Miscellaneous things on my mind:
Music:
Why is it, when you’re trying to study, the DJ plays good songs? So far this morning, WXRT’s Terri Hemmert has played Coldplay’s God Put A Smile on Your Face, A3’s Woke Up This Morning, and Steve Miller’s Swingtown. If I hear Rev It Up or Good Day For the Blues, I’m gonna scream.
This never happens when I’m driving on the road, dying to hear a good song. I’m stuck listening to crap like 1980’s/90’s Eric Clapton (sorry, but he hasn’t done any good music in about 20 years), Van Morrison (can’t stand him), the Beatles (a few good songs, but not my favorite band), or Led Zepplin (a little goes a long way. A very long way).
TV ads:
I saw an ad for the American Mint on Friday. Seems they are taking the quarters issued by the government, painting them colors, and selling them as ‘limited editions.’ Their ad was pretty funny. To wit:
“Each quarter is minted in limited quantity, and sells out quickly…”
And
“1999 quarters were produced in very limited quantity and are very rare…”
And
“Each quarter is produced for a limited time, and never again…”
Sells out quickly, eh? Very rare, eh? Produced for a limited time and never again? So explain this: if all this is true, how is it that you’re offering a “limited edition” (there’s that phrase again) three-year set? Did you not sell all the 1999 and 2000 quarters? That would make phrase I a lie. Actually, it would make phrase II a lie, too, since they can’t be that rare – otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to sell the limited edition set. Instead, you’d be selling them on their own for whatever you could get. Kind of like Cub tickets. Or White Sox tickets. Especially for any playoff series past the first.
Of course, the funny part is that you advertise that whomever buys this will have “all the latest” quarters, even though you’re only offering quarters issued between 1999 and 2001, despite the fact that eight more quarters have been issued since 2001.
Must take a while to cull all those quarters from your loose change, I guess. But hey, for only three easy payments of $19.99, they can be yours. By the way, true collectors hold painted coins in contempt, and don’t give them any extra value. So those quarters you’re doling out big cash for? They’re worth, oh, $3.75 on the collector market. Enjoy.
Blogs:
What is with people ditching their blogs? I have about ten or so that I regularly try to read, and in recent months, several people have given up on writing. First was Caryn, a/k/a G.I. Jane. Then Mike bailed. I was bummed out, but not as much as when Angie bailed on hers. I felt like I lost a friend (I know you read this, Ang. I wanted to know that I hope you don’t stop. And send an email occasionally, ok?). Now edie singleton is considering giving up her blog. C’mon guys, don’t leave me standing out here all by myself…..at least Moxie, Leah, Marty, Maizzy, Joanie, Scott, Annika and Jeremy are all still around. I'd better drop in on Fish and Petit Hiboux. It's been awhile, and who knows?
Kelly over at crimeny wants me to install an RSS feed. Kelly, darling, I’d love to do just that, but…..I don’t have the first clue how. I’m good at typing. Beyond that….uh, well…..I have about as much luck as I do dating, which is to say none.
If you can help, I can definitely meet demand number 2. And while you're at it, if you can install a paypal link, so I can shamelessly beg for cash, I'd appreciate it. And I'm sure any future dates would also appreciate it, provided I get any.
Other things:
Men’s Health this month has an article on why straight guys need gay friends. I have several gay friends (and a gay cousin), but they’re not doing what this article says they should be. I need to sit down with them and discuss this article, tell them they need to ratchet up their work ethic, otherwise I’ll have to put them on some kind of ‘friend probation.’ I mean, c’mon, all guys know cute girls dig gay guys – so why am I dateless? Hmm??? I’m sensing underachieving performance here. So what if my gay friends are telling me my wardrobe needs updating. That’s what girlfriends are for, damn it! Right? So get cracking, guys!
Ok, maybe I’m not totally serious about the friend probation thing.
Oh, and finally….
Thirteen more days. Ugh.
Monday, September 15, 2003
Friday, September 12, 2003
How NOT to make a good impression
Today was my first interview in four and a half years. I hate interviews, because they bear a remarkable similarity to dating.
This morning I actually got off to a good start. I managed to get up after only one 'snooze' session. I didn't slice up my face until I looked like Freddy shaving. The printer didn't crap out printing out my revised Trial-Level Brief that the US Attorney's office requested. Kinko's didn't have a line, and I was able to make extra resume copies, copies of my transcript and copies of the brief in record time.
The major obstacle would of course be the 35 mile drive from Naperville to Loyola. First there was the East-West Tollway(I-88) to deal with; once that was conquered, I'd have to overcome the Eisenhower Expressway (I-290). That would put me at the south entrance to Wacker Drive, one block south of the Sears Tower. From there, I'd have to negotiate my way around the Loop to the Near North Side and the Water Tower, where Loyola is. The traffic reports were saying it was forty minutes from Wolf Road to Downtown (Wolf Road is where the I-290 extension and I-88 merge to form the official beginning of the Eisenhower; just west of this road is the infamous "Hillside Strangler," so called because at that point, I-88 goes from two lanes to one, just as traffic exiting off of I-294 (the Tri-State Tollway) merges in, and I-290 joins I-88. It's called the Hillside Strangler because a.)it's located in the suburb of Hillside, and b.) this used to be the worst backup in the state; with new construction, the backup has now moved east, to 25th Street. "Downtown" refers to the Old Post Office, which serves as a gateway to Congress Parkway and the entrance to Wacker Drive). On a good day, with no traffic, it takes fifteen minutes to get to Wolf from my apartment. But on a Friday morning, it can be easily double that. So thirty minutes plus forty minutes meant an hour and ten minutes from Kinko's to Downtown; count on another ten minutes from Downtown to school, and then some time to find a parking spot. Since it was 8:20, I was worried about cutting it close to the 9:50 interview time.
I shouldn't have worried. I made it to the entrance to Lower Wacker by 9:10. Lower Wacker was mostly empty, so I quickly circumnavigated the Loop. Amazingly, I immediately found a meter spot just across from school. By 9:20, I was at school, parked and on my way to Seattle's Best for a cup of coffee. Even that went smoothly. I made it up to Career Services by 9:30, twenty minutes early. Since law school interviews are twenty minutes, the person ahead of me should be starting shortly.
But they weren't. They hadn't even checked in yet. I made my way back to the back of Career Services, where Mandy was supposed to show me where Room 7 was. But she wasn't there. I asked the woman who came in if she was Mandy; she said no, but could she help? I asked for Room 7, and she apologized, but she didn't know where it was. Suddenly, a woman came out from one of the rooms, dressed in business attire:
Woman: This is room seven.
Me (smiling): Hi! Thanks, but I'm not the person you're looking for. I'm the person after the person you're looking for.
W (looking at list posted on door): You're Greg
Me: Yep.
W: Hmm.
Lady Behind Desk (to me): You're not the 9:30?
Me: No, I'm 9:50
L: Hmm.
(Lady disappears)
W: Well, I guess I'll wait five more minutes, and if she doesn't show, we'll just get started
Me: Fine by me. I'm flexible. I'll be right over there, reading my paper.
W: Ok
(Lady returns)
L (to W): She hasn't checked in yet
W: Well, I'll wait five more minutes
I retired to a chair, took off the suit jacket (I was hot) and sat down to read my copy of the Financial Times. Five minutes later, and my mysterious classmate had failed to arrive. As a result, I got an extra ten minutes on my interview.
As for the interview, I think it went well. We started off with small talk about how far Naperville was from Chicago, and how bad traffic seemed to be here (she's from Western Michigan). She seemed impressed by the fact that I worked two jobs and went to school, and she was very impressed by the fact that I went to Europe this summer. She asked about the similarities between the Italian and American legal systems, which I was only too happy to answer. In between, she told me about the work I'd be doing, how I'd be involved in criminal work, and how they would not hire me upon graduation, because the US Attorney's office only hired experienced litigators. Oh, and how only two of the four openings were paid positions. She asked me if I was interested in criminal work, and I said yes (it's true). I told her how I was a Discover Channel junkie (she admitted to being one, too), and how my grandfather was an Illinois State Trooper (which he was, prior to WWII).
On the one hand, the work would be absolutely fascinating, and the experience would look awesome on a resume. On the other hand, I'd have to move to Michigan for the summer.
One interview down, one to go. But that's not until October 3rd. As for my no-show classmate, she's screwed. The rules for OCI clearly state that if you cannot make it to an interview, you must call and notify OCI before your scheduled time. If you fail to show without calling, you are banned from any further use of OCI. Any interviews you had scheduled will be cancelled, and the next person on the wait list will move up. Even worse, the ban is permanent. That means not only does she lose out on interviewing for summer associate positions this year, she won't be able to interview for permanent positions next year. So hopefully, she'll get an offer from whatever firm does hire her. My suspicion is that she's like my friend Anita. Last night, Anita told me she'd put in for several interviews, but hadn't heard if she'd gotten any. When I asked if she'd picked up her packet at Career Services, she said no, she didn't know she had to. So she went back upstairs and got it. Maybe Miss No-Show didn't know either. But then, that's why the sent four emails reminding people to pick up their packet, and why they tell you to watch your email and your mailbox. It's too bad she missed the interview, but I don't feel sorry for her. We're all adults, and we have adult responsibilities.
Today was my first interview in four and a half years. I hate interviews, because they bear a remarkable similarity to dating.
This morning I actually got off to a good start. I managed to get up after only one 'snooze' session. I didn't slice up my face until I looked like Freddy shaving. The printer didn't crap out printing out my revised Trial-Level Brief that the US Attorney's office requested. Kinko's didn't have a line, and I was able to make extra resume copies, copies of my transcript and copies of the brief in record time.
The major obstacle would of course be the 35 mile drive from Naperville to Loyola. First there was the East-West Tollway(I-88) to deal with; once that was conquered, I'd have to overcome the Eisenhower Expressway (I-290). That would put me at the south entrance to Wacker Drive, one block south of the Sears Tower. From there, I'd have to negotiate my way around the Loop to the Near North Side and the Water Tower, where Loyola is. The traffic reports were saying it was forty minutes from Wolf Road to Downtown (Wolf Road is where the I-290 extension and I-88 merge to form the official beginning of the Eisenhower; just west of this road is the infamous "Hillside Strangler," so called because at that point, I-88 goes from two lanes to one, just as traffic exiting off of I-294 (the Tri-State Tollway) merges in, and I-290 joins I-88. It's called the Hillside Strangler because a.)it's located in the suburb of Hillside, and b.) this used to be the worst backup in the state; with new construction, the backup has now moved east, to 25th Street. "Downtown" refers to the Old Post Office, which serves as a gateway to Congress Parkway and the entrance to Wacker Drive). On a good day, with no traffic, it takes fifteen minutes to get to Wolf from my apartment. But on a Friday morning, it can be easily double that. So thirty minutes plus forty minutes meant an hour and ten minutes from Kinko's to Downtown; count on another ten minutes from Downtown to school, and then some time to find a parking spot. Since it was 8:20, I was worried about cutting it close to the 9:50 interview time.
I shouldn't have worried. I made it to the entrance to Lower Wacker by 9:10. Lower Wacker was mostly empty, so I quickly circumnavigated the Loop. Amazingly, I immediately found a meter spot just across from school. By 9:20, I was at school, parked and on my way to Seattle's Best for a cup of coffee. Even that went smoothly. I made it up to Career Services by 9:30, twenty minutes early. Since law school interviews are twenty minutes, the person ahead of me should be starting shortly.
But they weren't. They hadn't even checked in yet. I made my way back to the back of Career Services, where Mandy was supposed to show me where Room 7 was. But she wasn't there. I asked the woman who came in if she was Mandy; she said no, but could she help? I asked for Room 7, and she apologized, but she didn't know where it was. Suddenly, a woman came out from one of the rooms, dressed in business attire:
Woman: This is room seven.
Me (smiling): Hi! Thanks, but I'm not the person you're looking for. I'm the person after the person you're looking for.
W (looking at list posted on door): You're Greg
Me: Yep.
W: Hmm.
Lady Behind Desk (to me): You're not the 9:30?
Me: No, I'm 9:50
L: Hmm.
(Lady disappears)
W: Well, I guess I'll wait five more minutes, and if she doesn't show, we'll just get started
Me: Fine by me. I'm flexible. I'll be right over there, reading my paper.
W: Ok
(Lady returns)
L (to W): She hasn't checked in yet
W: Well, I'll wait five more minutes
I retired to a chair, took off the suit jacket (I was hot) and sat down to read my copy of the Financial Times. Five minutes later, and my mysterious classmate had failed to arrive. As a result, I got an extra ten minutes on my interview.
As for the interview, I think it went well. We started off with small talk about how far Naperville was from Chicago, and how bad traffic seemed to be here (she's from Western Michigan). She seemed impressed by the fact that I worked two jobs and went to school, and she was very impressed by the fact that I went to Europe this summer. She asked about the similarities between the Italian and American legal systems, which I was only too happy to answer. In between, she told me about the work I'd be doing, how I'd be involved in criminal work, and how they would not hire me upon graduation, because the US Attorney's office only hired experienced litigators. Oh, and how only two of the four openings were paid positions. She asked me if I was interested in criminal work, and I said yes (it's true). I told her how I was a Discover Channel junkie (she admitted to being one, too), and how my grandfather was an Illinois State Trooper (which he was, prior to WWII).
