Top 10 List 2005

Several years ago my friend David Bell, waiter, playwright, actor extrordinaire, prompted me to create a top ten list of that year's biggest moments. We have kept up the tradition somewhat sporadically, but it seems now that I have the perfect venue for such a list, and here is this year's for you my dear readers.

10) I turned 30 -- ugh.

9) It was a good year for many of my friends. Renee and Sadie brought home the new addition to their family, Evelyn, a few weeks ago. Peter and Jennifer have a brand new hippie dope smoking country star in their family -- little Willy Nelson (ok, so he actually hasn't acquired such bad habits yet, but how awesome is it to be called Willie Nelson?) And Frankie and Teresa, friends from college, welcomed their second -- Ethan. Quite a baby boom!

8) Tara had surgery in August to remove a benign cyst from her salivary gland. The prospect of them cutting on her face was scary, but her doctor was great. Everything turned out perfect, and Tara's mom was able to come up for the week, which was really nice.

7) The Astros went to the World Series. No, they didn't win, but October was a lot of fun (except that time Lidge gave up the home run to Albert Pujols one out away from closing down game five of the NLCS). I think the best part is that it gave me cause to think about my MeMe a lot and how much she must have enjoyed the bird's eye view of it all.

6) I fell down the basement stairs . That sucked.

5) I worked three months as a clerk to the Honorable Joan G. Margolis, federal magistrate judge. I really, really wanted a full-year clerkship position, and tried valiantly to get one, but it was not to be. So, I'm glad I have this on my resume at least, and New Haven was a fun place to be for a short while.

4) After flailing about for three years trying to find a job and trying to figure out where we want to live, I have been offered a position with my state's public defender office. The pay is atrocious, but I will be able to walk to work and the courthouse, be in the courtroom every day, and actually try cases within my first year. I know I will love the job, and since I have such a great partner I won't have to eat beans and weenies in order to take it. Yay!

3) I passed the Texas bar -- by a very comfortable margin. Too bad I have to take another one in July.

2) I graduated from law school. After three years of a rather impressive effort, I graduated from law school with honors. I even pulled a 4.0 one semester. I think in all my previous years of education, that's one feat I never managed before. Mom, Dad, Christy and the kids all came up, and it was great fun. It was a little cramped trying to entertain in our postage stamp sized apartment with the whole gang, but we made it work.

1) Tara said she'd marry me! I figured as long as we were living in a commie pinko state that allows such shenanigans, that we ought to take advantage. We're planning on Columbus Day to tie the knot, and no, I will not be wearing a pink tutu.

And now a few New Year's resolutions.

I resolve, yet again, to be more diligent about my blogging.
I will lose 30 pounds by April even if it means gluing myself to the treadmill.
All our mounds of credit card debt that has piled up the last three years will be no mas by October.

Suspended Animation

Many of my friends know that I am currently awaiting my results from the July administration of the Texas Bar exam. The official line is that they are due out on November 4, but rumor is that Texas often releases scores early. On top of that, I am waiting to hear whether I got the clerkship with the federal judge in Springfield. He interviewed me last year and didn't give me the job. And then we spent a couple hours together last spring when he judged a moot court competition that I organized. This year, I reapplied and he interviewed me again. At this point, as much as he has seen me, it would be just cruel for him to not hire me. But the interview was back on September 23, and though he said it could be the end of October before he decided, I am just dying with every hour that the phone doesn't ring.

All the waiting is just killing me. I can't concentrate on anything and my girlfriend seems kind of over me at the moment. And currently -- like right at this very moment -- the Astros are down in the World Series 0-2, and they just gave up four runs in one inning to lose the lead in game three. None of this makes me happy.

But maybe they will pull it out, and maybe my phone will ring tomorrow, and maybe my name will be on the pass list whenever it comes out. In any case, all the waiting will be over with next week.

Go 'Stros!!!

