The end ...

Memo
To: Capital C Readers (both of you)
From: Capital C
Re: The demise of the blog

I did not want to write this post. The one where I admit that I am not Capital Callie anymore. Because I did not want to leave D.C. And writing about leaving D.C. made it real. (I am still not sure how it becomes more real than packing up my car and driving the 2,500 miles back to Utah, and then living here for a month already, but it does, OK.) But here I am anyway. Here in Utah, with my parents, in my old bedroom.

For the record, I have had a good summer. A really good summer, minus the whole studying for the bar business. I went to Boston. I went to New York. I finished my list. I drove across the country, again, even driving part of the way myself, and I finally stopped in Chicago. I survived the bar. I went to Bear Lake. I went to Cafe Rio. I went on drives in a convertible. I looked at the stars. I held hands. I read stories to the neighbors. I went shopping. In a week I will go to California. I am a lucky girl.

But I will admit this: I am a bit lost. Yesterday I forgot my Virginia address. The one I lived at until six weeks ago. I had to look it up. Then today, twice, I instinctively entered 22202 in the box for my zip code. Then I remembered, and deleted. I miss my old life. And my people.

But, I am home. I am going to start a new life, one of these days. I just need to decide what my new life will be. I am not sure yet how to do that. But I do know this: I am going to work at a law firm in Salt Lake. I start on September 13. I am going to try my best to be a good attorney. And I am going to like it. And I will worry about the rest later.

P.S. This is my last post. Thanks for reading.

Runaway girls ...

I had a week between finishing finals and going to Boston with my family (more on that to come). So Meradyth and I had some quality time together. And one day Mer had the brilliant idea to go to Berlin, Maryland, the town Runaway Bride was based on and filmed in. We had such a fabulous time ... one of my favorite D.C. adventures for sure ...

I really like bridges.

Recognize this hotel from the movie?!

Proof.

"I'm going to go focus on your eggs, Bob." Yes. Richard Gere and Julia Roberts sat right here, in the same restaurant where we had lunch. And by "had lunch" I mean ordered half the menu. The waiters did not even attempt to mask their awe at our eating abilities ...

Officially an esquire ...

... Or maybe not. Perhaps I need to pass the bar before I can actually use that delightful title. But here is the proof that I did in fact graduate from law school yesterday, in two ceremonies that seemed longer than the last three years combined. Although I should not complain. The First Lady spoke. At my graduation. On the National Mall. Awesome ...

The requisite photo (and I mean that literally ... my sister commanded that I take a picture here, since I took one before law school. And I always do what my sister tells me to do.)

Another one in front of the school. All the people who a) sat through five hours of ceremonies, and b) encouraged the aforementioned photo-taking, deserve blog recognition.

Carly got married a week ago. But luckily she made it to graduation, so that I could get this photo of my favorite law school pal.

And that would be Michelle Obama. And yes, she did use the phrase, "Yes, we can." And yes, she gave a good speech.

At graduation. On the Mall. Being bored while we waited.

The only shot I have that actually shows the Mall. Well, sort of ...

Done.

I have more to say (I always do, right) on this subject, but after typing for three hours this morning I am rather tired of my keyboard. So I will just report that provided that I pass my classes, I am officially finished with law school ...

A letter about my lotion ...

Dear Bath & Body Works:

I am not a member of PETA. I am (generally) a (relatively) sane person. And I want to know why you include the following sentence on your labels:

This finished product is not tested on animals.

If a product is finished, as I assume the products for sale in your stores are, the testing process must be finished, too. So when you tell me that you do not test your finished product on animals, I assume you do test your unfinished product on animals. That seems more likely to make PETA mad. And frankly, I would not want PETA to be mad at me. Just saying.

Sincerely,

Callie

P.S. Perhaps the law requires you to insert this exact sentence. I suppose I could discover that for myself. But I still have two finals. And as neither of them involve animal rights (although you better believe we do have such a class at my school, where the priority list places animal rights near the top and the rights of unborn children near the bottom) I think I should save my legal research for classes I am actually taking.

Finals, hula hoops, etc. ...

