A Brief Refresher on the Freedom of Speech

I keep coming across people who have said something idiotic, offensive, or both. Understandably, some people have responded by pointing out the idiocy or offensiveness of said statement, perhaps in a critical manner. To which the first person responds back to by screaming about how their right to freedom of speech is being violated.

I don't think that freedom of speech means what they seem to think that it means.

Freedom of speech is the right to speak or otherwise express yourself without censorship or limitation by the government. Plain and simple.*

Free speech does not mean that no one can ever criticize your speech. It does not even mean that other people can't suggest that you shouldn't have said what you said. It certainly does not mean that others have to gave you a platform to speak.

Look, as uncomfortable as it can often be (how people can find it acceptable to say some of the things they do, I'll never understand) I support the freedom of speech. Horrible as it can be, it's important, and I get that. I support the right of all people to say whatever horrible things they want. I just happen to think that maybe they shouldn't, and at times I might use my freedom of speech to say so.


*Ok, it's not that plain and simple. There are all sorts of controversial exceptions and dilemmas. They just don't really matter for the sake of this overly simple post. Feel free to use your freedom of speech to criticize my oversights and shortcomings.

My Elderly Mojo

Is it creepy for a random old lady, who you have never met nor do you have any possible connection to, to pull up and offer you a ride? So here's the scene: About 10 pm, me happily listening to Lady Gaga at a well lit bus stop, with a few very non threatening khaki clad male students standing around nearby. And then this old lady pulled over, rolled her window down and frantically gestured me over. Like any good and normal person, I pulled out my headphones and wander on over, assuming she was lost, and hoping I actually had something helpful to say. Apparently she thought I was the one in need of assistance, as she proceeded to offer me a ride... a ride down to Ward circle, aka only about 2/3 of a mile away from where I was, and about 1 mile short of where the bus would take me. Not that the where really matters, I was still surprised by the what and tried to decline and back away as gracefully as possible.

Several days latter, and I'm still confused. I don't think that offering a stranger a ride is really a normal thing that nice people just do. I'm not saying that she had someone waiting in the back seat to cover my mouth with a chloroform soaked rag, culminating in me awaking in a tub of ice sans kidney. I just don't have a good explanation as to why an elderly woman would offer a strange girl, in a safe neighborhood, a short ride?

My only theory is that I possess some sort of magical power that draws in the elderly. I'm slightly serious. It seems that wherever I am, if an elderly person is within 50 ft, they will find me and talk with me. Going to the lobby to get some mail? The old Jamaican man in my building will be there to discuss his knee troubles. On the bus? The 1950's glamor queen who just boarded will set next to me and tell me how I have such a lovely smile, and recommend a Thrift store where I can find fur coats at great deals. At least once a week, with my consent or without, I will be conversed with by one of our fine senior citizens.

I know that generally the elderly can be a talkative lot. But I still think it's something about me. We live in the same building and do most of the same things, but this never happens to Zach. I can be in the lobby at the same time as another girl of about my same age and level of cuteness, even within the same distance of an elderly person, and they will always approach me. It's not the most exciting super power, but it is surprisingly consistent.

Anyways, I'm going to go study for my Wills final. If I really do have some sort of old people mojo, this field and I could result in a lovely future. I could just sit there, office doors open and wait for my clientele to flock in. 

Goodbye Class, I'll miss you

It feels so amazingly good to have that paper finished. Now there are just 2 papers and 3 finals between me and whatever it is that I'll be doing this summer. Hooray.

I also had my last class of the semester tonight. The last class is always a little bitter sweet. I mean, I'm normalish, I look forward to the end of the semester just like students everywhere. It's just that it always happens right when I'm hitting my stride. I've got my routine down. I'm just starting to really get comfy with my class, just starting to make friends with the people in them. And then just like that, its all gone. Clean slates are nice, so long as you didn't like what you were working on previously. And dang it, I liked this semester. I felt like I fit well in every one of my classes, for the first time in law school. I liked, or at least understood, my professors. I liked my classmates. I even liked my classes. I don't like seeing it all float away.

At least my last class, and favorite class of the semester, Adoption law, ended on a good note. Being the last class, and the professors Birthday, we went to the Thai restaurant next door for "class". Ok, we did discuss our papers, but it was a much more casual feel (and that class already had a great casual, discussion vibe). I think I'll miss that class most of all, even if it did make me incredibly cynical about adoption. Oh, the horror stories I can tell. Law school really does destroy so much of the seemingly simple, beautiful things in life.

Aside from horror stories, the only hitch was when it came time to pay for the food. I'll never understand why some restaurants will refuse to give separate checks for large groups. I don't see how it is different from each of us going in separately, ordering and then moving to sit together. I understand that large groups can be a pain. I don't mind an automatic 18% gratuity. I wouldn't even care about a small fee to do separate checks. Regardless, it has to be easier than everyone going around the table, writing their card number on the back with the amount to put on it, coming back and telling us that they will only do 6 cards and watching a group of 16 try to figure out how to make it work. I tried to avoid the madness by bringing my checkbook, but apparently they don't accept checks. Oh well. They let us leave, so we must have figured it out somehow.

