National Book Festival ...

Confession: I bought a hardback, full-priced book today. I felt a bit guilty about it, until I got the chills reading the prologue. A writer who inspires that reaction in a crowded, sweaty Metro station deserves my money! But, I suppose I should start my story at the beginning. Today I went to the Mall for the National Book Festival, hosted by the Library of Congress and Laura Bush. What could be better than that?! Nothing! I love Laura (I think even the protesters I passed on the way to the festival would agree with my view of her as the epitome of classiness), I love the Library of Congress (still my favorite building in town), and I of course love the books! So I of course had to buy one: Supreme Conflict. I allowed myself to read for 30 minutes ... after I purposely took the long Metro route home so I could read on the train ...

A book about the Supreme Court, purchased just steps from the Capitol at the First Lady's book festival ... three branches of government in one transaction ...

Happy Friday ...

The Girls at The Wedding ... in those innocent days before we discovered Scottish lawyers, Crystal Drive, parentheticals and being a Mrs. ...


P.S. No, I am not so self absorbed as to think that looking at a photo of my friends means other people will have a happy Friday. But I had a request to post it, so there ...

University Yard ...

I sat outside for an hour between classes today to enjoy the absolutely perfect autumn weather. A few other people had the same idea:

• The lady at the hot dog stand outside the law school did some calisthenics before opening her stand. Her routine included jumping up and down repeatedly, swinging her arms around, turning slowly in a circle with her arms out, and then sort of bowing. Quite strange, really. (Disclaimer: If I am unaware of some sort of religious ritual, and I am being completely insensitive, please disregard the previous paragraph.) Rumor has it that someone once tried to sue the hot dog stand for not having the right permit or something. Do not mess with a swarm of law professors and overly enthusiastic soon-to-be-lawyers looking for a cause ... the stand remains and the suit does not.
• Twenty preschoolers came outside to blow bubbles, draw on the sidewalks with colored chalk, and run through the sprinklers (fully clothed, of course).
• And my personal favorite ... the truck with the "petroleum recovery and tank pumping service" and "spill response" labels on the side. Lovely. I do not even want to know what that truck needed to pump from my school.

In other news, yesterday I learned that I might (emphasize the might) qualify as a reasonably prudent person. All because of my Dad, who taught me that tires need tread. Yes, evidently reasonably prudent people need to know this ...

A Good Day ...

Various happenings made my day a good one. (Wore never-washed-so-still-fuzzy sweatshirt, ate giant cookie brought to class by writing teacher in recognition of finishing first law school memo, and found rare good parking spaces at both grocery store and apartment.)

And now my readers (Hi Mom!) have experienced an only slightly exaggerated example of law school writing, which has obviously consumed my mind for the past few days and which includes cryptic descriptive sentences called parentheticals. If you do not believe me, click here to see a Supreme Court brief with some. (Read and note the names on the first page, just for fun, then scroll down to at least page 15 ...)

Food Fight ...

DC seems to have quite an active wildlife scene, and I am not referring to donkeys, elephants, or even the National Zoo. No, I am talking about the omnipresent pigeons, squirrels, and little birds. I like these animals in order of their a) cuteness level, and b) threat level. Obviously, this means the little birds come first. I find the ones that wander under the tables on the patio at school adorable (and no, I have no idea of what type of "little birds" I am discussing here). Next would be the squirrels. Generally I find them entertaining, although one once threatened to attack me on a bench outside the Capitol. (I think it thought I would share my lunch, so it clearly did not know about my attachment to my food.) Finally, the lowest of DC animals: pigeons. (I could make a political analogy here, but I will refrain.) Today I watched a flock of them fighting over a chunk of bread. They did not attack me, I will admit, but they came a bit too close to my pretzels. (Again, I do not share my food with animals! OK, maybe the cute little birds ...) But on the topic of fighting for food, I thoroughly enjoyed this article in the NYT today ...

P.S. One more item about birds ... well, sort of. Today I saw a t-shirt that said, "I would rather go hunting with Dick Cheney than riding with Ted Kennedy." I laughed ...

Sometimes I Have Fun ...

To reward anyone who actually suffered through the last few lengthy (and you can say it, dull) posts, I will keep this one short. And, I will prove that sometimes I do have a life (well, sort of) besides my books ...

Sometimes I go to Chinatown ... (well, OK, I only went once) ...

Sometimes I go to the harbor in Old Town Alexandria ... in the rain ... (OK, that just happened once, too, but I am DEFINITELY going there again ...)

An Ordinary Man ...

I am too tired, and evidently too ordinary, to think of any stories of my own today, but I did read a gem of a lawsuit in my Torts book yesterday ...

