In Good Graces

A Metaphor

2011-10-05T17:03:00.000-07:00

I just want to take a minute to encourage everyone to enjoy this Faces of the Day post from Andrew Sullivan's excellent blog. It speaks to my heart.

Out of the frying pan

2011-04-12T22:04:00.001-07:00

And into the LOS! The editorial staff would spend time apologizing for our absence, but the crickets don't seem to have noticed and really, widespread expectations are probably pretty low anyway. We at In Good Graces have been amusing ourselves this semester by hiding from law school. We have achieved this by obtaining an "externship," a miraculous method by which law students can venture out into the world for brief periods of time by interning at actual legal offices. We are very much enjoying our time at a prosecutor's office, especially because we have no finals. Triumph! Despite the morale boost that hiding from law school has achieved, working out in the Real World of the LOS brings a certain je ne sais quoi to one's life. A whole new world has opened up, previously unknown, in which all the following are suddenly true:

The radio traffic report is crucial to your survival. Although why the bastards keep telling me to leave early because of bad routes is lost on me; I'm already in my car, genius. And even if I weren't, do you really think I leave an extra ten to fifteen minutes in my morning plans just in case the traffic is bad? Or do you think I wake up at the last possible moment and go scrambling out of the house in a panic? Let me give you a hint: I have curled my eyelashes and applied mascara on a moving bus. Many times.

I know nothing about sports. Never utter the words "what is LA Live?" in the city limits. People will think you have been at the asylum for the last three years.

Turn signal use is strategic. When in packed traffic, try to drift over before signaling so you will catch other drivers unaware, such that they may be so foolish as to leave six inches of space between themselves and the driver in front of them. At the last moment, POUNCE (and pray). If traffic is moving smoothly with lots of space (so it must be 2 AM on a Sunday), no signal or prayers needed. However, if you are in that unpleasant situation wherein the lane you need is both crowded and fast-moving but the lane you inhabit is packed and crawling, your turn signal is necessary. Yes, people will try to cut you off and mow you down in the process, but if you spook them the herd may stampede. And even your prayers won't save you.

It really is sunny an unconscionable amount of the time. And nobody will understand why you miss the fog. See also note re: asylum, above.

Perhaps it is for the best that we have been absent; there would have been nothing but traffic rants on this blog for months. Because really, how can you complain enough about a 20 minute drive that takes an hour and five? Or a forty minute drive that takes 1:40? At 6:25 a.m. I'm just saying.

Not Dead Yet

2010-09-21T21:28:00.001-07:00

Hello, Beloved Readers!

(i.e. my stalwart aunt, the only person who is probably still checking this - Thanks!)

Having taken a full two month-plus break, the editorial staff is not rejuvenated or refreshed. Rather, school has started and we are back to sloshing through our own self-pity once again. Welcome back, everyone!

Having decided that things are not going to look up anytime soon, I figured I might as well start posting again. Sorry about the long break. The best excuse I could come up with is that I decided to reconnect with my Italian roots by taking a whole month of summer off. The real explanation, though, is that I was just lazy. Hence, the two whole months off.

And the law school lifestyle is setting back in. I nearly fell asleep sitting up today and contemplated shaving my head to save time in the shower. But still spent time watching standup comedian clips on YouTube.

So make yourself at home. Dinner is served between nine and ten on a good night, likely contains several items over their expiration, and likely came out of a box/bag/airtight pack. But, on the bright side, it often comes out of a box that holds instant brownie mix. Cheers!

The Beauty of Non Profits

2010-07-07T21:06:00.000-07:00

Or really, the beauty of being unpaid.

Yesterday I had this conversation with my boss:

Me: Can I please take an obnoxiously long lunch tomorrow to watch Spain play Germany in the World Cup Semi-Final? [yes I did use all of that detail - my boss doesn't really do soccer].

My Boss (while looking at me like I'm crazy): Why don't you just take the whole day?

AND TODAY:

My boss: So you're not coming back after the game, right?

Me: Oh, yeah, it'll be done at like two. I'll come back.

My boss (while looking at me like I'm crazy): Why?

And, if the bar population of SOMA between 11:30 and 2:00 today was any indication, there are a lot of cool bosses in SF. And the GDP will probably suffer as a result of the plummet in productivity.

Viva Espana.

One Holiday Late

2010-07-05T22:41:00.000-07:00

Usually we pride ourselves on only being a few days late for important holidays. But this time, we've surpassed ourselves by a full holiday. Alas.

Still, it is never too late to appreciate a great dad, which I am lucky enough to have. And the immediate future looks promising; although the U.S. nearly broke his heart, I'm pretty sure it's safe to unplug the defibrillator until 2016.

There are lots of great things about the editorial staff's father, and here are just a few:

He takes good care of himself, which I know we all appreciate very much. It can be so hard to watch a loved one refuse to care for their own health and wellbeing, and I appreciate very much that the In Good Graces Dad is very meticulous with his own future.
He is always interested in what I have to say, regardless of its minutia. There is nothing the editorial staff prizes more than a good and patient listener.
He makes excellent bread.
He is thoughtful.

An Open Letter

2010-06-23T21:51:00.001-07:00

Dear FIFA 2010 World Cup (and, by extension, the U.S. Men's National Team),

Please stop trying to kill my father. He can't take much more of this.

Just this morning I heard wailing from the living room that I could only imagine was caused by the total collapse of the Dow Jones. Or maybe by something my mother did. But still, it was anguished. So, like a good daughter, I went running from the bathroom, betowelled, dripping, and bemoaning my inability to perform CPR, only to find out Jozie Altidore had missed a shot.

Horrors.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan. Love the World Cup, always brings hilarity and drama to my life. Also, great commercials, and your little intro music is awesome. Do you have a soundtrack? Get one, please. So no disrespect and all that.

But really. My dad's psyche is (apparently) very fragile, and I really don't appreciate your putting this kind of stress on him. I'm not even going to ask for you to return my boyfriend, as I understand that for him to miss any game, even at 6:30 A.M. would be a crime against nature, but I will request the continued existence of my dad. Seriously.

Oh, and BTW, could we get more shots of Zidane on the sidelines, French follies aside? Thanks.

Sincerely,

Grace

Hello Again!

2010-06-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

I apologize profusely for our prolonged hiatus. The editorial staff has been relocating HQ to its home base, i.e. my parents' apartment.

Which means In Good Graces has returned to the Bay. Words cannot express our joy. In my first weeks alone, the following occurred:

I wore a sweater, scarf and peacoat to work. Every day.
Two separate instances of people trying to run through rush hour traffic in the financial district were observed. Happy to report, nobody died.
I have learned to compost. Why? Because it's The Law here.
I ordered sweet potato fries that cost $9 (not everything about the city is ideal)

Anyway. It's good to be back.

Open Space: Perfectly happy without it, thanks.

2010-05-27T00:39:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff is spending a significant amount of time in the car these days, accompanied by the Official Boyfriend (who does not, as it turns out, appreciate being a "swain").