I dare not speculate how the series with the hated Cardinals will go, but conventional wisdom is already labeling yesterday's marathon eighteen inning game as the best playoff game in history. It had it all -- a grand slam to bring the Astros within one late in the game, a two-out homerun in the bottom of the ninth to tie up the game, nine -- count 'em, nine -- more grueling innings in which Roger Clemens came out to make only his second relief appearance in his career to hold the Braves to 0 runs for three innings, and finally a walk-off home run by a bench rookie. I watched every minute of the 6+ hour ordeal, and though I did experience some heartburn, it was the most amazing game I have ever watched. I could hear my MeMe cheering with every strike Clemens threw and she cheered with me when Burke's hit cleared the fence to finally end the game.

Of swaggering sailors and grieving military wives

Tara and I went to see one of my favorite bands de jour, the Decemberists, last night. They have had some play recently on the local radio stations with their song Sixteen Military Wives. That song is, to my mind, the best piece of political songwriting on the radio, and I would say that even if it weren't the only piece of political songwriting on the radio. But what I truly love about this band is that they are story-tellers, narrating tales straight out of Victorian era newspaper serials and following those stories up with sly ballads about losing your friend's bike or experiencing spectacular humiliation on the playing field. The Decemberist sing about sailors settling old scores in the belly of a whale, haunting elegies about barrel boys, and Dickensian chimney sweeps. Though they are not at all country, the band's dedication to narrative songwriting makes me think of some of the great country balladeers like Marty Robbins and Johnny Horton.

The concert did not disappoint. The sextet includes Colin Melloy's sharp yet lilting cadence and lead guitar backed up by a lush mix of violin, upright bass, accordion and keyboards, bass guitar, and drums. The band jockeyed the appreciative audience back and forth between melancholy ballads and bouncy popesque tunes with fun bass lines. The band has been prodigious since its formation in 2001, and the set list was comprised of songs from their three albums and also included a new song. I was impressed by the range of ages in the audience, and the music seemed to resonate with the high school kids even as their parental chaperones happily bobbed to the music. A lovely evening was had by all and I highly recommend checking out any of The Decemberists releases.

Schmacting

After years of cultivating an image of myself as the non-acting director, I will be making my western Massachusetts acting debut on Thursday night. I have been directing a piece for a production of short plays, and, as happens in community theater, an actor crapped out on me. Actually, I fired the guy, and what a guy he was. In a month of rehearsals I never managed to glean his occupation except to learn that he had substitute taught in Springfield, but he hated the other teachers and administration there. He ran the "Sylvia Plath" committee here in Northampton with the goal of forcing Smith College and Northampton to honor the legacy of his favorite poet, but he hated all those folks out there who ever dared mention that she had stuck her head in an oven to end her life. He believed no other playwright other than Shakespeare merited discussion of any type (an odd stance for an African-American gay man, I think), looked down upon all people who watched television, and could not bring himself to perform "low" humor -- which was too bad given that, in his opinion, our entire play consisted of low humor.

After hearing him insult every other member of the cast and myself and picking fights at every rehearsal, firing him was an easy choice. Apparently it was easy for him as well given his missive to me following Sunday's ill-fated rehearsal:

Ms. Elkins:

Thank you for firing me--although I think it was
nonsense. I never liked, or felt any chemistry with
any of the cast--including you--and that makes it very
hard (I felt my acting was fine). It's the first time
I never connected with not ONE SINGLE PERSON in a
group. There was a lack of sophistication within the
group. My type of personality I felt the cast could
not handle. I never want to be in an environment
wherein discussion walks such a delicate line.

Chemistry aside, I do believe Rxxxx is just an idiot.

I want to be reimbursed ($3.16) for the gloves and the
handkerchiefs if you do not mind.

Again, thanks for the severance.

-----Mxxxx

The guy was a major drain on everybody's groove, so I canned him. Note that he cited the entire cast for its lack of sophistication, which is funny because as he was stalking out of the room screaming "fuck you" at the top of his lungs, I thought to myself, "now there goes a sophisticated guy."

And so now I am playing his role and will be taking the stage again for the first time since college. Should be interesting.