In Cordas v. Peerless Transp. Co., Justice Carlin tells the tale of an ordinary man in New York City, 1941. The judicial opinion begins: "This case presents the ordinary man - that problem child of the law - in a most bizarre setting. As a lowly chauffeur ... he became in a trice the protagonist in a breach-bating drama with a denouement almost tragic."

Believe me, most cases do NOT include such dramatic writing. (And unlike Justice Carlin, most judges do not include references to Shakespeare in their opinions.) The basic plot of this one has the "lowly chauffeur" being sued, basically, for being ordinary. After a gun-wielding thief jumped into his taxi, the man jumped out and the taxi subsequently injured a mother and two children. They only sustained minor injuries, but sued him, claiming he negligently saved his own life, rather than thinking of the interests of any possible people on the street.

And now, back to Justice Carlin:

"There are those who stem the turbulent current for bubble fame, or who bridge the yawning chasm with a leap for the leap's sake or who ‘outstare the sternest eyes that look, outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey’ to win a fair lady and these are the admiration of the generality of men; but they are made of sterner stuff than the ordinary man upon whom the law places no duty of emulation. ... The chauffeur - the ordinary man in this case - acted in a split second in a most harrowing experience. To call him negligent would be to brand him coward; the court does not do so in spite of what those swaggering heroes, ‘whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard’, may bluster to the contrary."

Just feeling ordinary (instead of completely inept, as school makes me feel these days) sounds good right about now ...

Shiny Shoes ...

I like the Metro ... well, at least I do on the days when I do not arrive at the station immediately after my train has left. I especially like watching my fellow Metro riders and imagining their stories. And the most interesting stories often involve the shiny-shoed, uniformed people who get on and off at the Pentagon stop. Well, today, some of the shiny shoes got on at the Pentagon and then got off at Arlington Cemetery, where, I imagined, they would do something important. (I have a few scenarios in mind, but noting the length of my last post, I will leave those out.) An added highlight of the scenario: Today two of the shiny shoes accompanied a very attractive face ...

You Will Never Be Younger Than Today ...

You know you have really arrived when eighth graders read your writing in English class. So, thanks to my favorite junior high school teacher (well, not my teacher ... my friend who IS a teacher), I have arrived. But this recent publicity (please note the sarcasm here, people) adds some pressure to my posting. Now I really need to think of more studious themes. Today's theme: time. More specifically, the times of my life.

• Every day at exactly 12:13 on my watch, the bells on the clock tower at school start ringing. I am not sure of the song, and I am REALLY not sure why it starts at 12:13.
• The people in my classes (myself included) still arrive freakishly early, so we are always ready long before the time our class actually begins. One of our professors, who also arrives early, always stands at the podium for a few minutes before class officially starts. We all stop talking and stare at him, and he stares at us. Then we all stare at the clock. And as soon as the clock shows EXACTLY 9:55 a.m., 1:40 p.m. or 11 a.m. (this class starts at a different time every day, do not ask me why) he starts his lecture and we all start laughing.
• Today someone told me that he felt old to be turning 23. I did not tell him how old I am. Then, just one hour later, I heard an entirely different person in my class tell another person that she makes fun of her husband for being so old. He is 25. Which leads me to the title of this post, the lyrics (maybe even the title, I am not sure and I am too lazy to investigate) to the song playing when I began this entry. I found it quite fitting, and an example of ...
• Perfect timing. Another example: Today I felt strange and unsettled for some reason (which really surprised me, since I am wearing a new shirt and that usually signifies a good day) and by the time I came home from school I really just wanted to go to bed. But lo and behold, I had received a package from my dear friend (the teacher from the first paragraph, who I will not name because I like to protect identities). Anyway, it had my favorite treats inside and completely made my day ... even though I will never be younger than today ...

The Grass Is Greener ...

I am not just being cute with a cliche when I say the grass is greener at home. It really is, and I do not understand how or why. Here I live in a tree-covered place with humidity at tropical rainforest levels (OK, I have never actually been to a tropical rainforest, but I have an active imagination) and I am looking longingly at the grass in a DESERT. What?! I suppose it could be that the grass here has a trillion people stomping on it (Cougars may not cut corners, but people here really do) or maybe they do not believe in sprinklers. Whatever the reason, I miss the good grass.

And on the topic of missing, today I am remembering my dear old fish, Josh Lyman, whose untimely death last September caused me great woe. I thought of poor Josh Lyman when I read this sad tale in the NYT. Read all the way to the end of the story, or you miss the best part ...

BYOB ...

So I just want to report that I went to a party in Dupont. I think it makes me sound interesting. For the record, we did not bring our own beer. We drank Fresca. But we met one industrious fellow who had a bottle opener as part of the bottom of his shoe ...