Spending time on the highways of the American Southwest (capitalized? Unclear. But still too traumatized to look up proper capitalization rules) is peaceful, boring, exhausting and exhilarating by turns. The latter condition is rare - in fact I only truly felt exhilarated once: when a (very pleasant) New Mexico highway patrol officer (who was not a jerk about it) only gave me a verbal warning for going 93 in a 75. I maintain it was the downhill grade.

Sometimes it's even eerie, as was the case when I became convinced there was a serial killer on the loose and that our car was going to break down at any minute, condemning us to a painful and tragic end. Evidence to support this theory: driving by a state prison, complete with signage advising us not to pick up hitchhikers. So maybe it's not eerie for most people, just some of us.

More than anything else, it is definitely empty. And often too hot. But sometimes it is very pretty:

And the return to civilization can be a bit of a shock. I was going to include here the somewhat creepy image of the lights of Indio, California emerging from the darkness as you drive in at night. It's majestic, eerie, disturbing and comforting all at the same time. However, the editorial staff does not have master photographic skillz. So instead I am showing you this:

Please take a moment to imagine something else that evokes the above-listed emotions. Thank you.

Tomorrow: packing. Alas. The editorial staff sincerely hopes that your life is more thrilling than hers right now.

In Store for the Summer

2010-05-21T23:50:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff did not grow up in a particularly athletic household. We didn't really play sports, didn't really watch them. Other than a few notable exceptions (the Olympics, Bulls vs. Jazz, the arrival of Tiger Woods), there wasn't a lot of team allegiance or sporting event tracking.

As a result, sporting events have had relatively little impact on my day to day life. Until now.

Because the Official Boyfriend, unlike the editorial staff, is deeply enamored of certain sporting events. To the point at which he would sell his kidneys on the black market for tickets to a game. For a chance to see his preferred team in the tournament (especially the final), he would likely throw in most of his liver, soul, and maybe a limb.

The ultimate impact is that HQ is transitioning to disaster-preparedness mode, stocking up on canned goods and dehydration packets. It is going to be a long summer.

And who better to kick us off than Diego Maradona, famed Argentine soccer player (and now coach) and general whack job whose ego is only slightly smaller than his international stardom. The headline says it all: "Maradona Runs Over Cameramen, Berates Him, Announces World Cup Roster - in That Order."

Update

2010-05-18T14:38:00.001-07:00

Just wanted to let everyone know that Pandora and I have patched up our disagreements. The first time I turn it on post-Write On, it plays Celebration by Kool & the Gang.

Good save, Pandora.

Live-Blogging the Write On, Day 8

2010-05-17T00:11:00.000-07:00

12:11 AM, T minus 11 hours, 49 minutes: Past the twelve-hour mark. This is the part in the horror film where the first couple gets into their car on a rainy night and the death music comes up.

3:34 AM, T minus 9 hours, 26 minutes: closing in on the page limit, but disorganized and missing keypoints. In endnote hell. Unfortunately can only muster so much rage at the world because, frankly, it feels to ridiculous to be that pissed about something you chose to do and that you could quit at any time. Rather direct rage at paranoia and neuroses that prompt this kind of idiotic behavior. At least Blessed Roommate made me a pot of coffee.

4:42 AM, T minus 7 hours, 18 minutes: Inside the eight hour mark. Just hit the page limit, entire thing is incoherent and slipshod. Still in endnote Hell. Damn.

5:40 AM, T minus 6 hours, 20 minutes: Never seen the sky quite that shade of purple before. Happily could have lived the rest of my life in ignorant bliss, however.

6:45 AM, T minus 5 hours, 15 minutes: Greeting the day with a Snickers bar. Outlook much improved. Will treat self to a trip out of HQ to go to copy shop for color copies. Looking forward to this - posterior has gone numb.

12:12 PM, T plus 12 minutes: TRIUMPH! We here at HQ are happy to report a 100% survival rate. Thanks to everyone for your love and support - we could not have made it without you. The editorial staff is now adjourning to her bathtub until further notice. Let's just forget this ever happened, shall we?

Live-Blogging the Write On, Day 7

2010-05-16T01:11:00.001-07:00

1:11 AM, T minus 34 hours, 49 minutes: "Living in sin is the new thing." The things you learn when Britney comes on the Pandora station. Apparently there's also only two kinds of people in this world, y'all.

2:41 AM, T minus 33 hours, 29 minutes: Developing an unhealthy relationship with Pandora. On one hand, it seems to hinder progress. On the other hand, not sure I can go on without it. But starting to get very paranoid about its intimate knowledge of my life - it keeps playing ads for coffee. It's also not clear if it's trying to bring about my downfall: on one hand, it played "It Keeps Getting Better" and "Stronger," but also "S.O.S." I'm growing more suspicious by the minute. Oh, and in case you were wondering? EPIC FAILURE STILL IN PROGRESS.

3:59 AM, T minus 30 hours, 1 minute: And now "Rescue Me" is playing. Not as cute as you think you are, Pandora. Too cute by a damn sight.

10:39 AM, T minus 25 hours, 21 minutes: Editorial staff does not recall hearing the alarm. Preparing for a very unpleasant 24 hours. Low on food products. Morale distinctly poor.

12:49 PM, T minus 23 hours, 11 minutes: The editorial staff isn't sure what Lewis Black is taking, but if anybody figures it out let us know. This clip is hilarious. Under the 24-hour mark; staving off panic with tea. You can imagine the success of this strategy, I'm sure.

7:33 PM, T minus 16 hours, 27 minutes: Some people might call this the home stretch. If this is where you live, I feel so sorry for you. Debating if it's better to try to take a nap at 2 AM and wake up around 4, or just try to make it straight through. Note to self: Never do this again. Note to all of you: remind me Never to do this again.

9:19 PM, T minus 14 hours, 40 minutes: In an untenable position. Comment is far too long, arguments poorly done, but endnotes far too short. And of course all the endnotes are attached to parts of the comment that need to be cut. So every time you take something out to make comment shorter, endnotes disappear. I think I've had nightmares that went a lot like this. So, if you're bored at 3 AM, give me a call. I'll be here.

Live-Blogging the Write On, Day 6

2010-05-15T01:00:00.000-07:00

1:00 AM, T minus 59 hours, 0 minutes: Epic. Fail.

9:11 AM, T minus 44 hours, 49 minutes: Epic fail still in progress. How disappointing.

2:21 PM, T minus 45 hours, 39 minutes: The goal has devolved from "good comment" to "mediocre comment" to "comment" to "something resembling a comment that is within the page limits." At least I don't actually have to put my name on it. Leaving HQ for sustenance, i.e. Chipotle, i.e. my second home.

11:36 PM, T minus 36 hours, 24 minutes: Left HQ again to forage for Starbucks. And frozen yogurt. Settling in for a long evening. Totally forgot it was Saturday night until all the people at Yogurtland were wearing heels and makeup. Oops.