On the one hand, the work would be absolutely fascinating, and the experience would look awesome on a resume. On the other hand, I'd have to move to Michigan for the summer.
One interview down, one to go. But that's not until October 3rd. As for my no-show classmate, she's screwed. The rules for OCI clearly state that if you cannot make it to an interview, you must call and notify OCI before your scheduled time. If you fail to show without calling, you are banned from any further use of OCI. Any interviews you had scheduled will be cancelled, and the next person on the wait list will move up. Even worse, the ban is permanent. That means not only does she lose out on interviewing for summer associate positions this year, she won't be able to interview for permanent positions next year. So hopefully, she'll get an offer from whatever firm does hire her. My suspicion is that she's like my friend Anita. Last night, Anita told me she'd put in for several interviews, but hadn't heard if she'd gotten any. When I asked if she'd picked up her packet at Career Services, she said no, she didn't know she had to. So she went back upstairs and got it. Maybe Miss No-Show didn't know either. But then, that's why the sent four emails reminding people to pick up their packet, and why they tell you to watch your email and your mailbox. It's too bad she missed the interview, but I don't feel sorry for her. We're all adults, and we have adult responsibilities.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Empty Sky
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed where you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin' down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin' from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
On the plains of Jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Two years ago today, I was standing outside the clubhouse at Harborside Golf Course, a substitute golfer in the annual Exelon Charity Golf Outing, waiting to be told which foursome needed a golfer. Kathy Namors, the Building Manager for Exelon's Warrenville Office, and one of the organizers of the event, came out onto the portico where I was standing, just outside of the clubhouse doors. It was a conversation I'll never forget:
K: A plane just hit the World Trade Center
Me (Turning to face her): What?
K: A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center
Me (thinking Cessna-type plane, not 747): What, it wasn't big enough the idiot couldn't see it?
Looking back, that was stupid and insensitive to say. But I had no idea what the heck was going on. I went inside, where CNN was showing the burning tower. Corbin McNeal, then Chairman of the Board of Exelon, was desperately trying to turn the sound up on the only TV in the Pro Shop, to no avail. His son worked five blocks away, and no one was sure what was going on. At that time, registration for the outing was going on; people were milling about, talking, and ironically buying golf equipment, oblivious to what was going on behind them. Suddenly, without warning, plane number two hit the second tower.
The charity outing is one of two hosted every year by Exelon; the one out east raises funds for a favored PECO charity, the one in Chicago for the James J. O'Connor Scholarship fund. It's a very high-powered event; all the major executives show up, and many heads of ComEd and Exelon customers and affiliates do as well. There are six nuclear power plants in Illinois, and that day, the heads of all six, as well as several junior executives were all at Harborside. In fact, Corbin had just decided he wouldn't be golfing that day, and not more than five minutes before Kathy came out, I'd been asked to take his place in the foursome. Not being stupid (and not being a scratch golfer), I demurred. Instead, my boss' boss, Rob (who is a scratch golfer), took Corbin's place, and I later took Rob's place in his foursome.
I called my counterpart out east to tell her the news. That conversation went like this:
Me: Freddie, did you hear? A plane hit the World Trade Center
Frederica: No, no, it hit the Pentagon.
Me: No, Freddie. The World Trade Center. It's on CNN. See if you can get CNN on the TVs there (Exelon has a number of TVs scattered around their buildings. They mostly show company-related stuff, but they can pull in CNN and the Weather Channel, which the company monitors for weather issues which may affect service)
Ken (in background): They hit both!
Freddie (to Ken): What?!
Ken: Planes hit both the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. And they think there's another that crashed.
Freddie: Oh my god....
It only got more surreal from there.
Harborside has two courses; Port (North) and Starboard (South). The Port side has probably 14 of the 18 holes that have views of downtown Chicago, and all day long, people kept looking downtown. The skies grew very quiet as well. Those with Motorola text pagers (the higher-ups who hadn't immediately left) kept the rest of us updated: The FAA had grounded all airplanes, 50,000 people worked in both towers, hundreds of emergency workers on the scene. Then, the worst news: the first tower had collapsed. Not having access to a TV, we could only imagine it (though most of us thought the top half had toppled over, not the pancake collapse that had actually happened). Around the 15th hole, we heard the distinct sound of a jet engine, but saw nothing. "Military," said a former Navy Captain, an Exelon employee, and member of the foursome ahead of us, "F18 probably. They're patrolling the sky now." It was a very somber moment. Someone cracked a joke to break the tension.
Eventually, we finished the round. Part of the outing is dinner and a charity auction, and before that part began, we had a prayer and a moment of silence. Because of its nuclear plants, Exelon hires heavily from the Navy, and if George Bush had asked for volunteers, eighty percent of the room would have up and left right then and there. I can't describe the mood, but there was anger, anguish, sadness, and helplessness all combined.
When my coworkers heard that I was going to the outing, I got razzed for "taking a day off" and "getting out of work early" and so on. Ironically, the company would send them all home at ten a.m. By noon, they'd be home, watching TV with the rest of the world. I didn't get home that day until after six-thirty. My roommate, who worked afternoon shift (2-10), came home at seven. He hadn't really done anything - everyone was watching TV at work. Testing clutches suddenly wasn't that important.
Let's hope none of us ever live to see anything so horrible again.
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed where you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin' down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin' from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
On the plains of Jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Two years ago today, I was standing outside the clubhouse at Harborside Golf Course, a substitute golfer in the annual Exelon Charity Golf Outing, waiting to be told which foursome needed a golfer. Kathy Namors, the Building Manager for Exelon's Warrenville Office, and one of the organizers of the event, came out onto the portico where I was standing, just outside of the clubhouse doors. It was a conversation I'll never forget:
K: A plane just hit the World Trade Center
Me (Turning to face her): What?
K: A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center
Me (thinking Cessna-type plane, not 747): What, it wasn't big enough the idiot couldn't see it?
Looking back, that was stupid and insensitive to say. But I had no idea what the heck was going on. I went inside, where CNN was showing the burning tower. Corbin McNeal, then Chairman of the Board of Exelon, was desperately trying to turn the sound up on the only TV in the Pro Shop, to no avail. His son worked five blocks away, and no one was sure what was going on. At that time, registration for the outing was going on; people were milling about, talking, and ironically buying golf equipment, oblivious to what was going on behind them. Suddenly, without warning, plane number two hit the second tower.
The charity outing is one of two hosted every year by Exelon; the one out east raises funds for a favored PECO charity, the one in Chicago for the James J. O'Connor Scholarship fund. It's a very high-powered event; all the major executives show up, and many heads of ComEd and Exelon customers and affiliates do as well. There are six nuclear power plants in Illinois, and that day, the heads of all six, as well as several junior executives were all at Harborside. In fact, Corbin had just decided he wouldn't be golfing that day, and not more than five minutes before Kathy came out, I'd been asked to take his place in the foursome. Not being stupid (and not being a scratch golfer), I demurred. Instead, my boss' boss, Rob (who is a scratch golfer), took Corbin's place, and I later took Rob's place in his foursome.
I called my counterpart out east to tell her the news. That conversation went like this:
Me: Freddie, did you hear? A plane hit the World Trade Center
Frederica: No, no, it hit the Pentagon.
Me: No, Freddie. The World Trade Center. It's on CNN. See if you can get CNN on the TVs there (Exelon has a number of TVs scattered around their buildings. They mostly show company-related stuff, but they can pull in CNN and the Weather Channel, which the company monitors for weather issues which may affect service)
Ken (in background): They hit both!
Freddie (to Ken): What?!
Ken: Planes hit both the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. And they think there's another that crashed.
Freddie: Oh my god....
It only got more surreal from there.
Harborside has two courses; Port (North) and Starboard (South). The Port side has probably 14 of the 18 holes that have views of downtown Chicago, and all day long, people kept looking downtown. The skies grew very quiet as well. Those with Motorola text pagers (the higher-ups who hadn't immediately left) kept the rest of us updated: The FAA had grounded all airplanes, 50,000 people worked in both towers, hundreds of emergency workers on the scene. Then, the worst news: the first tower had collapsed. Not having access to a TV, we could only imagine it (though most of us thought the top half had toppled over, not the pancake collapse that had actually happened). Around the 15th hole, we heard the distinct sound of a jet engine, but saw nothing. "Military," said a former Navy Captain, an Exelon employee, and member of the foursome ahead of us, "F18 probably. They're patrolling the sky now." It was a very somber moment. Someone cracked a joke to break the tension.
Eventually, we finished the round. Part of the outing is dinner and a charity auction, and before that part began, we had a prayer and a moment of silence. Because of its nuclear plants, Exelon hires heavily from the Navy, and if George Bush had asked for volunteers, eighty percent of the room would have up and left right then and there. I can't describe the mood, but there was anger, anguish, sadness, and helplessness all combined.
When my coworkers heard that I was going to the outing, I got razzed for "taking a day off" and "getting out of work early" and so on. Ironically, the company would send them all home at ten a.m. By noon, they'd be home, watching TV with the rest of the world. I didn't get home that day until after six-thirty. My roommate, who worked afternoon shift (2-10), came home at seven. He hadn't really done anything - everyone was watching TV at work. Testing clutches suddenly wasn't that important.
Let's hope none of us ever live to see anything so horrible again.
Monday, September 08, 2003
Just Another
Pete Yorn
You and I , we’re two of a kind,
I hate to say it but you’ll never relate,
What makes you tick?
It makes me smile
You said that I should get away from it all
And bury my head in the sand if I want to,
I think you…..should thank me now
You were lying wide-awake in the garden
Trying to get over your stardom
And I could never see you depart us
And you’re my baby,
You’re just another girl
Just another girl
I never mind the way I had to see ya
My working on a day show never explains why I see you
And I feel your pain.
I love to wear my work inside of my head
I can’t complain but you should never react the way you did
I feel your time
You were lying wide-awake in the garden
Trying to get over your stardom
And I could never see you depart us
And you’re my baby,
You were lying wide-awake in the garden
Trying to get over your stardom
And I could never see you depart us
And you’re my baby,
You’re just another girl
You’re just another girl
You’re just another girl
Jonas Vargas drove southwest down the Adlai E. Stevenson expressway, the weight of thirty-seven years of frustration bearing down upon him. At a time in his life when he should be raising children and earning a decent living and worrying about college costs, he was single, foot-loose and fancy free, and frustrated. He had never been married, had no children – hell, he hadn’t even had a date in six months, and sex? What did they always say in the mob movies? Fahgetaboutit.
When you haven’t had a date, much less sex, in a while, you begin to think about all the ones who got away. The oh-so-close, and the not-so-close. The ones who would have married you in a heartbeat that you just couldn’t commit to, and the ones you were desperate to marry who could never commit to someone like you. You think of all the “you’re a nice guy, but…” speeches, and the pretty blonde girl who wanted nothing more than to be your girlfriend that you never bothered to call back. You begin to wonder why you couldn’t see that the girl you dated in your sophomore year in college (and who willingly gave you your first blow job) was a wonderful, loving person who liked you for who you were. Or why you did call back the brunette you dated your first years out of college, even when all the red flags pointed to heartbreak. Most of all, when you’re thirty-seven years old and never married, you hear your relatives talk about their “single cousin” in the hushed tones and voices that people use when they wonder secretly if… you’re….well…..you know. How do you explain them that your longest relationship lasted more than eighteen months? Because of the few who’ve made it past date three, the family has never met any of them. And what would they say if they found out that some of your best friends are…..you know.
And then there’s your friends. Happy, married (although some, admittedly, for the second time…you swallowed beers and heartbreak with them when they went through the first divorce), many with children (those without never wanted them anyway), they all are further down the road of life than you are. It was a road that, long ago, terrified you, back when you were thin, in shape, and had a full head of blonde hair and a bright future. But the light at the end of the tunnel was an EMD locomotive, and the future is more uncertain today than when you were eighteen. Back then, thirty-five was old – and by then you’d be married with a successful career and a big family with lots and lots of kids. The children are just ghosts now, memories long faded by the harsh reality that is your psyche, a dream never to be realized. You’ll never be the scion of a successful family, ala Joseph Kennedy. You worry more now about dying alone, being the lucky son-of-a-bitch fortunate enough to outlive family and friends, and be the person some poor Fed Ex delivery person finds three days dead and bloated when the packages you order in your senility off of QVC and E-bay start piling up. The anguish overwhelms you, as you get lost in the music on the radio, and wonder if things will ever get better.
Send lawyers, guns and money…
Dad, get me out of this…
Pete Yorn
You and I , we’re two of a kind,
I hate to say it but you’ll never relate,
What makes you tick?
It makes me smile
You said that I should get away from it all
And bury my head in the sand if I want to,
I think you…..should thank me now
You were lying wide-awake in the garden
Trying to get over your stardom
And I could never see you depart us
And you’re my baby,
You’re just another girl
Just another girl
I never mind the way I had to see ya
My working on a day show never explains why I see you
And I feel your pain.
