Approve - verb
1. to speak or think favorably of; pronounce or consider agreeable or good; judge favorably: to approve the policies of the administration.
2. to consent or agree to: Father approved our plan to visit Chicago.
3. to confirm or sanction formally; ratify: The Senate promptly approved the bill.
Approval - noun
1. the act of approving; approbation.
2. formal permission or sanction.
When reduced to pure definitions, "approval" is just another tree in a forest of words. However, if you are a sentient human being, and you are not incarcerated for crimes against humanity, you know as well as I do that 'approval' is a red wood among saplings, to carry the analogy further.
I seek approval from many sources: my parents, my friends, my superiors, my subordinates; when I list the sources, it exhausts me. I want my parents to approve of my choices in law school. I want them to approve of my choices in men. I want their approval of my friends. Why do I care what they think, anyway? Shouldn't I just do what makes me happy? Of course I shouldn't just do what makes me happy. I want my parents' approval because I want them in my life. My parents provide support that I can't find anywhere else, even if they also give me headaches that I wouldn't be able to conjure with a migraine, the morning after a bender of Jack Daniels and chain smoking. Approval is the key to the compromises that come with maintaining that relationship.
That logic flows into my friendships, also. I want my friends to approve of my other friends, my cooking, my sense of style, my sense of humor, etc. I compromise with them to maintain peace, to make them feel good about themselves, and because I love them with all of my heart. When they don't approve of a decision I am making, I harshly reflect on the path of reasoning that lead me to that choice. I often find some error that I had brazenly overlooked, but, obviously, I stick by some of the unapproved choices, anyway. The key to approval is knowing when it is necessary and when to ignore that inclination and do what you must. As with most things in life, approval is a balancing test.
The most fascinating approval, though, is when I know people are seeking my approval. There are plenty of people who seek my approval, but do you want to know the amazing thing? Most of the people who want my approval are THE SAME PEOPLE WHOSE APPROVAL I SEEK. Mind-blowing, right? OK, so I didn't just reinvent the wheel, but think about the people who you want to approve of your life and choices? I'll bet you can think of times where they want your approval, also. When you stop seeking approval from a person, one of two things have happened, either you've stopped caring for the person, or they've stopped caring for you. Maniacal approval-seeking aside, normal approval helps us stay accountable to ourselves and others. I hand out approval for all kinds of things, even (and this is a secret, don't tell anybody) some things that I don't normally approve of. Here's the real clincher...ready?
.
.
.
.
Real love is knowing when to approve even if you don't. Being sought for approval is great responsibility and it is not to be taken lightly. When somebody wants you to approve of their choices or lifestyle, bear in mind that they are vulnerable and you have to choose carefully how to proceed. Unsurprisingly you must engage in another balancing test: personal/emotional safety vs. personal/emotional perception. What I perceive as wrong might be the best option for somebody else. So the moral of this story, I suppose, would be to reserve your disapproval for when it is really necessary. The impact will be felt every time you assert your disapproval, so use it cautiously. You never know when your disapproval will change a life for the worst, rather than the better.*
*But never forget to be true to your feelings and not be afraid to express your opinions to your loved ones. If they can't handle, fuck them, anyway.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Friday, July 09, 2010
A Moment, A Love, A Dream Aloud
Long time, no blog, eh? Whatever, if you aren't used to that by now, you never will be. Man up, this is how it is going to be.
Speaking of my cold-heartedness, it has recently been a topic of interest to various people in my life that I don't cry. Ever. Before we all jump to the same logical (albeit incorrect) conclusions, I don't refuse to cry, it isn't a 'macho thing', and I would cry if I could. People have called me "dead inside" and "cold" but what I always find fascinating is how quickly my capacity to love is forgotten in a backlash of 'why aren't you more sad? (sic)' I defend myself, usually, by giving specific instances where I might have cried, given different circumstances. Here are a few of note:
---
When I saw "My Sister's Keeper" with my good friend Nicole, I could have cried for days. That movie is like somebody killed a thousand puppies with a kitten cannon for shits and giggles, then made you call EVERY pet owner and give them the bad news while they told you about their terminal cancer. I'm talking sad here, people. The problem? Everyone else in the theater. Imagine, if you will: Me, sitting in a theater full of sobbing women. Not crying. Not tearing up. Not softly sniffling. SOBBING. I was simply too uncomfortable to cry. Nicole, thankfully, understood, and we then went to see "The Proposal" immediately afterward to give us each a pick-me-up. Note, please, that given different circumstances, I would have cried.
When my father called me to tell me he had cancer, completely blindsiding me and wracking my world, as I knew it, I was too shocked to react at all. By the time I actually felt anything I had rationalized the scenario a thousand times in my head, and I went straight to recovery-mode, never stopping off at the sad station. (you're welcome for that analogy carrying on JUST too long) Note, had there been some sort of build-up or prior indication, I might have been better prepared to be sad, but as it turns out, there was no warning and shock seems to be a stronger emotion for me than sadness.
When I realized I was going to fail a class for the first (and last) time of my life, I could have cried. I called my parents, hoping for a light scolding followed by some good old-fashioned TLC from the parentals. Not so much. What I was confronted with was some epic guilt followed by a very pragmatic talk about what my options were from that point on and how I would recover from this tragedy, never considering how I was feeling at that moment. Note, had I simply dealt on my own, I probably would have cried it out like a child falling from a high-chair.
---
Those are just a few samples of stories I use to try and illustrate my unique inability to cry. This post, however, isn't really about me, so much as it is about an opinion. Here's my opinion, I think that I don't value sadness as an emotion enough to cry.
Still with me? Alright, good.
In a day, I feel any range of emotions: happiness, anger, frustration, hatred, bliss, joy, glee, depression, most of all, love. Rarely do I feel 'sad.' Instead, I feel other emotions. And I realize many of those words are synonymous, but I identify different feelings with each of those descriptive words. I am not sure when I chose to not be sad, but I must have chosen it, because I haven't cried since I was a child. Even my parents can't recall a time that I was sad and cried after the age of 8 (broken wrist). For every second that I might waste feeling sad, I think that I am able to experience another moment of love, instead. I don't recommend this lifestyle to everyone, obviously, as it doesn't always turn out well for me. I do, however, think that optimism combined with a lack of valuation for sadness has really taken me far in my life and if you have the cajones to do you that way, then it should be a viable option. People will stress the importance of all the emotions in your life, etc. however I am confident when I say that you just need to make sure you feel SOMETHING. Numbness won't take you places, but ranking and ordering how you feel is taking life by the balls and riding it all the way home.
Sadness, suck it. Crying, suck it. Love, welcome home.
That's what I'm saying.
Seacrest out.