Live-Blogging the Write On, Day 5

2010-05-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

9:56 AM, T minus 70 hours, 4 minutes: The editorial staff needs to start waking up earlier. Also? We're totally screwed.

12:36 PM, T minus 71 hours, 24 minutes: Morale is on the rise! Might or might not be due to "Eye of the Tiger" playing on Pandora. Again, no judgment necessary, thank you. Also possibly due to pretty pink earplugs donated to the cause by the roommate. All part of the mystery of human life. [Ha! Get it? Too soon?]

2:33 PM, T minus 69 hours, 27 minutes: The flashing ad on Pandora was for those sneakers that supposedly make you more fit just by standing in them, or whatever it is they do. Anyway, they kept flashing these words, and I couldn't for the life figure out why they would want to flash "butterbutt" over and over in an ad for sneakers that are supposed to improve your posterior. Then I realized it said "betterbutt." I guess that's more thematically consistent.

5:33 PM, T minus 66 hours, 27 minutes: The editorial staff is struggling to find a legally defensible way to realize her own ideological beliefs. I feel suddenly at one with the Roberts court.

Live-Blogging the Write On, Day 4

2010-05-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

10:10 AM, T minus 97 hours, 50 minutes: The editorial staff has seriously overslept, and we are now under the 100 hour mark. [insert expletives of choice here . . . . . . . and here. . . . . . . and here. . . . . . etc.]

12:37 PM, T minus 95 hours, 23 minutes: Productivity is at an all-time low. Progress is thin on the ground - i.e. nonexistent. Contemplating failure as imminent; or perhaps just having premonitions of the late night/early morning crises to come. Wishing I could lock myself up with the vapors, but that seems less effective when you lack a plantation house. Damn.

6:57 PM, T minus 89 hours, 3 minutes: Unproductivity on the rise. Just threw my trash in my backpack and my Chapstick in the garbage. Whoops.

10:10 PM, T minus 81 hours, 50 minutes: Highly recommend the Madonna Pandora station - it hasn't made me more successful, but it has definitely made me more cheerful. So has putting my brachiosaurus lamp on my desk. No need to judge, thank you. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Chocolate stash running dangerously low - mutiny risk proportionately increasing. Hopefully we can keep the peace till morning.

Live-Blogging the Write-On, Day 3

2010-05-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

8:35 AM, T minus 123 hours, 25 minutes: morning has brought neither renewed zeal nor improved attitude. Still totally screwed. Perhaps donuts are in order.

11:42 AM, T minus 120 hours, 18 minutes: attitude much improved with adoption of new strategy: start skipping things. Almost experienced heart attack when I thought it was Thursday instead of Wednesday; crisis averted. Progress inhibited by pervasive thoughts of lunch.

3:33 PM, T minus 116 hours, 26 minutes: productivity has tanked. The tree outside my window has never been so fascinating. Must . . . not . . . shop. . . online. . .

10:11 PM, T minus 109 hours, 48 minutes: Slowly losing mental faculties. Earlier asked roommate why she was taking her pillow to the gym - she was dropping off her drycleaning bag. Roughly 12 hours behind schedule. Could get them back by sleeping two less hours per night. Undesirable option. Off to get frozen yogurt and ruminate.

Live-Blogging the Write On, Day 2

2010-05-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

Check this post for updates throughout the day. Stay tuned for Day 3!

9:25 AM, T minus 146 hours, 35 minutes: Day 2 technically should have started at 1 AM, but I was too lazy to update. So instead Day 2 is starting with toast and dread. Cheers!

1:19 PM, T minus 142 hours, 41 minutes (I think): This is like watching soap operas in a foreign language. It seems like I should know what's going on, especially when someone dies or gets pregnant, but the actual dialogue totally escapes me. At least no alligators. Wasted some time reading this. Odd that quality journalism is a waste of time.

4:14 PM, T minus 139 hours, 46 minutes: Esprit de corps is on the decline - appears that chocolate stash meant to last until Monday may be gone tomorrow. Roommates going out for lunch. Rats.

6:55 PM, T minus 137 hours, 5 minutes: Chipotle to the rescue!

11:30 PM, T minus 132 hours, 5 minutes: At the current rate of completion, I have calculated, I will finish . . . sometime next month. Damn. Do we revert to Plan B: Drink Copiously, Plan C: Panic, or Plan D: go to bed and figure this out tomorrow? Decisions, decisions.

Live-Blogging the Write On

2010-05-10T17:56:00.000-07:00

Beloved Readers,

The editorial staff has elected to take a brief foray into Hell: we are attempting to write onto the Law Review at our law school.

Law Reviews are the scholarly journals of the legal community. Most law schools have many journals, but only one eponymous and very "prestigious" journal that has some form of eligibility requirement. Our particular scholarly institution requires a "write-on," wherein frenzied first years read several hundred pages and turn out a ten page paper (with fifteen pages of endnotes, God help us all) in a week.

Overall, it's a psychological and emotional clusterfuck done for unclear reasons and, arguably, largely perpetuated through peer pressure. However, as the editorial staff is both weak of will and a whore for prestigious things that might one day increase her odds of employment by a scintilla, here we are. Chicken Littles of the world unite! In an underground bunker with canned food, Geiger counters and Haz-Mat suits!

Anyhoo, tune in here for the next eight days for the whining of a slowly-deteriorating law school brain. Maybe you've seen live blogs before- they're everywhere, although usually for events that are a few hours long (and actually amusing), like sports games and awards shows. But if you're looking for fun, Beloved Readers, really you should have started somewhere else in the first place.

Oh, and due to the rules of the competition, I cannot receive outside aid. Therefore, if you have any helpful suggestions, comments, etc., DO NOT SHARE THEM. I will probably close comments or something. Thank you. Along similar lines, this blog will not share any substantive information about the write on or my paper's contents in order to preserve my anonymity. Chicken Littles fear getting in trouble. And academic dishonesty proceedings. Rather, we're just here to give the editorial staff a place to vent. Epically.

SO, welcome! And without further ado, let us begin:

5:56, 5 hours and 56 minutes in: printed over 500 pages. Nice man at copy shop thinks I'm insane, but offered free lavender dividers. Very nice. This sucks. At least not worried about being eaten by an alligator today.

A (Late) note on Mom

2010-05-10T17:26:00.000-07:00

As is the In Good Graces tradition, we're running late on the holiday front.

So, now that it's Monday, Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Great moms can be hard to find, and the editorial staff is very lucky to have one such moms. She reminds me every day what kind of a woman I want to be, and how hard it is going to be to do for my own kids what she has done for me.

So, even though she forgot it was Mother's Day, here's to you, Mom!

Supremely Amusing

2010-05-04T17:30:00.000-07:00

I always make fun discoveries when reviewing Con Law. Sunday, for example, I found a ton of Oreo crumbs in the book binding. I did not eat them, don't worry. They had been crushed way too small to gather up.

