Hello, Canada!

Dear reader, you will find below the first entry in a…well I’m not sure how long it will be yet, but let’s just say…multi-series tale about my recent trip to Canada to visit a friend who lives in Edmonton aka central Canada. Although this is quite a jump in time and life since I last spoke to you – my last entry was written during my bar study period – I plan to write an update soon about the bar and what has been going on after very soon. In the meantime, here are some travel experiences I will share…

Early Friday morning on the last day of August (that sounds a bit more poetic than: on August 31, 2009 at 9 am) I left the comfort of my home in Portland, Oregon (well, Lake Oswego actually, but no one but a Portlander and the US Postal Service notices or cares about the difference, so we’ll just go with Portland) to visit my good friend Zenia whom I became close friends with while travelling to SE Asia two years ago. (For more on that trip, see my SE Asia blog: Adventures of a Bookworm Abroad.) Somehow we had let two entire years slip by without seeing each other, keeping in touch only through monthly phone calls and the internet. But finally, following the end of law school (a topic for another day) and taking the bar (also for another day), we were able to find some time for me to fly to Canada for a visit. So, ready for the long weekend and a long anticipated reunion, I headed off for the country we Americans often refer to as: “Oh yeah, Canada. I forgot it was up there.” (It’s often amusing to consider how your country thinks about surrounding nations. For instance, Canada is often a secondary thought to Americans and most of the time we consider it a non-entity, somehow not worthy of American concern or any real consideration. This probably has something to do with the lack of real military – after all, we would pay much more attention to Canadians if they were of a militant mindset – their stubborn retention of pseudo-colonial status – the Queen of England is still on most their money, has many of the roads named after her, and lawyers in Canada must take an oath to the Queen before being admitted to practice the law despite their continuous proclamations that they are independent from England – and the funny way they say the words “out” and “sorry”. Countries often have very disparaging views of surrounding nations.)

Zenia lives in central Canada, in Edmonton, which is in the Province of Alberta and directly above Montana if you need a US reference point. While I have visited Canada before on family vacations, my family and I have always stuck to the edges of Canada, visiting the coastal regions of Nova Scotia and British Columbia. Now, however, I was off to see something of the rest of Canada (well, relatively the rest as Canada is quite large and I was only going to visit two different cities in Alberta). The flight from Portland to Edmonton is not difficult and actually quite quick, but with a transfer in Seattle that takes just enough time such that the journey consumes most of one day what with having to be at the airport two hours early for international flights. Still, it was an easily accomplished journey.

Flying into Edmonton was quite an eye opener. I don’t know why I expected Canada differ in looks from the United States. There is just something about national boundaries that suggests the landscape and wildlife between two countries should be vastly different. But if you consulted a map that didn’t show the dividing line between the US and Canada you would see that those two countries actually comprise a single continent and flow seamlessly into one another and it is only our perceptions of them that split the area in two. Thus, flying into Edmonton I was treated with views of verdant gently rolling hills on the outskirts, a patch-worked landscape of farm land often dividing by meandering streams, creeks, and rivers not so different from what I was used to in the US. As we flew closer and closer to our destination the most telling difference I could see between the US and Canada is that Canadian landowners seem content to allow their water bodies to flow in any direction they so choose. When you see the US from the sky it is immediately noticeable that, except for the major rivers, all creeks and smaller water bodies are carefully regimented to flow in straight lines. No longer do US water ways flow in gently arcs and sharp curves, but rather they are forced to flow in straight lines at the edges of plots, trapped within the confines of ditches and culverts. Canadians have not followed this tradition and instead have built their properties around the naturally flowing streams, allowing them to cut and bisect their land into strange shapes and odd angles, often leaving a vividly green buffer between the stream and the start of the farmed land. It’s a beautiful picture, a gentle melding of nature and man’s use of the land.

We touched down in Canada and as this was my first port of entry into the country I was immediately shuffled off the plane and toward passport control. I can only assume after my experience there that I am an incredibly shifty character. I have always assumed that I have a trustworthy face, but clearly the Canadians do not agree. As I handed over my passport and my declaration card to the passport agent I underwent a close scrutiny and asked a barrage of questions:

Agent: Where are you from?

Me: Portland, Oregon.

Agent: Why are you visiting Canada?

Me: For pleasure.

*Long pause as Agent stares at me with a blank face*

Me (nervously): To visit a friend.(?)

Agent: Who?

Me: My friend, Zenia Toor.

Agent: How do you know this friend?

Me: We used to travel together in SE Asia.

Agent (more suspiciously): How long are you staying?

Me: Only 5 days.

Agent: Where are you going?

Me: To Edmonton and Banff for the weekend.

Agent: Have you been to Canada before?

Me: Yes, but only to the coastal regions so this is my first visit to central Cana…

Agent (now realizing he’s made me so nervous that I won’t stop talking until he lets me into the country): Fine. You can go. Next!

I’m not sure if the agent actually believed everything I said at the end of our conversation or if he just wanted to get rid of me at that point since I had clearly started on a long saga of my trip plans, but whatever the reason I had arrived in Canada and cleared the first hurdle. Having packed smart for this trip, I had no checked baggage and simply had to hand my now stamped declaration card to the folks at baggage inspection and I was ushered through a set of doors that said “Welcome to Edmonton” clearing the second and final hurdle into Canada in no time. I had arrived.

Zenia was there waiting for me and after a long hug and some giddy exclamations we were off. Our first point of destination was Zenia’s house, located a mere 30 minutes from the airport, just south of Edmonton. I was informed on the plane and upon arrival that summer really ended last week in Canada and I was coming during the no man’s land of in between summer and fall. This would make the weather somewhat unpredictable and it was entirely likely that it could go from pouring rain and freezing temperatures to sunny, warm weather in just a couple hours. Basically, the weather would be very similar to Portland. When I arrived, however, the weather was beautiful and Canada seemed to be welcoming me with open arms. We drove toward Edmonton and went to Zenia’s house which is located on the southern edge of the city in a suburb. Although I had heard a great deal about Zenia’s family and had even talked to them a time or two on the phone during our travels to SE Asia and in the two years since then, this was our first meeting. Her immediate family living at her house in Edmonton consists of her two parents and her grandmother. I was greeted with warm smiles and hugs all around upon arrival, but Zenia had plans to go out that couldn’t wait and I was quickly shuffled back out after placing my bag in my designated room.

We headed back out to the car and were off to the city, heading to an area known as White Ave, shorthand for the main street White Avenue, located near the University of Alberta where Zenia went to college. Evidently most Canadian kids tend to go to college in the same town in which they were raised, rarely venturing out to new parts of the country until graduate school or for travel if they ever leave their Province at all. This is quite a difference from what I was used to. In the US kids almost always go to a new city or even a new state upon leaving for college and it is incredibly rare (and somewhat frowned upon) to go to a college nearby unless it is a community college. And so, after a quick look at Zenia’s alma mater, we parked her car and headed to White Ave for dinner.