Carly and I like to make each bout of finals delightful in its own special way. One time we decided to spend the week coughing, sneezing, blowing our noses and hearing buzzing noises. Another time we watched an entire season of the Office during finals week. Then, being me, that one time I thought it would be a good idea to simultaneously experience finals and a break-up during the same week. Another semester I attempted the opposite. Yet another time we decided to have double car trouble, when Carly got in a car accident (totally not her fault) and I got a flat tire (totally my fault) on the same day, three days before the end of finals. This semester, though, we have outdone ourselves and adopted the hula-hoop-dance-party strategy ...

Done. Almost ...

Today I attended my last law school class. Which makes today my last day of school EVER. Unless I go back to school. Which I will not, I promise, and this time I mean it. Seriously. When I was little and being tickled, if I just said stop, well, that gave the tickler permission to continue. But if I said "stop it and I mean it," well, I meant it. And I mean it when I say I will never go to school again. I also mean it when I say I will miss law school. (Although I will not miss law school ruining regular stories, like this one, because now when I hear that someone does not stop when another someone says stop, I think of my criminal law class, and how "no" really does mean no. Thank you, criminal law, for ruining this childhood memory for me.) I also mean it when I say I am rather anxious about the next few months of post-law school life: taking finals, studying for the bar and moving. Yikes. But, for today, I give you what I will miss most about law school (not D.C. in general, that will be another post, currently scheduled for sometime mid-July). In no particular order, well except for number 1, which really is number 1. But for the rest, no particular order ...

1. Carly. I have loved having someone to study with, someone to share the law school gossip with, someone to commiserate with, someone to go to lunch with after class and dinner with after finals, and someone who can explain to me exactly what the professor meant.

2. Potbelly's. I go there on Mondays. I like the walk there, where I look one direction and see the Watergate Hotel a few blocks away and look another direction and see the Lincoln Memorial a few blocks away. I also like the sandwich I always get -- turkey with provolone on white -- and the free Washington Post I read while I eat.

3. Professors. We have some characters. And they have some interesting ideas. They say interesting things. Like this: "So we have established that Boy Scouts do not do a lot of talking about sex," and, about the preschoolers playing on the quad, "So adorable and so happy, just like they're naturally stoned." And other tidbits that make me stop shopping online. (Note to future clients: Of course I never shopped online during class.) I am glad I got to listen to them.

4. Free stuff. I am pretty sure no one will be giving me iPods just for doing research after law school. Well I guess technically my future clients will be doing this, but it seems different. (Note to future clients: I will use the money you pay me for rent and food and appropriate business clothing, not for iPods and vacations and movies.) And yes, I am trying to slip it in by just putting it on this list, but I will confess, I will soon join the iPod age. I am a sellout. But it remains to be seen whether I can stand having things in my ears ...

Back in the day ...

I know, I know. Enough posting already. But I just read this article and I just had to share it. If you did not read the Baby-Sitters Club books, do not bother. But I did. By the dozens. And I totally remember Claudia's outfits, even though yes, I was Mary Anne or Mallory ...

Right now ...

I am sitting in class. Right next to a whole wall of windows. It is 80 degrees outside. Yes, I just checked weather.com, and it really is 80 degrees at 6:22 p.m. on April 5th. And did I mention that I am sitting in class?! And that I have another two hours and 38 minutes of sitting in class, right next to a whole wall of windows that look out over the quad?! The quad being the only patch of grass on campus. The quad being the place where the people go when the sun comes out. But the girls in bikinis on blankets have dispersed for the day. I suppose they know they will not improve their tans after 4 p.m. Although I think the laying (or lying, I never mastered this feat of grammar) on blankets in bikinis is only partly about attracting the sun. This is what happens when you go to school outside of Provo. You get girls in bikinis on blankets. You also get Michelle Obama to speak at graduation. And people smoking on the terrace. So, to review, outside of Provo, you get two ways to get cancer and one First Lady. So there is that.