Mocking my time management skills

I think the 10pg paper that I have had all semester to work on, not to mention all weekend, but only have 6 mediocre pages written for (most of which were done in the last couple of hours), and is due tomorrow, is mocking my time management skills. I think it has a point.

Twittering

It's still weird for me how amazingly popular twitter has become. I first heard of it in the fall of 2007 while I was interning at a political advertising firm in DC. The intern in the cubicle adjacent to mine and I were talking about her upcoming trip to visit a friend in California. I was doing just fine at keeping up with the small talk until she mentioned that he was one of the founders of something called Twitter, that apparently I was supposed to be familiar with. The look on my face made it obvious that I wasn't. After a 5 minute spiel on the wonderfulness of twitter, I still wasn't sold. After 5 minutes poking around the website I was even more confused and less sure as to what the value was. I assumed that everyone else would think like me, it would die off in a year or two, so there was no reason for me to get involved.

Obviously, I was wrong. I'm still a little flummoxed by twitter, but I increasingly find myself in the minority. I increasingly find myself drawn into the twitter widgets on the side of others blogs, getting a little mini-blogging fix from their 140 character posts. I've even braved the main page once or twice, trying to understand how @ and # work after being drawn in by a very interesting, but one sided conversation on someones twitter page. After a few months of slowly wadding in, I think I might be willing to finally give this crazy thing a try, even if I am more than three years late. Please help a girl discover the joy of twitter by following me here or letting me know how I can follow you.

Shopping Bug

I don't know if it is the changing of the seasons, procrastinating for finals, or a general lack of willpower, but for whatever reason I have had such a huge shopping bug lately. A huge shopping bug that I've been letting win more often than not, and am now desperately trying to restrain to just window shopping and providing me with blog fodder. 

Bicycle Built for Two by BC Footwear $24.99 at Endless were the first shoes that came home in a fit of weakness. I've never been a big fan of ballet flats. I like support and shoes that don't flop off of my feet. But these have such a lovely satin sheen and oh that ruffle! Combine that with being about half off, and it was almost too good to be true. For ballet flats they're actually fairly comfortable. Not the ideal amount of arch support, but all in all not bad. Plus, they received several compliments on their first outing, so, they're probably here to stay.

ECCO Bouillon $75.92 at Endless. Have you even stalked shoes? I came across these about a month ago when they were listed for about $120. And then when I came across them again for almost $50 less... well I let myself be lulled in with the rationalization that I can ship them back for free. I sweat, that if they are not absolute perfection, I'm sending them back. But with the shiny red leather, cute little button and promises of comfort, these might just become my birthday gift to me (my Birthday isn't until the end of June, but still...)

BP 3/4 sleeve cardigan 24.90 at Nordstrom. Cardigans are part of my uniform, especially in the spring. This little cardigan is perfection. Bright colors, good price, light weight without being chintzy. Order a size up, as they are technically juniors. But they are oh so worth it for spring layering that my vanity didn't care a whit about the bigger size.

Maxi Dress $24.99 at Kmart. Kmart isn't my usual haunt, so I was surprised when this little number showed up during my internet browsing/procrastinating. But maxi dresses look so comfy and fun on others, and I'm a sucker for anything purple, so I might be giving this number a try. Especially as it actually seems to offer some decent cleavage coverage.

Söfft 'Carma' Mary Jane Pump $69.90 at Nordstrom. More than I can justify, even in my weakened state. But if the red shoes go back, these might make an appearance. I love the button and the slightly vintage feel. Can't you just picture it with a sweet little dress and tights? Plus they actually look fairly comfy.

Grocery Warning

I generally am not the biggest fan of grocery shopping. Something about spending all that money on something that will be gone in a week seems wrong to me. It doesn't hep that being car-less city dwellers, we have to walk a decent distance to the store and back, hauling our loot over our shoulders like barbarians bringing a deer back from a hunt. Uphill (both ways, of course).

However, today, for once, I was in a lovely mood. It was one of those perfect days where the sky is bright blue, with the just the right amount of big, fluffy clouds floating on by. Warm, but not too warm, with a happy breeze singing on by. So nice that we detoured through some of the lovely old neighborhoods near by and oohed and awwed at all the gorgeous homes. Everything was wonderful.

You know how they warn against grocery shopping when you're hungry? They should also warn against shopping when you're happy. Everything was wonderful, sure. That also meant that everything in the store looked wonderful. And while my common sense can occasionally restrain me from throwing a wonderful pain of shoes into my bag, apparently food doesn't trigger my waste warning system. After all, food is a necessity of life, right? Well, food might be, but jars of fancy mustard that were on sale or a giant flat of strawberries that two people can not possibly get through aren't exactly necessities. And that's how we spent almost twice the normal amount at the grocery store this week. I'll be the girl living on strawberries and mustard for the next week or so (hopefully not at the same time).

