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.

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..

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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*

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...

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........

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.

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....

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.....

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....

Yeah, I'd like to go to Paris one day....maybe even France.....

Paris

Day One

Because big cities like London, Rome and Paris tend to be pretty pricey, and because money isn't infinite, I jumped at the opportunity to go on a one-day, thirty six hour excursion to Paris with the 'other' Greg and Blake. John M rode the train with us, but was planning on spending the entire weekend. Once there, we were to meet up with Bridget, Art, Kathy, and Tim, (who somehow managed to make getting to Paris via a direct train an adventure).

Our first challenge was finding our rooms. Blake and Greg had booked a room at the FIAP Jean Monnet, which was in the same 'system' as our wonderful accomodations at CIARUS. Fortunately, it turned out to be a little nicer and somewhat quieter, even if the hallway did reek of b.o. (I found out the next morning we were lucky; apparently, the small child problem was so bad at FIAP that the sixteen-year-olds were ready to kill.) John, on the other hand, was staying with Art in a hotel on the north end of Paris (ours was on the south end), near the Gare Nord (for those of you who haven't been there, Gare Nord is the north train station; it's one Metro stop west of Gare Est, the - you guessed it - eastern train station, into which our train pulled.) We agreed to meet in one hour at the Cathedral of Notre Dame.

We arrived at Notre Dame to find two things; one, there were a TON of people around, and two, we were going to have fun trying to find John. Fortunately, it didn't take long until Blake and Greg saw him. We flagged him down, and he joined up to tell us that - he'd just been mugged. Apparently, two men had cornered him in the Metro station after he'd taken a photograph with his digital camera and gotten €40. Now, I say apparently, because there is some doubt as to whether or not this actually occurred. According to John's story, the he surrendered the money only after the thieves brandished switchblades. But luckily, he was able to keep his digital camera, and he negotiated them down to the €40, even though they had seen his wallet and saw that he had more than that on him. You decide if you think it's true. Finally, he said he'd talked to a police officer, but they were unwilling to do anything, even to go into the Metro to see if his story was true.

After hearing the story (and offering support - it wasn't until later that people began to doubt the story), we went through the Cathedral. While it was nice, and fairly interesting, when compared to St. Peter's in Rome, or the Basilicas in Florences, well, it wasn't very exciting. From there, we wandered around, trying to find a water taxi that John had seen in a guidebook. We finally found it, and spent the €7.50 to go from Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower. On the way, I burned off the rest of a roll of film.

We got to the Eiffel Tower around 6:15 or so. John wanted to take the stairs, but confusion over whether or not we'd be able to go all the way up from the second level (where they end) added to the fact that we were fairly certain that no one was admitted to the stairway after six (they aren't) let to us merely opting to take the elevators all the way up. This involves a two-step process; first, you take an elevator up one of two legs to the second level. Once there, you switch to another elevator which goes up a central shaft to the top, 860 feet up. At the top, you have the choice of staying inside, or going up one level to the outside view (which we picked). We hung out up there for a good hour, and I took about 30 more pictures.

After we left the Tower, we headed off to meet the others for dinner in Montmarte. For those of you who are art buffs, this is where Renior painted one of his more famous paintings (the name of which escapes me, but I believe it's Dancing in the Park on Sunday Afternoon, or something along those lines). Dinner was thoroughly enjoyable, and John got to tell his mugging story several times to an astonished Art, Kathy and Bridget. After dinner, we watched the light show on the Eiffel Tower, then Blake, Greg and I headed home.

Day Two

We woke up around 9, and headed over to meet up with everyone at John and Art's hotel. We all wanted to see the Tour de France start, but no one was sure when it started. Blake, Bridget and I wanted to go to the Louvre, which we thought we could do by 1:20 (when we thought the race would start), especially if we kept to a schedule. We breezed through the Louvre (yes, we saw the Mona Lisa) and headed toward the Champs-Elysees to try and catch the start. Instead, we wound up at the Place de Concorde, across the Seine from the National Assembly, where we found out three things: First, the race didn't start until 3:50; second, it was a time trial, so the riders would go off one at a time, a minute apart; third, since he won last year, Lance Armstrong would not go until last - at 7:05 pm. If we stayed for that, we'd miss the last train back to Strasbourg. So we decided to wait for the parade at 1:20. Afterward, we headed to the Musee d'Orsay, where we were supposed to meet Greg at 3:00. But he never made it; we found out later that he'd spent the whole day sitting with the others at the Eiffel Tower, waiting (in vain) for Lance.