Speaking of my cold-heartedness, it has recently been a topic of interest to various people in my life that I don't cry. Ever. Before we all jump to the same logical (albeit incorrect) conclusions, I don't refuse to cry, it isn't a 'macho thing', and I would cry if I could. People have called me "dead inside" and "cold" but what I always find fascinating is how quickly my capacity to love is forgotten in a backlash of 'why aren't you more sad? (sic)' I defend myself, usually, by giving specific instances where I might have cried, given different circumstances. Here are a few of note:
---
When I saw "My Sister's Keeper" with my good friend Nicole, I could have cried for days. That movie is like somebody killed a thousand puppies with a kitten cannon for shits and giggles, then made you call EVERY pet owner and give them the bad news while they told you about their terminal cancer. I'm talking sad here, people. The problem? Everyone else in the theater. Imagine, if you will: Me, sitting in a theater full of sobbing women. Not crying. Not tearing up. Not softly sniffling. SOBBING. I was simply too uncomfortable to cry. Nicole, thankfully, understood, and we then went to see "The Proposal" immediately afterward to give us each a pick-me-up. Note, please, that given different circumstances, I would have cried.
When my father called me to tell me he had cancer, completely blindsiding me and wracking my world, as I knew it, I was too shocked to react at all. By the time I actually felt anything I had rationalized the scenario a thousand times in my head, and I went straight to recovery-mode, never stopping off at the sad station. (you're welcome for that analogy carrying on JUST too long) Note, had there been some sort of build-up or prior indication, I might have been better prepared to be sad, but as it turns out, there was no warning and shock seems to be a stronger emotion for me than sadness.
When I realized I was going to fail a class for the first (and last) time of my life, I could have cried. I called my parents, hoping for a light scolding followed by some good old-fashioned TLC from the parentals. Not so much. What I was confronted with was some epic guilt followed by a very pragmatic talk about what my options were from that point on and how I would recover from this tragedy, never considering how I was feeling at that moment. Note, had I simply dealt on my own, I probably would have cried it out like a child falling from a high-chair.
---
Those are just a few samples of stories I use to try and illustrate my unique inability to cry. This post, however, isn't really about me, so much as it is about an opinion. Here's my opinion, I think that I don't value sadness as an emotion enough to cry.
Still with me? Alright, good.
In a day, I feel any range of emotions: happiness, anger, frustration, hatred, bliss, joy, glee, depression, most of all, love. Rarely do I feel 'sad.' Instead, I feel other emotions. And I realize many of those words are synonymous, but I identify different feelings with each of those descriptive words. I am not sure when I chose to not be sad, but I must have chosen it, because I haven't cried since I was a child. Even my parents can't recall a time that I was sad and cried after the age of 8 (broken wrist). For every second that I might waste feeling sad, I think that I am able to experience another moment of love, instead. I don't recommend this lifestyle to everyone, obviously, as it doesn't always turn out well for me. I do, however, think that optimism combined with a lack of valuation for sadness has really taken me far in my life and if you have the cajones to do you that way, then it should be a viable option. People will stress the importance of all the emotions in your life, etc. however I am confident when I say that you just need to make sure you feel SOMETHING. Numbness won't take you places, but ranking and ordering how you feel is taking life by the balls and riding it all the way home.
Sadness, suck it. Crying, suck it. Love, welcome home.
That's what I'm saying.
Seacrest out.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
*See first paragraph*
"Get some sour cream and onion chips with some dip, man, some beef jerky, some peanut butter. Get some Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars, a whole lot, make sure chocolate, gotta have chocolate, man. Some popcorn, red popcorn, graham crackers, graham crackers with marshmallows, the little marshmallows and little chocolate bars and we can make s'mores, man. Also, celery, grape jelly, Cap'n Crunch with the little Crunch berries, pizzas. We need two big pizzas, man, everything on 'em, with water, whole lotta water, and Funyons." - Half-Baked
I intended for that to be the title of this blog post, in a subtle homage to Fiona Apple "When the pawn..." but alas Blogger cockblocked my attempt. Bitches.
So I just spent an hour arguing with my dad over whether or not he should get medical Cannabis. (At this point, I have to point out that the image on that website is four people who make their living thanks to weed. Beautiful.) As a cancer patient (who is in chronic pain, I might add, thanks to his uber-enlarged liver. Also, he isn't sleeping at night anymore because of combined pain and nerves) he would qualify for medical marijuana to help with pain management and to help with the side-effects of his impending chemotherapy. Did I use these reasons to argue my point to my father? Nope. Instead, I went with the catch-phrase approach: "Cancer? Try Chronic!" "If somebody told me I had terminal cancer you best believe I'd be tokin' the good shit." and my personal favorite "Fuck terminal illnesses, dad, get the Ganja." Surprisingly, none of my quips got the point across to him. I think my next approach will be exposure therapy to repeated playings of "Purple Haze." If that doesn't get him, I might have to throw in the towel here. Of course, my dad's arguments back to me were equally pathetic...things like "no" or "haha". The battle rages, I think.
I legitimately think my dad needs something to manage his pain because I share a Macaulay trait with him: we don't express our pain. If we are in pain, we rarely show it. (Ask any of my friends who have had to drag me to the hospital, like Nicole, for instance). Since being home today, my father has only gotten off of the couch to go to church with my mom and I, but otherwise he just lays there, wincing when he moves. To the untrained eye, he appears to just be lazing about on a Saturday afternoon, an endeavor that would not be held against him, even without cancer, but to those who know him, he is in a lot of pain and showing it. It would be a lie to say that it didn't trouble me. But, what can I do? The answer, of course, is not much. Still praying, still researching, still making myself better, but when coming face to face with stuff like this, it forces a reality check.
While being home, I can't relegate the troubles here to a distant part of my world, only letting them tickle the outer limits of my law school calm, like reeds on a lake causing tiny ripples, barely visible at the center of the water. I feel, at once, eager to return to the glassy surface on my proverbial lake in Lansing, and a strong pull to be here in Saginaw, providing a level attitude. My mother is still not herself, and my dad is starting to show his true feelings (something that is very unlike him or me). It is an unfortunate situation here at the Macaulay stronghold, but, as usual, we will keep on keeping on. This coming week, like all coming weeks, will be full of challenges, but I am confident that my father, mother, and I will face them head on and find support when/where/if we need it.
To finish this on a happy note, because I'll be damned if I write a post that is purely devoted to my concerns like some pussy emo bitch that wears black nail polish or like some emo dude who listens to Panic! at the Disco (you know who you are, haha), I call to attention, again, the fact that there is a website devoted entirely to legal marijuana in Michigan (sweeeeeeeet, man). Also, the music used for the Olympics promo about ice dancing? Lady MOTHERFUCKING Gaga! Seems inappropriate, but I'll take my Gaga when I can. Bitches.
I intended for that to be the title of this blog post, in a subtle homage to Fiona Apple "When the pawn..." but alas Blogger cockblocked my attempt. Bitches.