We ate at what can only be called a hipster bar. “Hipster” is a term that has been coined fairly recently and is somewhat difficult to describe although very easy to spot. Generally, a hipster is someone around 20-30 years old, who is decently well off, secretly uptight, pretends to be easy going, drinks a lot of beer, and wears a lot of plaid and skinny jeans. Just keep this term in your mind and even without knowing an exact definition, you’ll know a hipster when you see one. The restaurant, Sugar Bowl, was a great deal of fun and had excellent food. Being so closely located to a university it was naturally packed, but after only a short wait we were shown to a table. There can be no complaints about the foot in Canada. I have found that often Canadian restaurants offer a blend of cuisines, incorporating American food, various European foods, some Asian, and, occasionally, Mexican options on the menus. I’m not sure what Canadian’s consider to be purely “Canadian food,” beyond maple syrup of course, but often the local restaurants offered this blend. The Canadian’s do have one failing on the food front, however – like the Portlanders, the Canadians are obsessed with dairy and try to incorporate dairy into almost everything they make. At one restaurant during my trip…but that story is for another day. For now, we’ll leave it with a simple statement that Canada’s dairy love makes it very hard to have allergies in this country.

After eating a hefty meal it was quite late and after a long day of travel that had begun at 9 am in Portland and concluded at 5:30 pm on my arrival in Canada, I was tired and ready to head home. So back to Zenia’s home we went. Zenia and I did manage to stay up late, however, watching Bollywood movies in her basement, much to my delight. (If you have yet to experience the delight of Bollywood, you are seriously missing out and should spend some time rectifying this deficiency in your education as soon as possible.) While the first day of any trip is generally sparse on news as it usually involves a great deal of travel, it can also offer insight into how the rest of the trip will likely progress. In this case, my travels had been easy and smooth and so, with three and a half more days to go, I was sure to have a great deal of fun.

A Common Sense Guide to Alien Interaction

This is not a post to talk about the philosophical, religious, or physiological possibility of alien races. To be completely honest, I have no idea if aliens are out there, down here, or even in existence. Regardless of the answer to the question of whether or not they exist, I am a fan of the genre of film that involves aliens. Who can watch Men in Black (1, 2 or 3) without pure enjoyment? Who didn’t appreciate the more serious take on the alien question in War of the Worlds? And who didn’t simply love the comical approach to aliens in Galaxy Quest? (If you haven’t seen any of these movies, you are seriously behind and should seek help immediately in the form of your nearest movie rental store.)

No. What this post is really about is the utter and abject stupidity of people who go into space or remain on Earth, meet aliens, and then proceed to violate every rule of common sense that would tell you to act with extreme caution when meeting these extraterrestrials. Now, this point was really driven home to me when I went to see Prometheus last night. I am a huge fan of Alien and (the only sequel worth seeing) Aliens. They are amazing movies. Not just amazing science-fiction/alien movies, but also incredibly game changing for female lead protagonists in general as Sigourney Weaver stole the show and taught the world that women can kick butt all on their own (but that’s another diatribe). Back to the point at hand…when I went to the theater to see Prometheus I was understandably excited. I had been watching trailers for the film for what felt like a year (although I was mostly annoyed with those since they seemed to consist of random clips coupled with an off-putting, chest-aching, booming noise) and it was (impliedly) touted as a prequel to Alien. What I got was more than a little disappointing. Although the critics were right and it was a visually stunning film, that alone could not make up for the confusing story line, utter lack of logic by characters, and, the worst insult of all, the terminal stupidity and lack of common sense displayed by Every. Single. Person. “What was wrong with those people?” I asked myself as I left the theater. After puzzling over that question all night, I have finally arrived at the answer: they lacked a common sense guide to alien interaction. It wasn’t their fault! They simply didn’t know how to behave. Well, I don’t consider myself to be an expert in common sense, but I can only assume I have more than they did (I am, after all still alive and everyone in that film is dead), so I’m taking it upon myself to create a user friendly guide to alien interaction that will help all of you, dear readers, survive any possible future alien interaction that may come your way. Live long and prosper.

Step 1: Proceed with extreme caution

While it would be lovely to think every extraterrestrial out there is friendly and just looking for contact with other intelligent (or not so intelligent depending on your degree of cynicism toward the human race) beings, don’t assume that. Before we get to know these aliens we should approach with extreme caution. After all, our history alone shows that, generally speaking, residents don’t treat outsiders or newbies very well (does anyone remember being the new kid at school on the first day or the motto “kill first, ask questions later”?). Thus, if we’re going there, don’t assume you’re going to get a welcome reception. Likewise, if the aliens are arriving here, out-of-the-blue, on their spaceships, just remember that their suddenly showing up simply means they didn’t have the good manners to call first. Be wary of invasion. It’s entirely likely. [This is how Prometheus got started. A couple of idiots decided some cave paintings meant that alien “engineers” or creators of humans were wonderful, beneficial and loving beings just waiting for us to come visit. Why would you assume that?? Fools.]

Step 2: Be aware of your surroundings

The quickest way to die on an alien planet is to ignore your surroundings. Constantly remind yourself: “Hey. I’m not on Earth anymore. Maybe I should take some precautions and not assume that just because a storm couldn’t pop up that quickly on Earth that it can’t here either.” An “earth-like planet” does not Earth make. Remember it. Be aware at all times that things might work a little differently on this new planet. [In the film, two scientists get locked in an alien dome on an alien planet ‘cause they weren’t aware, got a little lost, and then got trapped by a raging storm outside. Let that be a lesson. The idiots deserved to die.]

Step 3: If you didn’t close that super secret, locked door, then don’t open it

Going hand-in-hand with being aware, you should also realize that if you didn’t lock that door and don’t know why it was locked, then you should leave it alone. Once again, why would you assume that anything good is hiding behind it? Unless the room has a label that says: Super Secret, Yet Totally Awesome and Benign Stuff Inside…Leave. It. Alone. Nothing good comes of opening that door. Don’t any of you watch movies? [In Prometheus, the scientists just had to open a locked door that had clearly decapitated an alien 2,000 years ago (the body was still on the floor partially rotted away yet without a head). Do you really think a decapitating doorway is going to lead to anything good?]

Step 4: Don’t try to touch the cute (or not so cute) little alien creature

This is common sense you should really use when dealing with aliens or more earth-bound creatures. If you don’t know what it is, don’t know if it’s friendly, or don’t know if it’s a carnivore/omnivore, then don’t touch it! There is no reason to stick your hand out to a strange alien creature and say, “Here, kitty-kitty.” More likely than not, you’ll soon be missing a hand. My advice? Keep a reasonable distance between you and the alien animal (or plant) life-form and, if you can, wear impenetrable body armor. [A supposed “biologist” in Prometheus somehow thought it was a great idea to hold out his hand to the odd snake/worm creature that opened up a hood similar to a cobra and started hissing at him. What did he think would happen and what University possibly gave him a degree in biology?? I only took one biology course in college, but even I know that was foolish.]