I do sometimes stumble across fun quotes from the highest court in the land, however, which are always worth a chuckle. Join me for a few?

On a law allowing women to buy 3.2% beer at 18, but not men (the law was struck down, by the way): "Needless to say, in this case Oklahoma does not suggest that the age-sex differential was enacted to ensure the availability of 3.2% beer for women as compensation for previous deprivations." Craig v. Boren, 429 U.S. 190

The Supreme Court as Yoda: "Sweeping and comprehensive is the change in legal status effected by this law." Romer v. Evans, 517 U.S. 620

A famous part of the Planned Parenthood v. Casey, 505 U.S. 833, opinion: "These matters, involving the most intimate and personal choices a person may make in a lifetime, choices central to personal dignity and autonomy, are central to the liberty protected by the Fourteenth Amendment. At the heart of liberty is the right to define one's own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life." Maybe you have to be in law school to appreciate the hilarity. Or just imagine the conservative justices all turning purple with rage.

Too bad the con law exam was a vicious and unforgiving bitch. Alas.

XXIV

2010-04-26T12:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the In Good Graces editorial staff turned 24 years old.

It was sad to leave behind an age that was sequential and prime, but it is still exciting to now be an age that is a multiple of the last two digits of the year (24 in 2012). Not quite as good as sequential and prime, but I'll take it. Being oddly superstitious about a lot of things, I greatly prefer even-numbered years, in which I turn even-numbered ages. For absolutely no good reason. Other, perhaps, than the fact that my thirteenth year (1999) and nineteenth year (2001) were among the worst on record. Unbridled optimism is not my strong suit, but I am trying to be in a good mood about 24 anyway. It is divisible by a lot of numbers.

We here at HQ continue to be deeply grateful for the support and love of the excellent Parents, Sister and Family, VBFILs, Truly Excellent People, Official Boyfriend, and assorted others who keep me afloat day in and day out. We are thankful for their support, friendship, love, continued survival and well-being, and hope they had an excellent year.

Additional thanks and appreciation to all of you who read the blog despite periodic hiatuses, intemperate rants and general law school insanity. I truly enjoy writing here and am flattered and touched that you visit. Thank you.

And in honoring the tradition, a brief (and certainly non-exhaustive) list of good things that came my way between April 25, 2009 and April 25, 2010:

A law school section without a single Question Guy or Gal
An excellent Central American voyage with VBFILs that did not result in a massacre by apocalypse frogs
The red velvet cupcakes at Jerry's Deli
Many holiday fist bumps from a certain small cousin
My first year of law school
Learning to make biscuits (special thanks to Bobby Flay and his Throwdowns)
Completing a full holiday season in San Francisco
Finding summer "employment" in San Francisco
The visits of VBFILs and their generous patience and culinary contributions
An excellent roommate

And much, much more. Thanks to everyone for a great year, and here's hoping for another!

Already? Wow.

2010-04-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

Today, I had my last official law school class as a 1L. It was constitutional law, and I spent some of it playing solitaire while my classmate weighed in on the judicial philosophy of Antonin Scalia. Justice Scalia, wherever you are, you do not have many fans in my 1L section, FYI. Sorry about that, you seem like a very nice man.

I feel like this is the part where I'm supposed to have a deep and self-reflective moment about what it means to be at the end of my first year of legal education. I should be able to say something profound. I should have pearls of wisdom. Existential angst. Something. If you are patiently reading this for any of those things, spoiler alert: prepare to be disappointed.

This feels much more like the first day of this semester, on which my property professor handed out a questionnaire so he could get to know us better. The last question asked what lessons we had learned first semester. I wasn't sure what to write - do the reading on time? Study for exams? To thine own self be true?

I settled for "If you eat a lot of instant soup you can save a ton of time on cooking." It was, truly, a momentous discovery for me.

Now, many Annie Chun's dinners later, I have relatively little to add. Still, for anyone curious or anyone contemplating a first year of law school, here are some things I hold dear to my heart:

1. Invest in Post-Its. I love Post-Its. They help me keep track of scattered ideas in my brain (including "do laundry" and "pay rent"). This is very important, as my memory is officially shot after nine months as a 1L. SHOT. People ask me how old I am and I have to think about it. Hard. Also, Post-Its make you feel productive, which is a quick way to a good night's sleep in my book.

2. Occasionally bake something. Or buy baked goods. Or whatever random food item makes life worth living. Because sometimes you will need them. My beloved roommate went through a whole week where the only thing she looked forward to was the whole-grain Dijon mustard in the fridge. For an insight as to how soothing it really was, let me share with you that we have no fewer than nine condiment bottles in the fridge door as we speak. Nine. And all I eat is instant soup.

3. Do not have a breakdown. Or at least try not to. That will really put a cramp in your style and whatnot.

4. Do use a calendar. Then you will know what day it is, and this will often be helpful information. It will also help you plan that day, and figure out when your exams are so you show up for them. Calendars are also excellent ways to create the feeling of productivity mentioned re: Post Its. I also recommend lists and charts for this purpose. There is nothing like a break from one's neuroses.

5. Trader Joe's makes bags of those awesome little sponges that come dehydrated and flat but puff up when you put them in water. Now you don't have to buy sponges as often, and it's instant entertainment!

Now that you are all sufficiently enwizened (which Google definitely does not think is a word, but I am defiant!), go forth and wash your dishes and buy office supplies!

And maybe seriously reconsider the LSAT.

"Beaner Hopping," revisited.

2010-04-19T14:54:00.000-07:00

And so things come full circle.

The trial of the teenager who stabbed an Ecuadorean immigrant to death on Long Island in 2008 has come to an end. You can read the original In Good Graces post on this here.

The now 19-year-old was convicted of first-degree manslaughter as a hate crime for the murder of Marcelo Lucero. He was spared a second-degree murder conviction and will not (necessarily) spend the rest of his life in prison.

As I read the article with a law school lens I didn't have before, new things jump out at me. Most of them are boring: what exactly does the NY statute say about manslaughter, and why wasn't this a depraved heart murder (because yes, that really is a real term)?

But it also makes me think harder about truth, intent and consequences, and whether a 911 call could have saved a man who bled to death for an hour. Justice? I have no idea.

If you Get a Minute. . .

2010-04-07T10:01:00.000-07:00

I already sent pretty much everyone who reads this blog the link to this article, but I'm putting it here too. It's a column by Bob Herbert about the lack of attention given to seriously injured vets who fought in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I know that I go happily through my life almost never thinking about the war, which is a luxury a lot of people don't have. It occurred to me that I choose a lot of what I read on NYTimes.com based on the "most e-mailed" list that shows up on a bunch of the pages. So I thought it would be cool if this column could be there, for more people to see and read.