My New Roommate

So I started a new job this week in New Haven, Connecticut. Because of the not-quite-commutable distance between New Haven and Northampton I am now living five nights a week with a roommate I have never met. It was a Craig's List dealio, and on paper it has worked out great -- the place is super-cute, close enough to work to walk and far enough that the walk might actually translate into a leaner, meaner me. The weird thing is, as I mentioned, that I am yet to meet the woman I am living with, as we made our agreement by phone and she is currently visiting her family in Ohio.

So let's see what I've gleaned from living two days in a stranger's home. First, her family is from Ohio, though I find it curious that there is a "Don't Mess With Texas" sticker on her filing cabinet. The mystery woman is exceedingly neat, a fact that makes me slightly nervous seeing as how I'm not so much, really. She has a cat, I'm told, yet there is an eerie paucity of cat hair hanging about. She is currently a PhD student at Yale in American History and she has (and I'm not being facetious here) a fascinating collection of books, mid-twentieth century odds and ends -- magazines, prints, antiques. According to the e-mail she sent me with dining suggestions, she was a restaurant critic in New York at one point in time. She'll, no doubt, be appalled that I have sullied her refrigerator with a jar of Miracle Whip, but then again maybe she'll appreciate the retro-kitsch of processed foods invented in the post-WWII era). She has an enviable sense of style, based on the fun furnishings and the MTA NY Subway shower curtain. This woman has an obvious fetish for skin care and beauty products -- the bathroom is filled with all manner of lotions, shampoos, soaps, etc. Now, of course, I could just be underestimating the average straight woman's fascination with these kinds of products, but I know enough about stuff you smear on your face to know that this stuff isn't cheap.

I also know that she went to Brown and yet is a blonde (the tell-tale sign being the special schmancy shampoo for blondes I spied in the shower this morning).

Oh, the pressure! I don't know if I'm cool enough to share space with this mystery woman.

Had Hoped to See you Tomorrow, Peter

I won't delve too long into the maudlin, but as I resume my musings again after a brief absence, I felt I had to mention the passing of a great American, er, Canadian-American. Several months ago I made note of the fact that Peter Jennings was going to be absent from the ABC World News Tonight broadcasts due to illness and I was surprised even then at how much it disturbed me. I had always perused the newspapers as a kid and my parents almost always watched the evening news -- national and local, but after college I acquired a serious news habit. I always viewed the national news broadcasts as a little Mickey Mouse, but I appreciated the bite-sized views of the world packed into those thirty minutes every night and Peter Jennings voice was soothing background music to that wonderful half-hour of the day when I return from work or school and spend some time reacquainting myself with that pretty, tall blond I know -- a little intersection of the big, wide world and my little place in it.

Anyway, I think that Peter Jennings was a damn fine news anchor. His belief and hope in this country was just as palpable as his not infrequent disappointment in its failings. I recall that after 9/11 he altered his evening sign-off. Instead of simply saying good night, see you tomorrow, he summed up all the fear and uncertainty shared by many when he said simply, "hope to see you tomorrow night." I had very much hoped to see him tomorrow night, and the night after too -- it's strange to say about someone I did not know, but I will miss him.

IN OTHER NEWS

Those of you who might be wondering will be happy to know that Tara's surgery today went beautifully. It would be a HIPA violation for me to go into more detail (that, and Tara would probably not be happy for me to be discussing her medical history on the internet), but just know that all is well.

Also, when I started this blog I envisioned something funny and topical and I'm not sure that I've hit the mark. I welcome your ideas for topics, themes, and whatever strikes you as worth writing about.

T Minus 23 Hours and Counting

Do a Google search of, say, "bar exam" and neurotic and you will find scores of bulletin boards, blogs, and web sites full of pitiful, scared recent law school graduates. They are all agonizing -- did you really study the 9-12 hours a day Barbri recommends for the final two weeks before the bar? How many practice Multiple choice questions have you done -- 500, 800, 2000? They are swapping mnemonics like baseball cards and comparing strategies for completely eliminating any need to urinate for three straight days. Now, it's very clear to me that law school, and thus the profession, attracts more than its fair share of obsessive compulsive neurotics and insecure twits who can only reassure themselves of their self worth by telling everyone they meet their scores on every standardized test they have ever taken. You can imagine then, how people of this sort must respond to the prospect of an exam like the bar. It's not pretty.

