Oh joy! Another reason why women can't control their own bodies and destinies: cute cartoons. Here is Umbert. Um...he's not born yet but has full cognition and a message to those selfish, irresponsible women who get preggers and don't want to be a mother: You owe me.
http://www.umberttheunborn.com/
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Morning
It's 8:16 AM. I have already travelled forty minutes to school, had breakfast, checked my emails and all my favorite websites, studied fixtures in Property Law, read the Law and Equity Act and am now reviewing my Contracts Law. This is just for the record, so in future lazier days I can note how much I got done before 9 AM when I was committed to a cause, dammit.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Weekend is officially over
...and my next few days are literally jammed to the minute. How did this happen? I spent the weekend at the library and was there again all day today. The hours literally melt away without me getting all I wanted done. Only another month or so until mid-terms and I need to focus, get my papers written, study, outline. And, of course, spent time with my husband and see my sister graduate. Oooh, note to self: graduation ceremonies are long: bring some work in purse.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
On What it Means to be "Masculine" in Today's Culture
This article is a disturbing look at the male culture of dominance. I have seen this played out many times, especially when alcohol is present but even when it is not. I often leave these encounters feeling helpless and enraged. Going forward, I don't know what my personal solution will be but perhaps mothers who speak more vocally to their sons about social roles will help future generaltions.
Where We Are Stuck
The Quagmire of Masculinity
By ROBERT JENSEN
Act I
I am having dinner on a Thursday night in a restaurant in New York's Greenwich Village with two friends I'm working with on a documentary on pornography. We've had a long day and are happy to unwind. Near the end of our meal, I'm increasingly aware of the rising volume from a nearby table, where three college-age men and a woman are talking and laughing just a bit too loudly. As it becomes harder to shut out their conversation, it becomes clear that much of the talk is about sex. The alpha male of the group (who is the boyfriend of the woman) is holding forth to the other two men about how to maneuver women into bed, including tips on the use of alcohol and a little bit of force when necessary.
As my friends and I get up to leave, I catch the eye of the woman, inquiring silently whether her situation would be improved if we stopped by the table and said something to the men. I read, or more likely misread, her expression as an invitation to do so. I trail behind my friends and stop at the table, trying to suggest -- in light-hearted fashion that isn't too confrontational -- that their conversation was not only inappropriate in a public place but unacceptable anywhere. The men don't take the critique well, and the discussion heats up a bit.
Finally, the alpha male makes a move to settle things by going for what he presumes to be the ultimate insult: "All I know," he says, smirking, "is that I'm going home with her (pointing to his girlfriend) and you're leaving with two guys."
Check.
I respond: "Please don't take this personally, but I just don't find you sexually attractive. I'm sure there will be a man who someday will, but it's just not happening for me."
Checkmate.
He accuses me of being gay. I accept the label and respond by telling him that, as a gay man, I can see into him and recognize him as gay as well. Not a smart move on my part, it turns out.
I quickly realize that things aren't likely to end happily, and I make my way to the door. One of his buddies follows me and, just as I'm leaving, says, "It's time for you to get the hell out of here." My hand is on the first of two exit doors, pushing it open. I say to him, "Where does it look like I'm going?" He grabs me and reiterates the command to leave. I reflexively push back. "Listen son," I start to say, reacting like an old guy to the 25 years between us. He's bigger than me but drunk. As I push back, he starts to fall. I head for the second door just about the time my friends have come back to pull me out if necessary. As I'm walking on the sidewalk outside, the other two young men have joined their friend in the doorway, cursing me with instructions not to come back, advice I fully intend to take. My friends hustle me away, walking quickly to get clear of the place just in case the men decide to follow. One of my friends, Robert Wosnitzer, explains that he grew up around guys like that. "Those are the kind of guys who carry baseball bats in the trunks of their cars," he says. "You have to be careful. They like this. They like to fight."
Once we're out of range, Robert and Miguel Picker turn to me and, appropriately, explain why I had better not pull such a stunt again. They count the four stupid men in that encounter: The alpha male, his two buddies, and me. They are right, of course. The fact that I wasn't as crude and violent as the other three hardly absolves me. I had taken an unnecessary risk, putting others in a situation where they may have had to fight or be hurt, and I had done it out of the same macho posturing. Once engaged, I refused to back down, even though there was nothing positive that could come of the encounter and a real risk.