I love to wear my work inside of my head
I can’t complain but you should never react the way you did
I feel your time
You were lying wide-awake in the garden
Trying to get over your stardom
And I could never see you depart us
And you’re my baby,
You were lying wide-awake in the garden
Trying to get over your stardom
And I could never see you depart us
And you’re my baby,
You’re just another girl
You’re just another girl
You’re just another girl
Jonas Vargas drove southwest down the Adlai E. Stevenson expressway, the weight of thirty-seven years of frustration bearing down upon him. At a time in his life when he should be raising children and earning a decent living and worrying about college costs, he was single, foot-loose and fancy free, and frustrated. He had never been married, had no children – hell, he hadn’t even had a date in six months, and sex? What did they always say in the mob movies? Fahgetaboutit.
When you haven’t had a date, much less sex, in a while, you begin to think about all the ones who got away. The oh-so-close, and the not-so-close. The ones who would have married you in a heartbeat that you just couldn’t commit to, and the ones you were desperate to marry who could never commit to someone like you. You think of all the “you’re a nice guy, but…” speeches, and the pretty blonde girl who wanted nothing more than to be your girlfriend that you never bothered to call back. You begin to wonder why you couldn’t see that the girl you dated in your sophomore year in college (and who willingly gave you your first blow job) was a wonderful, loving person who liked you for who you were. Or why you did call back the brunette you dated your first years out of college, even when all the red flags pointed to heartbreak. Most of all, when you’re thirty-seven years old and never married, you hear your relatives talk about their “single cousin” in the hushed tones and voices that people use when they wonder secretly if… you’re….well…..you know. How do you explain them that your longest relationship lasted more than eighteen months? Because of the few who’ve made it past date three, the family has never met any of them. And what would they say if they found out that some of your best friends are…..you know.
And then there’s your friends. Happy, married (although some, admittedly, for the second time…you swallowed beers and heartbreak with them when they went through the first divorce), many with children (those without never wanted them anyway), they all are further down the road of life than you are. It was a road that, long ago, terrified you, back when you were thin, in shape, and had a full head of blonde hair and a bright future. But the light at the end of the tunnel was an EMD locomotive, and the future is more uncertain today than when you were eighteen. Back then, thirty-five was old – and by then you’d be married with a successful career and a big family with lots and lots of kids. The children are just ghosts now, memories long faded by the harsh reality that is your psyche, a dream never to be realized. You’ll never be the scion of a successful family, ala Joseph Kennedy. You worry more now about dying alone, being the lucky son-of-a-bitch fortunate enough to outlive family and friends, and be the person some poor Fed Ex delivery person finds three days dead and bloated when the packages you order in your senility off of QVC and E-bay start piling up. The anguish overwhelms you, as you get lost in the music on the radio, and wonder if things will ever get better.
Send lawyers, guns and money…
Dad, get me out of this…
Friday, September 05, 2003
Things of note
Maizzy sent me this link via a comment, and I absolutely thought it was hilarious. For the record, yours truly answered no to every question. I wonder if I can use that next time I'm trying to get a date.....maybe I can post it on my match.com profile. "Hey look! I'm not a complete jerk!"
Yea, that'll work....
When you follow the link to Witt and Wisdom, click on the link to Julia's website for an absolutely hilarious eight-minute dating tale. I've been down that road all too many times, except that they didn't end after eight minutes.....
Pictures
I've reposted the photo link above, for all you who haven't seen them (including some photos of me, for those 3 people who are dying to know what I look like). I've got some from England and Ireland, some from Paris, and some from Interlaken. More to come, perhaps this weekend. Depends on how motivated I am to do homework. Right now, things look good for the photos, since it's already 11 o'clock, and I haven't done a whit of homework yet. I really need to get motivated....but right now, I'm still in a funk.
Signed the lease for the new apartment on Wednesday. Move in begins October 3rd. I have to be out of here by the 5th. While I'm looking forward to the change in scenery (and the easier commute - I hope), I'm not looking forward to packing. And somehow, the 'rents are insisting I should get movers. Not that I'm excited about that, mind you, but last time I tried the "use the friends and pay them with beer" method, only one showed up - the guy I lived with, who was motivated to move me out so his bitch girlfriend could move in with him. They're now married, which is fine, since years of friendship was forgotten the first night she slept with him. I need that kind of amnesia....
I need to find someplace to put the motorcycle, since I won't have a garage at the new place.
Today is September 5th. 23 days to go before my birthday. Don't delay - start your shopping now, so you'll be able to ship it to me in time!
One month, five days before high school reunion day. Still no date on the horizon. Must remember to send in check soon - guess it'll be for one.......oh well.....
Hmmm....I'm hungry. I think I'll have breakfast. In the meantime, check out these nice folks who've been kind enough to link me.
Maizzy sent me this link via a comment, and I absolutely thought it was hilarious. For the record, yours truly answered no to every question. I wonder if I can use that next time I'm trying to get a date.....maybe I can post it on my match.com profile. "Hey look! I'm not a complete jerk!"
Yea, that'll work....
When you follow the link to Witt and Wisdom, click on the link to Julia's website for an absolutely hilarious eight-minute dating tale. I've been down that road all too many times, except that they didn't end after eight minutes.....
Pictures
I've reposted the photo link above, for all you who haven't seen them (including some photos of me, for those 3 people who are dying to know what I look like). I've got some from England and Ireland, some from Paris, and some from Interlaken. More to come, perhaps this weekend. Depends on how motivated I am to do homework. Right now, things look good for the photos, since it's already 11 o'clock, and I haven't done a whit of homework yet. I really need to get motivated....but right now, I'm still in a funk.
Signed the lease for the new apartment on Wednesday. Move in begins October 3rd. I have to be out of here by the 5th. While I'm looking forward to the change in scenery (and the easier commute - I hope), I'm not looking forward to packing. And somehow, the 'rents are insisting I should get movers. Not that I'm excited about that, mind you, but last time I tried the "use the friends and pay them with beer" method, only one showed up - the guy I lived with, who was motivated to move me out so his bitch girlfriend could move in with him. They're now married, which is fine, since years of friendship was forgotten the first night she slept with him. I need that kind of amnesia....
I need to find someplace to put the motorcycle, since I won't have a garage at the new place.
Today is September 5th. 23 days to go before my birthday. Don't delay - start your shopping now, so you'll be able to ship it to me in time!
One month, five days before high school reunion day. Still no date on the horizon. Must remember to send in check soon - guess it'll be for one.......oh well.....
Hmmm....I'm hungry. I think I'll have breakfast. In the meantime, check out these nice folks who've been kind enough to link me.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
God Put A Smile Upon Your Face
Where do we go, nobody knows
I've got to say I'm on my way down
God give me style and give me grace
God put a smile upon my face
Where do we go to draw the line
I've got to say I wasted all your time
Oh honey honey
Where do I go to fall from grace
God put a smile upon your face yeah
And ah, when you work it out I'm worse than you
Yeah, when you work it out I wanted to
And ah, when you work out where to draw the line
Your guess is as good as mine
Where do we go, nobody knows
Don't ever say you're on your way down when
God gave you style and gave you grace,
And put a smile upon your face oh yeah
And ah, when you work it out I'm worse than you
Yeah, when you work it out I want it to
And ah, when you work out where to draw the line
Your guess is as good as mine.
It's as good as mine, It's as good as mine
It's as good as mine
As good as mine, as good as mine,
As good as mine, as good as mine
Where do we go, nobody knows
Don't ever say you're on your way down when
God gave you style and gave you grace
And put a smile upon your face
Today's headlines....
(from MSN.com)
Can Kobe buy his way out? Why not? Plenty of other rich people have. Why not Kobe? Rare is the wealthy person who gets tried and convicted. Even then, they have to have a certain amount of hubris before juries get fed up enough to toss them in jail (see Helmsly, Leona). There once was a 3L at Loyola who worked at the Cook County State's Attorney office. According to him, the only offenders who had a chance of not going to jail were those who hired private attorneys. And since Kobe has more money than you and I and five other people combined will ever see, he should be able to hire the best attorneys available (as it seems he has) and get out of any real punishment (provided, of course, he's guilty).
Lance Armstrong, wife splitting up. You're just hearing about this? It was the topic of discussion in Paris, when I saw the Tour de France. Guess only having one nut didn't stop Lance's wandering eye. Too bad. They made a cute couple. So what celebrity do you think Lance will be seen with now? The irony is that they announced the pending divorce on the same day that the House congratulated him on his win. Too funny.
Can a Chicago team win the World Series? Why don't we just wait and see if we get there first, shall we? Too many years of flops to start counting chickens now.
Other news....
Maizzy will be happy to know I've pitched the salad. And she's welcome to come over and help decorate the apartment anytime (you too, Joanie!). In return, I'll take you to Wrigley Field, four blocks from my apartment. No guarantee on baseball, though.
I also signed the lease on the apartment last night, capping a very tumultuous week. Things on the deceased uncle front have only gotten juicier. Seems we have some underhanded stuff going on. More to come....
And I should be posting more photos soon. Really. I mean it....
That's it for now....more later, when I don't feel guilty about not doing homework..
Where do we go, nobody knows
I've got to say I'm on my way down
God give me style and give me grace
God put a smile upon my face
Where do we go to draw the line
I've got to say I wasted all your time
Oh honey honey
Where do I go to fall from grace
God put a smile upon your face yeah
And ah, when you work it out I'm worse than you
Yeah, when you work it out I wanted to
And ah, when you work out where to draw the line
Your guess is as good as mine
Where do we go, nobody knows
Don't ever say you're on your way down when
God gave you style and gave you grace,
And put a smile upon your face oh yeah
And ah, when you work it out I'm worse than you
Yeah, when you work it out I want it to
And ah, when you work out where to draw the line
Your guess is as good as mine.
It's as good as mine, It's as good as mine
It's as good as mine
As good as mine, as good as mine,
As good as mine, as good as mine
Where do we go, nobody knows
Don't ever say you're on your way down when
God gave you style and gave you grace
And put a smile upon your face
Today's headlines....
(from MSN.com)
Can Kobe buy his way out? Why not? Plenty of other rich people have. Why not Kobe? Rare is the wealthy person who gets tried and convicted. Even then, they have to have a certain amount of hubris before juries get fed up enough to toss them in jail (see Helmsly, Leona). There once was a 3L at Loyola who worked at the Cook County State's Attorney office. According to him, the only offenders who had a chance of not going to jail were those who hired private attorneys. And since Kobe has more money than you and I and five other people combined will ever see, he should be able to hire the best attorneys available (as it seems he has) and get out of any real punishment (provided, of course, he's guilty).
Lance Armstrong, wife splitting up. You're just hearing about this? It was the topic of discussion in Paris, when I saw the Tour de France. Guess only having one nut didn't stop Lance's wandering eye. Too bad. They made a cute couple. So what celebrity do you think Lance will be seen with now? The irony is that they announced the pending divorce on the same day that the House congratulated him on his win. Too funny.
Can a Chicago team win the World Series? Why don't we just wait and see if we get there first, shall we? Too many years of flops to start counting chickens now.
Other news....
Maizzy will be happy to know I've pitched the salad. And she's welcome to come over and help decorate the apartment anytime (you too, Joanie!). In return, I'll take you to Wrigley Field, four blocks from my apartment. No guarantee on baseball, though.
I also signed the lease on the apartment last night, capping a very tumultuous week. Things on the deceased uncle front have only gotten juicier. Seems we have some underhanded stuff going on. More to come....
And I should be posting more photos soon. Really. I mean it....
That's it for now....more later, when I don't feel guilty about not doing homework..
Saturday, August 30, 2003
Memos from Law School:
Now that Loyola’s IT ‘team’ has figured out how to add me to the main law school address list, I get all kinds of interesting emails. You know, class announcements (for classes I don’t have), death notices (for people I’ve never met, and wouldn’t know), and general announcements, such as this one:
Date: Friday - August 29, 2003 11:21 AM
Subject: ATTENTION OCI Students
Someone has turned in an OCI preference sheet without a name on it. This makes it impossible for us to enter you into the computer.
If you have preferenced (is that a word?) the following employers in the following order and feel you may have forgotten your name, SS#, etc. on the sheet please contact us ASAP.
Quinlan & Carroll
Cremer Kopon & Shaughnessy
US Securities & Exchange Com.
Cassiday Schade & Gloor
City of Chicago
Thanks.
A little while later, this one came:
Date: Friday - August 29, 2003 12:02 PM
Subject: ATTENTION OCI Participants
Someone has turned in another OCI preference sheet without a name on it. This makes it impossible for us to enter you into the computer. (Thanks for pointing that out again. I hadn't figured that out after the first email.)
If you have preferenced the following employer in red ink(red ink? I hadn't realized that we were supposed to write our choices in blood, but then, there is a Satanic quality about OCI) and feel you may have forgotten your name,(easy enough to do the first week of law school) SS#, etc. on the sheet please contact us ASAP.
Cremer Kopon & Shaughnessy
Thanks.
Getting two emails in a row with Cremer, Kopon on it (note to Loyola OCI: it's actually Cremer, Kopon, Shaughnessy & Spina) made me feel much better, since this is one firm I, too, had "preferenced," though I doubt I'll get an interview. Cassiday, Schade was another of my firms, so I'm very hopeful of a good shot at a job. After all, the first person had a higher class rank than I (the SEC requires upper 30%, and Cassiday prefers upper 25%, so they must be ranked above me).