Step 4: When your shipmates start acting weird after exposure to an alien planet, take precautions and protect yourself

All for one and one for all was a great motto for the three Musketeers (side note: why were they the “Three Musketeers” if there were four of them?), but when you’re dealing with aliens and an alien planet, your motto should be a little more self serving. My personal favorite – I don’t have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun you. Sure, you’re not going to receive any awards for hero of the year and, yes, your shipmates who weren’t infected whom you left outside to die may hate you forever, but at least you’ll be alive to feel their condemnation. The alternative? A slow and agonizing death as either (a) aliens eat you alive, (b) you become infected with an alien virus and your skin bubbles and then falls off, or (c) an alien creature attaches itself to your face and “impregnates” you with its vile offspring. I think I’ll take the coward’s way out on that one. [Silly, silly Prometheus crew. If I were Charlize Theron, I would have lit that infected scientist on fire to keep him off my ship too.]

Step 5: Don’t continually insult the very nice, yet very creepy, humanoid robot about his lack of emotions and lack of humanity

While some human traits are lovely and make the world a better place – kindness, love, respect, consideration – other human traits are not quite as nice – anger, fear, hate, the seemingly unending need to destroy and snuff out everything we don’t agree with. Do you really want to take a chance that the humanoid robot hasn’t somehow developed human emotions in the meantime? Is it really worth it to taunt the robot that is, in all likelihood, stronger, smarter, more devious, and able/willing to kill you? I think not. Instead, it might be a good idea to be nice to the potentially psychotic robot and fix your own food and drink. And just to be safe, try to figure out where the robot’s off switch is located (we all remember what happened with Hal and the iRobot ‘bots, after all). [Before that horrible scientist was lit on fire by Ms. Theron, he spent a good portion of the movie insulting the robot on board the ship, David. I don’t think it came as any surprise that David chose that scientist to experiment infecting with the alien black goo found on the planet. Really, the guy was asking for it and while I don’t condone robots killing humans, I did give a little cheer inside that David took the initiative. And didn’t it show that maybe he had developed some human emotion after all since he chose to administer the goo in the guy’s drink after being insulted just one time too many?]

Step 6: Once you’ve realized the aliens here or there aren’t going to be your friends and probably want to kill you, leave before you make things worse

Nothing good can come of sticking around where you’re not wanted or where something bigger, stronger, and smarter is trying to kill you. Cut your losses and move on. After all, staying and making the aliens even more angry or waking the aliens up out of a stasis pod is just a really bad idea. They’ve already shown you can’t be friends. Don’t make things worse by making yourself seem needy, ‘cause their most likely reaction is to just kill the annoying little human gnat that won’t stop buzzing around their planet. If the aliens are here, things get a little more complicated. In that case, a full out war may be necessary or if you were really smart you would either (a) hide out in the rural country-side where aliens probably don’t want to go, (b) steal one of their ships and get the heck out of there, or (c) pray to whatever deity you believe in (just not the aliens, please, ‘cause at that point I don’t think praying to them would do any good) and hope for the best. [Somehow, after over 8 people were killed, it was clear the aliens were not of the friendly variety, plans had been uncovered to suggest the aliens wanted to go to Earth to destroy all of human-kind, and the main scientist Shaw had just had to undergo a truly horrific abortion procedure of a strange alien octopus baby in a weird surgery pod-thing (yes, that is the best description I can give), she thought it would be a good follow up idea to go down to the planet’s surface with the robot and a couple of others to wake up one of the alien creatures for a nice chat. Did she really think that was going to go well? Did she really think they were going to have a deep and meaningful conversation? And why did she still think they created humans for some benevolent reason? Her stupidity made me want to weep.]

Step 7: Pack enough supplies for the trip there and back and then pack a few extras

Nothing sucks worse than being trapped on an inhospitable alien planet without enough supplies. Prepare for every emergency and then pack a little extra. When visiting aliens and alien planets you really can’t afford to be skimpy. Don’t worry if it adds a little extra weight to your ship. Going a bit slower on the way there and the way back is preferable to slowly starving to death in the vast, cold reaches of space because you decided that one more crate of cup-o-noodle soups was just too much for the ship to hold. There is always room for more food and if not, just leave out a couple of those extra guys who seem to have no real function on the ship except as fodder for the slaughter. [In the end of Prometheus, Shaw, the last survivor, does the completely unthinkable and takes an alien ship and heads, not for home, but for the alien’s home planet ‘cause she just can’t wait to meet more of those aliens (somehow she seems to think that asking them why they want to obliterate us is vital to her understanding of the universe and her humanity; and, yes, she actually said that). And so she took off with absolutely no provisions whatsoever. I give her maybe three days before she dies. Should have taken extra supplies.]

Step 8: Don’t leave your weapons at home

I know we’re all hoping for peace with those aliens we’re going to see or who have come to see us, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. So keep your gun in your holster and ignore those idiot scientists who say that this is just an exploratory mission and weapons aren’t necessary. Weapons are always necessary. You wouldn’t go into the rain forest without something for self-defense and you wouldn’t go to an alien environment without a weapon either. So keep your weapons close and laugh when the scientists all die while holding nothing but their scanners. If they’re not going to take even basic precautions, they deserve it. You don’t have to shoot the aliens, but if you need to for protection, don’t you at least want the option? [Everyone but one woman and the robot died in Prometheus. I think you can guess how many of them followed this simple rule. Here’s a hint: none.]

Step 9: Write out your will before you go

If there’s one thing alien movies have taught us: you’re probably going to die. You are an inexperienced human going up against alien races that always either seem to be more technologically advanced or just have bigger teeth. Your odds of survival are slim. We shouldn’t sugar coat it. So write out your will and prepare for the worst. It’s really the only sensible thing to do. [The Prometheus crew thought it was going to meet some awesome, super-cool aliens. I’m pretty sure none of them wrote out wills. Fools.]

Well, that’s all to the guide for now. This will at least give you a good chance for surviving your alien interaction. The best tip I can give you, and one people always seem to forget: use your common sense. Humans have got an abundance, but somehow, when faced with aliens, seem to lose it all and start doing everything wrong. Don’t be like them! You are better than that and you can survive. Good luck. 

Guest Lectures (Online Bar Review)

My eyes are now closing,

I’m falling asleep.

Your speech is so boring,

I’m going to weep.

Please stand up and shout!

Wave your arms in the air,

Show animation,

Or I just won’t care.

You sit there and drone,

On and on without stop.

My patience is thinning,

Soon it will pop.

So goodbye to you, speaker.

Now I pull down my cap,

To cover my eyes,

And drift off to nap.