Act II
The next day I fly to an academic conference. I am still somewhat shaken by the previous night, not so much by the potential for violence (though I'm not a particularly physically courageous person) but by my own misjudgment and the lessons in that for me. It's not what I learned about the world the previous night that upset me, but what I learned about myself.
So, I'm looking forward to a low-key interaction with other academics, who are usually pretty harmless. At the end of that evening I'm in the hotel bar with one female and two male professors. We all seem to be of similar intellectual and political leanings, and the conversation finds its way to contemporary progressive political movements, especially the antiwar movement. I offer an analysis of the state of organizing in the United States, which one of the men takes issue with. I respond to his critique, and all of a sudden the conversation kicks into overdrive. He comes back to my points even harder, getting visibly upset. He turns the discussion from an argument about issues to an attack on me, suggesting that I lacked his experience and knowledge (he's about a decade older).
With the previous night's conflict on my mind, I back off a bit, responding to his arguments but trying to lower the intensity; I am not in the mood for a fight, even verbally. He presses forward even more forcefully. At this point, the other two people at the table are visibly uncomfortable. I move to end the conversation, suggesting that some of our disagreements couldn't be resolved, that we were both arguing based on our hunches about complex processes, and that perhaps there was no point in pushing it. At this point, I don't care about winning the argument and want to end an exchange that is uncomfortable to the others for no good reason -- no baseball bats are going to come out in this encounter, but no one is learning anything from this. He pushes one more time, implicitly demanding that I surrender to his greater knowledge and insight. One of the others finds it intolerable and leaves, and the tension finally dissipates. The conversation returns to a lower level, but it's impossible to go back, and we quickly go our separate ways.
Act III
Sunday morning I'm on a plane heading home. Across the aisle from me is a man most easily described as a stereotypical computer nerd, in appearance and activity. He opens his laptop once we hit our cruising altitude and is buried in it the rest of the flight until the female flight attendant comes by during our descent to remind him to turn off his electronic device which might interfere with the plane's navigational equipment. He ignores the first warning. She comes by again with a polite second warning, which he also ignores. Finally, it's three strikes and he's out. She stands over him and explains -- politely, but with an edge in her voice that says "enough screwing around, buddy" -- that he must shut off the computer. I'm chuckling at the scene, until I see that he's angry. After the experience of the past couple of days, I'm not eager to be in the middle of another public expression of male dominance.
He looks up at her, his facial muscles tightening, appearing ready to tell her off, but he wisely holds his tongue. She holds her ground, and he finally backs off and powers down the laptop. Once she's convinced he's turned it off, she moves on. He sits, quiet but clearly struggling to control his rage. When she is out of hearing range, he looks over at me and, just loud enough for me but no one else to hear, mutters, "Bitch." A trace of a smile comes to his lips, and he turns away from me before I can respond. In his mind, he has won. A woman had been in a position of some small authority over him and had forced him to obey her command. But, in the end, she's just a bitch, and he's still a man.
Masculinity in three acts: Attempts at dominance through (1) force and humiliation, (2) words and argument, and (3) raw insults. Three episodes about the ways masculinity does men in, neatly played out during one long weekend. By the time I get home, I am tired. I am sad. It feels like there are few ways out.
But there is, of course, a way out. It's called feminism. It offers men a way to understand the nature of this toxic conception of who we are.
Feminism is a gift to men, if we are smart enough to accept it.
This essay is excerpted from Robert Jensen's new book, Getting Off: Pornography and the End of Masculinity, published by South End Press.
Where We Are Stuck
The Quagmire of Masculinity
By ROBERT JENSEN
Act I
I am having dinner on a Thursday night in a restaurant in New York's Greenwich Village with two friends I'm working with on a documentary on pornography. We've had a long day and are happy to unwind. Near the end of our meal, I'm increasingly aware of the rising volume from a nearby table, where three college-age men and a woman are talking and laughing just a bit too loudly. As it becomes harder to shut out their conversation, it becomes clear that much of the talk is about sex. The alpha male of the group (who is the boyfriend of the woman) is holding forth to the other two men about how to maneuver women into bed, including tips on the use of alcohol and a little bit of force when necessary.