Right now, from my window seat, I can see one shirtless guy talking on his cell phone and leaning back in his chair the way my mother always told me not to do because I would fall and also because I would ruin the chair. To be honest I want him to fall, partly because I am annoyed at his freedom from class and partly because it would make the next thirty seconds of window gazing more interesting. Also, he is already tan. It is only April 5th, he should not be that tan. He also has a little swagger going on. Not sure how exactly he manages to swagger while sitting, but he is. And yes, I suppose I am judging him, which I probably learned yesterday that I should not do. But I can only work on so much at a time. And right now I am working on the following: a) surviving class and b) figuring out my life, which I apparently need to do by tomorrow morning. So I am going to just let myself silently judge for a minute as respite from my work.

Wait. Wow. My powers are stronger than I thought. Mr. Tan Man just put on a shirt. So I suppose I should stop the judging and start using my powers productively. I will start by a) surviving class and b) figuring out my life ...

My daffodil patch ...

I should preface this post with a confession: For the past few months, our backyard has been a bit of a mess. More like a lot of a mess. And I have done absolutely nothing to remedy this. The snow melted. The grass grew. The weeds grew. And I merely looked out the window. And then a patch of something else started growing, too. Something that looked like daffodil leaves. So I watched and I waited. And sure enough, three days ago, I noticed the first daffodil blooms. Vindicated (not everyone believed me when I had previously proclaimed the greenery to be daffodils in waiting), I cut some and put them in a vase, with lofty plans to repeat the process every day. Except that yesterday someone came to mow the lawn. And he mowed the flowers. The flowers that no longer looked like weeds. The leaves and stems with yellow blooms.

True, I did not plan, or plant, that daffodil patch. I never did anything at all except watch and wait. Those flowers just sprouted in the middle of the lawn, without any help. But if given the choice between a pathetic patch of grass and a patch of daffodils, I choose the daffodils. Except maybe sometimes I do not. Maybe sometimes I just go right ahead and mow down those daffodils that sprouted in the middle of the lawn without any rhyme or reason or plan at all. Maybe sometimes I had a different plan for that patch of grass. Maybe I had a better plan. I do like plans, you know. But maybe I like daffodils more ...

Cherry blossoms ...

I live in Washington, D.C. It is the first week of April. Thus, I give you the annual cherry blossom photos ... and some quality D.C. Carly-Callie time, which has an expiration date of April 28th, so I better enjoy it while I can ...

My tourist pals ...

The tourists are back. Lots of them. I have a love/hate relationship with tourists. It goes like this: I hate the obnoxious ones (the groups of 45 15-year-olds in matching neon t-shirts, for example). I love the non-obnoxious ones (the families in matching flag shirts, for example). Today on the Metro I sat behind a mom, a six- or seven-ish looking little boy and a four- or five-ish looking little girl. Their grandma sat on the row in front of them, and as we passed the Arlington Cemetery stop, she tried to explain to the little boy that President Kennedy was buried there. She asked him what he knew about presidents. He said he knew about President Applebee. His mom interpreted this as President Washington, chopping down the apple tree. He informed her that no, he did not mean the president who chopped down the apple tree, he meant President Applebee. Then he gave up and turned to his little sister, and said, "Mom, if she was the president, she would be the first girl president, right?" The mom replied yes, and said we needed a girl president to straighten things out in the world. Then the little boy said, "No, that would be a bad idea. A girl would say things that were uncalled for." He kept going, but unfortunately, I could not catch the rest of his theory ...

Happy Spring ...

I had a lovely St. Patrick's Day. This year, I had a shake that turned out to be even better than a shamrock shake. Really. It was not green, and it has no relevance to St. Patrick's Day or this post, except that: thinking about St. Patrick's Day made me think about shamrock shakes which made me think about the delicious marshmallow shake that I ate on St. Patrick's Day. And that reminds me that I have neglected to mention the winners of my limerick contest, and I am sure all of my many, many readers have been worried and anxious about this all week. So, without further ado ...

The winning limerick (conveniently keeping with my tardy theme):

There once was a girl who forgot
But truly liked limericks alot
The deadline had passed
"Take pity!" she asked
For my rhyming skills cannot be bought!
{By Niki}

And the winning six-line limerick (yes, new category this year):

Pink is nice, but yellow is better
Think baby chicks, stars or a fuzzy sweater
Traffic lights of red and green
Would not be the same with pink in between
So stick to your guns and go with your heart,
Yellow's your fellow, has been from the start!
{By Nana}

This limerick also reminds me to report that today I purchased an adorable little pot of yellow gerber daisies. They are sitting on my desk, and should take credit for enticing me to said desk to sit still long enough to type this post. Yes, I am pretty sure I have a case of spring fever. Or something else distracting. In sum: It is beautiful here. It is the first day of spring. And stuff like that ...