So I just spent an hour arguing with my dad over whether or not he should get medical Cannabis. (At this point, I have to point out that the image on that website is four people who make their living thanks to weed. Beautiful.) As a cancer patient (who is in chronic pain, I might add, thanks to his uber-enlarged liver. Also, he isn't sleeping at night anymore because of combined pain and nerves) he would qualify for medical marijuana to help with pain management and to help with the side-effects of his impending chemotherapy. Did I use these reasons to argue my point to my father? Nope. Instead, I went with the catch-phrase approach: "Cancer? Try Chronic!" "If somebody told me I had terminal cancer you best believe I'd be tokin' the good shit." and my personal favorite "Fuck terminal illnesses, dad, get the Ganja." Surprisingly, none of my quips got the point across to him. I think my next approach will be exposure therapy to repeated playings of "Purple Haze." If that doesn't get him, I might have to throw in the towel here. Of course, my dad's arguments back to me were equally pathetic...things like "no" or "haha". The battle rages, I think.
I legitimately think my dad needs something to manage his pain because I share a Macaulay trait with him: we don't express our pain. If we are in pain, we rarely show it. (Ask any of my friends who have had to drag me to the hospital, like Nicole, for instance). Since being home today, my father has only gotten off of the couch to go to church with my mom and I, but otherwise he just lays there, wincing when he moves. To the untrained eye, he appears to just be lazing about on a Saturday afternoon, an endeavor that would not be held against him, even without cancer, but to those who know him, he is in a lot of pain and showing it. It would be a lie to say that it didn't trouble me. But, what can I do? The answer, of course, is not much. Still praying, still researching, still making myself better, but when coming face to face with stuff like this, it forces a reality check.
While being home, I can't relegate the troubles here to a distant part of my world, only letting them tickle the outer limits of my law school calm, like reeds on a lake causing tiny ripples, barely visible at the center of the water. I feel, at once, eager to return to the glassy surface on my proverbial lake in Lansing, and a strong pull to be here in Saginaw, providing a level attitude. My mother is still not herself, and my dad is starting to show his true feelings (something that is very unlike him or me). It is an unfortunate situation here at the Macaulay stronghold, but, as usual, we will keep on keeping on. This coming week, like all coming weeks, will be full of challenges, but I am confident that my father, mother, and I will face them head on and find support when/where/if we need it.
To finish this on a happy note, because I'll be damned if I write a post that is purely devoted to my concerns like some pussy emo bitch that wears black nail polish or like some emo dude who listens to Panic! at the Disco (you know who you are, haha), I call to attention, again, the fact that there is a website devoted entirely to legal marijuana in Michigan (sweeeeeeeet, man). Also, the music used for the Olympics promo about ice dancing? Lady MOTHERFUCKING Gaga! Seems inappropriate, but I'll take my Gaga when I can. Bitches.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
"I'm just a love machine and I won't work for nobody but you"
First, I must say, that I am blogging robot. I have blogged a lot in the past week, I tell you.
Anywhichway, today I bowled for the second time this week. I subbed on a team with a group of new friends that I made. A few of the team members were acquaintances of mine prior to tonight, but before my bowling experience, I would not have considered any of these people as 'friends.' Unsurprisingly, though, all it took was a pitcher of beer, some serious laughs, and TONS of inappropriate humor and I now find myself with a bunch of new BFFs. It is here that I shall branch into the meat of this blog post: my ability to make immediate friends.
For most of my young life, I challenged myself to never be introverted, to thrust myself into social situations headfirst, and through my tooth and nail approach to relationships, I have made lots of friends in my day. Now, as an adult (in the eyes of the law, at least), this skill rarely lets me down, and has given me a seemingly infinite network of people to rely on and places to travel. My life is full of love and friendship and I feel blessed every day for the people I know and the relationships that I have. It is nights like tonight that remind me how many blessings I can find in my surroundings.
Now, by this point, if I were reading this blog post, I would presume that there is a giant "BUT" coming. And usually your intuition would be correct, but tonight, I am going to go for broke and just leave you on a positive note, reader. No matter the adversity, no matter the shit storm flying your way, blessings are not so hard to find, if you look in the right places.
(don't worry, I'll get dark again by my next post, I'm sure)
Bitches. (There. Happy? Good. Me too.)
Anywhichway, today I bowled for the second time this week. I subbed on a team with a group of new friends that I made. A few of the team members were acquaintances of mine prior to tonight, but before my bowling experience, I would not have considered any of these people as 'friends.' Unsurprisingly, though, all it took was a pitcher of beer, some serious laughs, and TONS of inappropriate humor and I now find myself with a bunch of new BFFs. It is here that I shall branch into the meat of this blog post: my ability to make immediate friends.
For most of my young life, I challenged myself to never be introverted, to thrust myself into social situations headfirst, and through my tooth and nail approach to relationships, I have made lots of friends in my day. Now, as an adult (in the eyes of the law, at least), this skill rarely lets me down, and has given me a seemingly infinite network of people to rely on and places to travel. My life is full of love and friendship and I feel blessed every day for the people I know and the relationships that I have. It is nights like tonight that remind me how many blessings I can find in my surroundings.
Now, by this point, if I were reading this blog post, I would presume that there is a giant "BUT" coming. And usually your intuition would be correct, but tonight, I am going to go for broke and just leave you on a positive note, reader. No matter the adversity, no matter the shit storm flying your way, blessings are not so hard to find, if you look in the right places.
(don't worry, I'll get dark again by my next post, I'm sure)
Bitches. (There. Happy? Good. Me too.)
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Nacqui all'affanno
So last night, Elle and I made a 4th meal run, as is typical on Mondays, and while at Taco Bell this happened:
Order Box (OB): Hi welcome to Taco Bell, how are you tonight?
Me: I'm well thank you, how are you?
OB: Good. Go ahead with your order when you're ready.
Me: Ok, let's see I think I want...
OB: (in a man's whisper) burritos
Me: Actually, yes, a 5-layer burrito, and 3 cheese roll-ups...
OB: (in a man's whisper) gordita crunch
Me: ...and a cheesy gordita crunch. What else do you have, Miss Cleo?
OB: *silence*
Me: Ok, so also a double decker supreme.
When I went up to pay, nothing was said about the omniscient voice, but I blog about it here, today, so that it can be notice to the world. Taco Bell employs psychics, and they sound strangely like a shitty Dane Cook joke.
Special sauce all over my pussy. And, yes, I am ashamed that I remembered that reference without having to Google it. Stupid Dane Cook.
Order Box (OB): Hi welcome to Taco Bell, how are you tonight?
Me: I'm well thank you, how are you?
OB: Good. Go ahead with your order when you're ready.
Me: Ok, let's see I think I want...
OB: (in a man's whisper) burritos
Me: Actually, yes, a 5-layer burrito, and 3 cheese roll-ups...
OB: (in a man's whisper) gordita crunch
Me: ...and a cheesy gordita crunch. What else do you have, Miss Cleo?