Law School wants me to live on fro yo

Oh dear. I'm not sure how long it's been there, but last week I found that the law school cafeteria has a frozen yogurt machine and a giant container of rainbow sprinkles. This is not a good discovery to make right as finals kick in, resulting in me both being on campus more frequently and lacking any and all motivation to pack a healthy lunch (because I did that so much before...). In the past week I've gone up there three times, fully intending to walk away with a salad, and instead slinking back to my carrel with a bowl full of sugary (but non-fat!) goodness.

It really doesn't help that the cafeteria is well, special. They try so hard to be more than just a basic cafeteria. In theory this is a good thing. In theory lemon herb salmon or sweet mesquite pork sound gorgeously gourmet. In reality I wish for some basic fish sticks. Fancy food just does not translate well to being made en masse and set out under heat lamps. Everything ends up rubbery and just wrong somehow. The salad bar isn't that bad, but come on. You can only eat so much salad. And the salad is way more expensive than the yogurt. Plus, no sprinkles.

And that is why for the next couple of weeks about 1/3 of my nutrition is coming from cheap, easily accessible, fro yo. And sprinkles, of course.

(Taken with my mediocre web cam. After I ate about half of it. Also, note the lone piece of cantaloupe, trying to give the meal an air of nutritional credibility.)

Denim Day

A little while ago I was outside, after dark, and a man I did not know started to walk behind me. Instantly all the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I started fingering my keys and thinking of how I could cause the most damage if he tried anything. I started paying attention to where the lights were. I wondered if anyone would here my scream. My eyes kept drifting to the forested area next to me, calculating how quickly I could be dragged behind a bush. Wondering that if anything happened and someone walked by, would they even help?

You know what he was probably thinking? How it was so cold outside, and he couldn't wait to get home. How his professor assigned way to much reading. Something normal, something safe.

This isn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last. I don't think this is even an example of me being neurotic. This is normal. Worse than that, this is what responsible women are supposed to do. Because rape is just a women's issue, a women's problem.

I hate that I feel like I'm supposed to obey all these rules to be safe. If I just don't wear anything sexy, or go out alone at night, or a thousand other things, then I'll be safe. If I break one of them, just one, then I deserve anything that happens to me, I'm somehow complicit in the acts of another. I hate that most of the rules don't matter. They're comforting lies we tell, because so want to believe that we can somehow control the actions of others, and thereby stay safe. We want that so much we are willing to blame people when someone chooses to do something horrible to them. Even the way we say it, "she got raped" (like she caught a cold or something) instead of "a man raped her" takes the focus away from the person that actually caused rape. Mistakes were made, but not by him.


Part of the reason we focus on the woman who is raped and not the man who rapes, is that we don't want to acknowledge that rapists are not just scary men in the bushes. The fact is, I probably know someone who is a rapist, and so do you. It's a terrifying thing to acknowledge that rapists are ordinary people. Its easier to blame someone for not playing by the rules than to face up to that reality.

Unfortunately, none of that actually fixes anything. It may make us feel safe, but if anything believing those lies makes us less safe because it takes our focus away from the actual problem. If we actually want to stop rape, we need to start focusing on the people who rape, and the culture that allows them to.

Walking alone does not cause rape. Clothing does not cause rape. Rapists cause rape.

What if instead of teaching women how not to be raped, we taught men not to rape? What if men had even a portion of the fear of raping someone as most women do of being raped? People talk about how so many women cry rape. (It does happen, and it's wrong when it does. It's also very rare.) I wonder what would happen if men were afraid of doing something because it would make them seem rapey?  What if we stopped assuming that women were sexually available so long as they didn't make it crystal clear that they weren't? What if we didn't teach that no means no, but that yes means yes?

I hate that being scared is the normal and responsible norm for so many women. I hate knowing that someone could do something to me, and I would get blamed for it. I hate that as a society we support rape with our silence and our willingness to willfully ignore it just because perversely it makes us feel safer. I hate that we look at the victim and not the perpetrator because it makes us more comfortable. I hate that all of this just supports rape. Most of all I hate that because I have a vagina, stepping outside can be like entering a war zone. There is no reason I shouldn't be able to go outside at night.

Today is Denim Day, when denim is worn to raise awareness about sexual assault, inspired by a woman who was raped while wearing tight jeans, whose rapist was acquitted because a judge felt that because she was wearing tight jeans she must have helped to take them off, so it couldn't have been rape. It's a good way of expressing solidarity and raising awareness. Good goals, but honestly I think that so long as rape is seen as a women's issue, focused on what we can do to not be raped rather than changing what actually causes and supports rape, not much will change.