This one was a gem:
Subject: Law School Blankets for sale at Student Activities Fair
As part of a fundraising effort for PILS, School of Law blankets will be sold at the Student Activities Fair this Thursday from 4-6 pm. in the
student lounge.
Cost for each blanket is $30.00, which is the retail cost minus tax for the Loyola blankets available at the bookstore. However, these are specially made limited edition blankets that have "School of Law" on them.
Checks or cash only!!!
ALL proceeds from the sales will go to PILS. Stop by and prepare for winter.
law admission
I’m all over that, guys. Just what I wanted: a limited edition blanket. For a mere $30. What a deal.
I think I'll wrap myself up in my limited edition blanket and go watch "The Paper Chase" DVD. Enjoy!
Now that Loyola’s IT ‘team’ has figured out how to add me to the main law school address list, I get all kinds of interesting emails. You know, class announcements (for classes I don’t have), death notices (for people I’ve never met, and wouldn’t know), and general announcements, such as this one:
Date: Friday - August 29, 2003 11:21 AM
Subject: ATTENTION OCI Students
Someone has turned in an OCI preference sheet without a name on it. This makes it impossible for us to enter you into the computer.
If you have preferenced (is that a word?) the following employers in the following order and feel you may have forgotten your name, SS#, etc. on the sheet please contact us ASAP.
Quinlan & Carroll
Cremer Kopon & Shaughnessy
US Securities & Exchange Com.
Cassiday Schade & Gloor
City of Chicago
Thanks.
A little while later, this one came:
Date: Friday - August 29, 2003 12:02 PM
Subject: ATTENTION OCI Participants
Someone has turned in another OCI preference sheet without a name on it. This makes it impossible for us to enter you into the computer. (Thanks for pointing that out again. I hadn't figured that out after the first email.)
If you have preferenced the following employer in red ink(red ink? I hadn't realized that we were supposed to write our choices in blood, but then, there is a Satanic quality about OCI) and feel you may have forgotten your name,(easy enough to do the first week of law school) SS#, etc. on the sheet please contact us ASAP.
Cremer Kopon & Shaughnessy
Thanks.
Getting two emails in a row with Cremer, Kopon on it (note to Loyola OCI: it's actually Cremer, Kopon, Shaughnessy & Spina) made me feel much better, since this is one firm I, too, had "preferenced," though I doubt I'll get an interview. Cassiday, Schade was another of my firms, so I'm very hopeful of a good shot at a job. After all, the first person had a higher class rank than I (the SEC requires upper 30%, and Cassiday prefers upper 25%, so they must be ranked above me).
This one was a gem:
Subject: Law School Blankets for sale at Student Activities Fair
As part of a fundraising effort for PILS, School of Law blankets will be sold at the Student Activities Fair this Thursday from 4-6 pm. in the
student lounge.
Cost for each blanket is $30.00, which is the retail cost minus tax for the Loyola blankets available at the bookstore. However, these are specially made limited edition blankets that have "School of Law" on them.
Checks or cash only!!!
ALL proceeds from the sales will go to PILS. Stop by and prepare for winter.
law admission
I’m all over that, guys. Just what I wanted: a limited edition blanket. For a mere $30. What a deal.
I think I'll wrap myself up in my limited edition blanket and go watch "The Paper Chase" DVD. Enjoy!
Weekend Daze…
I’ve kind of been in a funk all week. I think it’s the whole back-to-school thing, and all the pressure of the week. To top things off, my granduncle died this week; his second wife was such a bitch, she didn’t want to tell any of his four children by his first marriage (my aunts and uncles) that he’d died. She told her own daughter that she’d called the family and let them know. Fortunately, the daughter decided to keep asking, eventually learning of her intent, and persuaded her to tell her stepchildren. But it was the daughter who called, and not until Monday night (he died Sunday morning), to tell her half-siblings that their father was dead and the wake would be the following morning and the funeral on Wednesday morning, and, oh, if you could please not talk to the second wife, that would be grand. Actually, I don’t think wifey #2 used the word please. And at least one half-sibling found out via message on the answering machine.
Of course, this meant that my cousins would be interrogating me once I walked into the funeral Wednesday morning, after finding out Tuesday night at dinner. I had half-expected this, since I knew that things were strained to begin with, and since Wednesday, I’ve learned that many an interesting thing has happened. And that it will only get more bloody. Fortunately, my involvement will be limited to merely referring the attorney we work with at the small tax office where I do part-time work.
Apartment Hunting – Fini
I found a place, as I said before. But Thursday brought the official news that I was approved, and that I was the official new tenant. Scott posted a comment welcoming me to the neighborhood (thanks, Scott – I move in October, so we’ll have to do beers at Yak-zee’s sometime after that to celebrate), and warning me about dumb Wrigley-area tourists, a breed I’ve been familiar with since my days at Ace Hardware’s HQ, when my co-worker Joel lived at Grace and Kenmore. He, too, told tales of people wandering around, asking silly questions. His bad luck was to live down the street from the left-field wall, where an occasional Sammy Sosa home run would come bounding down, chased by hopefuls intent on snatching a souvenir.
So now I need to start packing. And tell the current landlord that I’ll be moving out.
Humor
With the stress of starting classes, deadlines anew, finding an apartment, the funeral, and God knows what else (including spending today feeling like crap because I think the salad I made wasn’t properly cleaned – damn), I needed a good laugh. Thank God for Jeremy. I laughed so damn hard, I cried. Especially the post about law school resumes (room 750, closet #2? Holy crap those rooms at Harvard are small).
Here’s my take on a few things:
Buying books:
Jeremy, you lucky bastard. Only two hundred bucks? Wow. I dropped $500, and that was without supplements. Toss those in, and I’m over $600 easy. Your review of the crim law book was dead on, though. The only book more fun than that (so far)? Civil Procedure, of course. No, wait. Contracts. Definitely Con (yawn) tracts…
Things I could have bought with the money wasted on textbooks that will conveniently not be taken back next year:
Two tickets to a Cubs game (bleacher seats), including Ticketmaster fees
A small jet
Seats on the NYSE
Any minor league professional sports team
Season tickets (first base side) to the Chicago White Sox for the next 30 years
One Bears PSL, or two tickets to any Bears game (end zone), not including Ticketmaster fees
On Campus Interviewing (a/k/a OCI):
Unlike Jeremy, who was a full-time student last year, I was a full-time employee of a major corporation. Occasionally the boss came rolling around (ala Lumbergh of Office Space) at 4:15. Now, my normal work hours were 7:30 to 4:15, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who actually worked those hours. And more often than not, I’d get the late-afternoon surprise. It usually started out with, “Greg, you got a minute?”
Of course, in the world of my former employer, “a minute” was 30 minutes in normal, human time. “A couple of minutes” was basically the afternoon, and “what are you working on?” translated to “tell me what you’re doing, because I plan on taking you away from it for about six months”. “Special Project” translated to either “forget about seeing your six-year-old’s high school graduation,” or “get your resume ready, because if this thing tanks, you’re the scapegoat.” All this would be couched, of course, to appear as if it were an “opportunity,” though the only opportunity you’d get is the opportunity to be paid next week. Maybe.
All this meant that school took a back seat to work, and since it was tax season as well, school often came in third place. I wanted an ‘A’ in Legal Writing badly, so I put in a lot of effort in that class, but failed miserably in doing the same in Contracts and Civil Procedure. As a result, the grades last semester weren’t the greatest (but I did get that ‘A’). So…..for me OCI stands for One Chance In... [hell], which is about what chance I’ve got of getting a job next summer through OCI. Helllooo NALP guidelines!
Meet the Employers Night (MTEN):
This annual right in self-humiliation should be outlawed. My classmate and friend Gretchen summed it up best; when I told her that Anita, Tina and I compared interviewing to dating, Gretch opined that if that were true, then MTEN was the equivalent of three-minute dating, with the students playing the part of the desperate, loveless boys, hoping to attract one of the lovely ladies (employers) they’re sitting across from, and trying hard not to fuck it up. I had no hope of being interviewed by any of these firms; they all wanted people in the top 15% or better of the class, and I’m barely (for now) in the top half. Of course, my resume doesn’t say that. Nor does it mention my GPA. It does, however, mention the fact that I made the Dean’s list in the fall (a true fact). I’m a firm believer in don’t ask, don’t tell. It was fun telling all the employers my background (CPA, MBA with emphasis in finance and international business, ten years of tax work) and watching them drool with anticipation, especially the SEC guy. (I couldn’t keep up the charade with the SEC guy, thought, because he was actually very nice, and, like me, he’d changed careers in his thirties.)
Moot Court/Law Journal:
I think my school has these, but since I wasn’t invited to participate (as a part-time 1L, I wasn’t eligible for LJ), I can neither confirm nor deny their existence. I can however guess that they do exist, because Heather (who always gets what she wants) is on all of them (for her, that’s CLJ, PILJ, and Moot court). I believe the term justifiable homicide was invented for what should happen to bubbly, pert, former flight attendants who get all the breaks, then proceed to tell you about how hard they worked to get them (because, of course, they were not working a full-time job, or any job for that matter, but for some reason decided that they needed the part-time schedule anyway). I am so not bitter. Really.
I’ve kind of been in a funk all week. I think it’s the whole back-to-school thing, and all the pressure of the week. To top things off, my granduncle died this week; his second wife was such a bitch, she didn’t want to tell any of his four children by his first marriage (my aunts and uncles) that he’d died. She told her own daughter that she’d called the family and let them know. Fortunately, the daughter decided to keep asking, eventually learning of her intent, and persuaded her to tell her stepchildren. But it was the daughter who called, and not until Monday night (he died Sunday morning), to tell her half-siblings that their father was dead and the wake would be the following morning and the funeral on Wednesday morning, and, oh, if you could please not talk to the second wife, that would be grand. Actually, I don’t think wifey #2 used the word please. And at least one half-sibling found out via message on the answering machine.
Of course, this meant that my cousins would be interrogating me once I walked into the funeral Wednesday morning, after finding out Tuesday night at dinner. I had half-expected this, since I knew that things were strained to begin with, and since Wednesday, I’ve learned that many an interesting thing has happened. And that it will only get more bloody. Fortunately, my involvement will be limited to merely referring the attorney we work with at the small tax office where I do part-time work.
Apartment Hunting – Fini
I found a place, as I said before. But Thursday brought the official news that I was approved, and that I was the official new tenant. Scott posted a comment welcoming me to the neighborhood (thanks, Scott – I move in October, so we’ll have to do beers at Yak-zee’s sometime after that to celebrate), and warning me about dumb Wrigley-area tourists, a breed I’ve been familiar with since my days at Ace Hardware’s HQ, when my co-worker Joel lived at Grace and Kenmore. He, too, told tales of people wandering around, asking silly questions. His bad luck was to live down the street from the left-field wall, where an occasional Sammy Sosa home run would come bounding down, chased by hopefuls intent on snatching a souvenir.
So now I need to start packing. And tell the current landlord that I’ll be moving out.
Humor
With the stress of starting classes, deadlines anew, finding an apartment, the funeral, and God knows what else (including spending today feeling like crap because I think the salad I made wasn’t properly cleaned – damn), I needed a good laugh. Thank God for Jeremy. I laughed so damn hard, I cried. Especially the post about law school resumes (room 750, closet #2? Holy crap those rooms at Harvard are small).
Here’s my take on a few things:
Buying books:
Jeremy, you lucky bastard. Only two hundred bucks? Wow. I dropped $500, and that was without supplements. Toss those in, and I’m over $600 easy. Your review of the crim law book was dead on, though. The only book more fun than that (so far)? Civil Procedure, of course. No, wait. Contracts. Definitely Con (yawn) tracts…
Things I could have bought with the money wasted on textbooks that will conveniently not be taken back next year:
Two tickets to a Cubs game (bleacher seats), including Ticketmaster fees
A small jet
Seats on the NYSE
Any minor league professional sports team
Season tickets (first base side) to the Chicago White Sox for the next 30 years
One Bears PSL, or two tickets to any Bears game (end zone), not including Ticketmaster fees
On Campus Interviewing (a/k/a OCI):
Unlike Jeremy, who was a full-time student last year, I was a full-time employee of a major corporation. Occasionally the boss came rolling around (ala Lumbergh of Office Space) at 4:15. Now, my normal work hours were 7:30 to 4:15, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who actually worked those hours. And more often than not, I’d get the late-afternoon surprise. It usually started out with, “Greg, you got a minute?”
Of course, in the world of my former employer, “a minute” was 30 minutes in normal, human time. “A couple of minutes” was basically the afternoon, and “what are you working on?” translated to “tell me what you’re doing, because I plan on taking you away from it for about six months”. “Special Project” translated to either “forget about seeing your six-year-old’s high school graduation,” or “get your resume ready, because if this thing tanks, you’re the scapegoat.” All this would be couched, of course, to appear as if it were an “opportunity,” though the only opportunity you’d get is the opportunity to be paid next week. Maybe.