As my friends and I get up to leave, I catch the eye of the woman, inquiring silently whether her situation would be improved if we stopped by the table and said something to the men. I read, or more likely misread, her expression as an invitation to do so. I trail behind my friends and stop at the table, trying to suggest -- in light-hearted fashion that isn't too confrontational -- that their conversation was not only inappropriate in a public place but unacceptable anywhere. The men don't take the critique well, and the discussion heats up a bit.
Finally, the alpha male makes a move to settle things by going for what he presumes to be the ultimate insult: "All I know," he says, smirking, "is that I'm going home with her (pointing to his girlfriend) and you're leaving with two guys."
Check.
I respond: "Please don't take this personally, but I just don't find you sexually attractive. I'm sure there will be a man who someday will, but it's just not happening for me."
Checkmate.
He accuses me of being gay. I accept the label and respond by telling him that, as a gay man, I can see into him and recognize him as gay as well. Not a smart move on my part, it turns out.
I quickly realize that things aren't likely to end happily, and I make my way to the door. One of his buddies follows me and, just as I'm leaving, says, "It's time for you to get the hell out of here." My hand is on the first of two exit doors, pushing it open. I say to him, "Where does it look like I'm going?" He grabs me and reiterates the command to leave. I reflexively push back. "Listen son," I start to say, reacting like an old guy to the 25 years between us. He's bigger than me but drunk. As I push back, he starts to fall. I head for the second door just about the time my friends have come back to pull me out if necessary. As I'm walking on the sidewalk outside, the other two young men have joined their friend in the doorway, cursing me with instructions not to come back, advice I fully intend to take. My friends hustle me away, walking quickly to get clear of the place just in case the men decide to follow. One of my friends, Robert Wosnitzer, explains that he grew up around guys like that. "Those are the kind of guys who carry baseball bats in the trunks of their cars," he says. "You have to be careful. They like this. They like to fight."
Once we're out of range, Robert and Miguel Picker turn to me and, appropriately, explain why I had better not pull such a stunt again. They count the four stupid men in that encounter: The alpha male, his two buddies, and me. They are right, of course. The fact that I wasn't as crude and violent as the other three hardly absolves me. I had taken an unnecessary risk, putting others in a situation where they may have had to fight or be hurt, and I had done it out of the same macho posturing. Once engaged, I refused to back down, even though there was nothing positive that could come of the encounter and a real risk.
Act II
The next day I fly to an academic conference. I am still somewhat shaken by the previous night, not so much by the potential for violence (though I'm not a particularly physically courageous person) but by my own misjudgment and the lessons in that for me. It's not what I learned about the world the previous night that upset me, but what I learned about myself.
So, I'm looking forward to a low-key interaction with other academics, who are usually pretty harmless. At the end of that evening I'm in the hotel bar with one female and two male professors. We all seem to be of similar intellectual and political leanings, and the conversation finds its way to contemporary progressive political movements, especially the antiwar movement. I offer an analysis of the state of organizing in the United States, which one of the men takes issue with. I respond to his critique, and all of a sudden the conversation kicks into overdrive. He comes back to my points even harder, getting visibly upset. He turns the discussion from an argument about issues to an attack on me, suggesting that I lacked his experience and knowledge (he's about a decade older).
With the previous night's conflict on my mind, I back off a bit, responding to his arguments but trying to lower the intensity; I am not in the mood for a fight, even verbally. He presses forward even more forcefully. At this point, the other two people at the table are visibly uncomfortable. I move to end the conversation, suggesting that some of our disagreements couldn't be resolved, that we were both arguing based on our hunches about complex processes, and that perhaps there was no point in pushing it. At this point, I don't care about winning the argument and want to end an exchange that is uncomfortable to the others for no good reason -- no baseball bats are going to come out in this encounter, but no one is learning anything from this. He pushes one more time, implicitly demanding that I surrender to his greater knowledge and insight. One of the others finds it intolerable and leaves, and the tension finally dissipates. The conversation returns to a lower level, but it's impossible to go back, and we quickly go our separate ways.