I would like to say that I am immune to all the craziness, but I must admit that I am, quite frankly, scared. Starting tomorrow, I will be expected to display stunning prowess (well, really about 65% prowess) in fifteen different legal subjects, each of which have been in development in our common law system for decades, if not centuries. Generations of lawyers and judges and legislatures have had years and years to cook all this shit up and I have had two months to digest it all. (Many of you may be confused by the last statement -- "Why," you may say, "you have just completed three years of law school." Take a moment now to disabuse yourself of the idea that law school prepares individuals for anything remotely related to the bar exam. Don't ask why, just do it.) I dare not predict today whether my strategies and studies have paid off, but a strange sense of serenity has descended upon me. There's little else I can do at this point, and so I am mindlessly reproducing all my memorization lists over and over again and watching tv. By the next time you are likely to hear from me in this medium again, my personality will have returned and I will be back to my normal, non-law spewing self.

Ride On, Lance!

A couple of years ago, I acquired a shiny, sleek blue road bike and swore to myself that I would ride it religiously. Alas, apparently the self-discipline that has allowed me acquire a college degree and two post-graduate degrees has not translated into a driving desire to subject myself to the rigors of physical training. The bike has been particularly neglected in my fun summer of eye-crossing multiple choice questions and endless outlining of bar essays.

Nonetheless, the Tour de France is the background music of my studies every morning, continuing my obsession of the previous two summers. Barring some sort of terrible tragedy Lance has this year's Tour wrapped up, but his imminent retirement begs the question -- who will take over the throne. Here, my friends, are my humble and ill-informed predictions. First of all, Team Discovery will continue to dominate. Many have already anointed Yaroslav Popovych as the heir apparent, but Paolo Savoldelli offered a reminder yesterday that he is already a champion. Plus there are tantalizing rumors that plucky Alexandre Vinokourov is fed up with T-Mobile's surplus of chefs in the kitchen and has eyes only for Discovery. Among other teams, CSC's Ivan Basso will not be going away anytime soon and though he suffered a spectacular flame-out this year, I know in my heart of hearts that Dave Zabriskie is going to be HUGE -- plus, he's just a real cutie, what with all that indecipherable muttering in his interviews. It's all an act folks, he really is literate. Finally, you have to talk about Jan. Poor Jan Ulrich; he's had his best years usurped by the Armstrong Express. Unfortunately, Lance's absence will hurt Jan more than it will help. Lance has always been Jan's proverbial mechanical bunny on the dog track and he seems just a little too happy to be good but not the best. Jan is a fabulous rider, but hungry he is not.

Ok, I will not write again about a topic of so little interest to the masses, but check back this time next year to see if my predictions were on the mark. Maybe I'll tank everything and go get a job working for OLN.

So it begins

Thus proving that no task is too big or too scary to completely eliminate procrastination, I have chosen this day -- five days until the bar examination -- to take up a new hobby of blogging. I have never been a good journaler, so this may be a short-lived experiment. And maybe the last thing the world needs is another random person taking up server space with tales of her probably less than exciting life, but hey -- what the hell!

Presently I'm laying in a prone position on my couch because I fell down our basement stairs while doing laundry last week. Not sexy, I know, but the bruising is muy impressive as is the new form of my left foot and ankle, which somewhat resembles some sort of club topped off with five fat little sausages. Despite an hour or so of hysterics, all is fine, but the swelling refuses to go down and I'm having nightmares of how fat my newly acquired cankle will be next week after sitting in 6 hours of examination. Not pretty, I think.

Speaking of the bar exam, I must return to my studies. Wills and estates are gently calling my name.