OB: *silence*
Me: Ok, so also a double decker supreme.
When I went up to pay, nothing was said about the omniscient voice, but I blog about it here, today, so that it can be notice to the world. Taco Bell employs psychics, and they sound strangely like a shitty Dane Cook joke.
Special sauce all over my pussy. And, yes, I am ashamed that I remembered that reference without having to Google it. Stupid Dane Cook.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
"I am very sensitive to people's energy, so I meet new people and get exhausted"
As is typical, I have forsaken the blog for a while. I recently read an article saying that blogging was considered "uncool" by the younger generation. To this I say: shut up little kids. Bitches.
Anyway, now that that is out of the way, it is time to proceed to the subject of my blog: Drag Queens.
You might as yourself, "What is he talking about Drag Queens for?" and you will have to read the remainder of the blog to find out. My last semester really flew by without much of a hitch. I got some grades, most of which were good and satisfying for me. I made the Dean's List and Honor Roll (because I'm pretty sweet). And I, generally, have been riding pretty high.
Until...
A few weeks ago, my dad called me to tell me about my grandpa getting his heart valve replaced. The replacement went very well, and my grandpa remains in pretty good health, all things considered, and he now the proud owner of a brand new heart valve. In this same call, my father let me know that he was having some medical problems of his own.
He drove himself to the hospital, (because my mom had to play tennis that morning...classic) thinking that he had appendicitis, complaining of side pain. When he arrived they did a physical exam then took and x-ray and found a lump growing in his chest. After a CT scan, a Dr. friend of ours gave him a tentative diagnosis of lung cancer. A needle biopsy confirmed the presence of cancer in his chest, and also on his liver (explaining the side pain). My father, being the intelligent man that he is, got a second opinion. My father and mother went to University of Michigan for said second opinion, and the lung cancer specialist there informed my father, without seeing the scans, that it is more likely that he had thymus cancer, a particularly rare form of cancer that is very rarely researched and has never been cured. Long story short: my father has Thymoma. It has already metastasized to his liver and he starts chemotherapy this coming week. Now for pros and cons.
Pros:
- My father is in very good shape for his age
- He will be able to take more chemo than most cancer patients
- He has a great Oncologist in Saginaw to administer his chemo
- He is under the care of the foremost expert on this type of obscure cancer
- He has beaten cancer twice before (Melanoma and Thyroid Cancer)
- He can fight this for a long time
- After each remission (of which I hope he has many) he will have 6 months to 2 years of remission before having to go under more chemotherapy
Cons:
- His cancer is potentially terminal (largely uncured)
- It is already Stage IV (the final stage)
- It might kill him one day
Neither:
- Life is officially different forever
From here on out, my dad will be a cancer patient. It is still very surreal to admit that fact. My emotions, understandably, have been all over the place for the past week or so but I have finally gotten my mind around this whole thing. Prayer prayer and more prayer is going to be my approach to this whole thing, and thus far, I've been able to hold it together well enough to keep on keeping on. What I am most thankful for is that, aside from my family business going south really quickly, the rest of my life is heading in a grand forward motion. I'm studying, I'm getting decent grades, I'm getting involved, and I'm setting realistic career goals for myself.
This whole experience has already begun to push me. I have a professor whose mother died while she was in law school and she became incredibly motivated to work hard and succeed, because she knew that with her mother sick and dying, there was always someplace (home) that she should be other than law school, so if she was going to be away from home, she had best make it worth her while. I am adopting this motivation technique, however, I am applying it to my whole life. I'm not just going to study more, I am going to live more. I'm putting myself out there. I'm working out. I'm eating healthier. I am becoming a better me.
Already I have become a better version of myself. A version that I like. A lot.
Now, at this point, after the bad news and emo self-reflection, I'm sure you are wondering how the hell is this post about Drag Queens?? Well, you see, in three weeks, my father's hair will be falling out. This, of course, will require some sort of hair replacement. My endeavor, this week, is to find my father the most fantastic Drag Queen wig that the world has ever seen. I am open to suggestions, but as it stands now, I am eagerly shopping online for drag wigs. It will be an epic gift and I will be sure to post pictures once they have become available.
I admit that my segue from illness to shemales is flimsy at best, but would you really have wanted to read the post if I had said the subject was "terminal cancer"? Yeah, me either. Hell, I didn't really want to write it.
Anyway, now that that is out of the way, it is time to proceed to the subject of my blog: Drag Queens.
You might as yourself, "What is he talking about Drag Queens for?" and you will have to read the remainder of the blog to find out. My last semester really flew by without much of a hitch. I got some grades, most of which were good and satisfying for me. I made the Dean's List and Honor Roll (because I'm pretty sweet). And I, generally, have been riding pretty high.
Until...
A few weeks ago, my dad called me to tell me about my grandpa getting his heart valve replaced. The replacement went very well, and my grandpa remains in pretty good health, all things considered, and he now the proud owner of a brand new heart valve. In this same call, my father let me know that he was having some medical problems of his own.
He drove himself to the hospital, (because my mom had to play tennis that morning...classic) thinking that he had appendicitis, complaining of side pain. When he arrived they did a physical exam then took and x-ray and found a lump growing in his chest. After a CT scan, a Dr. friend of ours gave him a tentative diagnosis of lung cancer. A needle biopsy confirmed the presence of cancer in his chest, and also on his liver (explaining the side pain). My father, being the intelligent man that he is, got a second opinion. My father and mother went to University of Michigan for said second opinion, and the lung cancer specialist there informed my father, without seeing the scans, that it is more likely that he had thymus cancer, a particularly rare form of cancer that is very rarely researched and has never been cured. Long story short: my father has Thymoma. It has already metastasized to his liver and he starts chemotherapy this coming week. Now for pros and cons.
Pros:
- My father is in very good shape for his age
- He will be able to take more chemo than most cancer patients
- He has a great Oncologist in Saginaw to administer his chemo
- He is under the care of the foremost expert on this type of obscure cancer
- He has beaten cancer twice before (Melanoma and Thyroid Cancer)
- He can fight this for a long time
- After each remission (of which I hope he has many) he will have 6 months to 2 years of remission before having to go under more chemotherapy
Cons:
- His cancer is potentially terminal (largely uncured)
- It is already Stage IV (the final stage)
- It might kill him one day
Neither:
- Life is officially different forever
From here on out, my dad will be a cancer patient. It is still very surreal to admit that fact. My emotions, understandably, have been all over the place for the past week or so but I have finally gotten my mind around this whole thing. Prayer prayer and more prayer is going to be my approach to this whole thing, and thus far, I've been able to hold it together well enough to keep on keeping on. What I am most thankful for is that, aside from my family business going south really quickly, the rest of my life is heading in a grand forward motion. I'm studying, I'm getting decent grades, I'm getting involved, and I'm setting realistic career goals for myself.