We, however, did get to see the Museum, and I spent a good amount of time in the Impressionist section, soaking up all I could, and even eavesdropping on a tour here and there. We stayed until they started closing. At 5:15, Blake, Bridget and I headed back to Place de Concorde to watch some of the Tour. I had two, maybe three pictures left, and I wanted to get a picture of the first thing I'd seen when we'd arrived, but hadn't photographed - the Arc de Triomphe. We'd seen it as we emerged from the Metro on our way to the Tourist Bureau (which, ironically, would be featured the next evening on the news back home in Chicago), but I was carrying all my luggage at that point, and unwilling to dig out the camera. So, after snapping a photo up the Champs-Ellysees, we hopped on the Metro and got off at the Arc. I took a picture of the Arc by itself, and Blake once again bailed now-out-of-film me by taking a picture of me with the Arc in the background. He'd done the same in the Louvre when my camera developed a new habit of automatically rewinding the film after photo 31 of 40.

After the Arc, we headed back to John's hotel to get our luggage (where we'd dropped it after checking out of the FIAP). Greg finally made it at 6:45, and we began our long five hour journey back to Strasbourg.

Day after day I'm more confused
And I look for the light through the pourin' rain
You know thats a game that I'd hate to loose
And I'm feelin' the strain
Ain't it a shame?

(Chrous)
Oh, gimme the Beach Boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock n' roll and drift away
Oh, gimme the Beach Boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock n' roll and drift away


Dobie Gray, Drift Away (recently covered by Uncle Kracker)

The last week in Strasbourg was a blur of classes, tours and - rain. Finally, after more than five weeks in Europe, we had rain. Somehow, it didn't dampen our spirits one whit. Instead, it lifted them, since the rain meant cooler temperatures, especially at night, and, given the fact that among CIARUS' many faults there was no air conditioning, that meant comfortable sleeping weather for all. Except Tim.

One of the planned 'events' was a picnic with the students of Nottingham Trent Law School. We met them in the large park across from the Council of Europe on Monday evening, 'round 7. It had spent the good part of the morning raining, to the extent that Dean Jean had made contingency plans should it continue to do so. But in the early afternoon, the rain stopped, even though it threatened to start up again all day. At around six-thirty, myself and about six others decided to walk to the park, even though it was quite a distance away. Sure enough, about two-thirds of the way there, the drizzling began anew. Fortunately, Dean Jean and the Nottingham faculty found a covered place from which to serve the food (cold cuts, bread, etc.) and we were all able to enjoy a simple meal, even if the beer was warm. Presently, a football/soccer match developed, with the Brits against the Americans (helped out by a couple of Brits who crossed over to balance the sides). During the match, the skies (which had stopped raining) opened up, and a downpour drenched us all. But that didn't dampen our spirits; we played on, with several of us (me included) going barefoot in the grass to maintain traction. Tim, the most athletic of the US guys, didn't; he played on with his crosstrainers. Eventually, the rain stopped, but the ground, now drenched, was still slick. And that's when it happened. An errant pass by a teammate sent the ball heading alone for the out-of-bounds. Willis, easily more liked by the Brits than his fellow American students, raced toward it for the British team. Tim raced toward it for ours. Tim easily outpaced Willis, and tried to stop to make the pass and.....slipped. He fell backwards, landing on both hands, but his left hit first, and the wrist snapped like a twig.

Needless to say, our match ended then and there, with Tim being driven to the hospital by Dean Jean. What happened next has become the stories of legend: first Dean Jean got lost on the way (thank God it wasn't serious!), then, once Tim had been seen at one hospital and sent to another for treatment, she nearly made things worse when she tried to take a comparison photo of Tim's wrists. Fortunately, Professor Geraghty stepped in and stopped her. Tim finally arrived back at CIARUS at 1:00a.m., with a cast up to his elbow that he still wears.

We spent the next four evenings partying with our newfound friends, and a couple of their girls (birds, if you will) fancied a couple of our guys (and vice versa, but not the same guys who were the object of the British girl's affections). It made for, as they would say, a jolly bit of fun, and several promised to come visit us in Oxford. We'll see.

Thursday saw our last class in Strasbourg, and Friday, July 4th, was ours to do with as we liked. I decided to head with Blake, Greg K, Tim, John, Bridget, Kathy and Art to a city nearby to which I'd never been (but have been wanting to visit for five years) and which would provide a lifetime of memories in forty-eight hours. Paris.

But you'll have to wait for that....