P.S. Question: What exactly does "water regularly" mean?! Daily?! Every other day?! Every three days?! Every week?! I want my flowers to live, so Mom and Nana and Holly, and anyone else who knows this type of thing, please comment.

Family fun ...

My uncle, aunt and cousins came to the capital this weekend. We walked for a long time, braved my D.C. driving (a very admirable feat) and saw Nancy Pelosi in person in the Capitol. Oh, and I, for one, had a grand time.

Oh, look at me ruining their family Christmas card picture. Sorry, guys. But I bet you could crop me out ...

Woman in black: Nancy Pelosi, in Statuary Hall in the Capitol ...

Unfortunately, the weather did not really cooperate this weekend. Today, however, it did. And everyone came outside to enjoy it. In two blocks in my neighborhood I saw: two people jogging in work clothes, one man doing push-ups and sit-ups on the sidewalk, and four boys playing with Nerf guns. And this sounds like the beginning of a counting book for three-year-old children, so I suppose I will stop for now ... but stay tuned for the winning limericks tomorrow ...

Spring, I think ...

In London, I loved the daffodils. They were everywhere, and they meant spring. Now, when I see daffodils I think of London. Here, I see these adorable purple flowers. Not sure what they are, but I am hoping they mean spring ...

A list, a friend, and upcoming excitement ...

I crossed off a few things on my to-do list (that one I have a love/hate relationship with) this weekend, thanks to a visit from my lovely friend, Nicole. We had a lovely time, doing lovely things, like ...

Visiting Ford's Theatre ...

Seeing the balcony (well, a replica of the balcony) where Abraham Lincoln sat ...

Taking a tour of the George Washington Masonic Memorial in Alexandria ... and ...

Checking out the view from the top (nine stories tall).

Can you find the Washington Monument in this scene?!

Some other noteworthy items to report:

1. My spring break started today. Yay!! And what do I plan to do with my week of free time, you may ask?! Well, so far I have decided to a) do my taxes, and b) do some other stuff. I know, I am so exciting. But the day started off well. I got the following text: "Hope your spring break of 2010 is as great and big as even Big Ben." Which obviously reminded me that I like people who rhyme, I wish I could go to London for spring break, and ...

2. Today is March 1. And I am bringing back the St. Patrick's Day limerick contest. This year I am promising no prizes, but if I am feeling especially nice maybe I will surprise the winner with one anyway. Basic rule: send me a limerick by March 16th. For more about this, go back to this post and this one and this one (wow, I was verbose 1L year). I am too lazy to type the instructions again. But beware, those posts will make you hungry for a Shamrock Shake. So I should report that ...

3. I already had a Shamrock Shake this year. Yes!! I know, just when you read that I am doing my taxes for spring break and you thought I had a really, really sad life, you read this sentence and realize that my life is not sad at all, but in fact quite splendid ...

Regular life ...

I survived almost an entire week of regular life. Except that we had Monday off, and since I seldom have school on Fridays, I have no school tomorrow. (Note that I said seldom. Two weeks ago I would have said never, but now I do have class some Fridays to make up classes we missed during our week of snow. I know, I have a really challenging school schedule.) Anyway, I survived my Tuesday through Thursday, with nothing new to report, except my commute.

It used to be this:

1. Walk (on sidewalk) to Metro station
2. Ride Metro
3. Walk to school

Now it is this:

1. Walk down my slushy street. Climb over large pile of gray snow to partially shoveled sidewalk. Walk one block. Climb over large pile of gray snow to exit sidewalk. Cross street. Climb over large pile of gray snow to sidewalk. Walk one block. Etc. Occasionally there will be a requirement to jump over a slushy pile of melting snow or to cross the street to find a more partially shoveled sidewalk. This continues for five blocks until arriving at the Metro station.
2. Ride Metro
3. Walk to school, trying to avoid patch of ice where I slipped and fell on Tuesday, before I had really mastered the snow commute ...