This whole experience has already begun to push me. I have a professor whose mother died while she was in law school and she became incredibly motivated to work hard and succeed, because she knew that with her mother sick and dying, there was always someplace (home) that she should be other than law school, so if she was going to be away from home, she had best make it worth her while. I am adopting this motivation technique, however, I am applying it to my whole life. I'm not just going to study more, I am going to live more. I'm putting myself out there. I'm working out. I'm eating healthier. I am becoming a better me.
Already I have become a better version of myself. A version that I like. A lot.
Now, at this point, after the bad news and emo self-reflection, I'm sure you are wondering how the hell is this post about Drag Queens?? Well, you see, in three weeks, my father's hair will be falling out. This, of course, will require some sort of hair replacement. My endeavor, this week, is to find my father the most fantastic Drag Queen wig that the world has ever seen. I am open to suggestions, but as it stands now, I am eagerly shopping online for drag wigs. It will be an epic gift and I will be sure to post pictures once they have become available.
I admit that my segue from illness to shemales is flimsy at best, but would you really have wanted to read the post if I had said the subject was "terminal cancer"? Yeah, me either. Hell, I didn't really want to write it.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
For Your Entertainment - The Adam Lambert Edition
Most of my readers know that I do not use this blog as a pulpit, except to trumpet my own successes. However, today I have been inspired by the recent Adam Lambert fiasco to say something on the topic.
When I came out as a proud gay man, I did so after much introspection and self-discovery. I thought about what my sexuality meant to me and what it meant to the people that I care about. I also thought about what my sexuality meant to my faith. I am still devoutly Catholic and my biggest hurdle to my current life was reconciling those two ideas. It was through much prayer that I realized God doesn't make mistakes and I am not called to the single life. More or less, I had to take an "agree to disagree" stance with my faith, which was very hard. VERY hard.
What has proven to be much easier is my ability to exist in the world as a gay man. I am blessed to have lived my life free of people who hate me for who or what I am. Even my ex-girlfriends have been understanding of the subterfuge that I used with them. All-in-all it has been a charmed life for me as a gay man. Until Adam Lambert.
If you haven't seen his performance on the American Music Awards from this past weekend, I suggest you Google search the video, as they keep getting put up and taken down at the blink of an eye. Here's some highlights: man-on-man tongue locking, simulated oral sex, and Adam Lambert's middle finger displayed to prime time television. The issue? His subsequent performance of Good Morning America has been canceled by ABC.
Adam Lambert, along with numerous outspoken (and public) homosexuals, is screaming "HOMOPHOBIA" like it's going out of style. Homophobia is Matthew Shepard getting hung on a fence to die, just because he was gay. Homophobia is being burned alive because you are gay. Homophobia is not a canceled performance due to poor choices.
Homosexuality is not a choice. I do not choose to be gay, instead, I know that I am gay. Part of being gay is taking the responsibility of not being another 'homo who cries "hate"'. I am disgusted, as a gay man, and as an American, that ANYONE who have the audacity to say Adam Lambert's only fault, for which he is being punished, is his status as a gay man. Furthermore, I reject the argument that a woman in the same position would be allowed to perform on Good Morning America.
If Christina Aguilera were to lay on her back and cram a male (or female) dancers face into her crotch, she would also have a serious PR problem. On top of that, imagine if Britney Spears, without warning to the network, decided to give the camera the middle finger during prime time on a Sunday. I don't think anybody should think she would go without punishment. I do not (and cannot) deny that people hate Adam Lambert because he is homosexual. That is something he will deal with his entire life, and so will I. Hell, we still can't get married in most of the United States. That could be classified as anti-gay. I shudder to think that outspoken (and oft-heard) gay men and women (I'm looking at you Perez Hilton. Shut up, already) are rallying behind a performer and raising him as a gay activist, when it is his vulgarity that is being punished. Vulgarity and homosexuality should not be the same concept and to classify Adam Lambert's canceled performance as anti-gay or homophobic is to equate these mutually exclusive ideas. I'm gay, I'm vulgar, but dammit, I am not one because of the other.
I challenge Adam Lambert to make the remainder of his performances focus on the music (which was SORELY lacking in his performance on Sunday) for which he rose to stardom. I'm pretty sure that this would be more "For [My] Entertainment" than offensive bullshit and wielding his status as 'gay' as a shield against punishment for actions. Don't be another 'mo who cries "HATE!" anytime something doesn't go your way, Adam Lambert. Be a man, albeit a gay one, who stands for something and is able and willing to be a good example to the world, not another self-serving queen who abuses gay rights in lieu of fighting for them.
Shame on you.
When I came out as a proud gay man, I did so after much introspection and self-discovery. I thought about what my sexuality meant to me and what it meant to the people that I care about. I also thought about what my sexuality meant to my faith. I am still devoutly Catholic and my biggest hurdle to my current life was reconciling those two ideas. It was through much prayer that I realized God doesn't make mistakes and I am not called to the single life. More or less, I had to take an "agree to disagree" stance with my faith, which was very hard. VERY hard.
What has proven to be much easier is my ability to exist in the world as a gay man. I am blessed to have lived my life free of people who hate me for who or what I am. Even my ex-girlfriends have been understanding of the subterfuge that I used with them. All-in-all it has been a charmed life for me as a gay man. Until Adam Lambert.
If you haven't seen his performance on the American Music Awards from this past weekend, I suggest you Google search the video, as they keep getting put up and taken down at the blink of an eye. Here's some highlights: man-on-man tongue locking, simulated oral sex, and Adam Lambert's middle finger displayed to prime time television. The issue? His subsequent performance of Good Morning America has been canceled by ABC.
Adam Lambert, along with numerous outspoken (and public) homosexuals, is screaming "HOMOPHOBIA" like it's going out of style. Homophobia is Matthew Shepard getting hung on a fence to die, just because he was gay. Homophobia is being burned alive because you are gay. Homophobia is not a canceled performance due to poor choices.
Homosexuality is not a choice. I do not choose to be gay, instead, I know that I am gay. Part of being gay is taking the responsibility of not being another 'homo who cries "hate"'. I am disgusted, as a gay man, and as an American, that ANYONE who have the audacity to say Adam Lambert's only fault, for which he is being punished, is his status as a gay man. Furthermore, I reject the argument that a woman in the same position would be allowed to perform on Good Morning America.
If Christina Aguilera were to lay on her back and cram a male (or female) dancers face into her crotch, she would also have a serious PR problem. On top of that, imagine if Britney Spears, without warning to the network, decided to give the camera the middle finger during prime time on a Sunday. I don't think anybody should think she would go without punishment. I do not (and cannot) deny that people hate Adam Lambert because he is homosexual. That is something he will deal with his entire life, and so will I. Hell, we still can't get married in most of the United States. That could be classified as anti-gay. I shudder to think that outspoken (and oft-heard) gay men and women (I'm looking at you Perez Hilton. Shut up, already) are rallying behind a performer and raising him as a gay activist, when it is his vulgarity that is being punished. Vulgarity and homosexuality should not be the same concept and to classify Adam Lambert's canceled performance as anti-gay or homophobic is to equate these mutually exclusive ideas. I'm gay, I'm vulgar, but dammit, I am not one because of the other.