All this meant that school took a back seat to work, and since it was tax season as well, school often came in third place. I wanted an ‘A’ in Legal Writing badly, so I put in a lot of effort in that class, but failed miserably in doing the same in Contracts and Civil Procedure. As a result, the grades last semester weren’t the greatest (but I did get that ‘A’). So…..for me OCI stands for One Chance In... [hell], which is about what chance I’ve got of getting a job next summer through OCI. Helllooo NALP guidelines!
Meet the Employers Night (MTEN):
This annual right in self-humiliation should be outlawed. My classmate and friend Gretchen summed it up best; when I told her that Anita, Tina and I compared interviewing to dating, Gretch opined that if that were true, then MTEN was the equivalent of three-minute dating, with the students playing the part of the desperate, loveless boys, hoping to attract one of the lovely ladies (employers) they’re sitting across from, and trying hard not to fuck it up. I had no hope of being interviewed by any of these firms; they all wanted people in the top 15% or better of the class, and I’m barely (for now) in the top half. Of course, my resume doesn’t say that. Nor does it mention my GPA. It does, however, mention the fact that I made the Dean’s list in the fall (a true fact). I’m a firm believer in don’t ask, don’t tell. It was fun telling all the employers my background (CPA, MBA with emphasis in finance and international business, ten years of tax work) and watching them drool with anticipation, especially the SEC guy. (I couldn’t keep up the charade with the SEC guy, thought, because he was actually very nice, and, like me, he’d changed careers in his thirties.)
Moot Court/Law Journal:
I think my school has these, but since I wasn’t invited to participate (as a part-time 1L, I wasn’t eligible for LJ), I can neither confirm nor deny their existence. I can however guess that they do exist, because Heather (who always gets what she wants) is on all of them (for her, that’s CLJ, PILJ, and Moot court). I believe the term justifiable homicide was invented for what should happen to bubbly, pert, former flight attendants who get all the breaks, then proceed to tell you about how hard they worked to get them (because, of course, they were not working a full-time job, or any job for that matter, but for some reason decided that they needed the part-time schedule anyway). I am so not bitter. Really.
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
Dean for America
Ok, I don't spout off on politics much here. In fact, I can't even think of a time when I have. But the truth is, I'm a democrat. For the most part. Usually vote democratic. So there.
Anyway, a classmate of mine, originally from Connecticut, is big into working campaigns. I've always wanted to, so I've been bugging her to volunteer at an event. Well, finally, she asked me to work the Howard Dean event today in good old Chi-town. Since class didn't start until 4, and the event was scheduled to end at 1, I decided to go for it. I wound up as part of her local press crew, where my job was to make sure members of the press made it easily from the credentials table to the press riser.
Yesterday was the walk-through. but it didn't prepare me for today. I arrived early (no minor miracle, given my penchant for lateness) fifteen whole minutes before I needed to be there. After a short wait, we were taken upstairs, where we helped put together banners and such while waiting for the press to arrive. Since Dean was speaking at a neighboring convention, the press arrived in a trickle at first.
Eventually, his speech at the other convention ended, and the press (and public) flooded over to ours. Governor Dean was scheduled to speak at noon; the height of the lunch hour, and the hottest time of an already hot, humid day. It was around 11 when the people were finally admitted to the terrace, and what an eclectic crowd - hippie types, college students, professionals, senior citizens - they all came to hear from the gathering storm that is Howard Dean. They were not disappointed. After a young, dynamic, African-American speaker introduced him, the Governor went on, albiet a few minutes late. He spoke to an enthusiastic crowd, who chanted and cheered each point he made. And good old George Bush, Jr. gave him plenty to make.
After he spoke for about thirty minutes, he worked the crowd, shaking hands. In the distance, rainclouds gathered. My classmate called us together, and told us she would get us in a photo with the Governor. But nature had plans of her own, and the DFA film crew needed to break down their equipment in a hurry, lest thousands of dollars of sensitive equipment get damaged by the impending downpour. Tom and I were pulled away from where we waited for the Governor, and the photographer bailed for the bus, rather than get caught in the rain (obviously, he's not a Rupert Holmes fan). I told Dave, the national coordinator, that he owed me a photo op for the one we'd lost (he chuckled and said "okay" in the way someone who's been told they have to do something they have no power over does). Tom, Jonathon and I helped Nathan break down the equipment. By this time, the Governor had left the terrace, and Chicago's finest weren't admittting anyone without credentials to any of the back areas. But we had them, (and what a cool feeling it was, to flash the "staff" badge and get into any area I needed to) so we were in.
We zipped across Navy Pier's interior to the North side, where the press bus and Governor Dean's car waited. He's not a nominated candidate, so he doesn't get a Secret Service detail (I'm hoping he is nominated, because I've heard that it's very exciting to work a national campaign, with all the activity). We dropped the equipment in the bus while trying to dodge raindrops from the deluge occuring around us. Nathan thanked us for our help, and went into the bus. We high-tailed it back inside, where it was cool and dry.
Once inside, Dave thanked us again for our help, and went upstairs. Jonathon went with him. Tom and I stood around, chatting. I heard a group approching from behind us, and turned around. It was none other than Governor Dean himself. I took a chance, and said loudly, "Good luck Governor." He turned saw me, and said "Thanks!" as he stretched out his hand to shake mine. As he did, he noticed we were wearing the "Staff" badges, and said "You guys did a great job here today. Thank you very much for all your help, I appreciate it. Keep it up!" He shook Tom's hand as well, and we were so shocked neither of us could think of much to say beyond "thank you very much, Governor, and come back here often."
If first impressions mean anything, I'll say I'm impressed. He's not tall (I'm 5'8", and we were about equal in height), but he is friendly, and considerate; he was fully willing to run out into the rain ("Just tell me which car I'm going to before I make a mad dash"), but when a staffer told him she had an umbrella for him, he told her to try to get as many people under it as she could.
Needless to say, I told my classmate I'd help whenever she needed it. And maybe someday, I can tell my grandchildren I shook the hand of a future President. How cool would that be?
Apartment Hunting (Cont'd)
I think I've found a new home! On Saturday, I went to look at three apartments in a multi-unit building. None of them impressed me. But the one diagonally across from them did. The owner had just put out a sign; he hadn't even published an ad yet. The apartment is $135 a month less than what I pay now (not quite the $300 drop I'd hoped for, but then, those which fell into the $850 range sucked) and only 60 square feet smaller. It's got hardwood floors, two window air conditioners, and a built-in dining room hutch. All in all, it's pretty nice, and my classmates were all excited last night when I told them. I just need to turn in the application, go through a credit check, and - if all goes well - my hunt is over. And I couldn't be happier. The best part? I'm four blocks (count 'em, baby!) from beautiful, scenic Wrigley Field.
Ok, I don't spout off on politics much here. In fact, I can't even think of a time when I have. But the truth is, I'm a democrat. For the most part. Usually vote democratic. So there.
Anyway, a classmate of mine, originally from Connecticut, is big into working campaigns. I've always wanted to, so I've been bugging her to volunteer at an event. Well, finally, she asked me to work the Howard Dean event today in good old Chi-town. Since class didn't start until 4, and the event was scheduled to end at 1, I decided to go for it. I wound up as part of her local press crew, where my job was to make sure members of the press made it easily from the credentials table to the press riser.
Yesterday was the walk-through. but it didn't prepare me for today. I arrived early (no minor miracle, given my penchant for lateness) fifteen whole minutes before I needed to be there. After a short wait, we were taken upstairs, where we helped put together banners and such while waiting for the press to arrive. Since Dean was speaking at a neighboring convention, the press arrived in a trickle at first.
Eventually, his speech at the other convention ended, and the press (and public) flooded over to ours. Governor Dean was scheduled to speak at noon; the height of the lunch hour, and the hottest time of an already hot, humid day. It was around 11 when the people were finally admitted to the terrace, and what an eclectic crowd - hippie types, college students, professionals, senior citizens - they all came to hear from the gathering storm that is Howard Dean. They were not disappointed. After a young, dynamic, African-American speaker introduced him, the Governor went on, albiet a few minutes late. He spoke to an enthusiastic crowd, who chanted and cheered each point he made. And good old George Bush, Jr. gave him plenty to make.
After he spoke for about thirty minutes, he worked the crowd, shaking hands. In the distance, rainclouds gathered. My classmate called us together, and told us she would get us in a photo with the Governor. But nature had plans of her own, and the DFA film crew needed to break down their equipment in a hurry, lest thousands of dollars of sensitive equipment get damaged by the impending downpour. Tom and I were pulled away from where we waited for the Governor, and the photographer bailed for the bus, rather than get caught in the rain (obviously, he's not a Rupert Holmes fan). I told Dave, the national coordinator, that he owed me a photo op for the one we'd lost (he chuckled and said "okay" in the way someone who's been told they have to do something they have no power over does). Tom, Jonathon and I helped Nathan break down the equipment. By this time, the Governor had left the terrace, and Chicago's finest weren't admittting anyone without credentials to any of the back areas. But we had them, (and what a cool feeling it was, to flash the "staff" badge and get into any area I needed to) so we were in.
We zipped across Navy Pier's interior to the North side, where the press bus and Governor Dean's car waited. He's not a nominated candidate, so he doesn't get a Secret Service detail (I'm hoping he is nominated, because I've heard that it's very exciting to work a national campaign, with all the activity). We dropped the equipment in the bus while trying to dodge raindrops from the deluge occuring around us. Nathan thanked us for our help, and went into the bus. We high-tailed it back inside, where it was cool and dry.
Once inside, Dave thanked us again for our help, and went upstairs. Jonathon went with him. Tom and I stood around, chatting. I heard a group approching from behind us, and turned around. It was none other than Governor Dean himself. I took a chance, and said loudly, "Good luck Governor." He turned saw me, and said "Thanks!" as he stretched out his hand to shake mine. As he did, he noticed we were wearing the "Staff" badges, and said "You guys did a great job here today. Thank you very much for all your help, I appreciate it. Keep it up!" He shook Tom's hand as well, and we were so shocked neither of us could think of much to say beyond "thank you very much, Governor, and come back here often."
If first impressions mean anything, I'll say I'm impressed. He's not tall (I'm 5'8", and we were about equal in height), but he is friendly, and considerate; he was fully willing to run out into the rain ("Just tell me which car I'm going to before I make a mad dash"), but when a staffer told him she had an umbrella for him, he told her to try to get as many people under it as she could.
Needless to say, I told my classmate I'd help whenever she needed it. And maybe someday, I can tell my grandchildren I shook the hand of a future President. How cool would that be?
Apartment Hunting (Cont'd)
I think I've found a new home! On Saturday, I went to look at three apartments in a multi-unit building. None of them impressed me. But the one diagonally across from them did. The owner had just put out a sign; he hadn't even published an ad yet. The apartment is $135 a month less than what I pay now (not quite the $300 drop I'd hoped for, but then, those which fell into the $850 range sucked) and only 60 square feet smaller. It's got hardwood floors, two window air conditioners, and a built-in dining room hutch. All in all, it's pretty nice, and my classmates were all excited last night when I told them. I just need to turn in the application, go through a credit check, and - if all goes well - my hunt is over. And I couldn't be happier. The best part? I'm four blocks (count 'em, baby!) from beautiful, scenic Wrigley Field.
Sunday, August 24, 2003
I KNEW THE BRIDE
By Nick Lowe and his Cowboy Outfit
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
Well the bride looks a picture in the gown that her mama wore
When she was married herself nearly 27 years before
They had to change the style a little but it looked just fine
Stayed up all night but they got it finished just in time
Now on the arm of her daddy she's walkin' down the aisle
I see her catch my eye and give me a secret smile
Maybe it's too old fashioned but a-we once were close friends
Oh but the way that she looks today she never could have then
Well I could see her now in her tight blue jeans
Pumping all her money in the record machine
Spinnin' like a top, you should have seen her go
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
Well a proud daddy only wanna give his little girl the best
So he put down a grand on a cozy little lovers nest
You could have called the reception an unqualified success
Had a flash hotel for a hundred and fifty guests
Well take a look at the bridegroom smilin' pleased as pie
Shakin' hands all around with a glassy look it his eye
He got a real good job and his shirt and tie is nice
But I remember a time when she never would have looked at him twice
Well I can see her now, drinkin' with the boys
Breakin' their hearts like playin' with toys
She used to do the pony, used to do the stroll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
(harmonica solo)
Well I can see her now with her walkman on
Jumpin' up and down to her favorite song
I still remember when she used to want to make a lot of noise
Hopin' and a-boppin' with the street corner boys
She used to wanna party, she used to wanna go
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to do the pony
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to wanna party
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
My friend Janet got married yesterday, officially taking off the market the one single girl in my age range I knew. She looked (as every bride does) absolutely gorgeous in her dress. Surprisingly, the reception was quite a small affair, attended by just under 125 people, including some ex-coworkers of mine from two jobs ago, some of whom I’ve kept in touch with the last four years.