So if you're of a mind, go to the link and use the NYTimes.com tool to email to to anyone you think might be interested, or willing to pass it on. Probably the ten people who actually read this blog aren't enough to tip the scale. But I know you all have more friends than I do, so get cracking! If you have my email, feel free to send it to me on a daily basis. It will give my Gmail something to do - soon the little Google Ads are all going to be for self-help and plastic surgery.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/06/opinion/06herbert.html

Shouting Out

2010-03-29T21:00:00.001-07:00

The editorial staff would like to direct your attention to the accomplishments of the Official Swain, who helped produce research that is being mentioned in the national news today.

The lab where he worked has produced some great results on multiple sclerosis that could bring better treatment and hope to a lot of people who need it. HQ is very proud and excited that he was part of such a great research project and team, especially as multiple sclerosis is an issue quite close to our hearts. Also the science is pretty darn cool, even though I can only understand about 1/16 of it.

The paper is titled "T helper type 1 and 17 cells determine efficacy of interferon-β in multiple sclerosis and experimental encephalomyelitis." His supervisor is the first author, followed by the scientists who assisted (including the Swain), and the boss researcher is listed at the end. Although seemingly inscrutable, this is very exciting. You can also check out some mainstream media summaries here, here or here if you're interested.

Due Diligence

2010-03-29T20:37:00.000-07:00

Law students "read" in a particular fashion, I find. It's not so much a concentrated and heroic effort as it is a muddling battle of attrition. Let's take the opportunity to observe the likely goings-on in a law student's mind while reading the seminal constitutional case McCulloch v. Maryland (17 US 316), in which the creation of a national bank was held constitutional:

"The first question made in the cause is, has Congress power to incorporate a bank?"

Okay, bank+congress=angry Maryland. I think I've heard of this case. So far so good.

"The principle now contested was introduced at a very early period of our history, has been recognized by many successive legislatures, and has been acted upon by the judicial department, in cases of peculiar delicacy, as a law of undoubted obligation."

Gee that was a lot of commas. Something about history and legislatures. Write that down. Isn't a delicacy like a dessert?

"But it is conceived, that a doubtful question, one on which human reason may pause, and the human judgment be suspended, in the decision of which the great principles of liberty are not concerned, but the respective powers of those who are equally the representatives of the people, are to be adjusted; if not put at rest by the practice of the government, ought to receive a considerable impression from that practice."

Hm. The really long sentences probably aren't that important, right? Jot "liberty?" in the margin. Justice John Marshall needed an editor. And I could really use a cookie. Or maybe a brownie. I wonder if there were snacks at the Constitutional Convention?

"The nation, on those subjects on which it can act, must necessarily bind its component parts."

Must remember to go to Kinko's later. Must remember to go to Kinko's later. Must remember to go to Kinko's later. Stop by bakery en route.

"The sword and the purse, all the external relations, and no inconsiderable portion of the industry of the nation, are entrusted to its government."

If stop by Yogurtland on the way to Kinko's, can get exact portion of yogurt I would like. Also shop for new purse online. Write that down.

"Take, for example, the power 'to establish post offices and post roads.'"

Post roads, write that down. Must go to Kinko's. And stop by the Yogurtland. Next to the post office. I should get a dog and name it "liberty."

"Let the end be legitimate, let it be within the scope of the constitution, and all means which are appropriate, which are plainly adapted to that end, which are not prohibited, but consist with the letter and spirit of the constitution, are constitutional."

If a woodchuck could chuck wood. I should get a woodchuck too. What is a woodchuck exactly? Is that like a guinea pig? I wonder if they're legal in the United States. I should check that on Wikipedia - they might be endangered. Jot down "legitimacy." Maybe woodchucks like yogurt.

"We are unanimously of the opinion that the law passed by the legislature of Maryland, imposing a tax on the Bank of the United States, is unconstitutional and void.

Unconstitutional and Void. Write that down, probably important for later. Time for snacks now? Yes I think so.

I would like to take this opportunity to point out that my law school has a better than fifty percent bar passage rate. Which means that yours truly has a statistically better-than-even chance of becoming certified to practice law in the state of California. I am the bright and shining future of the legal regime in this state.

Panic as you see fit.

Good to know. . .

2010-03-02T20:57:00.000-08:00

Interesting (and sometimes unfortunate) tidbits from law school:

Our professor, on negotiation: "Remember that you are in the service industry. You have chosen to serve others and make their lives better and easier. At the expense of your own. Well played."

From a casebook: the defendant "mistook his friend for a turkey and shot him dead."

Thank you, Justice Frankfurter: "I abstain from entering upon a consideration of such legislation, and adjudications upon it, because I feel confident that the present decision will turn out to be an isolated deviation from the strong current of precedents - a derelict on the waters of the law. Accordingly, I content myself with dissenting."

What the personal computer has wrought . . .

2010-02-11T10:01:00.000-08:00

You may not believe me, beloved readers, but I actually had a strategy behind not posting for an eon: to hide this post from my mother. Hi Mom!

Because my thank-you cards are late. I owe several notes to potential employers ("employers" in the loose sense of the word - nobody pays first years to work at nonprofits) with whom I spoke last week. Realizing the mail time delay, I emailed most of them instead of writing them (the horror!).

For those who do not understand, my mother is a true disciple of Stationery and Hand Written Notes. In general I find this very impressive and appreciate said Notes when they come my way. I am, however, an errant student. My sister and I both possess vast quantities of neatly monogrammed pages that we (or at least I) use with total delinquency. And so the tradition continues.

One note particularly needs to be on actual paper, so I took out my neatly-pressed cards and began writing. There is just one small problem: I write like a five-year-old.

My cursive is on the verge of indecipherable. My n's, k's, h's and sometimes l's all look the same. When I start a word with an r, I write it in print. If the r is in the middle of the word, I use the cursive form. I still can't find my i's. And we won't even talk about line spacing. After looking at my handiwork and realizing it was atrocious, I decided to print. Juvenile, perhaps, but surely legibility trumps age-appropriateness?

One more small problem: I can't print.

I'm not sure when this happened, but somehow I can either write in terrible cursive or botched half-printing, half-terrible cursive. Now it looks like I'm writing a thank-you card to my doctor on my way home from the Betty Ford Center. The only remaining option is to write each letter individually, well-spaced from its counterparts. D e a r S i r , p l e a s e e x c u s e m y m i l d n e u r o s i s a b o u t l e t t e r s p a c i n g .

So, which is better: deranged sixth grader with poor hand-eye coordination, or mild psychosis with blurred vision?

Sorry, Mom. At least the cards look nice on their own!

"Pond of Death"

2010-01-19T23:37:00.000-08:00

To grasp the essence of the second semester of 1L year, watch this Eddie Izzard clip and focus particularly on Hans between 1:20 and 2:05. (the title is not referenced in that bit, but it's an encouragement for you to watch the whole video anyway).

Survival is the goal, and trying to get a job (read: unpaid internship) is the archenemy.

On the upside, it's raining in the LOS.

Enjoy the rest of Eddie!