P.S. Memo to the people in charge at NBC: When someone has just won a gold medal, after being injured, and is hugging her husband and clearly having a moment, the camera does not actually need to record the entire scene. Your camera crew can pan to things like snow-covered trees, and the cheering crowd, and the falling snow, after five seconds of the hugging. We are glad they are hugging. We think they should hug. But we also think they should get 20 seconds to themselves.

P.P.S. Memo to the people in charge at the Express: When someone has just won a gold medal, after being injured, your article about her achievement does not need to note that she hugged her husband for a full 30 seconds. We a) assume she hugged her husband, b) like that she hugged her husband, and c) do not care about the length of the hug. If you really need to add some extra words, tell us why the silver medalist thinks she should wear a tiara when, ahem, she did not actually win the race.

A message from my desk ...

perfect yellow Valentine roses + presidential pen cup = happy holiday weekend from my desk ...

Still snowed in ...

Outside my front door, it looks like this:

Outside my back door, it looks like this:

So tonight, we did this:

And I did this:

And yes, if snow cartwheeling ever becomes an Olympic sport, I will be recruited for sure ...

Valentine's Day cookies ...

I like Valentine's Day the normal amount. This means I consider myself a low-maintenance girl for this holiday (as opposed to some others, like say, Christmas or my birthday, which we do indeed consider a holiday here at Capital C). But I will confess that I like Valentine's Day cookies more than the normal amount. Specifically, my mom's Valentine's Day cookies. I love them. In my 28 years of experience with this, the cookies remain constant, whether the holiday brings me a date and a book of Shakespearean sonnets or a night in my pajamas watching Anne of Avonlea for the trillionth time.

Generally, my Valentine's Days have been of the cookies-are-the-best-part variety. That is not a complaint. The cookies only happen once a year. Love, luckily, does not. And a holiday celebrating love should remind us that we have it every day, in countless varieties.

This week I remembered my first Valentine's Day in junior high, when I encountered the delightful ritual of sending carnations to people at school. Some girls got dozens, or so it seemed to my 13-year-old (but appearing to be 10) braces- and glasses-wearing self. Little did I know then that you arranged with your friends to send each other flowers so as to appear/feel more liked/loved/popular. During every class period, the carnation deliverers would appear at the door with a bundle of flowers, and then proceed to call out the names of the lucky recipients. Shockingly, I heard my own name called from one such list. When I looked at the card, it listed a name I did not know. I thought about it. And I solved the mystery. (My fabulous detective skills apparently existed even then.)

The next day I approached the boy who left candy on my desk every day before Spanish class. I called him the name written on the card, watched him blush as he mumbled that the name came from Star Trek, and I really hope, but do not actually remember, that I thanked him. I did not think, back then, that short of the constancy of cookies, this might have been the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me on Valentine's Day. If my 13-year-old self were writing this, I would say that I did not like like Steve (his real name, not his Star Trek name, for the record). Sure, I ate the candy every day, and I did not dislike Steve, but it did not occur to me to even attempt to be friends with him. He sent me a flower anyway. He made me feel liked. And to a 13-year-old girl, that really matters ...

Snowed in ...

I am snowed in. Here we call it snowpocalypse. Except that I have not really called it anything until I just typed it, but other people say it all the time so I guess I am now part of we. This means I have loads of time to do whatever I want without leaving my house. Except that yesterday I had to leave my house. On a Friday. All day long. And this very rarely happens to me because I am still in my happy place where I have no worries or cares like actual adults. (OK, so according to the Ensign this month I am supposed to already consider myself an actual adult and behave accordingly. But that article did not seem to be entirely doctrinal, so I am going to take it more as helpful advice than actual commandment.) Anyway. So yesterday I had to be at school all day, which means 9:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. But I also got to meet and arrange dinner for two delightfully friendly federal appeals court judges and their spouses. And a bunch of other law-type people. So I guess I should not complain.