Act III
Sunday morning I'm on a plane heading home. Across the aisle from me is a man most easily described as a stereotypical computer nerd, in appearance and activity. He opens his laptop once we hit our cruising altitude and is buried in it the rest of the flight until the female flight attendant comes by during our descent to remind him to turn off his electronic device which might interfere with the plane's navigational equipment. He ignores the first warning. She comes by again with a polite second warning, which he also ignores. Finally, it's three strikes and he's out. She stands over him and explains -- politely, but with an edge in her voice that says "enough screwing around, buddy" -- that he must shut off the computer. I'm chuckling at the scene, until I see that he's angry. After the experience of the past couple of days, I'm not eager to be in the middle of another public expression of male dominance.
He looks up at her, his facial muscles tightening, appearing ready to tell her off, but he wisely holds his tongue. She holds her ground, and he finally backs off and powers down the laptop. Once she's convinced he's turned it off, she moves on. He sits, quiet but clearly struggling to control his rage. When she is out of hearing range, he looks over at me and, just loud enough for me but no one else to hear, mutters, "Bitch." A trace of a smile comes to his lips, and he turns away from me before I can respond. In his mind, he has won. A woman had been in a position of some small authority over him and had forced him to obey her command. But, in the end, she's just a bitch, and he's still a man.
Masculinity in three acts: Attempts at dominance through (1) force and humiliation, (2) words and argument, and (3) raw insults. Three episodes about the ways masculinity does men in, neatly played out during one long weekend. By the time I get home, I am tired. I am sad. It feels like there are few ways out.
But there is, of course, a way out. It's called feminism. It offers men a way to understand the nature of this toxic conception of who we are.
Feminism is a gift to men, if we are smart enough to accept it.
This essay is excerpted from Robert Jensen's new book, Getting Off: Pornography and the End of Masculinity, published by South End Press.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Musings
I am spending the rest of the weekend catching up on supplemental readings and research for papers. Friday night I spent with Karen. We watched "A Mighty Heart" about Daniel and Mariane Pearl. Daniel Pearl was the Wall Street Journal journalist who was kidnapped by jihadists in Pakistan and beheaded on tape. I watched a documentary on him a few weeks before my friend K. journeyed to that region with the Dept. of Defense and spent the whole time worrying about her.
"A Mighty Heart" showcases five-months pregnant Mariane who kisses her husband goodbye and never sees him again. Sobering to watch that film and think that this separation from my own husband could be forever. He is coming back here for a visit in two weeks and I am so excited. I can't wait to cuddle him on the couch, have coffee with him in the mornings, listen to him breathe at night.
I also bought a new laptop this morning and hope I have better luck then with the last one. I got a two year warranty and the computer is charging at the moment, so fingers crossed.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
I call this, "Too Much Alcohol, not Enough Sleep"
This is the song that flashed through my mind on my honeymoon with my husband in Cabos San Lucas, Mexico, as we listened to the waves crash just feet away and feasted our eyes upon stars. I miss him so much, I think he'll be home soon, at least for a visit.
In other news, my most quoted movie (do you find yourself quoting one random movie more than others? This is mine) just released this poster to the sequel. Beyond words fabulousness. "I think Doogie Houser just stole my f**ing car."
Monday, October 22, 2007
One of "my babies" grows up!
When this beautiful bride was five, six, and seven years old she was my little doll. I stayed up with her when she was sick, I taught her school, gave her baths, fixed her hair, oh, a million times. Those enchanting blue eyes would pierce right into me and I would give in to her whims. Such a smart girl. I loved her, my little P.
And now she married and grown up with a baby of her own. I can hardly believe it. I feel so old and also sad that I missed a huge part of her life. She may not even remember me at this point.
There are others, too, children I loved and cared for who are grown. It's very odd.
Beautiful Things Day 8
Most of these "Beautiful Things" entries are from things I observe on my way to the library in the morning. Just the way it is right now. I spent the whole weekend devoting myself to papers, something I was hoping on Friday would only take one day. Humph, right.