So there I was, at the reception, watching the big bridal party parade when it hit me. I don’t think I could do this. I don’t think I could stand up in front of everyone and go through with the whole shlocky thing – walking in, arm in arm, “Eye of the Tiger” or “Theme from Rocky” or “Rock ‘n’ Roll Part II” (big here in Chi-town after the Bulls’ six championships) playing overly loud in the background, trying to look like I’m having a good time, when I’d rather be elsewhere. I do know that I’ve told my family that, in the less-than-likely event that I should finally get married, the “Hokey-Pokey” and the “Chicken Dance” will be verboten. I hate both of those songs. With a passion. And I’m not sure about the whole bouquet-and-garter thing either. I’m not big on that. When that part of any wedding I'm at comes up, I usually make for an exit (as I did last night), only to reappear just after some poor schmuck has garnered the prize.
I’ve heard countless people tell me that you don’t meet women in bars. You meet them at the grocery store, or at a wedding (just to name two places that come to mind). I’ve never met a woman at either. Ironically, there was a wedding next door to Janet’s where there were tons of women – but I’ve outgrown the 14-16 year olds. And the cute 23+-year-olds that were there all had very nice rocks on. So much for meeting someone at the wedding.
But, disappointment aside, I had fun, and while I only danced to one song (can you guess which one?) it was a good night. Best of luck to Janet and Dave – here’s to a long, happy marriage. And lots of kids. Who all grow up to be just like mom.
By Nick Lowe and his Cowboy Outfit
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
Well the bride looks a picture in the gown that her mama wore
When she was married herself nearly 27 years before
They had to change the style a little but it looked just fine
Stayed up all night but they got it finished just in time
Now on the arm of her daddy she's walkin' down the aisle
I see her catch my eye and give me a secret smile
Maybe it's too old fashioned but a-we once were close friends
Oh but the way that she looks today she never could have then
Well I could see her now in her tight blue jeans
Pumping all her money in the record machine
Spinnin' like a top, you should have seen her go
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
Well a proud daddy only wanna give his little girl the best
So he put down a grand on a cozy little lovers nest
You could have called the reception an unqualified success
Had a flash hotel for a hundred and fifty guests
Well take a look at the bridegroom smilin' pleased as pie
Shakin' hands all around with a glassy look it his eye
He got a real good job and his shirt and tie is nice
But I remember a time when she never would have looked at him twice
Well I can see her now, drinkin' with the boys
Breakin' their hearts like playin' with toys
She used to do the pony, used to do the stroll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
(harmonica solo)
Well I can see her now with her walkman on
Jumpin' up and down to her favorite song
I still remember when she used to want to make a lot of noise
Hopin' and a-boppin' with the street corner boys
She used to wanna party, she used to wanna go
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to do the pony
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
I knew the bride when she used to wanna party
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll
My friend Janet got married yesterday, officially taking off the market the one single girl in my age range I knew. She looked (as every bride does) absolutely gorgeous in her dress. Surprisingly, the reception was quite a small affair, attended by just under 125 people, including some ex-coworkers of mine from two jobs ago, some of whom I’ve kept in touch with the last four years.
So there I was, at the reception, watching the big bridal party parade when it hit me. I don’t think I could do this. I don’t think I could stand up in front of everyone and go through with the whole shlocky thing – walking in, arm in arm, “Eye of the Tiger” or “Theme from Rocky” or “Rock ‘n’ Roll Part II” (big here in Chi-town after the Bulls’ six championships) playing overly loud in the background, trying to look like I’m having a good time, when I’d rather be elsewhere. I do know that I’ve told my family that, in the less-than-likely event that I should finally get married, the “Hokey-Pokey” and the “Chicken Dance” will be verboten. I hate both of those songs. With a passion. And I’m not sure about the whole bouquet-and-garter thing either. I’m not big on that. When that part of any wedding I'm at comes up, I usually make for an exit (as I did last night), only to reappear just after some poor schmuck has garnered the prize.
I’ve heard countless people tell me that you don’t meet women in bars. You meet them at the grocery store, or at a wedding (just to name two places that come to mind). I’ve never met a woman at either. Ironically, there was a wedding next door to Janet’s where there were tons of women – but I’ve outgrown the 14-16 year olds. And the cute 23+-year-olds that were there all had very nice rocks on. So much for meeting someone at the wedding.
But, disappointment aside, I had fun, and while I only danced to one song (can you guess which one?) it was a good night. Best of luck to Janet and Dave – here’s to a long, happy marriage. And lots of kids. Who all grow up to be just like mom.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
Apartment Hunting....Part Deux....(the search continues)
Because the first Tour of Chicago apartments didn't yield a gem, I wandered the streets of Wrigleyville on Monday, searching for more candidates. And found several. In addition, I made an appointment with a real estate agent to look at several in the Logan Square/Bucktown neighborhoods.
Yesterday was the culmination of that effort. Surprisingly, after having a boring-as-hell day on Tuesday, yesterday turned out to be as busy as hell.
It all actually started on Tuesday, when I adecided to actually get up off my lazy butt and get motivated. I went to the tax office in the afternoon, and while there, decided to check the Loyola email system. For what, I don't know, but it turned out that my professor in Oxford, who runs the ethics part of first year orientation, needed discussion leaders for Wednesday, and would I be able to help?
Now this presented a problem, since he needed me at 11, and my appointment to look at apartments was also at 11. But one quick call later, and I'd pushed it back to 12. So I called him and told him I'd be there. Of course, he asked me to come at 8:45 to pick up the materials I'd need.
So me, in all my genius, decided I should a.) save money and b.) save time, by taking the train into the Loop. I caught the 7:00 am shuttle bus to the train station (cost: $1.25, reduced by the driver to $1.00 when I mentioned I had no change, and she wanted to get going). I then hopped on the 7:25 express train to Chicago - only to find out that back in January, the Metra ticket agent had given me a Zone E ticket, when I really needed a Zone F ticket. So I had to cough up an additional buck. Argh.
Halfway to Chicago, it dawned on me that the evening shuttles only ran until 6:30, and I had an appointment on Belmont and Seminary at 6:00. There was no way I'd be able to make the last shuttle, so I'd just signed myself up for a two-mile walk from the train station to my apartment. Genius.
Then things really started to go into the toilet. The discussion group didn't get started on time, so instead of ending at 11:50 we ended at 12:05. Five minutes after I was supposed to be at the real estate agent's. Fortunately, his 1:00 was seeing the same apartments I was, so we just picked her up at 1:05, and kept on going. Unfortunately, I was supposed to be done by 1:30, and we didn't finish until 2:00, which made me late for another appointment. That appointment ran long, too, so I wound up being late to my 4:00 (none of these were near each other, and I had built time in for travel, but obviously not enough). I wound up grabbing a Whopper at the State of Illinois building food court and trying to eat it on the 'L' on the way to the 4:00. It worked for a bit, but then I started getting sauce my only decent pair of shorts.
The 4:00 appointment turned out to be a very nice apartment. I was stunned, actually, since everything I've looked at so far has been disappointing, to say the least. I told the lady I'll be in touch, and unless something better comes along (typical guy frame of mind there) I will. But right now, it's the leader.
I can't be as nice about the 6:00, which was the only appointment I made it to on time (actually early). First, I wound up standing around waiting with someone who's (male) roommate had already looked at the apartment, and all she "needed to do was look at it." That, of course, implies that boyfriend liked the place, and that they might be ready to sign on the lease. Then, Brad (landlord), showed up. Brad didn't have the right keys, which proved frustrating (I wanted to say something nasty, but couldn't, since this only seemed to be par for the course on this apartment hunt). Angie was obviously pissed off at this, but after a bit, Brad managed to open up the apartment and let us in. In the meantime, another potential tenant arrived for a look.
It took about three seconds to rule the place out. Supposedly the place had recently been "gut rehabbed," but if that was the case, then the previous tenant (who had supposedly moved out only the day before) had really trashed the place. I wasn't buying it, nor was the other woman. We both took a quick look around, and bolted. Angie, however, remained behind, talking to Brad. The main positive was that the other woman turned out to be very nice, and pleasant to talk to - and fairly attractive (Angie was as well - I'm looking forward to living in the city). We chatted for a few minutes, before we both had to leave, and to my surprise, she gave me her card and told me to keep in touch...
I walked about half a mile back to my friend Tim's apartment (I'd walked there earlier, too, in between the 4:00 and 6:00 appointments), and we had dinner at Sabo, a nice place on Southport, not far from his apartment. I wound up catching the Brown line 'L' back downtown, making it the third line I'd ridden that day (after the Red line and Blue line), and wound up getting back to Naperville at 10:30 (the evening conductor never noticed I had the wrong ticket). It took me around 40 minutes to walk back to the apartment (after the requisite stop at the DQ for a Snickers Blizzard). But at least it was a nice night.
Because the first Tour of Chicago apartments didn't yield a gem, I wandered the streets of Wrigleyville on Monday, searching for more candidates. And found several. In addition, I made an appointment with a real estate agent to look at several in the Logan Square/Bucktown neighborhoods.
Yesterday was the culmination of that effort. Surprisingly, after having a boring-as-hell day on Tuesday, yesterday turned out to be as busy as hell.
It all actually started on Tuesday, when I adecided to actually get up off my lazy butt and get motivated. I went to the tax office in the afternoon, and while there, decided to check the Loyola email system. For what, I don't know, but it turned out that my professor in Oxford, who runs the ethics part of first year orientation, needed discussion leaders for Wednesday, and would I be able to help?
Now this presented a problem, since he needed me at 11, and my appointment to look at apartments was also at 11. But one quick call later, and I'd pushed it back to 12. So I called him and told him I'd be there. Of course, he asked me to come at 8:45 to pick up the materials I'd need.
So me, in all my genius, decided I should a.) save money and b.) save time, by taking the train into the Loop. I caught the 7:00 am shuttle bus to the train station (cost: $1.25, reduced by the driver to $1.00 when I mentioned I had no change, and she wanted to get going). I then hopped on the 7:25 express train to Chicago - only to find out that back in January, the Metra ticket agent had given me a Zone E ticket, when I really needed a Zone F ticket. So I had to cough up an additional buck. Argh.
Halfway to Chicago, it dawned on me that the evening shuttles only ran until 6:30, and I had an appointment on Belmont and Seminary at 6:00. There was no way I'd be able to make the last shuttle, so I'd just signed myself up for a two-mile walk from the train station to my apartment. Genius.
Then things really started to go into the toilet. The discussion group didn't get started on time, so instead of ending at 11:50 we ended at 12:05. Five minutes after I was supposed to be at the real estate agent's. Fortunately, his 1:00 was seeing the same apartments I was, so we just picked her up at 1:05, and kept on going. Unfortunately, I was supposed to be done by 1:30, and we didn't finish until 2:00, which made me late for another appointment. That appointment ran long, too, so I wound up being late to my 4:00 (none of these were near each other, and I had built time in for travel, but obviously not enough). I wound up grabbing a Whopper at the State of Illinois building food court and trying to eat it on the 'L' on the way to the 4:00. It worked for a bit, but then I started getting sauce my only decent pair of shorts.
The 4:00 appointment turned out to be a very nice apartment. I was stunned, actually, since everything I've looked at so far has been disappointing, to say the least. I told the lady I'll be in touch, and unless something better comes along (typical guy frame of mind there) I will. But right now, it's the leader.
I can't be as nice about the 6:00, which was the only appointment I made it to on time (actually early). First, I wound up standing around waiting with someone who's (male) roommate had already looked at the apartment, and all she "needed to do was look at it." That, of course, implies that boyfriend liked the place, and that they might be ready to sign on the lease. Then, Brad (landlord), showed up. Brad didn't have the right keys, which proved frustrating (I wanted to say something nasty, but couldn't, since this only seemed to be par for the course on this apartment hunt). Angie was obviously pissed off at this, but after a bit, Brad managed to open up the apartment and let us in. In the meantime, another potential tenant arrived for a look.
It took about three seconds to rule the place out. Supposedly the place had recently been "gut rehabbed," but if that was the case, then the previous tenant (who had supposedly moved out only the day before) had really trashed the place. I wasn't buying it, nor was the other woman. We both took a quick look around, and bolted. Angie, however, remained behind, talking to Brad. The main positive was that the other woman turned out to be very nice, and pleasant to talk to - and fairly attractive (Angie was as well - I'm looking forward to living in the city). We chatted for a few minutes, before we both had to leave, and to my surprise, she gave me her card and told me to keep in touch...
I walked about half a mile back to my friend Tim's apartment (I'd walked there earlier, too, in between the 4:00 and 6:00 appointments), and we had dinner at Sabo, a nice place on Southport, not far from his apartment. I wound up catching the Brown line 'L' back downtown, making it the third line I'd ridden that day (after the Red line and Blue line), and wound up getting back to Naperville at 10:30 (the evening conductor never noticed I had the wrong ticket). It took me around 40 minutes to walk back to the apartment (after the requisite stop at the DQ for a Snickers Blizzard). But at least it was a nice night.
Monday, August 18, 2003
Sometimes you fly so high
You can't find a place to land
Got money in the bank
A drink in your hand
When the love gets low
Someone's gonna lose
Cause our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
When you shuffle your cards
You always have a winning hand
When luck is on the run
You never have to take a stand
When the chips get low
You know you're gonna have to choose
Cause our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
It's a good day, for Bobby Blue Bland
For the thrill isn't gone, Magic Stand
Whatever it takes, I do what I can do
To bridge this river that flows from me to you
Our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
Whatever it takes, I do what I can do
To bridge this river that flows from me to you
Our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
(3 times)
For whatever reason, I've always liked Storyville's Good Day for the Blues. Occasionally, if I'm lucky, I get to hear it - mostly in the mornings on WXRT, but occasionally in the afternoons or evenings. Today was one of those days, which means it's going to be a good day. Thanks Lin Brehmer, for getting this morning off to a good start.