The Smell of Possibility

2010-01-03T19:36:00.000-08:00

I know it has been a good year when I make it to the next year thinking, "Thank God I survived New Year's Eve," rather than "Thank god I dragged my broken self through last year." I had the pleasure of entertaining such New Year's Survival thoughts over the last few days, feeling that barring some minor annoyances, New Year's Eve was quite benign. And barring the best efforts of law school, I remain alive and out not-institutionalized at the end of my first semester.

Sometimes people tell me I have an old soul. It's not the charming, whimsical "old soul" of the prematurely wise and circumspect. It is the old soul of a cranky, incontinent curmudgeon who sits on her porch with a shotgun to try to scare the varmints out of their holes as they sleep the peaceful slumber of the innocent. The soul of that unpleasant old crone lives deep within me and often surfaces to cluck and grumble about the shenanigans of the young hoodlums. The young hoodlums my own age. Tragic, I know.

Let me assure you that this bitter geriatric personality is rarely more vocal than at New Years. I am a self-confessed enemy of the holiday. I agree with a very good friend of mine who points out that we should love it, given that it is aregiligious and an opportunity for self-indulgence on a radical scale. After all, we love Halloween and Thanksgiving. But no, we just don't do New Years well. But I think we have cause.

Because when I go out on Halloween or stuff myself to a stupor on Thanksgiving, I am either unperturbed by the surrounding chaos (because I am happily in my own home stuffed), or am willing to forgive ridiculousness if people are dressed as whales, TV celebrities or politicians. If you put on a silly costume, I can give you a lot of slack.

The only thing that really appeals to me about New Years, however, is the sense of starting fresh. I like the feeling that you can sit quietly, reflect on your past year and evaluate it in the pause before everything rolls forward again. One is free to relish the angst, fury, joy or embarrassment of the past year with the surety that it is coming to an end. How charming.

This is very hard to do if people insist on spilling beer on your shoes and screaming in your ears. Especially the shoes bit, it quite peeves me.

I acknowledge that I am an unreasonable, cantankerous pain in the ass who should not be allowed into civilized company for any festive occasion. I assure you, I am vividly aware of this fact. And so usually I content myself with remaining indoors on the last night of the year, ideally with good friends and junk food. So fear not, I will not be descending upon any of your parties in the coming year armed and cranky.

Best wishes to everyone in 2010, and I hope we all survived New Years Eve in one piece!

Guard your Cheetos

2009-12-16T12:20:00.001-08:00

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled program of nothingness to bring you a brief (but well-justified, we feel) rant.

The editorial staff has an official Law School Enemy.

I suppose it was inevitable - everyone finds one sooner or later. It could be whoever it is who sits two rows back who can't turn their iPhone off (morons: when it's on vibrate, everyone in a ten-seat radius of you can still hear it), or the one person who always has to have the last word in class, or even your civil procedure professor. Fortunately for the editorial staff, it is none of these.

I hate the squirrels. I hate them.

The UCLA squirrels (I believe they are fox squirrels) are far too friendly. TOO FRIENDLY. Rather than identifying people as creatures to be feared and avoided, they seem to perceive students as vending machines. While this is not surprising, I would much prefer the former perception, as I personally fear and avoid squirrels as much as possible. But these squirrels want to be your buddy, your pal, your lunch date. They want your damn chips and they want them now.

So it is that I found myself enjoying a peaceful lunch in the courtyard when I noticed one such rodent standing several feet from my table, observing my snacks and inching closer. I shifted my chair, making enough noise to frighten it. The squirrel backed off, but almost immediately returned. We did this dance for several minutes, until he appeared to lose interest. I smiled smugly and crunched away on my crackers.

All was well until several minutes later my gaze drifted to the left, where I found the same squirrel. Only this time, it was sitting on the chair next to me, rubbing its little paws together and staring at my crackers. There was perhaps a foot between us, and a split second before I completely lost my marbles. I'm pretty sure the screaming I did scared him away for good, but I'm also convinced it took a year off my life. The squirrels are now my nemesis.

Evil little snack-grubbing plague-carrying bushy-tailed pains-in-the-ass.

Finals end on Friday. As you can tell, it hasn't gotten to me in the least.

Enjoys: meat products and liquor.

2009-12-02T13:18:00.001-08:00

Much as I would love to regale you with stories about finals (and sad as I'm sure you are not to hear them right now), can we please address an issue that continues to confuse me?

Why does everyone want me to have hobbies?

As previously expressed on this blog, I don't have hobbies. And I don't understand why people ask me whether I have hobbies. I forget that other people actually do things about which they talk with other people who do things. And I guess it makes sense to ask about people's interests in certain contexts.

The weird thing is, lawyers apparently put it on their resume. Or at least law students do. The career services center suggests that everybody put "interests" at the bottom of their resume. The examples include things like gourmet cooking, skiing, kayaking and hiking. Why is everyone so active? All of these things sounds suspiciously like work to me.

I think they tell you to do this so there will be "conversation starters" on your resume. So theoretically you should put things in your "interests" section that will enable you to talk about yourself in a nice way. Ideally you will be able to say things like, "yes, I love to donate my gourmet cooking skills to feed the hungry," or "my interests in microbiology are largely rooted in my work curing infectious disease in Azerbaijan."

Now herein lies the rub: what does one put in one's "interests" section if all one really likes to do is eat and sleep? Fine, sometimes I like to shop for sneakers online. But sending in a resume that says my interests include "napping, slothfulness and bad TV," or "sleeping in, eating instant soup and Googling my professors" doesn't seem like a good idea. Would you hire someone (whom you will not be paying, granted) who is happiest when they are doing nothing? No, you probably would not.

So I fell back on the old standby: dinosaurs and baking. But I threw in "South-Eastern Europe" this time, so I will sound learned and worldly. Of course, if they ask me about South-Eastern Europe I will only be able to talk about sausage and brandy.

It could be a long application process.

Why you Never Want to Sit on the Circuit

2009-11-23T14:24:00.000-08:00

For your brief enjoyment, this describes the issue we are learning about in civil procedure right now:

"Our principal task . . . is to determine what the New York courts would think the California courts would think on an issue about which neither has thought." - Nolan v. Transocean Air Lines, 276 F.2d 280, 281 (2d cir. 1960).

More later, I promise. And my promises on this blog are worth so much these days, I know.

Feeling the Terror

2009-11-02T18:17:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, it is officially November. And you can smell the fear in the 1L classrooms.

As one particularly well-informed law professor reminded us, the first semester looks something like this:

September is "Learn to read cases" month.

October is "Outlining month" and also "shit I didn't do any outlining" month.

November, however, is "Fear of God" month.

That's right. You may not have realized it, but Halloween in fact kicked off thirty miserable days of total panic and furious activity in law libraries around the nation. Why? Because we all simultaneously realized that we are actually going to be tested on what we learned, and that those tests will form 100% of our final grades. Participation credit is officially a distant memory.