In other news, hello to my gorgeous husband who is reading my blog for the very first time. I've had this blog for more than a years, so there's plenty here to read. I love you, Sweetie, and I can't wait until we're together.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
This Song's Lyrics Changed My Life
Hero
I am so high. I can hear heaven.
I am so high. I can hear heaven.
Oh but heaven, no heaven dont hear me.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
Someone told me love will ALL save us.
But how can that be, look what love gave us.
A world full of killing, and blood-spilling
That world never came.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
Now that the world isnt ending, its love that Im sending to you.
It isnt the love of a hero, and thats why I fear it wont do.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
And they're watching us
(Watching Us)
And they're watching us
(Watching Us)
As we all fly away.yeahaah
Nickelback
This song came out when I was re-evaluating my place in the universe. I had always believed I had a hotline to heaven and was surprised by the turns life took. It was this song that, in conjunction with realizations in my life, made me realize my future was completely in my own hands.
I am so high. I can hear heaven.
I am so high. I can hear heaven.
Oh but heaven, no heaven dont hear me.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
Someone told me love will ALL save us.
But how can that be, look what love gave us.
A world full of killing, and blood-spilling
That world never came.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
Now that the world isnt ending, its love that Im sending to you.
It isnt the love of a hero, and thats why I fear it wont do.
And they say that a hero can save us.
Im not gonna stand here and wait.
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.
And they're watching us
(Watching Us)
And they're watching us
(Watching Us)
As we all fly away.yeahaah
Nickelback
This song came out when I was re-evaluating my place in the universe. I had always believed I had a hotline to heaven and was surprised by the turns life took. It was this song that, in conjunction with realizations in my life, made me realize my future was completely in my own hands.
Thoughtful Happenings Day...7?
While walking to the library today, I passed the outdoor university pool, steaming from the hot water hitting the cold air. Four or five of the biggest pigeons I have ever seen (they looked like ducks) were walking around and into the pool, floating on the surface. The sight was so surreal that I had to look again and again just to be sure of what I was seeing. On a rainy, drizzly morning, it was a small moment of magic.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Papers and Rain do Not Mix
I got up early this morning and headed out to the law library. It rained all day. I guess that's ok, as I had a lot of work to do, but it was cold and dreary. I sat down to write two papers and only wrote one, as it took me long. Six hours! And this was for a paper that I thoroughly researched. It should have been practically written before I began. While others pursue a strategy of writing a paper the night before it's due, I need at least two days to write and then look over what I've written and polish. I can never write a paper and then deliver it the next day. It just wouldn't be my best work. Thus, the six hours on this paper today and many hours tomorrow on the next. Some of us will be getting together Monday to go over the main themes of our papers and compare. And then, on to new things!
Bridge Week is Over
Bridge week has come to an end and, after I finish writing these papers, it is back to focusing on preparing for Cmas finals. It was nice to have a break and stopping the everyday work of my regular classes made me realize how much I have actually retained.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
A certain something to a lady that rhymes with Moxy Nady
I'm answering your answer to me on my blog (that apparently you and very few others read.) For my entire childhood and most of my early adulthood, I was perfectly content with the idea of a male-dominated existence. I thought it to be right, moral, the best way forward for humanity. I am not sure where exactly I began to question this and am even more unsure of when I "jumped the shark" and began to deeply internalize and rage against aspects of sexism blatant in society. In short, I am not comfortable in my skin and wonder if that's a good thing or bad thing.
Thank you for your support of my musings and for thinking these postings as anything intellectual and interesting. Two things I very much suspect I am not, but maybe I am. Law school has challenged the very core of who I thought I was: I believed I was withdrawn, poised, eloquent always. But I see myself through the eyes of my law school peers in my classes (a large handful of whom I have become close friends) and realize that I am, in fact, zany, outspoken, kind of goofy.
Living on my own without my husband has also been telling: coming home to an empty, cold apartment with hours of study ahead each night, has shown me my vulnerabilities. Did I make the right choice in not having children? Most days, I am content with the very deep bonds I have with my four adopted god children but sometimes I wonder what kind of mother I'd be, how I'd change.