You can't find a place to land
Got money in the bank
A drink in your hand
When the love gets low
Someone's gonna lose
Cause our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
When you shuffle your cards
You always have a winning hand
When luck is on the run
You never have to take a stand
When the chips get low
You know you're gonna have to choose
Cause our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
It's a good day, for Bobby Blue Bland
For the thrill isn't gone, Magic Stand
Whatever it takes, I do what I can do
To bridge this river that flows from me to you
Our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
Whatever it takes, I do what I can do
To bridge this river that flows from me to you
Our love is driftin,
and it's a good day for the blues
(3 times)
For whatever reason, I've always liked Storyville's Good Day for the Blues. Occasionally, if I'm lucky, I get to hear it - mostly in the mornings on WXRT, but occasionally in the afternoons or evenings. Today was one of those days, which means it's going to be a good day. Thanks Lin Brehmer, for getting this morning off to a good start.
Friday, August 15, 2003
With her killer graces
And her secret places
That no boy can fill
With her hands on her hips
And that smile on her lips
Because she knows that it kills me
With her soft french cream
Standing in the doorway like a dream
I wish she'd just leave me alone
Because french cream won't soften them boots
Adn french kisses will not break that heart of stone
With her long hair falling
And her eyes that shine like the midnight sun
She's the one
She's the one
That thunder in your heart at night
when you kneeling in the dark
It says you're never gonna leave her
But there's this angel in her eyes
That tells such desperate lies
And all you want to do is believe her
And tonight you'll try
Just one more time
To leave it all behind
And to break on through
The Boss was in town Wednesday night, playing US Cellular Field (affectionately known as "The Cell" around here, mostly because of fan tendency to run onto the field during games). I did not have a ticket. I felt VERY deprived. I missed last September's concert because I had class (and did not feel I could ditch it at the time tix went on sale). This time I was in Europe when the tix went on sale, and accordingly had no hope of getting tix. Damn. Heard it was another awesome performance too.
Apartment Hunt = the adventure begins...
*Sigh*
This is definitely not going to be easy. I drove downtown Wednesday to look at some apartments, after meeting some ex-co-workers for a nice lunch. While perusing the ads, I noticed an ad for a one-bedroom right across the street from the law school! How fortunate could one be? Step out the door, cross the street, and - shazam! - you're there. Transportation costs? Nil. And the rent? Right up my alley, at $750 a month. Too good to be true, right? Right. I called. It was only 550 square feet, almost half of what I live in now. And the building didn't look so great either. I took a pass on their offer to show it to me.
I'd called earlier on another place, showing at 4:00. But when the guy on the other end told me the area, I became wary (plus his comment about how the owner wanted only a 'certain type' didn't help. Don't know exactly what he meant, but I didn't want to chance it). Turns out I was right; in a drive-by later the place was on the 'wrong side of the tracks' so to speak (I definitely got some 'what are you doing here?' looks), and the building was not in the best condition.
I took my first plunge in an apartment on Deming. After getting directions (just off Clark) and finding parking (a challenge in Lincoln Park), I walked in - and was less than thrilled. The place was 600 square feet (approximately) and going for $865 a month. For you math maniacs, that's $1.44 a square foot. Heck, I only pay $1.29 a foot here, and I think that's pricey. The next three places fared no better - one even had flaking paint and a hole in the ceiling where water had leaked through (the fact that the building manager dismissively pointed that out - "oh and there's where she had a leak, but it never really bothered her" - also bothered me, and dear old dad's opinion was that the paint was flaking because there was more moisture in the apartment that I couldn't see) - and not only were the apartments small, and in generally poor condition, the buildings were too. Oh, but from outside, they looked good. Too bad the inside didn't match.
So the search goes on. More to come next week...
And her secret places
That no boy can fill
With her hands on her hips
And that smile on her lips
Because she knows that it kills me
With her soft french cream
Standing in the doorway like a dream
I wish she'd just leave me alone
Because french cream won't soften them boots
Adn french kisses will not break that heart of stone
With her long hair falling
And her eyes that shine like the midnight sun
She's the one
She's the one
That thunder in your heart at night
when you kneeling in the dark
It says you're never gonna leave her
But there's this angel in her eyes
That tells such desperate lies
And all you want to do is believe her
And tonight you'll try
Just one more time
To leave it all behind
And to break on through
The Boss was in town Wednesday night, playing US Cellular Field (affectionately known as "The Cell" around here, mostly because of fan tendency to run onto the field during games). I did not have a ticket. I felt VERY deprived. I missed last September's concert because I had class (and did not feel I could ditch it at the time tix went on sale). This time I was in Europe when the tix went on sale, and accordingly had no hope of getting tix. Damn. Heard it was another awesome performance too.
Apartment Hunt = the adventure begins...
*Sigh*
This is definitely not going to be easy. I drove downtown Wednesday to look at some apartments, after meeting some ex-co-workers for a nice lunch. While perusing the ads, I noticed an ad for a one-bedroom right across the street from the law school! How fortunate could one be? Step out the door, cross the street, and - shazam! - you're there. Transportation costs? Nil. And the rent? Right up my alley, at $750 a month. Too good to be true, right? Right. I called. It was only 550 square feet, almost half of what I live in now. And the building didn't look so great either. I took a pass on their offer to show it to me.
I'd called earlier on another place, showing at 4:00. But when the guy on the other end told me the area, I became wary (plus his comment about how the owner wanted only a 'certain type' didn't help. Don't know exactly what he meant, but I didn't want to chance it). Turns out I was right; in a drive-by later the place was on the 'wrong side of the tracks' so to speak (I definitely got some 'what are you doing here?' looks), and the building was not in the best condition.
I took my first plunge in an apartment on Deming. After getting directions (just off Clark) and finding parking (a challenge in Lincoln Park), I walked in - and was less than thrilled. The place was 600 square feet (approximately) and going for $865 a month. For you math maniacs, that's $1.44 a square foot. Heck, I only pay $1.29 a foot here, and I think that's pricey. The next three places fared no better - one even had flaking paint and a hole in the ceiling where water had leaked through (the fact that the building manager dismissively pointed that out - "oh and there's where she had a leak, but it never really bothered her" - also bothered me, and dear old dad's opinion was that the paint was flaking because there was more moisture in the apartment that I couldn't see) - and not only were the apartments small, and in generally poor condition, the buildings were too. Oh, but from outside, they looked good. Too bad the inside didn't match.
So the search goes on. More to come next week...
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
And then, depression set in.....
Great. I got the email today. You know, that email. The one we all dread....
Hi, Greg
You are invited to the Shepard High School Class of 1983 Reunion!
When: October 10, 2003.
Where: Holiday Inn, Matteson
Cost: $65 pp...
Oh. My. God.
Two months to find a date. Can I do it? Should I go? Am I really that old?
*sigh*
Great. I got the email today. You know, that email. The one we all dread....
Hi, Greg
You are invited to the Shepard High School Class of 1983 Reunion!
When: October 10, 2003.
Where: Holiday Inn, Matteson
Cost: $65 pp...
Oh. My. God.
Two months to find a date. Can I do it? Should I go? Am I really that old?
*sigh*
Monday, August 11, 2003
More Photos
I got back the rest of the pictures from vacation.
Total developing cost (US): $150.
Total developing cost (Italy): approx $55.
Total film cost: approx $130
(due to fluctuation in value of Euro, it's impossible for me to be exact here).
That means my photos cost me a total of $385. Annika, in a comment a couple of weeks back, pointed out that I should have just went digital, and in retrospect, she's very much correct. But at that time $400 seemed like a lot of money, and since I'd been to both Oxford and Rome before, I didn't think I'd be snapping that many photos. And then Interlaken happened. And Paris. And Kassel. You get the point. Part of my developing costs included photo CDs, so I could post the pictures easily without having to bother someone to use their scanner, blah, blah, blah...
As I slowly get my life back in order (and settle arguments with Dell, and T-Mobile), I'm sure I'll post more about all the fun I'm not having trying to find an apartment, figure out school, etc.
Believe me, it's been exciting so far.
Best part of last weekend was the entire weekend: I went to Battle Creek, Michigan with my dad for our annual golf weekend. While there, I finally managed to break 100 - twice. Saturday afternoon, it looked like rain, so we decided to forgo the afternoon round for some other diversion, which at first looked like time in front of the TV back at the hotel room. But then we stumbled across Cruise the Gut, sponsored by the Battle Creek Police Department. What is it? A car show - and what a show. Cars from all over Michigan showed up, from a hand-crank start 1916 Ford (which still ran!) right up to mid-80's Hurst Olds 442s. There were T-Birds, Camaros, Firebirds, Mustangs and Corvettes galore, a few Studebakers and even a Nash. Dad and I were in seventh heaven as we spent almost three hours walking downtown looking at at least 1,000 cars. Or at least it seemed like 1,000. It might have been less, but there were cars everywhere - on the street, in parking lots, on the sidewalk - for blocks on end. And where there wasn't cars, there was people. At five o'clock or so, the cars began driving up and down the main drag. Needless to say, it was quite a sight. We thoroughly enjoyed every moment, and didn't get back to the hotel until after nine. And we'd first stopped to look at the cars around three-thirty...
I got back the rest of the pictures from vacation.
Total developing cost (US): $150.
Total developing cost (Italy): approx $55.
Total film cost: approx $130
(due to fluctuation in value of Euro, it's impossible for me to be exact here).
That means my photos cost me a total of $385. Annika, in a comment a couple of weeks back, pointed out that I should have just went digital, and in retrospect, she's very much correct. But at that time $400 seemed like a lot of money, and since I'd been to both Oxford and Rome before, I didn't think I'd be snapping that many photos. And then Interlaken happened. And Paris. And Kassel. You get the point. Part of my developing costs included photo CDs, so I could post the pictures easily without having to bother someone to use their scanner, blah, blah, blah...
As I slowly get my life back in order (and settle arguments with Dell, and T-Mobile), I'm sure I'll post more about all the fun I'm not having trying to find an apartment, figure out school, etc.
Believe me, it's been exciting so far.
Best part of last weekend was the entire weekend: I went to Battle Creek, Michigan with my dad for our annual golf weekend. While there, I finally managed to break 100 - twice. Saturday afternoon, it looked like rain, so we decided to forgo the afternoon round for some other diversion, which at first looked like time in front of the TV back at the hotel room. But then we stumbled across Cruise the Gut, sponsored by the Battle Creek Police Department. What is it? A car show - and what a show. Cars from all over Michigan showed up, from a hand-crank start 1916 Ford (which still ran!) right up to mid-80's Hurst Olds 442s. There were T-Birds, Camaros, Firebirds, Mustangs and Corvettes galore, a few Studebakers and even a Nash. Dad and I were in seventh heaven as we spent almost three hours walking downtown looking at at least 1,000 cars. Or at least it seemed like 1,000. It might have been less, but there were cars everywhere - on the street, in parking lots, on the sidewalk - for blocks on end. And where there wasn't cars, there was people. At five o'clock or so, the cars began driving up and down the main drag. Needless to say, it was quite a sight. We thoroughly enjoyed every moment, and didn't get back to the hotel until after nine. And we'd first stopped to look at the cars around three-thirty...
Thursday, August 07, 2003
While you were out....
The following people died:
Donald Regan
David Brinkley
Gregory Peck
Hume Cronyn
Larry Doby
Strom Thurmond
Katharine Hepburn
Buddy Hackett
Barry White
Buddy Ebsen
Tex Schramm
Bob Hope
Quite a list. The average age of it is 86; I should be so lucky to live so long. Two (Hope and Thurmond) made it all the way to 100; two more (Ebsen, at 95, and Hepburn, at 96) were within shouting distance. All of them (well, except for Regan - don't know him well enough to say this) had great accomplishments in their lifetime, and their passing is a loss to all of us.
The sad thing is, that of all of my classmates in law school, I'm afraid I'm one of a very few who could tell you what all of these people are known for without first looking them up in an encyclopedia. My traveling companion through Ireland could probably guess that Regan had a position in the Reagan administration (Secretary of the Treasury) and that Strom Thurmond was a member of Congress: He watches CNN enough to know that. But knowing that Larry Doby broke the color barrier in the American League, or that Tex Schramm was once the president of the Dallas Cowboys, or that Buddy Ebsen was the original Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz (before an allergy to the makeup forced him to quit)? No way. He wasn't even sure of who Barry White was.
The sad thing is, he made Moot Court, and I didn't. He's also on a journal, and I'm not. Supposedly, he likes someone in our class who made three journals, and Moot Court. Needless to say, they both had the time to invest in writing competitions (he's self-employed and can set his own schedule [he's also fairly well off] and she's not working at all), and I didn't. Why not? Because I was too busy working. Now that the fall recruiting season is near, I'm reviewing the OCI materials and - guess what? All that work I did? Doesn't mean squat now. All that matters is whether I'm in the top 10% of my class (I'm not - I'd be lucky to be in the top 40%) or if I'm on a journal.