The Fear of Change

As many of you know, I have recently finished law school. In fact, I took my last exam of my school career last Thursday. Since that time I have been mostly relaxing, trying to enjoy my first taste of freedom since probably the age of 4 when I first started school. And I must say it’s been a tough transition. I’m sure most people would assume that I, or anyone in my situation, would be excited by the prospect of no more early morning classes, no more being called on in class when you’re unprepared, no more homework assignments that consume your weekends and any free time, and no more horrendous final exams, but over the past week and a half I have found that that simply isn’t the case. While I’ve enjoyed having free time to read pleasure books, go to movies on opening night (The Avengers is a must see for all and if you haven’t had the opportunity, go see Salmon Fishing in the Yemen and Jeff, Who Lives at Home too), and generally spend my time in the most lazy and unproductive manner possible, I’ve found it very hard to truly relax and instead have often felt a horrible sense of panic upon waking in the morning and at odd times throughout the day. At first I thought that the anxiety I was feeling was due to my fear of my final grades (I did take 5 finals in two weeks after all, quite the feat that didn’t leave a lot of time to study in between each final), but after a great deal of thought, I’ve realized that fear of grades is only part of the problem. A large portion of my anxiety is due to a fear of change. The ending of law school, which really represents the culmination of a school career spanning two decades, is a huge change for me. After all that time, I am now done with school. Finished. Kaput. It’s the end of an era and soon I will be expected to take the bar, find a job, and join the real world. That’s a scary thought. But really it’s simply a small piece of a bigger fear that we all feel at one time or another – the fear of change.

Change is a scary, scary thing. It represents the end of something that has become familiar, be it good or bad, and the unknown of the future. Who knows what is just around the corner and whether it will be better or worse than what we have now? How many times have you found yourself putting off something new, changing plans so that you don’t have to face the unknown, or simply staying in your comfort zone because it’s safe? I do all the time. Even in the little things in life, I tend to keep myself in a very small box. The staff at my favorite Mexican restaurant in Lake Oswego (Senor Taco – yum) now chants my order aloud with me as I place it when I come in and my friends at my beloved Thai restaurant (Thai Peacock – double yum) (and they really are my friends, we even chat about holiday plans we all have when I come in) take away my menu as soon as I sit down, knowing I don’t need it and only ask whether I want a side of rice that day along with my Pad See Ew tofu, no egg. I am a predictable person and I will be the first to admit: I don’t like change. Change is scary because you never know what is coming around the corner and everything that has given you comfort in the past is gone.

But what I’ve learned, and what I’m trying to embrace now as I get closer and closer to graduation, which is coming this Saturday, is that change can also be wonderful and should be embraced. Sure, you might be letting go of something great, but it might just be an act that makes way for something even better. I’m not saying we need to constantly make changes in our lives and that a little predictability is a bad thing (after all, I’m not going to be changing my order at Thai Peacock any time soon – Pad See Ew really is the best thing on the menu), but when change is staring you in the face or you have an opportunity to do something amazing, even if it is scary, don’t waste your time by worrying and stressing. Rather, try to embrace the change, embrace the fear, and open yourself up to the possibilities. I’ve done that in the past and it has brought me some of the best experiences of my life – I learned that I love hummus (I had always been afraid to eat hummus until recently for fear that everyone lied and it actually did have cream in it), I moved to Portland, Oregon, away from my family for the first time in my life, and I went to SE Asia all on my own and spent three incredible months exploring places I never thought I’d go and meeting people/making friends from all over the world. Some of those changes are small, some big, and some life altering and I wouldn’t forego a single one. And even though I know that at times some of the changes coming my way will seem bad, even then, given time, I truly believe it will lead to something good. After all, each experience we have changes us, shapes us, teaches us something, and, hopefully, makes us better versions of ourselves. So long as we embrace the change coming our way and try to look at it in the best light and with the best attitude possible, change can be our friend.

So, as I step forward into this next chapter, away from the comforting cycle of school, I’m going to try to take my own advice and embrace the change, shedding this pesky fear that dogs my steps. To the future I say: bring on the change.

Trapped at Work

I’m trapped here at work,

The walls closing in.

I’ll never escape here,

The light…it grows dim.

What did I do,

To deserve such a fate?

I look at the clock,

The hour now late.

“I’ll never be free!”

I scream round the room.

But no one looks up,

No one senses my doom.

I’m all alone in perdition,

My life at an end.

So goodbye, friends, loved ones,

My last moment now…[send]*.

*Sent in an e-mail.

Funny Cats

Recently I have seen a spate of hilarious cat related items on the internet and I thought this would be the perfect vehicle to share a couple with you. Here are my two favorite:

Emotional Psych-Out

I am an ogre. I am an ogre. I am an ogre.

This is the refrain that now runs through my head every time I look at my cat Ernest. Clearly, his plan of psychological warfare is working. Let me explain…

As you all know, Ernest has been something of a spineless, wimpy rabbit around me since he first came into my care a little over a week ago. Every time I enter the room, he goes into hiding. Every time I get too close to him, his breathing changes to a hoarse and rasping snort. Clearly, my very presence is trying his sanity and, potentially, his continued physical well-being. Signs of improvement have been seen, however. On Friday night Ernest flopped down on the floor in my living room on his side rather than posing in his usually belly-down crouch. (The belly down crouch is usually paired with a look of skepticism and deep distrust in my general direction.) He even went so far as to bathe in front of me. Progress, indeed. Then on Saturday, Ernest allowed me to give him a bath. (I say allow, but I’m not sure how much allowing there is when you’re talking about an 8 pound cat versus a 130 pound human.) In any case, he behaved very well. We got through the bath without a hitch and then I spent an hour blowing him dry (not a task I would really recommend as fur goes everywhere and cats really don’t like it). After he was fully dry, I spent an additional thirty minutes brushing him and scratching his head, which he seemed to truly enjoy before he ran off and hid from me. The next morning, there was more cause for celebration. Ernest came out of hiding while I was on my couch downstairs and walked (no slinking) around the living room, seemingly completely comfortable with my presence. After all this good behavior I was starting to feel pretty good about myself. Clearly, Ernest liked me. We were friends. Nay! We were best friends!

Then, the bomb dropped. Thinking we had made decided progress and were now on friendly terms, I walked up to Ernest, sat down next to him, put out my hand, and leaned in to scratch his head.

Ernest. Flipped. Out.

Gone was any hint of the passive, sweet kitty I had seen over the past two days. All that was left was a terrified little rabbit confronting a giant, horrendous ogre (me). Ernest looked up at my hand, past my hand to my face, leapt up into the air, twisted around like a pretzel, flung out his claws, scratched my hand (inadvertently, I think), and then scrambled away, darting from hiding place to hiding place in an effort to confuse the evil monster chasing him. This all happened in about 8 seconds.

I sat in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. I decided to give Ernest some time to calm down and not search for him immediately. An hour later though, with no sign of the little guy, I got up and went in search…and there he was, hiding behind the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. As soon as he saw me his breathing turned raspy and he cowered away as if I had just kicked him. I couldn’t believe it. How did we go from best friends to this in just 8 hours? Clearly, he just needed a break. I would try again in the morning.