I challenge Adam Lambert to make the remainder of his performances focus on the music (which was SORELY lacking in his performance on Sunday) for which he rose to stardom. I'm pretty sure that this would be more "For [My] Entertainment" than offensive bullshit and wielding his status as 'gay' as a shield against punishment for actions. Don't be another 'mo who cries "HATE!" anytime something doesn't go your way, Adam Lambert. Be a man, albeit a gay one, who stands for something and is able and willing to be a good example to the world, not another self-serving queen who abuses gay rights in lieu of fighting for them.
Shame on you.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Testing, testing, 1…2…
Today I got a new laptop from Dell. My previous laptop lasted beyond 6 years, having only had to be seriously overhauled 1 time. I consider this to be a great victory on my part. I am now exploring the wide world of a Windows-integrated blogging system. Windows Live Writer and I are going to give this blog a try this evening.
It has been a while since my last blog post so I shall do a recap for those who care.
Firstly, and probably most importantly, I have acquired my Halloween costume. I originally intended to do a Geisha costume this year, drawing upon my extensive knowledge of makeup and drag, however, the means of acquiring an outfit to go with the amount of ‘face’ I was going to be giving became too daunting of a task to really tackle. I then considered various other drag-related costume ideas, however, all of them required a partner in crime (of which I have none, as my only accepted partner in drag-crime is Dean, who remains unacceptably far away from me) or some other unattainable feat, like new heels, or extravagant wigs. Simultaneous to my sad realization that I would not get to dress as a woman this year, I realized that there were certain sundry items that I longed for from American Apparel. (SIDE NOTE: One of my favorite recording artists put it best via twitter: “Here’s a vagina. Buy a shirt. American Apparel.” Bess Rogers, WIN.) As it turns out, these items combine without much effort into a killer costume harkening to old school Globe Trotters channeling a little 70’s-track-coach awesomeness. As such, I killed two birds with one stone by purchasing short shorts, a mesh tank top, tube socks, and matching sweat bands from American Apparel yesterday. My weekend of Halloween partying will be fantastic because of the fantastic company with whom I will spending it AND my awesome costume.
A second development that has occurred, or rather, is occurring is the exeunt of my dear friend Sharon from Michigan to pursue her dreams in New York. I know that she peruses this blog, so I will avoid showering her with too much deserved praise, because she already knows that I believe in her talent, drive, and ability to be great. She will succeed in NYC and I am positive of it. Instead, I will give a short background of our relationship. Sharon and I both attended Hillsdale College. Strangely, we went through our respective careers there being entirely unaware of the grandiose awesomeness of the other party. How this occurred, I do not know. In all reality, the world might never know. Regardless, we did not become friends until after both graduating from school and ending up in the Metro Detroit. It was twitter that finally brought us together, and through a series of concert experiences (including, but not limited to, Lady Gaga), we became close quickly. What I find very blessed about our relationship is that despite the limited exposure to one another, I know that I have made a life-long friend. Whether we both end up in NYC or not, I know that I will always be able to text her or G-chat her up about how awesome we both are, and find an understanding person and compatriot. For this I will always be thankful, and if you read this Sharon, know that I love you and you will be missed. A lot.
I got a new laptop. I know that I already mentioned this point, however, I return to it to include this insight. I now have a webcam and a Skype account. If you care to talk to me face to face, you can. Get excited.
Oh, and midterms happened. They went well. Furthermore, I took my first final exam. It also went well. My concerns for the rest of my finals have been abated and I feel suddenly confident about the whole experience. Apparently, I can do law school. As if anybody doubted me…
It has been a while since my last blog post so I shall do a recap for those who care.
Firstly, and probably most importantly, I have acquired my Halloween costume. I originally intended to do a Geisha costume this year, drawing upon my extensive knowledge of makeup and drag, however, the means of acquiring an outfit to go with the amount of ‘face’ I was going to be giving became too daunting of a task to really tackle. I then considered various other drag-related costume ideas, however, all of them required a partner in crime (of which I have none, as my only accepted partner in drag-crime is Dean, who remains unacceptably far away from me) or some other unattainable feat, like new heels, or extravagant wigs. Simultaneous to my sad realization that I would not get to dress as a woman this year, I realized that there were certain sundry items that I longed for from American Apparel. (SIDE NOTE: One of my favorite recording artists put it best via twitter: “Here’s a vagina. Buy a shirt. American Apparel.” Bess Rogers, WIN.) As it turns out, these items combine without much effort into a killer costume harkening to old school Globe Trotters channeling a little 70’s-track-coach awesomeness. As such, I killed two birds with one stone by purchasing short shorts, a mesh tank top, tube socks, and matching sweat bands from American Apparel yesterday. My weekend of Halloween partying will be fantastic because of the fantastic company with whom I will spending it AND my awesome costume.
A second development that has occurred, or rather, is occurring is the exeunt of my dear friend Sharon from Michigan to pursue her dreams in New York. I know that she peruses this blog, so I will avoid showering her with too much deserved praise, because she already knows that I believe in her talent, drive, and ability to be great. She will succeed in NYC and I am positive of it. Instead, I will give a short background of our relationship. Sharon and I both attended Hillsdale College. Strangely, we went through our respective careers there being entirely unaware of the grandiose awesomeness of the other party. How this occurred, I do not know. In all reality, the world might never know. Regardless, we did not become friends until after both graduating from school and ending up in the Metro Detroit. It was twitter that finally brought us together, and through a series of concert experiences (including, but not limited to, Lady Gaga), we became close quickly. What I find very blessed about our relationship is that despite the limited exposure to one another, I know that I have made a life-long friend. Whether we both end up in NYC or not, I know that I will always be able to text her or G-chat her up about how awesome we both are, and find an understanding person and compatriot. For this I will always be thankful, and if you read this Sharon, know that I love you and you will be missed. A lot.
I got a new laptop. I know that I already mentioned this point, however, I return to it to include this insight. I now have a webcam and a Skype account. If you care to talk to me face to face, you can. Get excited.
Oh, and midterms happened. They went well. Furthermore, I took my first final exam. It also went well. My concerns for the rest of my finals have been abated and I feel suddenly confident about the whole experience. Apparently, I can do law school. As if anybody doubted me…
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Definitions define things.
This week is already proving to be better than last. To begin with, I have already completed my homework for TWO classes and half of the homework for a THIRD class. I think I can say, with confidence, that my scheme to get ahead is finally starting to come to fruition. I feel that the path I am on will inevitably lead to happier times later this week, and less stress as I approach mid-terms, which are next week. WIN.