It does not help that law schools teach and test in two entirely different theories. We learn by reading cases and discussing what the court found. But instead of being tested on our ability to read cases, law students are tested on solving actual "problems" that might arise in the course of our future "practice."

Imagine our surprise.

It's a little like spending an entire semester learning how to spell words in French, then finding out the entire test is focused on proper sentence construction. In Russian.

So as you enjoy the crisp fall air (of which there is none in the LOS, I'd like to point out. I now live in a place so unnatural that the forecast for the first week of November is over 75 degrees) and prepare to roast a great number of fowl in the tradition of gratitude, feel free to gloat that no one is actively trying to screw you over in about five weeks. Well, at least not that I know of.

Happy November, everyone!

Behind. Way Behind.

2009-10-27T00:10:00.001-07:00

First, the editorial staff would like to apologize for our lengthy hiatus.

With only six weeks to the first law school final of our career, being flooded with work (i.e. burned out and exhausted) and having only recently survived an epic (i.e. week-long) battle with the plague (i.e. the flu), we are a little behind here at HQ.

However, we have some great advice for you if you should be stuck indoors battling the plague yourself. The editorial staff is very appreciative of all the following flu remedies:

Bad crime TV, which fortunately tends to run in marathons
Otter pops
Googling people you know (I now know that one of my law professors had her wedding announcement in the New York Times)
Naps
General crankiness and whining
Instant soup products
Ginger ale
Not wearing pants

We hope all is well with all of you fair readers, and will hopefully get the collective butt in gear now that the plague has been evaded.

I do this all the time . . .

2009-10-10T12:47:00.000-07:00

Usually on the table at the library. I try to make sure I just drool on myself and not all over my books. My success rate at this has been improving! Aren't you glad you asked? (sorry the image is too big - it won't let me resize.)

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Worth Reading.

2009-10-09T01:12:00.000-07:00

As many of you probably know, David Foster Wallace died last year. He was a brilliant author who committed suicide after a long struggle with bipolar disorder.

He gave the 2005 commencement address at Kenyon College, a much-acclaimed piece of work. Although I have heard much about it, I did not read it until tonight.

I highly recommend it.

You can find it here.

Kudos to a certain VBFIL for the indirect tip.

It's in there somewhere , . .

2009-10-03T14:55:00.000-07:00

To find out what law school feels like, please pay close attention to 00:30 through 01:02 of the video below.

Yes, gentle readers, this is what my Saturday afternoon reading torts in the law library feels like. Was it important that the ship sunk? Or was it important that it was the fifth ship that sank in that particular vicinity in two years? What about if it had been five years? What if they had had a troupe of singing baboons on board? Would that be negligent? No? Then maybe really the barge part doesn't matter at all and I should be focusing on the runaway tractor accident. Crap.

We are still distinctly lacking on treasures of the Sierra Madre here at HQ.

Another Official List is Born

2009-09-25T14:19:00.001-07:00

The editorial staff apologizes for our long hiatus. As free time becomes scarce I keep putting off writing here until I have time to really "write" something. This is a foolish idea and leaves me watching marathons of Law and Order: SVU while I "brainstorm."

So perhaps expect shorter posting nowadays, but hopefully more regular as well.

And for today, we are celebrating the end of the week with an Official In Good Graces Favorite Touchdown Dance from the awesome pop star Pink.

Touchdown Dances, for those not up on the lingo of people who don't watch football but like to appropriate others' terms for our own purposes, are celebratory dances performed in moments of great joy. This one is perhaps a little twisted given its context, but I share it with you anyway. Because it's still great and I wish I could do this on MY front lawn all the time. If I had a lawn. Or a chainsaw, for that matter.

Plus, the song includes the following great passage:

"I guess I just lost my husband
I don't know where he went
So I'm gonna drink my money
I'm not gonna pay his rent."

If you'd like to zone in on the dance, start watching at 00:30 and watch to 1:05 or so. I'm not able to embed, so check out the video here.

State of Whoa. Or Woe. Whichever.

2009-09-10T23:10:00.000-07:00

One of my law professors described his subject aptly when he said this:

"It is hard. Because you have no intuition and it's boring."

I should be encouraged that my educators have a strong grip on reality, but it's not actually comforting at all.

We were recently gifted the joy of reading Pennoyer v. Neff. I would like to take this time to acknowledge a particular father of a particular VBFIL who warned me in advance that this case was both stultifying and poorly written. And for that I thank him, because at least I was not alone while wading through that particular swamp. Not being alone in the swamp makes all the difference.

But I digress. Part of the reason it takes me an hour to read ten pages in law school is that it is hard. Because it is confusing and difficult and I just don't get it. But part of it is because you cannot go through a case like Pennoyer without losing your train of thought at least every three minutes. It happens a lot, in fact, and you suddenly realize that instead of pondering negligence you're actually deciding if you would rather be mauled by a runaway 18th century farm ox or a nile crocodile. Oops.

Like the other day when we read a case brought by the state of Washington. I got as far as the citation (which is right under the case name) and saw the abbreviation: Wa (I don't know why they don't capitalize both letters, it bothers me too). And something like the following went through my head:

Hmm, Wa. Washington is the State of Washington. The state of Wa. That's kind of cool. Exciting-sounding. The state of WAH! The state of WAH? WAHAHAHAHA! Or maybe very zen. A state of waaaaaah. Hm. Washington. Yeah, that's cool.

One line down, 120 minutes to go. And getting smarter the whole time, clearly.

On Mass Destruction

2009-09-07T00:08:00.000-07:00

We at In Good Graces HQ are not what you would call "sensitive," particularly. I don't coo at babies, I don't daydream about candlelit dinners and I frequently fail to take others' feelings into account before I open my mouth.

And yet I do understand that one should have a degree of tolerance and respect for other creatures with which we share the world. Things are going so well, what could there possibly be to grumble about? Is it really worth the shattering of one's karma to put unnecessarily harmful, aggressive thoughts into the universe?

I have discovered that yes, in fact, sometimes it is. Why? Because we have an ant problem here at HQ. An ant PROBLEM. And you know what? I HATE ANTS. Their little sectional bodies and crooked legs and icky scurrying pattern and their damn ant tracks.

So clearly, this means war. They are going to infest the kitchen sink? Fine. This is what modern chemistry is all about: destruction of living things. And so in the grip of a homicidal rage, I unleashed a cloud of Ant Raid over every doorstep, nook and cranny in view. Mission accomplished.

Unfortunately the ant epidemic is part of university housing. The horde has actually been working its way south from the first grad student building since students got here a few weeks ago. As time passed I heard stories of each successive dorm up the hill discovering the evil invaders. And now they're here.

Some people seem copacetic. Perhaps "resigned" is better. They kill the ants when they find them, but generally have come to ignore them. When I ask about Raiding the whole place, they worry about "chemicals," "poisoning," and "asphyxiation." And after all, who wants Raid all over the area where they cook their food? Gross, right?

