That time of the Semester

We all know what the title of this post refers to, so I won't launch into an introduction on the rigors of finals. Even though I don't have a compelling reason to study my ass off this semester, after five straight semesters of doing just that, it's all I know. So that's why I've been at the library for the past five hours.

It's a gorgeous day out, greatly augmented by the scantily clad women sprawled all over library mall. I made a poor decision by choosing a window view because the plethora of bikinis is keeping me distracted from Family Law. Surprisingly, that's not the biggest distraction. I have an enormous tool sitting to my right and he is apparently making every effort to be the most obnoxious producer of noise I've sat next to all year. For starters, he's eating carrots and skittles with his mouth open which produces a bi-toned crunch-smack every time he opens and shuts his mouth. In addition, he has this apparent nervous twitch that causes him to rub his shoes together and make a squeeking noise. Finally, this asshole types louder than anybody has ever typed before. I could hook my spacebar up to an airhorn and it would be less obnoxious.

I've given the stare of death a good five times now. The next step will be tearing off his arms and wearing his own hands as boxing gloves while I beat him to death. Fucking 1Ls.

Sometimes you eat the bar

With the stressors that accompany law school, everyone has different methods of coping. Some people jog. Others turn to their friends and family. The other ninety-eight percent of the student body drinks. I was once told that lawyers are to alcohol what vampires are to blood and after three years in this place, the once humorous comparison is now just mildly funny because it's true. Kind of like Seinfeld standup.

Our nearly unanimous affinity for alcohol is what made bar review so special...we could all go out and drink pre-weekend without having to feel like alcoholics because everyone else is there. However, tomorrow is the last bar review. Ever. Sure, the tradition will live on amongst the 1L's and 2L's who are still studying in an effort to seduce the cruel mistress that is legal employment, but I can't ever go back. I'd be like that guy who goes back to the high school parking lot two years after he graduated to rev his engine and talk about his job at the Amoco station. So tomorrows bar review will be special.

When I say "special" I don't mean that I'll get hammered. It merely means that I'll be especially cognizant of all those special bar review moments I've had over the years and drink one for all the homies that have gone before me. I'll remember the stupidity, the release from the pressures of school, the time someone sprayed mace in the bar, and the morning after bar review when I joined a very special club of people who had to leave class to go throw up.

I know we all have our favorite bar review memories, and I'm hoping we'll have a chance to share them at the last official bar review.

"I'm glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee, here at the end of all things." -Frodo Baggins.

Why oh why didn't I take the blue pill

Today I got out running for the first time in about three weeks. The long delay was due to a week of spring break and later, a disease that I can only fairly characterize as SARS. I'm still on the fringe of the horrible phlegm-flinging disease, but I figured that warming up the body temperature by a degree or so would burn the remainder of the viri/bacterii out of my system. Essentially, the same strategy General Sherman used on his march through Georgia. It's worked in the past, so we'll see if I finally wake up completely healthy tomorrow.

I'm sitting around, preparing for an upcoming negotiation and listening once again to the Bee Gees. It's really hard to get over how hard the Bee Gees kick ass. As a tribute, I've already pledged to name my first born son "Barry Gibb Utah," and if it's a girl, "Robin Gibb Utah." The thirdborn will have to settle for "Maurice Gibb Utah."

[DELETED]

*As you may notice, I deleted a significant portion of this post. I did so because while it may be entertaining, this story is best saved for a smaller, identifiable group of people who won't immediately assume I'm actually a robot programmed solely to awkwardly react to the subject of a very vivid dream. But I thought it was kind of funny.

So in sum, the Bee Gees kick ass.

It's a Goodyear to fight Crime

Venezuela announced its plan to patrol the city of Caracas with the aid of three remote controlled blimps that would peer down into the latin underworld. Critics lambast the plan as an invasion of privacy and a poor use of public money.