I have chosen this post to take a moment and explain the significance of the title of this blog. As many of my linguaphilic friends have considered, I'm sure, 'The Law and I' implies that we can accomplish physical tasks together. Obviously, that is preposterous.
Or is it?
The law is a person that I have recently decided to attach myself to. He/She/It gives me powers that I never knew I could wield. Now, I can turn a pinch into a felony; a fart into a tort; take a person breaking a promise for all they are worth. I am the master of my universe thanks to my new partner in crime (or law).
We are like Sonny and Cher (I, of course, am Cher), Batman and Robin (I am Batman, he has a bigger bulge), Mary-Kate and Ashley (Ashley, she eats slightly more). The world had better get ready for the Law and I because together we will move mountains. We will part seas. We will win petty sums of money for people who are too infantile to settle their own disputes. It will be a glorious relationship, between the Law and I, and the possibilities are endless.
I now include a list of other earth-shaking pairings, which are comparable to the Law and I:
- Moses and Aaron
- Abbot and Costello
- Thelma and Louise
- Abercrombie and Fitch
- Antony and Cleopatra
- Barnes and Noble
- Beauty and the Beast
- Nicole and Paris (See Above)
- Ben and Jerry
- Dharma and Greg
- Jon and Kate
- Jon and his new Trick
- Kate and her hair
- Meryl Streep and Oscar
- Brad and Angelina
- Godzilla and Mothra, may their love never die
- Peanut Butter and Jelly (TIME!)
- Mork and Mindy
- Mario and Luigi
- Goose and Maverick
- Nicholas Cage and all of his movies that I hate. Besides Gone in 60 Seconds in which case the Angelina Jolie factor trumps the Nicholas Cage screws my life factor.
The list obviously goes on and on from here but those are the most appropriate pairings that illustrate my relationship with the law (as well as all the pairings I could come up with in the time I took to write this blog post).
At the end of the day I curl up in the warm embrace of the Law and he rocks me to sleep amidst case briefs and statutes. Even though he sometimes sings me to sleep with songs of First Degree Rape and Felony-Murder, he is proving to be a worthy life partner.
I have chosen this post to take a moment and explain the significance of the title of this blog. As many of my linguaphilic friends have considered, I'm sure, 'The Law and I' implies that we can accomplish physical tasks together. Obviously, that is preposterous.
Or is it?
The law is a person that I have recently decided to attach myself to. He/She/It gives me powers that I never knew I could wield. Now, I can turn a pinch into a felony; a fart into a tort; take a person breaking a promise for all they are worth. I am the master of my universe thanks to my new partner in crime (or law).
We are like Sonny and Cher (I, of course, am Cher), Batman and Robin (I am Batman, he has a bigger bulge), Mary-Kate and Ashley (Ashley, she eats slightly more). The world had better get ready for the Law and I because together we will move mountains. We will part seas. We will win petty sums of money for people who are too infantile to settle their own disputes. It will be a glorious relationship, between the Law and I, and the possibilities are endless.
I now include a list of other earth-shaking pairings, which are comparable to the Law and I:
- Moses and Aaron
- Abbot and Costello
- Thelma and Louise
- Abercrombie and Fitch
- Antony and Cleopatra
- Barnes and Noble
- Beauty and the Beast
- Nicole and Paris (See Above)
- Ben and Jerry
- Dharma and Greg
- Jon and Kate
- Jon and his new Trick
- Kate and her hair
- Meryl Streep and Oscar
- Brad and Angelina
- Godzilla and Mothra, may their love never die
- Peanut Butter and Jelly (TIME!)
- Mork and Mindy
- Mario and Luigi
- Goose and Maverick
- Nicholas Cage and all of his movies that I hate. Besides Gone in 60 Seconds in which case the Angelina Jolie factor trumps the Nicholas Cage screws my life factor.
The list obviously goes on and on from here but those are the most appropriate pairings that illustrate my relationship with the law (as well as all the pairings I could come up with in the time I took to write this blog post).
At the end of the day I curl up in the warm embrace of the Law and he rocks me to sleep amidst case briefs and statutes. Even though he sometimes sings me to sleep with songs of First Degree Rape and Felony-Murder, he is proving to be a worthy life partner.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
"It has become the time of evening when people sit on their porches..." - James Agee
There comes a point every night of the week where my drive to study and work is overcome with my drive to do ANYTHING ELSE. I could do any activity besides study and be content. Yet, the only thing I need to do it study. I know I'm not revealing a deep secret of the human psyche here, but it remains an interesting phenomenon in my existence.
Things I would rather be doing:
- Sleeping
- Eating
- Watching TV
- Reading a book, non-law-related
- Reading my Google Reader
- Making cookies
- Composing an opera
- Fighting a dragon
- Expounding upon the mysteries of the relationship between Godzilla and Mothra, his secret lover (in my mind)
- Playing a video game
- Watching grass grow
- Getting a root canal
- Slamming my head against a wall
- Kenny G
And that is just a short list of alternatives to what I am supposed to be doing. Every week I concoct a marvelous scheme to be ahead for the week, allowing me to complete homework days in advance and affording me valuable free time, with which to dick around.
I have yet to execute aforementioned schemes.
My goal for the rest of this week shall be to actually finish my homework prior to the day that it is due. Let's see how that goes, shall we?
On a sadder note, tomorrow is Wednesday. We all know what that means. If I don't blog again for over a week, I have crawled into a bottle of scotch in an attempt to forget what a Tort is and furthermore to never 'introduce' myself to law again.
EVER.
BITCHES.
Things I would rather be doing:
- Sleeping
- Eating
- Watching TV
- Reading a book, non-law-related
- Reading my Google Reader
- Making cookies
- Composing an opera
- Fighting a dragon
- Expounding upon the mysteries of the relationship between Godzilla and Mothra, his secret lover (in my mind)
- Playing a video game
- Watching grass grow
- Getting a root canal
- Slamming my head against a wall
- Kenny G
And that is just a short list of alternatives to what I am supposed to be doing. Every week I concoct a marvelous scheme to be ahead for the week, allowing me to complete homework days in advance and affording me valuable free time, with which to dick around.
I have yet to execute aforementioned schemes.
My goal for the rest of this week shall be to actually finish my homework prior to the day that it is due. Let's see how that goes, shall we?
On a sadder note, tomorrow is Wednesday. We all know what that means. If I don't blog again for over a week, I have crawled into a bottle of scotch in an attempt to forget what a Tort is and furthermore to never 'introduce' myself to law again.
EVER.
BITCHES.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sometimes I surprise even myself.
Planned for today:
- Outlines encompassing all pertinent notes of the past 3 weeks.
- Reading and briefing the cases for my first two classes of the week.
- Vacuuming my apartment.
- Showering.