Beware the water (and the lawyers)

Earlier today I was flooded with e-mails and text messages keeping me apprised of the terrifying menace threatening the law school.We warned under no circumstances to drink, touch, smell or being in vicinity of the oh so dangerous water, which had accidentally received slightly higher than advisable levels of chlorine at the treatment plant and was now rampaging through our pipes, eager to inflict untold pain and suffering on those of us with sensitive skin who might experience slight irritation. In addition to the flurry of electronic communication, giant, scary warning signs were hung over every drinking fountain, sink or an other possible place the water could be lurking. At about 4 we received another flurry of communication, triumphantly heralding that the danger was gone, the ban was lifted. Mostly because they found there had never been much danger to begin with, but they still seemed very excited to get the news out.

When I got home I asked Zach how they had dealt with the chlorine catastrophe on main campus and received a blank stare. He vaguely remembered some little sign, but that was it. Mind you, the water and the "danger" was essentially the same in each location. The only difference is that one of us was in a building teaming with lawyers, and the other got to be around normal people.

You know all the supposedly frivolous lawsuits that you hear so much about? I'm starting to think that's just because lawyers slowly go insane, seeing hallucinations of law suits around every corner. Something about the long nights in the library or the endless case reading, or maybe even the unnatural exposure to suits warps us, forever keeping our brains in a state of permanent paranoia. It's not our fault. It's just in the water.

So, I just finished giving a presentation where I was supposedly defending my policy proposal paper. The only problem being, I never really knew what the policy I was proposing was. I started the assignment with a fuzzy idea, and just assumed that as I went on doing the research I would eventually figure out something coherent. I never really did. Trying to persuade people to support an idea that doesn't exactly exist is a little awkward. Still, I managed to use my powers of vague platitudes, important sounding words and general misdirection at least somewhat effectively. A few people complimented me afterward, which either means I did well or that they're just nice. I figure one way I regain my confidence in myself and the other affirms me faith in humanity, so either way, it's a win.

Negative and Positive

Positive: After a decent heatwave, my building finally switched over from heat to air conditioning.

Negative: To switch over, the maintenance people have to come into the apartments. Which they do, in the morning, on days when I was planning on sleeping in. Which means I was barely conscious when they knocked once, and then started to unlock the door which is about three feet away from my bed, where I've been sleeping in attire that is appropriate for the heat, but not to be seen by other people.

Positive: I managed to get my bra-less, indecent self into the kitchen and behind closed doors before they could get the door open. (Leaving poor Zach to fumble for his robe and be the polite person.)

Negative: A tiny, in need of a good cleaning, kitchen is not the best place to hang out bleary eyed while strangers bang around in the habitable part of the apartment.

Positive: I got a bright and early start to my day.

Negative: I got a bright and early start to my day.

New Moon. Meh.

So Zach and I finally got around to watching an online, pirated version of New Moon tonight. I have to say, I'm very disappointed. No, it wasn't my inner feminist dying a little. Sure, the series deserves almost every criticism about over-controlling boyfriends, severe low self-esteem and general creepiness that it gets. But, truth be told, I kind of like the books, so long as I can avoid thinking about them. My disappointment didn't even stem from Edwards painted on abs after a movie of hot, half-naked, underaged flesh.

No, I'm just disappointed that it wasn't nearly as outrageously, hilariously, emotionally overwrought as the first one. Oh, the drama and extreme statements of undying love and general teenage inanity was just delicious. I had such a fun time laughing and mocking at the first one, I was expecting similar joys from this installment. Sure, there were a few good lines, and mist/halucination Edward was kind of amusing. But overall, it was just dull. Honestly, I don't know how they managed. I've read the book a few more times than I'm willing to admit, they had so much material that they wouldn't have to make any effort to camp it up. Instead I'm stuck with a few wooden, "oh I'm so dangerous and bad" and "but I can't live without you" and that was pretty much it.

Come on guys, the whole point of the movie is the teenage drama. Honestly, I can remember being a teenager (because at 22 it was so long ago...) and I was much more entertainingly, dramatically emotional. She stumbled around a forest and laid down for a bit after her boyfriend dumped her? Come on, I got in some very loud sobs, maybe even a foot stamp or two and some ripped up photographs over my teenage heartbreak, and he wasn't even that hot, not to mention utterly lacking any superpowers. Of course, he never hinted at killing me or killing himself, so that was nice.

Oh Twilight, if you can't even give me good, teenage melodrama, you really don't have anything to offer.

My (imaginary and hypothetical) puppy

I have no idea how all the city folk around us manage to stuff them into their itsy-bitsy apartments, but especially in the Spring our neighborhood abounds with dogs happily meandering around, pulling their people on leashes. Little corgies with their goofy grins, big dogs with their giant tongues flopping out, over excited Golden Retrievers looking up with their big eyes, silently pleading to be let free to chase the mocking squirrels. I'm an unabashed dog person, I always light up when I see one, and every time I come across a particularly friendly job who trots over and tries to jump up, I like to think that maybe they like me too.