I should probably also not complain about how my school finds it helpful to post a graduation counter on the law school web page. Today it told me I officially graduate from law school in 99 days. I am down to double digits. I do not like to think about this fact. I suppose I should, since in the next 99 days I need to formally apply for the bar, decide where to study for the bar, potentially decide where to move should my old bedroom be otherwise occupied or should I remember my actual age, potentially decide how to transport all the belongings that have multiplied in the last three years, and so on. But none of those decisions seem particularly pleasant. I want to blissfully enjoy my last 99 days of my current life, sans decisions. Except that being me, even when I am being carefree, I am being careful too. I have a list on my wall reminding me what I want to do before I leave here. Which I like in theory, because it means I do fun things I really want to do, but then while I do them I remember I am leaving. And sometimes even when I try not to think about the impending end of life as I know it, I forget to forget. I worry. I forget I do not have to make the 99th-day decisions today. But I know that I have to make them soon. And I am not sure if "soon" will come before "I know" and "I am ready." I hate that.

So, moving on. Back to the snow. We have it. Lots of it. And today I left my house only to go outside and enjoy it. For now, I hope it never melts ...

I am so over thinking up titles ...

So, I actually do watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. And the food. Not so much the game. And this article will be all the Super Bowl coverage you will find on Capital C, so enjoy it. I have conveniently posted my favorite parts below:

From Sally Jenkins, in the Washington Post:

"Tebow's 30-second ad hasn't even run yet, but it already has provoked "The National Organization for Women Who Only Think Like Us" to reveal something important about themselves: They aren't actually "pro-choice" so much as they are pro-abortion. Pam Tebow has a genuine pro-choice story to tell. She got pregnant in 1987, post-Roe v. Wade, and while on a Christian mission in the Philippines, she contracted a tropical ailment. Doctors advised her the pregnancy could be dangerous, but she exercised her freedom of choice and now, 20-some years later, the outcome of that choice is her beauteous Heisman Trophy winner son, a chaste, proselytizing evangelical.

"Pam Tebow and her son feel good enough about that choice to want to tell people about it. Only, NOW says they shouldn't be allowed to. Apparently NOW feels this commercial is an inappropriate message for America to see for 30 seconds, but women in bikinis selling beer is the right one. I would like to meet the genius at NOW who made that decision. On second thought, no, I wouldn't."

Another letter ...

Dear Nordstrom:

I walk past your window with the swimsuits every day on my way to school. And your cruel publicity ploy really leaves me with only two options:

1. I imagine wearing one of those swimsuits in the current cold and snowy state of the world. And then I feel colder than I already am.

2. I imagine wearing one of those swimsuits on a beach somewhere in a non-snowy state of the world. And then I feel like I should be on that beach somewhere instead of in a sweater and gloves and scarf and on my way to school.

Both of these options leave me feeling hateful towards you. So even though I actually really love that ruffly yellow swimsuit, I would not buy it from you, even if I magically woke up one morning with hundreds of dollars to spend on skimpy swimwear and the swimwear coverage policy of my teenage self ...

Sincerely,

Callie

Here you go, Jennie ...

I smile at dogs. Mostly in elevators but occasionally on the street, too. Not in the "I am smiling because I love dogs and they make me happy and now that I am in the vicinity of a dog, I am happy" way. Also not quite in the smiling at random babies way, which is more of an "I am smiling because what else can I do to interact with you in this elevator" way. And importantly, with babies I am also trying to get them to smile back at me. When I smile at dogs I am not trying to get them to smile back at me, because, alas, I do not live in a Disney movie. Which just leaves me smiling at dogs for no reason at all ...

P.S. Jennie, maybe your dog is insulted by my smiling. This would explain why it hates me. Something to consider.

28 will be great ...

I turned 28. I am not super thrilled about this development in my life. I am now how old I will be when I graduate from law school. A very old age to my 25-year-old thinking-about-how-old-I-would-be-when-I-graduated-from-law-school self. The age I become an actual adult. Did I mention I am not super thrilled about this development in my life?! But I have decided to start being positive about it anyway.