I am beginning to ramble so I'll leave it here. Just...thanks for the imput. Your's is a life I am so curious and well, jealous of. I feel like being childless is an asset for motherhood. I have five younger sisters and countless friends with children. It seems in this man's world that the way to get ahead and change things is to stay in the game, something much easier for a career women without children to do. I want to establish daycare in firms, equal pay for women, the abolishment of the "glass ceiling." These things, I believe, will be accomplished by women who have the time to focus solely on their careers, coupled with the ability to emphasize with mothers' burdens.
My friend wrote that becoming a mother made her more of a feminist and I believe it has. It is only another part of the moral culpability we feel for our children, another way to raise them as respectful citizens.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Modern Feminist
I just read this on modernfeminist.com and it sums up so perfectly how I felt these past few weeks. Even though my law professors are all women and the classes I attend are half women, it is still, IMO, a very sexist environment. In my torts class, a handful of guys raised their hands and opined that women's past sexual history should be allowed to be submitted as evidence in a rape or sexual abuse trial. In my criminal law class, more than a few men were commenting on the "lack of evidence" in rape trials when all you have is the woman's testimony. "Oh," my criminal law professor inquired perplexed, "you don't understand how oral testimony is evidence?" It makes me sad and angry to know there are guys out there, sitting beside me, who believe women regularly falsely accuse men of rape and are more than willing to go through the horrendous process of a legal trial just to torture random men. It makes me sad that a woman can be sexually abused and the men entering the legal profession would submit any and every sexual encounter this woman may have had in the past as evidence that "she liked it."
I think it's sad that instead of addressing the violent nature of the rape culture in which we live, we cry foul when some young privileged men aren't better protected by the legal system. I think it's sad that we publicly disparage women who have to make difficult choices about the intersections of sex and money. I think it's sad - and sick - that we constantly question the legitimacy of rape charges when only 2-4% of rape reports are unfounded.
And it's personally sad that some of the worst comments I've received along the way have come from people I know: people who I see at conferences and pretend it never happened, people who think that spewing hatred on a listserv isn't destructive, people who don't seem to care if they disclose your personal information without consent. That's my name, dude, and I don't reveal it here for a reason. You know who I am? Bully for you (pun intended).
I don't suppose much will change. Haters will go on publishing personal information - from Kathy Sierra to the Duke lacrosse accuser - and we'll go on moderating comments. And we'll continue to lose valuable writers, videographers, and insight. A code of conduct won't do shit, in my opinion, and I wouldn't adopt it if a hierarchy of bloggers spits one out. Some brave women will continue to speak out and many of us will not. The risk remains too great, and the Duke case further cements that. I'm less afraid online than I am in public space, but I know that's not the case for many these days, and that too makes me sad.
But it's real.
I think it's sad that instead of addressing the violent nature of the rape culture in which we live, we cry foul when some young privileged men aren't better protected by the legal system. I think it's sad that we publicly disparage women who have to make difficult choices about the intersections of sex and money. I think it's sad - and sick - that we constantly question the legitimacy of rape charges when only 2-4% of rape reports are unfounded.
And it's personally sad that some of the worst comments I've received along the way have come from people I know: people who I see at conferences and pretend it never happened, people who think that spewing hatred on a listserv isn't destructive, people who don't seem to care if they disclose your personal information without consent. That's my name, dude, and I don't reveal it here for a reason. You know who I am? Bully for you (pun intended).
I don't suppose much will change. Haters will go on publishing personal information - from Kathy Sierra to the Duke lacrosse accuser - and we'll go on moderating comments. And we'll continue to lose valuable writers, videographers, and insight. A code of conduct won't do shit, in my opinion, and I wouldn't adopt it if a hierarchy of bloggers spits one out. Some brave women will continue to speak out and many of us will not. The risk remains too great, and the Duke case further cements that. I'm less afraid online than I am in public space, but I know that's not the case for many these days, and that too makes me sad.
But it's real.
Small Blessings
I just wrote three sentences about how I feel concerning this week at law school that I know realize could count as "questionable" to the Law Society. So, I erased them. See? I am learning.