This morning I woke up expecting to see Ernest out and about, back to where we had been Sunday morning. Instead, after walking downstairs and going in search once again, I found Ernest hiding beneath a side table next to a chair in my living room. Hiding. From me. Again. I couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Then I looked into his eyes and the answer floated into my brain (from Ernest, I am sure): You are an ogre. Go away, monster. I swear, that is what I heard. I left for class, determined to make up once I returned. Upon my return, however, Ernest decided my presence was so difficult he had to go back to hiding behind the toilet. Looking out at me, I heard once again: You are an ogre. Go away, monster. To my knowledge, he’s still behind the toilet, too scared of the monstrous beast living upstairs to come out into the open (or to even play with the new cat condo I just bought for him – yup, I’m so awful I bought him his own house).

What can we learn from this insane behavior? Ernest is waging a diabolical form of psychological warfare: Step 1: Be scared around the human; Step 2: Slowly warm up to the human so it starts to feel good; Step 3: Flip out around the human; Step 4: Use cat ESP to insert negative self-impressions into the human’s brain; Step 5: Take over the world. Clearly, Ernest is an evil genius. Emotionally psyching me out so he can take over the world. Clever kitty. But I will prevail. Stay tuned, dear readers, because I’m about to turn the tables on dear little Ernest.

[Echoing in my head: I am an ogre. I am an ogre. I am an ogre…] 

The Camper

No rain was then falling,

The forest was dry.

A sudden breeze soon blew up,

There was dust in my eye!

I had been starting a fire,

The match on its way

To the wood just below me,

But now I must say:

It jumped to the breeze,

Flew away in a flash.

And the fire was started,

Nothing left now but ash.

I lay here in jail,

Aware I did wrong,

Next time I’ll just sit there,

And freeze all night long.

Anonymous Fame

There is something wonderful about being anonymously famous – a sense of pride and self-importance that is created by the knowledge that you could be recognizable, even if you’re not. People are anonymously famous all the time: they have a picture posted on a website without a caption, they are mentioned in an article in the local county paper that no one will ever read, or they are honored at an awards ceremony that no one attends. All these things say, “Hey, you’re amazing. You’re a star. Look at you!” You instantly feel a boost and start to think a lot of yourself, even knowing that you’re not famous by any real standards. You know that the page mentioning or picturing you is out there to the masses (even if they are a very small mass) and that is enough. You are now famous, at least to yourself.

I have recently become a victim of just such anonymous fame in two ways.

First, my law school gave me a certificate for participating in a moot court competition. Last semester I joined one of the two National Appellate Moot Court teams for Lewis & Clark Law School. We went to the Regional competition in November, which my team won and then went to the National competition in January.* Really, we were amazing. But we were not the only moot court team at the school. It turns out there are somewhere around 10 different moot competitions of one kind or another (moot court, mock trial, moot negotiations, moot legislative writing, etc.) at Lewis & Clark and following the conclusion of them all the school holds a small reception for all participants. Yesterday was the reception. Each student who participated in one of these events was given a certificate, which serves no real purpose beyond stating that the student was a participant and team member. (Actually, you didn’t even have to be a team member. People who just facilitated these events got certificates too. Yup. All those people who simply scheduled rooms for us to use or acted as a bailiff were “honored” for their “participation” as well.) Now, I knew going into this event that it was fairly pointless and the only real reason I attended was because I wanted a little recognition of my teams’ achievement, which had been sorely lacking even though we were amazing (can you tell I’m still bitter?), but for some reason, when I was handed that certificate, a truly meaningless piece of paper, and looked out at the crowd (the crowd of other moot courters and a few faculty members who showed up for the free beer and wine, basically 35 people) I felt an enormous sense of pride. I was famous. I was a hero at Lewis & Clark. I was a goddess. Yes, I’m not ashamed to say that I went stark, raving mad. I had become anonymously famous. To my own mind I had suddenly grown to mythic proportions even knowing that no one outside of that room had heard of my accomplishments and that the people in the room really didn’t care.

The second instance of anonymous fame came just this morning in the form of an e-mail from my dear brother, Scott. Evidently, I am being featured in a magazine produced in Baja, Mexico – and by featured I mean there is a picture of me on one of the pages without a caption or any other indication of who the fisherwoman in the Tilly is.** But who cares?! I’m famous!!! Everyone can see my picture...in this one magazine…only available in Mexico…only produced in Baja… only if you can find it…and once you flip to page 31. Ok, maybe I’m anonymously famous. But regardless, I feel good about myself now and I feel like a super star. (Now even more so since I’ve shared my glory with all of you.)

So give it a try sometime. Become anonymously famous. I have no doubt that true fame would be a pain in the butt and not worth the hassle, but anonymous fame is something else altogether – all of the glory with none of the drawbacks. If you’re ever feeling down or just a little bit blue, become anonymously famous because anonymous fame is a beautiful thing.

*My silence on winning or losing the National Competition basically tells you the outcome.

**Click here: http://issuu.com/paradisemags/docs/paradise_magazine_5?mode=window&pageNumber=1 and go to page 31

Daily Interaction with My New Cat, Ernest

For those of you yet unaware, I have a new cat. He’s a six year old Persian (aka the flat faced breed) whom I affectionately call a red-head, but which breeders claim is a “flame point.” Basically, he’s adorable. He also is a complete and utter wimp. I suppose my view of catly behavior is somewhat skewed as for the past 15 years or so my primary cat interaction has been with feral barn cats who would shred your face as soon as look at you. But really, by any standards, Ernest is a wimp…a wuss…a rabbit. If there is a loud noise, Ernest is hiding. If there is a quick flash of movement, Ernest is hiding. If the sun is out, Ernest is hiding. I swear this cat is petrified of everything! I’m sure most of this fear is due to the fact that he was recently sold and has changed homes three times in the past month. First, he was sold from the breeders’ house where he lived his entire life with 5 other male cats and went on a car ride with my sister to her room in Los Angeles. After a week, my parents drove down to Southern CA to retrieve him where he spent the next week locked in a small room while loud noises and stomping footsteps terrorized his every waking moment, creating hourly panic attacks about what he could hear, but could not see. Finally, he took a trip on an airplane to my house, where he is stranded with a crazy, asthmatic, sneezing monstrosity who insists on petting him every night and shoving treats he doesn’t want under his nose. (That monstrosity is me, by the way.) So, his life has been in extreme turmoil. Thinking it over now, I guess it’s really not surprising that he often stuffs himself into random corners or behind my fridge whenever I am in the room. But, I will say, he is getting better and hiding a little less when I am awake/around. Here is an example of our daily interaction.

8:00 am – I open my door to find Ernest lying down somewhere in the short hallway outside my bedroom door. He’s not allowed in my room (I need at least one cat free zone in deference to my poor nose and lungs), but he really likes sleeping/hanging out in that hallway at night. I have a number of theories about this behavior: (1) he is afraid of the dark and therefore doesn’t like to be alone downstairs at night and the last light on in the house at night is my bedside lamp in my room, which he can see under the door; (2) he likes the smallness of the hallway outside my room because it makes him feel safe; (3) he is waiting for the proper moment to attack and kill me and has decided he will have the most success first thing in the morning when I am least awake and aware, therefore, he lies in wait outside my room.

