oprah-like" voice that belied the difficulty of my questions (I admit to grilling my classmate when I was judge). I found the experience of arguing less scary than I thought, though I hate thinking on my feet -- I just get so anxious and sometimes flustered.

Actually, I think being grilled by the actual mock team of judges (a student, a professor, and an outside lawyer) might be less intimidating -- there's something about being judged by your classmates that is supremely unnerving. I confess that one of my judges tonight is a fantastic public speaker (she has a doctoral degree and teaches, so lots of practice) and delivered a great argument, so it was that much more paralyzing to be on the end of her pointed questions. There are a couple issues that I think will just sink me if I get asked about them (a little more prep time may or may not fix that), and I've got to work on turning questions into opportunities to get my points in. I seem to be perceived as quite calm and unshakable though, so that's good. Little do they know that my insides were churning and heart hammering all the while. My partner asked me how I was so calm; I'm all about presentation, that's why! Substance can seem so much more impressive when wrapped in assurance.

Oow. Pain in stomach. Weird. Possibly should not have eaten MSG-laden Chinese food truck super-spicy chicken two days in a row. But it's so goooood. The Chinese food truck is my new favorite gustatory experience.

Aagh! It's 1 am. Must sleep.

Yesterday, on my way to Chinatown to catch the bus back to Crimson City, the 2/3 was stuck at 96th St. for close to 15 minutes because of a water main break on 14th St. Then it stopped for another 5 minutes in between stations before finally lurching into Times Square.

Just before we got into the Times Square station, the woman standing next to me said, "Can I get around you and past your bag?"

"Sure," I said, "but I'm getting off here too."

"That's obvious," she snarked. "It's going to take you forever to get out with that bag."

Oh, impatient rider of subways! I missed my 3:30 bus and didn't even make the 4:00 bus, but did I feel the need to be snitty to my fellow passengers? No, I did not. May you get your tongue burned by your grande cappucino this week, emitter of unnecessary snark.

The duffel bag on wheels that I borrowed from someone for spring break caused me some amount of muscle anguish, as I lugged its oppressively lumpy (TM BC) shape down several streets of slowly walking gawkers in Chinatown. Oh, slow walkers and middle-of-the-sidewalk stoppers! May your wireless connections be ultra slow this week.

While I'm on the topic of annoying persons, let me not forget the bus driver from Philly to New York, who ate a salad while driving 50 mph on a bridge, and then proceeded to talk in A VERY LOUD, CARRYING TONE for half an hour. This was exceeded in annoyance levels only by the young man across the aisle, who felt the need to let the bus know that he was not really looking for a relationship with Kate, just some quality hanging out, and who was very excited about seeing "Sin City" that night, and whose female roommate said, "You're like me, with testicles," but with whom he wouldn't take the plunge because living with her was like a perfect marriage (they bought fish last week). Oh, loud, obnoxious, invaders of personal space otherwise known as inconsiderate users of cellular phones! May you experience a paper cut from a manila file folder and (because you are SO annoying) have uncontrollable, evil-smelling flatulence while in bed with your loved ones.

I got to Crimson City at 8:30 pm and proceeded directly to pho, with no stops and no passing through GO. Ah, pho, pho, pho! Healing pho. Life-giving pho. Lifter of spirits and provider of low-calorie nutrients. May your makers recline on pillows of silk and damask, and drink cappucinos that always are the perfect temperature, have lightning-fast wireless connections, never handle manila file folders, and be immune from flatulence for all time.

I came back to my dorm room exhausted and most displeased by being here again. Have you ever felt the physical sensation of something sucking out your soul? Neither have I. But I imagine it would feel much like the moment I stopped to switch arms in dragging the oppressively lumpy duffel bag, and paused, looking at the law library in all it's longer-than-a-football-field, white marbled glory. It's spring, but not here.

I’ve had a rather elegant morning, doing some needed correspondence (on real stationery) on an old-fashioned desk with a slanted top. If I had a dressing gown, I’d definitely be swishing around in it. Maybe with a glass of gin in my hand. Just kidding. But not really.

There IS – in the daytime, anyway – a sense of old-fashioned elegance here, from the furniture to the skirts to the set-up and feel of the rooms. Too bad the people running it are such a drag. It could have been a fun experience.

I also seem to have found an open wireless connection from somewhere, so I caught up on some email as well. Love these unsecured wireless connections! Keep ‘em coming, people.

I decided to sleep in a bit today, in a last ditch attempt to rest. This spring break has been somewhat less relaxing than I hoped, mostly due to my inability to stop myself from imagining monsters under the bed and the overhanging guilt about not doing enough work. Life just isn’t meant to be lived like I’m living it – bored and resentful and anxious about schoolwork. I can’t do it this way anymore.

That’s why I’ve decided to drop out of school.

Bwah hahahaha! Check the date, y’all. Hee hee hee! Hoo! Hum. Yeah. I know.

Back to New York today on the 5 pm Chinatown bus, to have dinner with Double M’s family, then a day and a half of more friends and fun until the Return.