Someday, the happy little puppy dragging me out into the sunshine will be a little Nordic Spitz like this one, with its perky fox ears and perfectly curled tail. They're just the right size - small enough to be indoors, curling up with me in a cozy chair, but still big enough to romp and play with. I'll name the puppy something from Norse mythology, so that saying his/her name would be as much fun as being at Ikea. When I come home, Thor/Freya will be ecstatic to see me, barking and jumping excitedly, glued to my side for the next 20 minutes. When we go to the park, we'll play until I slump exhausted, with a little puppy nose nudging me up for one more toss of the ball.

I'm sure I'm over romanticizing the life of a dog owner, ignoring all the chewed up pillows and sleepless nights with a dog that will not stop whining. But then I remember that for now, the only Dog I have is imaginary, and by golly, if it can't be real, you better believe I'm going to bask in the unrealistic perfection.

Getting reacquainted with reading

Just as I was starting to get the hang of things, this semester has started to wind down. One more week of classes, a week of reading days, two weeks of finals and then it is officially summer. Just knowing how close it is almost makes all the stress of finals and papers melt away. Even if I (hopefully) get a job and stay busy, summer just feels so freeing.

I think the first thing I am going to do is read. I never thought it would happen to me, the girl who used to stay up until the wee hours of the morning trying to read just a little longer by the dim glow of a nightlight, who lived across the street from a library and made full use of it, who always had a paperback in her purse. I can look at every book on my shelf and remember when I first picked them up and made them a part of me. But somehow, I've stopped reading real books. I still pick one up every now and again, but usually after a day of text books and even my beloved blog habit, I'm read out.

I miss reading. Earlier one of my favorite books caught my eye and drew me over to the bookshelf. As my hands flipped through the soft well worn pages, old book smell wafting in the air, I remembered just how good it felt to loose myself in its pages, happily living in another world for that beautiful moment. I love television, movies and whatnot, but books have such a great active quality, your forced to become a part of them. Some people find that exercising, camping or what not cleanses their soul. That's what reading is for me. I come out of a good book completely refreshed. I'm genuinely, noticeably happier when books are an active part of my life. I'm looking forward to getting reacquainted with reading this summer.

I'll probably go for an old literary friend for my re-introduction to the written word, but I'm also looking forward to some new reads. Any great recommendations? 

Balancing Act

As mentioned previously, I'm somewhat terrified of the somewhat uncertain career future Zach and I face. I want to handle things with grace, but handling them means coming up with an actual plan.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to plan when you have not one, but two careers in their delicate, fragile infancy? 

When we were first dating and newly married, after frolicking with unicorns in a rainbow meadow, we would gaze deep into each others eyes and dream about our beautiful, utopian future of perfect equality and bliss. He would be a University professor at a lovely liberal arts school in Portland, I would have a Family law practice of my very own. We would each arrange our schedules so that one of us could always be at our lovingly restored 1920's home, babies playing with developmentally appropriate, organic wood toys or practicing the cello at our feet. Neither of us would be overly stressed by the demands of home or work, both of us would get to share in the joys of both equally. We would be perfect partners, total equals, supporting the hopes and dreams of each of us equally.

I still get a little starry eyed thinking about it.

The real world isn't nearly as simple as our naivety and romance induced hallucinations. At this point I'm not even talking about all the impossibilities of both of us finding wonderful part-time or otherwise flexible employment. For now, I'm just flumoxed as to how we can both even begin to pursue careers simulataneously.

So far things have been fairly simple. We both only applied to school in the DC area, solely on the basis that we couldn't think of another area that had so many schools that had programs we were interested in and had a shot at. Sure, neither of us went to what would have been our first choice if we were single, but all in all we were happy. It was a nice, teeny-tiny compromise. And probably the only and last easy compromise we'll face. 

Next year, I graduate, and need to take the bar somewhere and get a job in that same place, preferably a job with good future opportunities. At that exact same time, Zach will be sending out a second wave of PhD applications throughout the country, and if he has his way, preferably in foreign countries and hopefully accepting one of the many offers sent his way. Somehow we both need to make big commitments and end up in the same place, at the same time. Which is more than a little difficult.

We not only want to be in the same place, both of us pursuing our careers, but we also want to make choices that are good for other aspects of our future. It would be wonderful to start making little people at some point. Which of course would require us having a plan for how we would care for them. We should also start making money eventually, maybe even buy a house. It's amazing how quickly one decision can snowball until its not just choosing a job or a PhD program, but choosing every aspect of our future, recognizing that every option destroys certain future opportunities and creates others that are beyond our powers of imagination.