The use of the eye in the sky blimps would probably be fine under the Fourth Amendment and Kyllo standards here in the U.S. In fact, I'm a fan of cameras in PUBLIC areas with high crime/traffic problems. What I don't understand is why the Venezuelan government has chosen to invest in blimps as a crime-fighting tool.

Judging by how easy it was to shoot down a helicopter in Grand Theft Auto, my guess is that shooting down the blimp would be pretty easy. Furthermore, the blimps offer none of the transportation/physical presence that police departments get from helicopters. Finally, in my limited experience with blimps (I saw one once), it seems like they would be pretty easy to spot, evade or outrun in a car, so it kind of defeats the purpose. If Caracas had taken my advice, they would have just saved their money and invested in a Venezuelan Chuck Norris.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070419/ts_nm/venezuela_zeppelin_dc_1

Absolutely Awesome

The video speaks for itself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu1wNxr9Sqg

Enemy at the Steak

When I walked into Copps and was confronted by the gigantic food shortage, I initially jumped to two conclusions: (1) I had stumbled through a time-space portal that transported me to a 1970's Soviet Union food depot, and (2) Zombies had destroyed the majority of the population and the survivors had looted the grocery store for supplies en route to Mexico.

I'm not exaggerating my description of the Soviet-era food shortage. In produce, there were NO carrots, no broccoli, no potatoes, and no iceberg lettuce. Politely, I approached a Copps employee and asked where the hell the food was. She told me that they didn't have my iceberg lettuce, but perhaps I should try the healthier (and more expensive) green leaf lettuce. At this point in my life, I'm pretty set in my ways, so I was biting myself on the tongue and mentally ordering the rest of me not to be an ass. However, there was no way someone was going to tell me to alter my proven sandwich design, of which iceberg lettuce is a proven component. As the grocery store employee tried to put the green lettuce in my cart, I informed her that I would not take her substitute because I wanted the cheap, pre-packaged, bleach-white, non-nutritious iceberg lettuce.

The dearth of food was not confined to produce. I couldn't find wheat bread, tuna, or Sara Lee Bagels. And since there isn't anyone that doesn't like Sara Lee, I can only assume those bastards killed her. To take my mind off the clear incompetence of the Copps stocking department, I decided to bank my grocery cart hard around some turns while making racecar noises. Sure enough, the cart crashed into another cart being pushed by a cute undergrad. I offered a lame excuse about being distracted by the cookies and might have muttered something about gravity. She gave me a stare and moved on. Clearly, she wanted me.

I know the explanation is probably a shortage due to Easter Sunday shopping, but still, by 8 p.m. the next day, you'd think that a competent grocer would be able to plan on receiving replacements. Now I have to go two weeks without vegetables because I'm too lazy to return. I did a massive burnout in the Copps parking lot on my grocery cart and left that hellhole never to return this week.

It was Bound to Happen

Well, the last spring break has come to an end and once again I'm in Madison on Easter, feasting on Qdoba. I'll leave the detailed descriptions to others, but I enjoyed myself and have a nicely sunburned body to let people know I was somewhere warm. Among the sunburned spots, includes my scalp. I've never burned there before and a look in the mirror confirmed the alarming truth: I'm beginning to bald. I knew that genetics were never on my side on this issue, but I was hoping to delay it until I could lock down a girl with my luxurious flowing hair. I'm desperately hoping that I'll be able to pull off the Vin Diesel chrome dome once the process continues.

Vin Diesel always makes me think of excellent movies, and now I have another one to add to the list: Grindhouse. It's no secret that I love pretty much everything Quentin Tarantino has ever done, and Grindhouse was no exception. Although it was a little bit long, the entire movie was hilarious, clever, and chucked full of hidden themes and meaning. It wasn't quite as good as the Kill Bills, and my jury is out on Reservoir Dogs, but I would put it on par with Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown. For anyone who is a fan of gratuitous violence, sordid humor, and B movies from the 70's, I wholeheartedly recommend this movie. It has a hot chick with a gun for a leg.

Otherwise, it's back to life, back to reality.