8:03 am – after three minutes of staring at each other during which time Ernest’s breathing gets increasingly raspy and panicky due to my presence, I walk past him on my way downstairs. His eyes following my every step.

11:45 am – I come back home following class and the gym and glance around the house for Ernest. He’s nowhere in sight. So begins my hunt for my new kitty. Without calling out or announcing my presence in any way, I tiptoe around the lower level of my house, looking in every corner and crack where he could squeeze his small body. Nothing. Next, I head upstairs and, sure enough, there he is…still lying outside of my room in that hallway. Since I left, he’s only moved from lying in front of my guest bathroom door to my guest bedroom door. With a sigh, I look at him. He looks at me. The sound of his panicked breathing steadily increases. I walk past him into my room after saying hello.

4:05 pm – I walk past Ernest in my hallway again as I leave once again for school. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence beyond watching me with his enormous eyes.

9:47 pm – I arrive home and once again make the rounds looking for Ernest, but this time I start with the hallway upstairs and my search is cut short because that is where he is hiding. I walk back downstairs and grab his brush and return to spend some time with my kitty. As he watches me, rasping in breaths, I sit down on the top stair, speak in a low, crooning voice and begin to brush him with one hand while scratching his head with the other. Slowly, Ernest relaxes under my attention. His breathing calms and he closes his eyes as we enjoy a quiet moment together. I stay with him for at least twenty minutes. For the rest of the night his breathing remains regular whenever I pass him on my way up and down the stairs.

11:35 pm – While lying in bed in my room I can hear Ernest coming up the stairs after a visit down to his litterbox, water and food. (His breathing really is quite noticeable.) I hear him settle down in the hallway and after about 10 minutes I hear a gentle snoring noise. Yup. My new kitty snores. Like a little chain saw. After four days or so, Ernest has adapted to my routine and knows I won’t be coming out again that night and so feels comfortable enough to go to sleep. I fall asleep with the knowledge that the suspicion will begin again tomorrow, but he’ll be a little more comfortable and a little more at ease. Maybe tomorrow he’ll even come downstairs while I’m down there. Who knows? 

A Laugh about the Law

For the past several days I have been studying for the MPRE – the ethics exam every lawyer must pass before being admitted to the Bar (assuming they pass the Bar exam as well, of course). As part of my Barbri Review Course, I am entitled to free video lectures on various Bar and MPRE topics. So, I have spent the majority of my day watching the MPRE lecture. As I’m sure many of you would in my place, I began watching with a great deal of skepticism and anticipation of boredom, however, I soon found myself riveted as the lecturer proved highly entertaining. Here are some highlights from the video:

"What's the worst thing we can do to you? Put you to death."

"The dean has to sign off on all of you. So best thing you can hope for: get through law school without the dean knowing who you are."

"Dear Bar. This lawyer is a dirtbag. Signed, the Lone Ranger of Ethical Justice!"

"It's always the right answer. Rat on your friends, squeal like a pig, turn your friends in."

"If you have someone as your client and then start to sleep with them, you're required to pull out. Wait. That doesn't sound good. Withdraw...no. There's really nothing that will work there."

"Potential Situation: Client - 'Who's that mad dog on the other side?' Lawyer - 'That's my mom, isn't she great?!'"

"Let's say the other party is unrepresented. Or to put it in plain language: they're crazy. 'Cause that's who these people are. They're crazy people."...[Gives a hypo]..."The point is, they're crazy."

"Soon to be an HBO movie. No one plays me. But Helen Mirren plays my friend."

"Prosecutor to a juror on a former case: 'Hi Mrs. Jones. I was the prosecutor in that case you were a juror on where you let that murderer go. I just wanted to say…I hope you're next.' Yeah. You can't do that."

"You got something by mistake? Notify the sender. That’s it. What else can you do? Promise to unread it?"

"In Michigan you need a separate account if the money earns $50 of interest a year. Which would be $47 million. [Long Pause] That was a joke. 'Cause interest rates are so low. But it's probably not far off. Ok. Moving on."

"It's not just money a client can give you for safekeeping, it could be things. A client walks into your office and throws a diamond on your desk and says, 'I'll be back to talk about that later.'"

[Discussing Availability Retainers] "Client comes in and says, 'I think I'm going to be indicted soon and I want you to be available.' You say, 'Ok, Mayor.'"

[Tells a story of a lawyer with a client who changes his will weekly. The final will left all the money to the lawyer - against the rules to draft such a will - but lawyer wasn't worried about it since the client would change it again in a week. Client dies.] "The lawyer came before us crying. Had never done anything wrong, didn't even want the stuff! And did we have a heart? No. We took his license so fast. No. I kid. But he did get in trouble."

"You must be fluent. If all you know of Spanish is ‘hola, amigo,’ no. You gotta be fluent."

"Reminder. Our standard: if an idiot could understand it, it's good enough for us."

"Cannot imply results by improper means. 'I was a clerk for Justice Ginsberg. She owes me one.' 'My mommy sits on the state supreme court.' 'We are a medical malpractice firm; all our lawyers are juris doctors.' That's true, but an idiot might think you're really a doctor. You're misleading an idiot. Don't do that."

"Can you live chat and say: 'Hi. CIRY.' That's: Can I Represent You? See. I know the tech. I'm cool. I use the google."

"'Dear Sally. You complete me.' Not on judicial letterhead. 'Dear Bob. I wish I knew how to quit you.' Not on judicial letterhead. 'Dear Warden. You're getting my son.' Not on judicial letterhead. You might say justices aren't that stupid. I had a case. They can write a letter of recommendation. Which is great ‘cause who’d want to clerk for a judge without that."

"Judges are judges, not Columbo. They can't investigate. Does that reference still work?"

"The judge can't say: 'I just eat lunch. I didn't even notice I was surrounded by a bunch of white guys.'"

"You can't say: 'Thank you, judge, for your services. Here's $50,000 worth of gold just for you.' whenever you appear before him."

Rain & Oregonians

I’ve already told you a little about the relationship between Oregonians and the rain – namely that it makes their already questionable driving even more ridiculous – but the relationship between these two entities is even stranger than that and I can assure you, the strangeness is all on the part of the Oregonians.

1. “Oh, look. It’s raining outside. I’ll put on some flip flops.” I’m sure this quirk of Oregonian behavior has something to do with the fact that Oregonians have so little time in the year in which to wear flip flops, but this logic still doesn’t quite account for wearing flip flops in the rain in my book. No matter what the weather, you can spot at least a few Oregonians walking down the street in flip flops. Sure it might be pouring rain and only 34 degrees, but evidently, that’s no reason to wear warm shoes. I habitually see these people out and about and my feet get cold and sad just seeing theirs. Want to fit in in Oregon? Buy a pair of flip flops and wear them all year long.