It would be so much simpler if one of us was the designated primary career person. Even if we wanted to, I'm not sure how we could choose. From a financial perspective, I not only have a higher earning potential than Zach, but I also have a scarily high amount of student loans, so me working to pay them off is somewhat essential. However, I also have the baby making and baby feeding parts, which makes me more likely to take the career backseat at some point, and more important for us to make choices now that will advance Zach's career. But neither of us want to tell the other person that their aspirations are second place in this marriage. That's just not how we roll. And in the end, we still really like our pie in the sky uber-equity dream. Of course, I also like the idea of a solid health care plan, but that doesn't make it a reality.

Fortunately, we have a little while to figure things out, and there are no rules in life against abruptly changing course. I may desperately want to have our future perfectly laid out for us, but that's not how life goes, and if I'm honest with myself, that's not how I would want it. Choosing amidst uncertainty may be one of the most terrifying parts of life, but its also what makes it really living.

Do any of you deal with the problems of balancing the careers of two people? How do you do it?

Cheesecake is a pie. period.

I'm very disappointed in my husband today. After dinner we got into a heated debate over the classification of a beloved dessert. Apparently, he is convinced by empty words rather than delicious truth, and thinks that cheesecake is a cake. Clearly this is idiotic. It's getting late, so I'll make my rebuttal quick. Not that it takes much time to prove the obvious.

1. Cake rises, pie does not. No normal cheese cake rises, ergo, pie.

2. Pie has a crust, cake does not. Cheese cake has a delicious, crumb crust. Another point for pie.

3. In Spanish cheesecake is known as "tarta de queso"queso being cheese and tarta being pie. Other languages also refer to it as a pie. Given that English is a notably odd language, I'm inclined to trust them.

4. It tastes more like a pie, more creamy and custardy than crumby and flourey.

5. It just is. 

Being like Clinton

Every time I see a photo of Secretary Clinton lately, I am struck by how beautifully happy she seems. I almost never see her without her face beaming in pure joy.

By many respects, she has no reason to be so happy. This woman was driven by a goal for years, working like crazy, pushing, striving, giving everything she had just to watch it slip away in the eleventh hour. Who would have blamed her for doing the bare minimum of campaigning afterwards and then fading away comfortably?

And yet, there she is, smiling away, arguably doing the best work of her life. She seems freer somehow, its almost like when she had to let go of what had been driving her for so long and accept the disappointment she was finally able to just do and be, free from all that pressure and perfection. I'm sure being President would have been wonderful for her, but so is what she's doing now.

Things have been a little discouraging at home lately. Zach just got his final letter from the PhD programs he applied for, his last in a string of rejections. This after working like crazy for the past two years on his often miserable masters and fixing his future on entering the academic world.

I still have a year before I have to face the world, and have been lucky enough to get some good news tossed my way. Still, almost every day now I check my e-mail to find another response from a Summer job, all of them polite, but none of them positive.

It's been hard for us (understandably, mostly for him). We both work and work hard (we procrastinate and laze about too, but in between that? Work.) We both have strong, beautiful dreams that we are essentially betting everything on right now. It's terrifying to see little hints that this gamble could not pay off, that everything could be for naught.

I want us to be like Secretary Clinton. To have the drive to go for something with all we have, and the grace to find joy in something else when things don't work out. I want us to be able to keep working towards our original goals just as strongly and passionately as Clinton worked towards hers. We don't want to let the fear of failure stop us, because we know that whatever happens, together, we'll find something wonderful about it.

My life with the Dish Zealot

One of the best things about Zach is that he does all of the dishes. Which, considering we don't have a dishwasher, is quite the undertaking. I wash the odd glass now and then, but by and large the dishes are his domain.

Unfortunately, that means that he can be a little overzealous in protecting his precious operation. I'll be cutting up some meat for dinner, turn away for one second and find that my knife has vanished. After retracing my steps, racking my brain as to where I could have put it, I finally catch a glimpse of its handle, bobbing around in the murky depths of the sink, soaking with all his other victims. See, Zach is also a little overenthusiastic in his belief that every has  to soak before it can be cleaned. I've tried to explain that soaking is only necessary if there is actually food crusted onto the item, but he insists otherwise. And since he does the dishes, the idea of anything developing a food crust and requiring a little extra scrub is his worst kind of horror. So, he vigilantly grabs anything he can see sitting out and thrusts it in to soak, never mind if I'm still using it or not.

It's almost impossible for me to cook without at least one dish related casualty. A few nights ago, after placing my diced raw peppers into the frying pan to saute, I turned to the fridge to grab an onion, destined to meet its end on the cutting board. Or at least it was, until in the blink of an eye it had meet a watery grave. Today I got a plate out to dish up some pasta for dinner, went to the stove and came back just in time to catch the culprit claiming yet another innocent victim. Sure, I can resuscitate them with a little soap, clean water and a dish towel, but it can be a little tiring trying to save the innocent dishes that get caught in his dish zealotry.