And that's what really irks me. My school supposedly caters to evening students (of which I was one). But they don't, really. Most of the firms schedule things during the workday for evening students, and many of the presentations (both required and optional) begin at 5:00. I'm not the first to complain; many of my classmates are equally irked.
Maybe I'm being whiny, but I think there should be some measure of reward for sacrificing the huge amounts of time I dedicated to work and school. One of the day students (who shall remain nameless, since she obviously never worked) said that I knew what I was getting into, and if I wasn't willing to make the commitment to law school, then I shouldn't have signed up. I did know what I was getting into, but when I applied, my job description was different. It changed right before school started, and suddenly, I had more work on my hands, and I couldn't do anything about it. And, with the full knowledge that my grades would probably suffer (and they did), I put more effort into work than I did school, with the hope of stashing as much cash as I could for the long road ahead.
Now I'm beginning to wonder if I did the right thing. Should I have quit the job? Stuck with it? Dropped out of law school? Do I have a hope in hell of getting any job next summer? Or am I totally out of luck?
I feel that I have a lot to offer, and no one who's interested in buying. I sure hope I'm wrong.
I think I need to update that resume........
The following people died:
Donald Regan
David Brinkley
Gregory Peck
Hume Cronyn
Larry Doby
Strom Thurmond
Katharine Hepburn
Buddy Hackett
Barry White
Buddy Ebsen
Tex Schramm
Bob Hope
Quite a list. The average age of it is 86; I should be so lucky to live so long. Two (Hope and Thurmond) made it all the way to 100; two more (Ebsen, at 95, and Hepburn, at 96) were within shouting distance. All of them (well, except for Regan - don't know him well enough to say this) had great accomplishments in their lifetime, and their passing is a loss to all of us.
The sad thing is, that of all of my classmates in law school, I'm afraid I'm one of a very few who could tell you what all of these people are known for without first looking them up in an encyclopedia. My traveling companion through Ireland could probably guess that Regan had a position in the Reagan administration (Secretary of the Treasury) and that Strom Thurmond was a member of Congress: He watches CNN enough to know that. But knowing that Larry Doby broke the color barrier in the American League, or that Tex Schramm was once the president of the Dallas Cowboys, or that Buddy Ebsen was the original Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz (before an allergy to the makeup forced him to quit)? No way. He wasn't even sure of who Barry White was.
The sad thing is, he made Moot Court, and I didn't. He's also on a journal, and I'm not. Supposedly, he likes someone in our class who made three journals, and Moot Court. Needless to say, they both had the time to invest in writing competitions (he's self-employed and can set his own schedule [he's also fairly well off] and she's not working at all), and I didn't. Why not? Because I was too busy working. Now that the fall recruiting season is near, I'm reviewing the OCI materials and - guess what? All that work I did? Doesn't mean squat now. All that matters is whether I'm in the top 10% of my class (I'm not - I'd be lucky to be in the top 40%) or if I'm on a journal.
And that's what really irks me. My school supposedly caters to evening students (of which I was one). But they don't, really. Most of the firms schedule things during the workday for evening students, and many of the presentations (both required and optional) begin at 5:00. I'm not the first to complain; many of my classmates are equally irked.
Maybe I'm being whiny, but I think there should be some measure of reward for sacrificing the huge amounts of time I dedicated to work and school. One of the day students (who shall remain nameless, since she obviously never worked) said that I knew what I was getting into, and if I wasn't willing to make the commitment to law school, then I shouldn't have signed up. I did know what I was getting into, but when I applied, my job description was different. It changed right before school started, and suddenly, I had more work on my hands, and I couldn't do anything about it. And, with the full knowledge that my grades would probably suffer (and they did), I put more effort into work than I did school, with the hope of stashing as much cash as I could for the long road ahead.
Now I'm beginning to wonder if I did the right thing. Should I have quit the job? Stuck with it? Dropped out of law school? Do I have a hope in hell of getting any job next summer? Or am I totally out of luck?
I feel that I have a lot to offer, and no one who's interested in buying. I sure hope I'm wrong.
I think I need to update that resume........
A quickie post
Had some time today, so I decided to.....update my resume? get a haircut? No.....I downloaded some more photos.....this time of Interlaken. Oh, and I added more to the Paris folder, too. Enjoy.
Had some time today, so I decided to.....update my resume? get a haircut? No.....I downloaded some more photos.....this time of Interlaken. Oh, and I added more to the Paris folder, too. Enjoy.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
I'm baaaaack...for a day
Man, I feel bushed. All I've been doing is traveling since May 23rd. I came home last Friday, and spend Saturday and Sunday unpacking and doing laundry, going through 10 weeks worth of mail, and trying to figure out who has been paid and who hasn't. In the interim, I have to also slog through 150 emails (99 percent junk, unfortunately; I don't get much in the way of real email) and try to figure out just how little money I have left.
In the meantime, I paid a visit to the local Jewel (a/k/a the grocery/drugstore near me) and had some pictures developed. Enjoy. And don't laugh at the cheesy sweater I'm wearing. First, I don't wear sweaters often. Second, due to Ryanair's weight restrictions, I couldn't fit the other sweaters I have (all two of them) in my luggage. I have tons, so I'll post more ASAP. But for now, I think I'm going to watch Austin Powers. Or maybe Dogma, since I was so rudely interrupted by undergrads when I tried to watch it in Rome....
Man, I feel bushed. All I've been doing is traveling since May 23rd. I came home last Friday, and spend Saturday and Sunday unpacking and doing laundry, going through 10 weeks worth of mail, and trying to figure out who has been paid and who hasn't. In the interim, I have to also slog through 150 emails (99 percent junk, unfortunately; I don't get much in the way of real email) and try to figure out just how little money I have left.
In the meantime, I paid a visit to the local Jewel (a/k/a the grocery/drugstore near me) and had some pictures developed. Enjoy. And don't laugh at the cheesy sweater I'm wearing. First, I don't wear sweaters often. Second, due to Ryanair's weight restrictions, I couldn't fit the other sweaters I have (all two of them) in my luggage. I have tons, so I'll post more ASAP. But for now, I think I'm going to watch Austin Powers. Or maybe Dogma, since I was so rudely interrupted by undergrads when I tried to watch it in Rome....
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
If it's Wednesday, this must be....Dublin?
Whew.........I've been in Ireland since Saturday with no Internet access to speak of, and so much to tell....
In two days, I'll be home. That's just weird to say, after being gone since May 23rd. It's been a long, fun, educational, and interesting trip. I've seen the beginning of the Tour de France (yea Lance!), the British Open (though in the UK it's just "The Open), and most fun of all, driven a left-hand-drive car around Ireland. Six Hundred miles of driving in five days. In a stick shift (or straight drive, if y'all is a Southerner), which I don't normally drive at home, and haven't driven for any length of time since 1987. Not bad.
Of course, I did have to put up with my traveling companion, who was very helpful at navigating, and of no help with stimulating conversation. Our discussions mostly centered around school - classes, Moot Court and who got in (he did, I have yet to hear and probably did not), class rank, on-campus interviewing (or OCI - and why he should participate, and how those who don't are basically out of luck - just what I wanted to hear after quitting a perfectly good job). What didn't center around school revolved mostly around his adventures, which I find mostly hard to believe. The funniest part occured in Wexford yesterday. Earlier in the week, he'd turned up the radio, saying "this is a good song." Of course, it was a song played over and over and over, and every time, they announced the artist - Beyonce's Crazy in Love. So yesterday, we walked into a music store in Wexford, and what did I see, but Beyonce's new CD. So I showed it to him, and what does he say?
"What's that?"
"Beyonce's new CD."
"Who?"
"The song you like."
"What song?"
"Crazy in love."
"What song is that?"
"Never mind."
The most interesting non-school/self related conversation we had dealt with the women on TV we thought were hot, which was prompted by an episode of Friends. Predictibly, he picked Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox and Lisa Kudrow in that order, then told me the hottest woman on Ally McBeal was Lucy Liu. He was shocked when I picked Lisa Kudrow over Jennifer, and said Lucy was only fifth hottest (after Portia di Rossi, Jane Krakowski, Calista Flockhart and Courtney Thorne-Smith). I tried to cover other shows, but.... he didn't know them. Oh well.
More when I get back to the US.....
Whew.........I've been in Ireland since Saturday with no Internet access to speak of, and so much to tell....
In two days, I'll be home. That's just weird to say, after being gone since May 23rd. It's been a long, fun, educational, and interesting trip. I've seen the beginning of the Tour de France (yea Lance!), the British Open (though in the UK it's just "The Open), and most fun of all, driven a left-hand-drive car around Ireland. Six Hundred miles of driving in five days. In a stick shift (or straight drive, if y'all is a Southerner), which I don't normally drive at home, and haven't driven for any length of time since 1987. Not bad.
Of course, I did have to put up with my traveling companion, who was very helpful at navigating, and of no help with stimulating conversation. Our discussions mostly centered around school - classes, Moot Court and who got in (he did, I have yet to hear and probably did not), class rank, on-campus interviewing (or OCI - and why he should participate, and how those who don't are basically out of luck - just what I wanted to hear after quitting a perfectly good job). What didn't center around school revolved mostly around his adventures, which I find mostly hard to believe. The funniest part occured in Wexford yesterday. Earlier in the week, he'd turned up the radio, saying "this is a good song." Of course, it was a song played over and over and over, and every time, they announced the artist - Beyonce's Crazy in Love. So yesterday, we walked into a music store in Wexford, and what did I see, but Beyonce's new CD. So I showed it to him, and what does he say?
"What's that?"
"Beyonce's new CD."
"Who?"
"The song you like."
"What song?"
"Crazy in love."
"What song is that?"
"Never mind."
The most interesting non-school/self related conversation we had dealt with the women on TV we thought were hot, which was prompted by an episode of Friends. Predictibly, he picked Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox and Lisa Kudrow in that order, then told me the hottest woman on Ally McBeal was Lucy Liu. He was shocked when I picked Lisa Kudrow over Jennifer, and said Lucy was only fifth hottest (after Portia di Rossi, Jane Krakowski, Calista Flockhart and Courtney Thorne-Smith). I tried to cover other shows, but.... he didn't know them. Oh well.
More when I get back to the US.....
Monday, July 21, 2003
It has now been 59 days since I left the United States. In that time, I've visited Rome, Florence, Milan, Sorrento, Capri, Interlachen (Switzerland), Bern, Strasbourg, Kassel (Germany), Paris, Luxembourg, Brussels, London, Oxford, and this weekend's entry, Salisbury and Stonehenge. For those of you who are counting, that's 6 capital cities and 7 countries. This coming weekend, I'll add one more to each of those, as John and I head to Shannon, and drive our way across Ireland to Dublin. I have 11 more days here, and four until my finals on Friday.
I managed to have dinner with my professor friend on Saturday. I gave him that list (and details of my once-in-a-lifetime visit to the British Open) at dinner, and his response was simply "My goodness, I just listened to that list and I'm tired." He's not the only one. The only thing suffering more than me right now is my bank account, which is beginning to resemble the Sahara desert. Going to the Open didn't help, as I dropped £160 buying stuff for the family back home (a shirt, a hat, and a green repair tool for dad, who's a big golf fan, a hat for each of my nephews, and stuff for me).
I've met some nice people along the way, learned more about people who I should be hanging out with back home, and met some people who I just can't stand. Of course, some of those in the latter category are people whom I hung out with over the last year, but most are people I'll be having class with come the fall. So that should be interesting.
All in all, I miss listening to my CDs most of all. And driving my car and my motorcycle. And, of course, I miss my family.......
But so far, I've managed to enjoy the whole trip. I've taken over 200 photographs, which will cost an enormous amount of money to develop. And I promise to post as many as I can for those of you who've been living vicariously through my these last - six? seven? - weeks. And I promise stories of this trip for a long time to come.....or until I get a more interesting life back home, which may not take long....
I managed to have dinner with my professor friend on Saturday. I gave him that list (and details of my once-in-a-lifetime visit to the British Open) at dinner, and his response was simply "My goodness, I just listened to that list and I'm tired." He's not the only one. The only thing suffering more than me right now is my bank account, which is beginning to resemble the Sahara desert. Going to the Open didn't help, as I dropped £160 buying stuff for the family back home (a shirt, a hat, and a green repair tool for dad, who's a big golf fan, a hat for each of my nephews, and stuff for me).
I've met some nice people along the way, learned more about people who I should be hanging out with back home, and met some people who I just can't stand. Of course, some of those in the latter category are people whom I hung out with over the last year, but most are people I'll be having class with come the fall. So that should be interesting.
All in all, I miss listening to my CDs most of all. And driving my car and my motorcycle. And, of course, I miss my family.......
But so far, I've managed to enjoy the whole trip. I've taken over 200 photographs, which will cost an enormous amount of money to develop. And I promise to post as many as I can for those of you who've been living vicariously through my these last - six? seven? - weeks. And I promise stories of this trip for a long time to come.....or until I get a more interesting life back home, which may not take long....
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