2. Welcome to Oregon*. I don’t know about you, but I love umbrellas. Whoever invented the umbrella deserves a medal. They help you stay dry, can be a lovely and attractive accoutrement to any outfit, and they serve as a vehicle for Mary Poppins. Really, everyone should use an umbrella. Oregonians, however, have not yet gotten that memo. In fact, they refuse to use umbrellas at all and take an inordinate amount of pride in that fact. Personally, I don’t understand what is so wonderful about getting soaking wet by walking around in the rain without an umbrella and, often for Oregonians, without a hood, but to be a true Oregonian, when walking in the rain, hold your head up high and prepare to get wet ‘cause umbrellas aren’t welcome here. For myself, I think I’ll retain my California ways and stay dry with my umbrella.

*Umbrellas not allowed.

Morning Class

I’m up way too early,

Awake now at dawn.

The sun’s just come up,

I stifle a yawn.

Make up my bed,

Crawl to the shower,

Then grab my school bag,

Give the morning a glower.

I drive to the school,

“Ready” to go.

Ethics this morning,

I don’t care to know.

Suffer through it I will,

What else can I do?

Prof. calls out my name,

I glance up: “Say who??”

Now it’s all up to me,

What shall I say?

Fumble through it and then

I’m done for the day!*

*Oh wait. I have class later too.

Advice for Driving in Oregon

One of the best pieces of advice that can be given to any driver, be they new drivers or old, is patience. When you get behind the wheel of your vehicle, try to infuse your being with as much patience as possible, because it’s guaranteed to be fully used up by the time you get to where you’re going. Especially if you live in Oregon.

Oregon is filled with ridiculous drivers. Should you ever choose to drive in this state, here is some advice that will serve you well.

1. Think like the tortoise ‘cause you’ll never be the hare. Drivers are slow – if the speed limit is posted at 55 mph (and it is on all major highways and freeways for some reason), then drivers are going 55 mph. Drivers in Oregon have yet to realize two very pertinent pieces of information: (1) Some of us have places to go and people to see and 55 mph just isn’t cutting it, and (2) Cops really aren’t going to pull you over if you’re a mere 4 miles over the speed limit. But, as it seems unlikely Oregon drivers are going to get that memo anytime soon, accept that you are going to be forced to drive at a ridiculously slow speed. Think like the tortoise.

2. During the months of September and October, be prepared for even slower driving. This is the time when summer ends in Oregon and the rains that we *ahem* enjoy *ahem* for 9 months or more once again begin. Now, most non-Oregonians would assume that having had a mere 3 months of clear weather, Oregon drivers would not have forgotten how to drive in the rain. Having dealt with this strange breed for three years now, however, I can tell you that is not the case – they have forgotten and they are scared. That is the only possible explanation for what happens during the first month of the rainy season. As soon as that first drop hits the ground, every driver in Oregon slows down an additional 10-15 mph. Suddenly the roads are full of creeping vehicles. Instead of the usual 40 mph down Boones Ferry Road in Lake Oswego (the main road which I drive and which can easily be driven at 55 mph – not that I have ever driven it that fast), cars are traveling at 30 mph where the road is straight and slowing down to 20 mph around curves. Ridiculous, but true. My advice, be prepared for delays and wait until December, when the rainy season has fully set in and Oregonians have remembered that, yes, they can drive the speed limit even in the rain.

3. If it’s snowing outside, just stay in. Really. You don’t want to even ask. If Oregonians slow down that much in the rain, just imagine how they drive in the snow. It will save your sanity if you just stay inside as soon as the first flake of snow comes down. Trust me.

4. Drive a fun little sports car ‘cause the roads here are a full time obstacle course. The roads in Oregon abound with manhole covers. I’m not sure what it is about this state, but for some reason Oregon roads have millions of manhole covers – easily a dozen on a single city block. I often wonder where these manhole covers could possibly lead. Are there really that many tunnels, pipes, etc. under our roads? Where exactly can they all lead? And why are so many of them set so low in the street that there is a good 5 inch drop from the road height to the manhole cover? These are questions that will never be answered, but that trouble anyone driving in Oregon. The only way to survive without going crazy at the constant bumps and bangs? Treat driving in Oregon like driving on an obstacle course. Dodge and weave around the manholes as best you can and soon you’ll be proficient as an obstacle course driver. There can’t be any better training around.

5. Workers ahead. Be prepared to stop. Oregon is a land of unemployed individuals (including yours truly at the moment). When I first moved here in 2009 Oregon had the second highest unemployment rate in the US and while I’m not sure if that statistic holds true today, I can’t imagine it’s gotten much better in the meantime. When you first drive into Oregon from any of the surrounding states, you’ll begin to notice a sign on all the major roads – “ODOT – Putting Oregon Back to Work.” Unless you’re here during the 3 months of sun we enjoy from June – August you probably won’t have any idea what this means, but if you manage to visit Oregon during it’s summer (sunny) months, you’ll constantly be slowing down, starting and stopping, or just sitting, while road construction halts traffic every 500 feet or so. That’s right. Oregon’s response to unemployment is (1) make it mandatory that gas station attendants pump your gas (a wonderful service since I no longer have to pump gas in the rain) and (2) put Oregonian’s to work doing road construction (this might explain the plethora of manhole covers actually). So when you’re in Oregon remember: Workers ahead. Be prepared to stop.

Sit Down Now

There’s nothing left to say.

You’ve really said it all.

I wish you’d just sit down now,

Before I climb the wall.

You’ve been droning for a while,

Nattering on and on and on.

People are up and leaving,

Your audience is now all gone.

I see the panic in your eyes.

“I must use up my time!”

Don’t think that way, instead just say:

“I’m done and that’s just fine.”

Brainless & Witless

Today I sat all day in class listening to my teacher speak.

Trying to take the info in made my brain quite weak.

Suddenly, it rebelled! Said: “I’m done. That’s it. I quit.”

There was nothing I could do, for my brain contains my wits.

It wandered off away from me. Ran right away, I say!

And now I just don’t know how I’ll make it through my day.  

The Phenomenon of Free Food

I’m not sure if it’s just me, but there is something magical about free food. Somehow, when food is free, it tastes infinitely better than when you have to pay for it. Let me explain…

In school (law school particularly, it would seem) you are inundated with free food. Due to the crazy scheduling of classes throughout the day, the only free time guaranteed to all is the lunch hour from 12 to 1 when no classes occur. So any group meetings or talks on campus are usually scheduled during that time. While there are some people on campus (red hots – those students who are insane about school, going so far as to read random cases during their spare time and read books about the law every night before bed, presumably so they can dream about the law as well) who simply attend these talks and discussions for the heck of it, the vast majority of us need some further draw to convince us to waste our precious free hour on even more law related matters. Some brilliant individual found the perfect lure and now everyone else has picked it up – food. Bring the food and we will come.