Accomplished today:
- Watch 2 hours of Real Housewives of Atlanta.
- Go furniture shopping in Lansing.
a. Facilitate purchase of red sofa.
- Eat Taco Bell
- Drive an hour to IKEA.
a. Buy red end tables to create custom deco coffee table.
- Come home and do assembly of 'coffee' tables, dining table, dresser
- Watch "Legally Blond" followed by "Overboard"
- Watch latest episode of "Project Runway" then "Models of the Runway"
- Blog about it all.
Now, it is with great pride that I display my accomplishments of the day. Please note the enormous lengthwise-discrepancy between my goals and what I actually did today. Apparently I just set my standards far too low for myself, that's all. I was way more time-efficient than I expected to be. I should strive to aim higher. Law school is great.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Okay, so I'm sure you noticed that nothing I did today actually benefited me as a law student. In fact, a strong argument could be made against today's endeavors, positing that they hindered me as a law student. But, hey, at least I showered, right?
Oh. Wait, nevermind.
*sniff*
...awkward.
- Outlines encompassing all pertinent notes of the past 3 weeks.
- Reading and briefing the cases for my first two classes of the week.
- Vacuuming my apartment.
- Showering.
Accomplished today:
- Watch 2 hours of Real Housewives of Atlanta.
- Go furniture shopping in Lansing.
a. Facilitate purchase of red sofa.
- Eat Taco Bell
- Drive an hour to IKEA.
a. Buy red end tables to create custom deco coffee table.
- Come home and do assembly of 'coffee' tables, dining table, dresser
- Watch "Legally Blond" followed by "Overboard"
- Watch latest episode of "Project Runway" then "Models of the Runway"
- Blog about it all.
Now, it is with great pride that I display my accomplishments of the day. Please note the enormous lengthwise-discrepancy between my goals and what I actually did today. Apparently I just set my standards far too low for myself, that's all. I was way more time-efficient than I expected to be. I should strive to aim higher. Law school is great.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Okay, so I'm sure you noticed that nothing I did today actually benefited me as a law student. In fact, a strong argument could be made against today's endeavors, positing that they hindered me as a law student. But, hey, at least I showered, right?
Oh. Wait, nevermind.
*sniff*
...awkward.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesdays
I hate them. They are inevitably the worst day of my week every week this term. For starters, Wednesdays are home to my two least enjoyable classes: Torts I and Introduction to Law. Torts I is a constant trial in patience and self-restraint against suicide attempts. I actually sit in class thinking of things to do that look like work, just to keep myself from playing solitaire. Solitaire would be too interesting in that class. SOLITAIRE. Kill me now. FAIL.
Introduction to Law sucks in a different way. When the class is not focusing on basic reading skills (no exaggeration) it is giving us rules and elements of law that we are expected to mentally "throw out" after leaving Intro, because these rules may or may not coincide with the rules that our ACTUAL professors give us. Did I mention that Intro has assignments that have to be turned in each week? Did I further mention that Intro is required to be passed in your first term or you are academically dismissed? Did I mention that Intro is worth ZERO CREDIT HOURS?! That's right folks, no credits, lots of homework, arbitrary legal theorems. A win-win situation. FAIL.
The upside to this particular Wednesday is two-fold. Firstly, this morning, although I was awoken, as usual, by exceptionally loud construction from the parking lot immediately outside my bedroom windows BEFORE 8 AM, the cable company came and upgraded my pimp juice. I now get both HBO AND Showtime. I have already watched Baby Mama for free. Exceptional. Furthermore, on this particular Wednesday, a local franchise of Chipotle Mexican Grille provided free food to students from my law school, including a free full entree AND free drink. All together now: WIN.
The problem with these exceptions of today is encompassed entirely in the virtue of them being 'exceptions to today.' In other words, the only things that redeemed Wednesday (today) were isolated incidences that will not repeat next Wednesday, thereby dooming me to repeat the horribleness of my Wednesdays every week for the following 12 weeks, with no rational hope for free Chipotle or expanded Cable services. FAIL.
Introduction to Law sucks in a different way. When the class is not focusing on basic reading skills (no exaggeration) it is giving us rules and elements of law that we are expected to mentally "throw out" after leaving Intro, because these rules may or may not coincide with the rules that our ACTUAL professors give us. Did I mention that Intro has assignments that have to be turned in each week? Did I further mention that Intro is required to be passed in your first term or you are academically dismissed? Did I mention that Intro is worth ZERO CREDIT HOURS?! That's right folks, no credits, lots of homework, arbitrary legal theorems. A win-win situation. FAIL.
The upside to this particular Wednesday is two-fold. Firstly, this morning, although I was awoken, as usual, by exceptionally loud construction from the parking lot immediately outside my bedroom windows BEFORE 8 AM, the cable company came and upgraded my pimp juice. I now get both HBO AND Showtime. I have already watched Baby Mama for free. Exceptional. Furthermore, on this particular Wednesday, a local franchise of Chipotle Mexican Grille provided free food to students from my law school, including a free full entree AND free drink. All together now: WIN.
The problem with these exceptions of today is encompassed entirely in the virtue of them being 'exceptions to today.' In other words, the only things that redeemed Wednesday (today) were isolated incidences that will not repeat next Wednesday, thereby dooming me to repeat the horribleness of my Wednesdays every week for the following 12 weeks, with no rational hope for free Chipotle or expanded Cable services. FAIL.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
First presentation
So I presented for the first time yesterday. It did not go well.
To start with, my brief for the case, which I was inevitably called on to present, was crap. Like crappy crap. I might as well have not even had a brief with which to present. I had chosen that case to not include a fact pattern in my brief and to half-ass my issue. As a general theme, my brief was insufficient. FAIL.
To make matters worse, my brain chose yesterday to suddenly find my professor attractive. So being a man, and unable to help myself, I was perving mentally about said professor when I was immediately called on. I have confirmation that I was beet-red when I rose to present. Considering the possible outcomes that could have resulted from my fantasy romp, I consider only having to worry about my blush to be a victory. WIN.
I am hopeful that my next presentation will go far better. And if it doesn't? Well obviously I will just fake an inability to speak for the rest of my law school career. What other choice do I have?
To start with, my brief for the case, which I was inevitably called on to present, was crap. Like crappy crap. I might as well have not even had a brief with which to present. I had chosen that case to not include a fact pattern in my brief and to half-ass my issue. As a general theme, my brief was insufficient. FAIL.
To make matters worse, my brain chose yesterday to suddenly find my professor attractive. So being a man, and unable to help myself, I was perving mentally about said professor when I was immediately called on. I have confirmation that I was beet-red when I rose to present. Considering the possible outcomes that could have resulted from my fantasy romp, I consider only having to worry about my blush to be a victory. WIN.
I am hopeful that my next presentation will go far better. And if it doesn't? Well obviously I will just fake an inability to speak for the rest of my law school career. What other choice do I have?
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