I swear, one of these days he's going to take a plate of food I've just dished up, assume that they're leftovers I carelessly left out, scoop the food into the trash and place the plate to soak. After all, you can never be to careful with the potential for food crusts. I'm glad he does the dishes vigilantly, I really am (mostly). But once, just once, I wish he could dial it down a tad.

A little more kindness

"You may remember that in 1851 the New York Herald Tribune under the sponsorship and publishing of Horace Greeley, employed as its London correspondent an obscure journalist by the name of Karl Marx.

We are told that foreign correspondent Marx, stone broke, and with a family ill and undernourished, constantly appealed to Greeley and managing editor Charles Dana for an increase in his munificent salary of $5 per installment, a salary which he and Engels ungratefully labeled as the "lousiest petty bourgeois cheating."

But when all his financial appeals were refused, Marx looked around for other means of livelihood and fame, eventually terminating his relationship with the Tribune and devoting his talents full time to the cause that would bequeath the world the seeds of Leninism, Stalinism, revolution and the cold war.

If only this capitalistic New York newspaper had treated him more kindly; if only Marx had remained a foreign correspondent, history might have been different. And I hope all publishers will bear this lesson in mind the next time they receive a poverty-stricken appeal for a small increase in the expense account from an obscure newspaper man."

John F. Kennedy, Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, NYC April 27, 1961

 Perhaps it's not the purest reason to treat others kindly, but avoiding the creation of disgruntled super villains is certainly an effective one. Zach and I have been indulging our inner child by watching classic Batman cartoons on Saturday mornings, and it is amazing how many villains got their start as geniuses who were knocked down one too many times. It's probably best to just stay on the safe side. 



(I'm not saying Marx counts as a super villain. He was kind of a schmuck, and many of those inspired by his writings haven't exactly been the best examples of humanity. But come one, the guy just wrote something influential and interesting, he didn't create city destroying robots or anything.)

Thanks

You are all wonderful people. It is such an amazing feeling to throw out a little piece of myself into the vastness of the internet and get sincere well-wishes from 14 people, only two of who I know from the so-called "real" world. Thanks, I was beaming all day.

Other than smiling at my screen, things were fairly uneventful today. We cleaned, I tried to take pictures of the apartment to share here. Is it sad that my main motivation for cleaning was that afterwards I could take pictures and share online? (It will hurt my vanity enough to share the hand me down/IKEA chic of the shoebox, sharing what it looks like most days is just to much for me.) My blog should not be my primary motivation to do basic life sustaining things. I suppose it doesn't much matter, I tried to be fancy and use the manual settings on my point and shoot camera. While it was an excellent reminder of how non-ready I am for a DSLR, the pictures are so dark that the faint outlines of furniture are the only proof that I was trying to photograph an apartment, not a dank cave where foolish tourists get eaten by mole people. Maybe I can get decent photographic evidence of the shoebox next week.

Accepted

Yay! I just found out that I was accepted into the Women and the Law Clinic for next year. I'm quite thrilled, especially as this year they had so many applicants to clinic that they had to turn away 55 people (most years they are able to let everyone in to a clinic, but this year we are all terrified for our future job prospects and desperate for some real experience).

I'm very excited, and only slightly terrified of the reality of it all, especially after paying $120 for malpractice insurance. You guys, I get to go and do real lawyer stuff, for real people. I could completely screw up, ruin their lives and be sued for malpractice, just like a real lawyer! Or, you know, be amazing and use my lawyer powers for good. Either way, I'm still excited.

It is currently hot. Curse you Al Gore.

It is currently hot in DC. Sticky, sweaty, unbearably hot.

I'd like to just point something out. Remember snowpacalypse, the storm of epic proportions that brought the mid-Atlantic to its knees on February? Besides being stuck indoors for a week, we also had to deal with various pundits crowing about whether or not this one meteorological event could debunk decades of research and evidence in favor of global warming. Apparently all the evidence and trends complied through decades of scientific study are completely false if it snows. In winter.

And now it is unseasonably, horrendously hot. Notice how there are absolutely no liberal talking heads offering this hot spell as proof of global warming.

I'm not saying this single anecdote proves anything, because I understand that one event does not definitively prove a trend. I'm just observing that in this one instance, one side seems to understand that principle better than the other.

And that's my smug liberal commentary of the day.



For a far wittier illustration of this principle than I can provide, I recomend the following Daily Show segment. You may want to fast forward to 3:30 for the actual substance of the clip.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Unusually Large Snowstorm
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Reform

An Afternoon at the Tidal Basin

Last Friday Zach finally had his giant exam to see if he's learned anything in the past two years of his masters program. It was appropriately brutal. More importantly, it was finally done, and just in time for the Cherry Blossom festival. The second he walked out of the test, we headed towards the metro and scurried downtown. It was a beautiful day, the blossoms were in full bloom, just the perfect day for a nice stroll along the tidal basin. Along with everyone else.