On any given day around campus you can find a free lunch in at least two different classrooms for the simple price of sitting and looking interested in what the speaker is saying. Want a Chinese buffet? Attend The Federalist Society monthly meeting. Fancy a little pizza (although you better watch out, since it’s most likely vegan at Lewis & Clark)? Come to the Westlaw presentation. And Subway is always provided at a LexisNexis event. There is a free lunch somewhere; you’ve just got to find it.

But on to the phenomenon of the free food…

I first noticed that free food tastes better when I attended an International Law Society meeting on campus during one lunch period. The offering that day was Baja Fresh, a Mexican food buffet of tacos, burritos, rice, beans, chips and salsa. Having never eaten Baja Fresh, but being a true lover of Mexican food, I decided to attend. And it was magical. Somehow, chips had never been so crisp, beans had never tasted quite so good, and the tacos were scrumptious. I was a convert. Baja Fresh was my new best friend. And to cement our friendship, I ate enough of the buffet for three people. (Picture me returning to the buffet line over and over again to pile even more chips on my plate and to grab “just one more taco.”) Since I couldn’t rely on getting free Baja Fresh every day (probably just once a week since groups switch up what they offer) I found a Baja Fresh near my house and decided to go get some tacos. Well, it was a disaster. The food was horrible! The chips didn’t have enough salt, the tacos were uninspired, and the beans were a bit soupy. “Strange, but,” I consoled myself, “it was probably just this Baja Fresh. I’m sure if I went to a different Baja Fresh, it would be better.” So a few days later, I was off again, this time sure I was going to the Baja location where the law school had ordered the food. This would be the place. It probably was, but the same thing happened again. I hated it. Clearly Baja Fresh was not my friend and the law school event had been the fluke.

Naturally, following this huge disappointment, I avoided Baja Fresh during my free lunch ramblings, but before long I found myself facing another Baja Fresh buffet line at the insistence of a friend that this is where we needed to be for lunch that day. Unenthusiastically, I filled up my plate. I sat down, dreading the first bite…*crunch*. Wait. That chip was amazing. Perfectly salty and crisp. I took a bite of beans. Yum! No soup here, just wonderful black beans. And the taco? Perfection. “What is going on here?” I asked myself, “How can this be?” I went back for seconds. I ate until I was sick and it was magnificent. Something was going on. “Is there something special about eating it at school?” No, that can’t be the case since I actually prefer not eating at school. It must be something else. And then it dawned on me – the difference between this food and going to Baja Fresh was that here, it was free. I didn’t have to pay for it, I didn’t have to worry about not getting enough or getting too much, I didn’t have to worry about paying for more chips! No, at school, it was all free and all mine. That was it! The magic of the food was that it was free.

To test this hypothesis I began to attend other lunches, eating a wide variety of foods to see if they tasted better because they were free. And yes, the hypothesis held true – the greasy Chinese tasted fantastic even though I hate overly greasy Chinese food, the pizza was scrumptious even though vegan pizza is disgusting (this has been proven the world over and holds true for anyone with actual tastebuds), and the Subway was great even though it was a ham sandwich and I hate Subway ham sandwiches. It was clear. The fact that it was free somehow transformed this food (or at least my perception of it) into something delicious. There was magic in the freeness. Free food inherently tastes better than when you pay for it.

What can we learn from this knowledge, you ask? When you have an opportunity to get some free food, snatch it up, because that food will never taste quite so good again.

The Mustache

There it is.

It’s on your face.

Can’t you see it?

It’s out of place!

You’re so very young,

Yet appear so old.

Are you sure you like it?

It looks like mold.

You give some reasons

Why it’s great:

It saves my lip from

A cold, cold fate.

It looks distinguished,

It looks so cool!

To that I say:

More like a fool.

So shave it off!

Mow it down,

‘Cause your mustache,

Looks like a clowns.

I wrote this during class when I noticed the young kid next to me sporting a ridiculous looking mustache. Why do 25 year olds feel the need to have a mustache? We need to nip that trend in the bud.

Google Makes Me Sad

The homepage on my laptop is currently set to google.com. When setting up my homepage it seemed like the most logical choice. After all, very often I log on to the internet to search for something. I thought to myself, “Hey, this will cut down on time wasted hitting the button for google on my taskbar. 12 seconds saved every time. Excellent.” After nearly 2 years with this as my homepage I can safely say: I’ve made a huge mistake. Why, you ask? It’s very simple: google makes me sad.

Google is undeniably an ingenious tool. Able to use your search terminology to link you to millions of websites, sorted by assumed relevancy, google puts the entire realm of the internet neatly at your fingertips. Want to know how much the average elephant weighs? Google has the answer! Wondering where you should vacation at this time of year? Here are some suggestions and even some handy links to hotels, car rental companies, and a list of things to do there. Want to post your intimate or not so intimate thoughts online for everyone to read? Google has the blog site for you!

Google’s tagline may as well be: you’re only limited by your own imagination. Well, thanks, google. You’ve opened my eyes to the fact that I have no imagination. Thanks a lot.

To fully understand the problem, I must describe my average google interaction…

Google.com sits on my computer screen. I stare.

I’ve gone through my normal internet interactions – checked email, scanned the usual sites – and am now at a loss. I should search for something.

I sit. I stare.

Now, let’s not kid ourselves here. Google is staring back. Ever wonder why it is called google? I’m sure there is some nifty explanation google creators can offer you (hmm…there may be something to google there), but I know the truth. The double “o”s are eyes, looking out at me, daring me to enter something clever, something to stump the beast.

We sit. We stare.

Suddenly, I hear google in my mind: “Nothing to search for yet? You’re only limited by your own imagination. I can find anything. I can take you anywhere. There are no limits to my ingenuity. Can you say the same? Search for something. Go on. It can’t be that hard to think of a search topic.”

I gape at the screen.

It’s true! I am the weak link in this relationship. What can I search for? What do I want to know? It shouldn’t be something too stupid – the beast will mock me. It can’t be something too broad – google will simply flood me with information and sites to show me my errors in search methodology. What can I do??

Google smirks.

I can’t think of anything to search for. I can’t think of anything to enter. Finally, I just start typing. I pick a word, any word: marzipan.

Google starts typing with me. It’s thinking faster than I am! It’s providing ideas. The beast knows it has me beat, that I don’t really know what I’m searching for or what I’m doing and it is now showing me up by providing possible expansions to my sham search. I cannot win. Google has more imagination than I do. I quickly delete everything. I can’t let it win.

Google stares. My heart races, my fingers hover over the keyboard, my mind races for a search topic – any topic.

Nothing. Still nothing.

My hand leaves the keyboard and moves to the mouse. I have only one move left. I close my web browser.

I breathe a sigh of relief. The battle is over. I'll call it a draw (I did, after all, close the program - shutting down the beast for at least a time, that has to count as a draw), but I'm sadder now than I was before. Google has reminded me again that I have less imagination than I had thought.

And there you have it. Each day I open my computer and face this unending battle with the great google beast. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose, and the war rages on. There in a nutshell, is why google makes me sad.