In things to be grateful for, I went laptop hunting today and was fully resigned to being wireless-less tonight until I can get a new computer. And then my old laptop mysteriously started to work. I am happy.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Yippe Kayee M'er F'er
So yey! I got my second paper back from my Contract Law class today and did quite well. It's just a small percentage of my overall grade (most of the final grade is made solely of the final exam in April at the end of the term.) Since the beginning, I've been unpleasantly surprised with my lack of genius for the law.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Connecting with Friends
Today, while walking to the library (or, more specifically, walking to the bus that would bring me to the library) I got a chance to have a lot chat with my old friend, T. She and I are facing very similar things are this time in our lives and the uncertainty of it all is difficult to face alone. While we are thousands and thousands of miles apart, in that thirty minute space, we felt so near that we could have been sharing a pot of tea. I am very grateful for the years of friendship I've had with T., starting very dubiously in the hills of South Africa and continuing on to the beaches of Florida, the grand halls of Westminster Abby, the views from the Grand Canyon. We've stuck together and the older I get, the more I'll want to connect with those who knew me while very young. I know this may be a rough patch for both of us, but I also know we will be there for each other on the other side.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Beautiful Stuff Day 5
Buying violets for my sick sister this morning before heading off to the library. I love this indoor/outdoor market a few streets down from my sister's apartment. The way the food is displayed, its proximity to the water and farmer's markets make me happy.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Counting my Blessings Day 4
Pretty self-explanatory. And yes, I usually do use a travel mug. In related news: Congratulations to Al Gore on his Nobel Prize win.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Something Beautiful Day 3
I need to to think happy thoughts fast. My computer is slooowly dying. I miss my husband. So, I need to look on the bright side: I'm healthy, I have love in my life, I'm exactly where I want to be (in school) and I have close friends. Maybe my computer is breaking but I am not. Here's the beautiful thing I saw today, as I was leaving the cafe on campus to start the five minute walk to the law school. Sipping my pleasantly-warm coffee with milk, I looked up to see this! (And yes, I am at school about half an hour before the sun rises. I'm just that good.)
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Beautiful Glimpses Day 2
On the way home from school today, at dusk, I passed the beach. I saw it through the trees and it was beautiful. I need to see something beautiful everyday.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Draggin'
I got back from school today exhausted. I barely had energy to eat but of course I finished my property law readings and showered and went to bed. I wish I could say that things are just peachy, but this is a time for hanging on. I feel in many ways like I'm back in fall of 2005, when I missed my guy, I was uncertain and overloaded with work and I felt like I was just living for tomorrow. Then, moments of pure beauty, like when I looked up from the umbrella I had slung over me in the pouring rain to see a row of trees turned firey red and brilliant. So beautiful. I can hang on.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Schedules
I am trying to fit five more hours of study into my weekdays. Not an easy task when you have classes from 9-3, but I just haven't been able to read everything and absorb everything in the twenty or so hours a week I have been putting in. It's just so hard in the morning with this blasted Internet and a wireless connection everywhere I go.
This weekend is Thanksgiving and I'll be heading to the Island with my sister on Saturday to spend it with family. I wish M. could be here, I miss him so much. It would be his first Canadian Thanksgiving (hint: not about the Pilgrims). I also need to prepare docs for my "client" who it looks like we (me and another first year student) may actually end up representing. Yikes!
This weekend is Thanksgiving and I'll be heading to the Island with my sister on Saturday to spend it with family. I wish M. could be here, I miss him so much. It would be his first Canadian Thanksgiving (hint: not about the Pilgrims). I also need to prepare docs for my "client" who it looks like we (me and another first year student) may actually end up representing. Yikes!
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Legal Aid
So, here I am, three and a half weeks into law school and they're already giving us clients. Bring it on! I think I did pretty well, it was kind of unnerving at first, especially 'cause the first case was kindda intense. But I felt I did well. I need to do some research, advise my client, see if I want to go to court (hint: I don't. But someone else in the program could go for me.)
Monday, October 01, 2007
I Miss My Guy
With law school and all that entails going on, I didn't think I would have quite so much time to miss you. But somehow I always find the time--contantly.
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