Ok, I'm going to complain once - just once - about the tourists. DC is generally such a lovely town. Clean,  pretty, abounding in free museums and monuments and polite people in suits who are to busy to actually go to any of those things, leaving them uncrowded and delightful. Not that I actually go and take advantage of those things, but I know I could. And then they come. It's not just that things get crowded. It's that they get crowded by rude, smelly, idiots. People who think it's acceptable to throw trash all over the metro and wade in monuments honoring the dead. And yes, you can easily tell the difference between tourists and residents. I don't know how exactly, but it's quite obvious. I know, I'm such a snob. There are some lovely people, sure. Some can almost be endearing like the women who excitedly exclaimed "Oh! How exciting!" after crossing a street and getting honked at by an impatient cab (which is pretty much just what happens when you cross any street downtown.) But, alas due to the law of large numbers there are just so many unpleasant tourists that I can't help but to dread them all. Things finally get nice, and then my dear city becomes inhabitable in the midst of the invaders ravaging. Oh well. Just try to imagine how lovely this would be without all the people.

Anyways, the basin was beautiful. I can't say that anything terribly exciting happened. We walked, we talked. It just felt so amazingly wonderful to be out in the Sunshine, enjoying life. Not a textbook or classroom in sight.

I may have been a little overzealous about documenting the occasion. I made Zach stop every couple of minutes for a million pictures, poor afternoon light and lack of skills be damned. It was just so lovely. Below I have far too many pictures (because I'm indecisive like that) as proof. You can find the few I didn't post here on my facebook.

All in all, it was a lovely afternoon. Jaded as I am, and even with the crowds, there is just something so simultaneously stunning and peaceful about the soft sea of pink blossoms. I highly recommend coming by some year if you ever get the chance. I'll promise to make an exception to my tourist aversion just for you.

Today's Lessons

What I learned today:

• Going to the office hours offered by professors is an excellent idea. They actually do want to talk with you and can be amazingly helpful with school, work and life in general
• Respected authority figures saying nice things about me makes me blush in the best way
• Grades aren't everything.
• Skirts are wonderfully comfortable on a hot day
• Re-discovering that your favorite summer skirt has pockets is even better
• Together raspberry gelato and lemon gelato taste like summer
• I actually know what I'm talking about when I sit down and make myself write a paper. It's almost like I'm learning things here.
• Impromptu dancing with my husband to a fun song is quite fun
• We can't dance
• We don't really care

Peepshi

Between the Washington Post's peeps dioramas and Serious Eats Peepshi (peeps sushi), I can now officialy hail Peeps as a failure of a food but a marvel of a modern art material.

From the collapsed girl on the coach

I think I tucker myself out more thoroughly during my "me" time than I do when I'm actually working. Between yesterday's excursion and today's exhaustive efforts to return the shoebox to a habitable state (when it takes almost all day to clean a 350 square foot apartment, I know that I've put this off for far too long), I'm more tired today than I am on the days I spend wrapped up in case law and journal articles.

Fortunately I "get" to spend tomorrow engrossed in research and paper writing. I don't think I could take another me day. 

Nursing tops and baby bags

No energy for a real post today. (Spent all my energy wandering around the Tidal basin, basking in the beauty of the cherry blossoms and trying to ignore the tourist hordes. More on that tomorrow.) But I do have enough left for wandering over the internet daydreaming about the fate of my student loan dollars.

I know that it's spring and long sleeves aren't exactly needed, but I kind of love this top. It's exactly the sort of thing I wear. Purple, simple and  comfy with just a little bit of an interesting neckline. And it's on sale. The catch? It's a nursing top. (Please don't ask why I was in Gap's maternity section. I don't really know why myself.) Is it too weird for someone who has no nursing baby, no baby growing inside who will be eventually nursing, and no practical existence of either scenario happening in the near future to buy a nursing top?

I asked Zach if it would be weird. He asked what the difference was between a normal top and a nursing top. I told him that nursing tops provide easier access to the breasts. He stopped being helpfull after that.

Oh, and I also love this diaper bag in Cupcakes green that I found at Vera Bradley. For use as a purse, of course. I spill things in my purse all the time, so a easy wipe interior would be usefull, not to mention the utility of all the extra pockets. But I think an actual diaper bag might be pushing it.

Our friendly poltergeist

Sometimes when I come home and head over to the elevator (yes, the stairs would be healthier, but I'm on the 6th floor and when I get home I'm tired) the elevator just spontaneously opens for me, without me pressing any buttons or doing anything except stand there. No one is getting off. No one else is around to push anything. I can't think of any logical reason why the doors would just open for me.

My best guess is some sort of a ghost/poltergeist scenario. I'm actually fairly thrilled. It seems friendly and helpful, and it gives the otherwise drab building a splash of character. I think I'll name it Dennis.