Football And Fashion ...

I am really expanding beyond my traditional discussion topics this week. First fashion, and now football. I am so diverse! (Not to worry, I will return to law school in a few sentences, and Oprah will show up, too.)

Back to football. Today I watched a game. My team lost. But the point: I watched the game. On TV. My roommate and I wanted to go to a sports club where she could watch the game, I could watch the people watching the game, and we could both eat the fries. That plan did not work. We went to a house instead, where I got neither people watching nor fries. Which forced me to actually watch the game and listen to the announcers, who kept commenting about rulings and then overturning rulings. Now, I really do not care what those words mean in sports land, but they have meanings in law land, too, and I did not particularly want to be thinking about them on my Saturday night. Oh well.

Now, as basically everyone knows, I am NOT a fan of the O conglomerate. But I am quite intrigued to see how Oprah's support will help Barack Obama, my favorite of the Democratic contenders for president. Despite Oprah's endorsement, I like Obama. (Not nearly as much as I like Mitt Romney, but much more than I like some other candidates who for now shall remain nameless in case I change my mind and decide I want to work for them some day.) Anyway, Oprah evidently had quite a gala for Obama tonight, and she actually instructed people to wear flat shoes instead of heels so they would not damage her meadow or some such thing (this from an article I read on CNN). I wonder how you word that type of request on a formal invite. Something to consider. And now I am back to fashion ...

White Shorts After Labor Day ...

Me writing about fashion probably means I have nothing interesting to report about anything else. I like my predictable life of school, school and more school, but I can really only write about studying so many times before I get bored with my own blog, and that would be pathetic. Which brings me back to fashion. The one (and only) benefit I find to living far from home would be the distance I am from the eyes of my always-fashionable family members. For example, I can now wear my favorite rainbow striped shirt EVERY day if I want to, and no one will threaten to hide, burn or otherwise mutilate it. But while I like knowing I can dress however I want without anyone actually noticing, caring or worrying about my dating prospects, it also means I am lacking my traditional trusted sources of clothing approval. For example, today I wore white shorts. Two days after Labor Day. And I do not know if this means I committed a crime of fashion (not to be confused with a crime of passion). I know there used to be a rule against such apparel, but I also remember hearing that the rule no longer applied. So I have just given up completely, and am now back to my pajamas ... the striped ones, of course ...

I Really Live Here ...

I have lived in Washington for exactly one month, as of today. And though not without its challenges, I really love it here. So, a few favorites from the past month:

• The Yellow Line. Definitely my favorite Metro line. I really like crossing over the river (as opposed to going under it, like the other lines).
  
• T.B.M. sandwiches at Cosi.


• The Jefferson Memorial. It can be tricky to get there, but I still like it best. I love the writing engraved on the walls.


• My computer. Though I think it might be adding to my vision woes, I like being able to type anywhere I want ... my bed, my couch, my special table at school.


• The newspapers! I of course love the Washington Post, and I am also a big fan of the free Express newspaper (also published by the Post).


• My daily horoscope in the Express. Yes, this deserves its own bullet point. A girl should be prepared for what lies ahead, and even someone with my psychic powers can use some help with that. (Although speaking of bullet points, I read in the Express last week that the number of guns in America now equates to 9 guns for every 10 people. I did not feel good about that information. For the record, I am NOT a member of the NRA.)


• School. I did not realize just how much it would take over my entire life ... in a good way. Even when I am not studying, I am somehow thinking (and to be entirely honest, worrying) about it ...

I Had A Dream ...

So last night I had a dream (always an intro to a fascinating story, I know) that I went to a baseball game with a random fellow (no idea who, and in the dream I only vaguely knew him). So at the game I bought the fellow a hot dog. Then, sometime later, I invited the fellow to another game. Well, this time when we went to get a hot dog, my eyes stopped functioning. (More on that later.) I went back to my chair, and the fellow bought a hot dog for himself, but not one for me. Now this annoyed me. I had invited him twice and bought him a hot dog once, and he did not even have the decency to buy me a hot dog when I had gone temporarily blind!? The nerve. Anyway, once I regained my sight, I bought myself a hot dog, and then while walking back to my seat I became blind again. And I cannot remember any more.

Obviously, I have really strange dreams. But the temporary blindness theme keeps recurring, and it really annoys me, so I thought that maybe if I publicly expunged my brain of it, I could make it go away. (Seriously. I have rather frequent dreams where I will be in the middle of doing something and I suddenly cannot see. Tell me other people have these dreams too?!) Anyway, I could really use Joseph (of Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat fame, for those not up on their Bible stories) right about now ... or maybe David Osmond ... hehehe ...