Week two

I was disappointed to have to come back to the hole that was CIARUS. Having to put up with insolent twelve-year-olds was annoying enough for two days, but the thought of a whole week...........

Nevertheless, come back I did. And every night, the chaperones would tell the kids to go off to bed at 10, then retire for the evening, leaving us to suffer with children running the halls all night, kicking balls against the wall, jumping off beds, screaming and yelling, and throwing things on passersby below. Not once did a chaperone come up to look in on their kids. And more than a few people complained to no avail.

Classes were made somewhat better than Rome, in that the room in which classes were held was larger, more open, had more writing space, and, most importantly, was air-conditioned. Classes were pretty interesting, with some discussion centered around the field trips we took - to the European Parliament and the European Court of Human Rights - but the highlight was the opportunity to hear arguments before the court for a case in which 2 former KGB agents had been fired by the Lithuanian government for whom they'd worked for their KGB association - 8 years later. One of the most intriguing questions asked by the judges (the ECHR sits in panels of 7 or 9, depending on the circumstances of the case) was why it had taken Lithuania so long to fire the employees, when (a) the government had known of their KGB involvement from the beginning, and (b) at least one had taken an oath of loyalty to Lithuania. The decision comes out in September, and I'll be watching to see what happens.

We made it to the European Parliament shortly after the new head of the European Union, Silvio Berlusconi, had slighted a German representative. The representative had been speaking on a mundane topic when he had been interrupted by Berlusconi, who immediately commented the German representative would make a great candidate for concentration camp guard in a new movie being filmed in Italy. The resulting flap was the talk of the Parliament for the entire day, and the lead story on the news in three countries that night.

Kassel (Part Deux)

Tun was an interesting guy. At first he thought I, being an American, only spoke English. Later (after a few drinks), he learned I spoke German, and proceeded to try to talk to me - at machine gun pace. I kept saying langsam, langsam (slower, slower) to no avail. He'd just talk faster. We got to Freierhagen, where Patty's family friend lived, and where we'd be spending the night, just after 8 - in time for a late dinner, which we declined; Patty, because she wasn't hungry, and me, because her mother had just fed me a delicious bratwurst and kartoffelsalat mit sampf (bratwurst and potato salad with dijon mustard).

When Tun failed to arrive as scheduled to pick us up, we walked the relatively short distance to the party location, where we found out why he'd never arrived. Old Tun was already hard at work pulling beers - for the three people who were there. Interestingly enough, shortly after our arrival, we met Rachel, an American and a freshman at Florida. She was gorgeous - long blonde hair, perfect tan, white teeth, pretty smile - and nice to boot. The three of us chatted for nearly two hours, with Rachel expressing frustration that no one her age in Freierhagen seemed to be very open toward her. Of course, once the teenagers started showing up (and show up they did, in droves) it was easy to see why. Poor Rachel, with her stunning good looks, was like a Ferrari in a Yugo shop. She got most of the men's attention, young and old, and the other girls got ignored. Not that the other girls were ugly - there were two or three really cute ones, the rest were average - but Patti and I speculated they must have been quite intimidated by the American girl.

The party itself was a blast. Everyone, including the teenagers (the drinking age for beer in Germany is 16) got pretty plowed. Several tried their English out on me, especially once Patty slipped behind the bar to help out as promised. A few bought me drinks, making sure that as soon as I put down an empty, it was immediately refilled. Others offered to buy me a mischung - a mix of cognac and beer - which I politely declined. They also sold meters, which is a meter-long (ingenious, eh?), fraternity paddle-shaped board capable of holding 11 beers, 10 of which you pay for, and one of which you get for free. Seeing several 16-year-olds down an entire meter was enough to convince me that the 'veteran' drinkers in our group had a long way to go to keep up with these guys. Patty and I finally left the party around 2:45a.m. and headed back to the apartment for the night. While Strasbourg had been swealteringly hot, Freierhagen was relatively cool - we had been given jackets as we left for the party, and walking home we made good use of them. The cool evening weather, and the pin-drop quiet of a small German town combined to give me the best nights sleep that I'd had in at least six weeks, if not longer.

In the morning, Patti's father picked us back up, and took us to the garden club. I spent the day doing basically nothing, just watching TV (some in English, most in German) and vegging out. For the first time in two years, I got to watch an entire F1 race (which Juan Montoya made exciting by spinning out Michael Schumacher), and for the first time ever, watched it live at a normal time (instead of having to set the VCR for 6:00a.m.). It was a nice respite from the constant bitching and sniping and the general where-are-we-eating-today nausea that this trip has sometimes delved into.