So, I have two goals for the year. First, every morning when I wake up, I will repeat to myself: "28 will be great." (Note to those two readers enthused about the interactivity part of the blog: You can repeat that to yourself too. Although it probably helps if your age has an 8 in it. If you are 29, or 39, or 49, however, you could repeat the equally rhyming but not as powerful, "29 will be fine." If you are 50, you can say "50 will be nifty." Also: 27 will be heaven, 36 is full of tricks, 45 is so alive, 54 is so much more, 63 is full of glee, lots to do at 72, 81 is very fun, and so on. There, interactive!) Next, I am going to do scary things. And be brave while doing them. I should admit that I am not even going to attempt not to be scared of things. That would be impossible, and if I decided not to be scared of things, I would have no chance to be brave. And bravery is an important part of the plan. I should also report that I am going to be very generous in my definition of what constitutes a scary thing. This week for example, I went up to our attic. That was scary. In July, I will take the bar. That is scary too.

The yellow-wearers at my yellow birthday party

So far, 28 is great. So was celebrating the last days of being 27, since I actually celebrated for three days straight. Yes, I have a good life. And really good friends. One (of many) example: Meradyth made a yellow cake for me, with yellow frosting and candles spelling out (numbering out?!) 28. Unfortunately, the 2 candle broke in half. Mer and I tried to superglue it together. That did not work, although we did succeed in supergluing ourselves and our counter top. Then we tried to pin it together with a toothpick. That did not work. So we tried a needle. That did not work. So we put more scientific minds to work:

Our resident mathematical genius Carly attempted to melt the candle back together.

To no avail.

Brad, however, used his stellar dental skills and some frosting to cement the candle together.

Hooray! Sweet success ...

Last semester ...

I think my last semester of law school will be quite interesting. So far, I like my classes. One problem: literally every one of my professors wrote the textbook we use for the class. This means they expect us to do things like read all of the notes that follow the cases. And remember them. This could be problematic for my life. Other than that I have no complaints.

And now, remember how this blog has become interactive and fun in 2010?! Well, you should. Because I now give you a matching game. Match the class with the excerpt from a case. For an added bonus, you can consider whether the court would still agree with its statement in the case ...

1. Family Law
2. First Amendment Law
3. Trademark and Unfair Competition Law

a. "Those who won our independence ... valued liberty both as an end and as a means. They believed liberty to be the secret of happiness and courage to be the secret of liberty. They believed ... that the greatest menace to freedom is an inert people. ... They knew the risks to which all human institutions are subject. But they knew that order cannot be secured merely through fear of punishment for its infraction; that it is hazardous to discourage thought, hope and imagination; that fear breeds repression; that repression breeds hate; that hate menaces stable government; that the path of safety lies in the opportunity to discuss freely supposed grievances and proposed remedies; and that the fitting remedy for evil counsels is good ones." ~ Whitney v. California, 1927

b. "In 1985, Cosmair, Inc., concluded that young women craved pink and blue hair. ... Apparently the teenagers of the late 1980s had better taste than Cosmair's marketing staff thought." ~ Zazu Designs v. L'Oreal, 1992

c. "Marriage is a coming together for better or for worse, hopefully enduring, and intimate to the degree of being sacred. It is an association that promotes a way of life, not causes; a harmony in living, not political faiths; a bilateral loyalty, not commercial or social projects. Yet it is an association for as noble a purpose as any involved in our prior decisions." ~ Griswold v. Connecticut, 1965

Why I am not a photographer ...

I think my blog should be more interactive in 2010. You know, less about me and more fun for you, my faithful readers. So, for example, today I am showing you why I should never be a photographer. Actually, why I should never be a photo editor, to be precise. But to see this, you should click on the picture to enlarge it. The clicking is the interactivity part. Yes, you get to see my face even larger, which perhaps subtracts from the less about me part of the plan, but just focus on my eyes. I tried to use the red-eye reduction tool. I do not think I should be trusted with this tool ever again. Thus endeth my career as a photo editor.

Anyway, happy 2010 to all. I am back in D.C., for my last (gasp) semester of law school. Blast. In other news, I think my London friends will be very excited to learn that I received a new yellow hat for Christmas. This means I can finally, finally retire the other yellow hat. They know the one. All too well, unfortunately ...