Gross chemical nerve agent bullshit my ass - I don't give a damn. I can eat Honey Nut Cheerios out of a box I'll keep in the fridge for at least a week. If there's enough Raid in this apartment to smother me, it will definitely take all those crawly little bastards along with it. And they will find me smiling with the sweet satisfaction of someone who may have lost the battle, but took all the enemy with her.

Why you don't want to hang out with me

2009-09-02T00:13:00.000-07:00

I imagine there comes a time in every 1L (the official term for first year law students, who will later become 2Ls and 3Ls if all goes well) story when we realize that we are totally unfit to spend time with anyone who is not also a 1L. We are so boring.

And it's not just because all we can talk about are our professors and classes. If only that were the sole problem. It's not just that we see law suits everywhere and threaten each other with civil litigation on a regular basis. These are not even close to the true violations of social coolness.

We make law jokes. It's all we know how to do anymore.

1Ls actively "tort" one another. And then call each other names. So far the best one I've overheard is "tortious bitch!" Damages are demanded for everything. EVERYTHING. Spilled drinks, missed calls, you name it. You cannot help but breach a contract in the presence of a first year law student. But don't worry, nothing will happen to you! Just try not to do anything that we could straightforwardly compute damages for. Go for something obscure and nebulous, like the value of a perfectly constructed post-rhinoplasty nose (not kidding - check out Sullivan v. O'Connor).

It's probably time for bed, I have contracts first thing. But don't forget this friendly advice the next time you're thinking about screwing someone over: go for something vague.

Well, poop.

2009-08-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

So, this is a big bummer.

On the upside, reading case law teaches you things people do for which it turns out you can be sued and punished. Including:

Spitting on someone in the wrong place at the wrong time
Kidnapping your children to have them deprogrammed from their cult
Smacking someone's cane
Refuse to marry someone after promising to do so (one of the only breaches of contract from which someone can exact punitive damages. At least in Wisconsin, at some point in time)

So, try to stay on the up and up, okay?

On the Verge

2009-08-18T22:15:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff is officially relocated. Law school officially starts tomorrow at 9:25 AM with Contracts. We have all our fingers and toes crossed. At least to the best of our ability.

We have, on the up side, survived law school orientation. All of the following pieces of advice were given:

Do not date anyone in your small section.
Do get the pre-published legal outlines
Brief cases only in your book
Brief cases on paper for the first few weeks
Don not brief anything - you won't have time
Do not sleep with anyone in your small section
The law school food sucks - bring lunch
Outline constantly
Outline only sometimes
Outline nothing - buy the pre-published outlines
You know all those people in your small section? Don't even think about it.

By far the best advice was given by a professor in a lecture ending at 12:30 PM : Never be late for lunch.

Unfortunately I couldn't resist making a raised-fists celebratory gesture when he said it. He peered toward my chair and asked if there were any questions.

Will be sitting on my hands for the rest of the week.

Centennial? Is that the right word?

2009-08-13T00:11:00.001-07:00

How fitting that the 100th post should fall perfectly on another milestone. Today, in roughly six hours, I will depart for law school.

This is the moment for profoundness, right?

Unfortunately, the pearls of wisdom escape me. There is, above all else, a moment for gratitude. A thank-you to everyone who has supported and guided me and a nod to the universe for good fortune.

Especially for making all my worldly belongings fit in the Honda Civic without giving my father a stroke. Thank you, universe, for that too.

And so we are off to the next chapter! At least if we can make it down the I-5.

The LOS or bust.

Treat

2009-08-06T22:47:00.001-07:00

As promised I have made a pilgrimage to the ferry building to visit my favorite cupcake purveyor, Miette:
Because there is no joy like raspberry buttercream. None.

No packing progress to report. I did one load of laundry yesterday. Still in the dryer. Whoops.

Parting Shots

2009-07-29T18:23:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff is departing the Grand Canyon State in about twelve hours. I am very sad to let this vacation come to an end; it has been wonderfully relaxing and rejuvenating.

But, before we move on to family engagements and the frantic preparations for law school, I would like to share with you bit of the place I've been bumming around for the past three weeks.

The city of Tucson is pretty flat, surrounded by mountains and hills that create great sunsets. Of which I have no pictures. I do, however, have this charming shot of the landscape:

Thrilling, no? But there are some beautiful things here, including the flowers (oddly enough):

And I do give the U of A credit for some good choices in architecture - they have an eye for desert colors. Not the greatest picture - the sky is usually more blue - but something nonetheless.

And finally, I never got used to seeing cacti everywhere. And I mean everywhere. On the side of the road, painted on walls, artistically rendered into bus stops, in front yards, etc. So let's end this retrospective thusly:

Foul

2009-07-28T14:53:00.001-07:00

In every sense of the word.

Six minutes much preferable to six hours

2009-07-26T18:01:00.000-07:00

This is a very interesting article about getting in shape and whether you in fact need to spend hours at the gym to do so. Not sure if I will be taking it to heart - laziness is the byword here at HQ. But maybe you will enjoy it.

NY Times: Can you get fit in six minutes a week?

All in Ten Days

2009-07-23T20:54:00.000-07:00

It has taken until this week, almost exactly four weeks before the first day of class, for me to become genuinely panicked about going back to school.

If you too are prone to total paranoia and paralyzing fear before major changes in your life, perhaps you handle it much like I do: after eating donuts for dinner and watching terrible TV (Superstars, anyone?) you begin making lists. Frantically.

So far I have listed furniture items needed, tasks to be completed before returning from Tucson, tasks to be completed before leaving San Francisco, people to see, etc.

And now, a key addition: the In Good Graces Official Leaving San Francisco List.

Everything I must see and do (and eat) before my departure:

1. Visit the Academy of Sciences
2. Visit the Tut exhibit at the de Young
3. Have one last burger at Bistro Burger
4. Run the Embarcadero again
5. A stroll through the ferry building (and a cupcake from Miette!)
6. A weekend morning in the Fillmore counting the small dogs
6. A trip to the MOMA
7. One last sit at the Atrium on 2nd street
8. A walk up to Coit Tower
9. A visit to the sea lions at Pier 39
10. A hot dog from one of the vendors in Union Square
11. Focaccia from Liguria Bakery
12. French toast at Mama's

Most of this may make no sense to you, but don't worry. Details to follow.

Happy Anniversary! Late!

2009-07-19T17:21:00.001-07:00

In true In Good Graces fashion, I missed the one year anniversary of this site by almost two weeks. Whoops.

Better late than never, though, so I am going to take this opportunity to thank you all for reading and enjoying this process with me (I hope). I am really enjoying writing here and appreciate everyone's comments and encouragement - it means the world to me.

And on that note, it's time to announce the first writing project I will have officially begun since this blog (not including assigned work for degree-earning purposes, of course).

My plan for the remainder of my free time before law school is to assemble and write down the best stories about my mother's family. My mother's mother recently passed away, leaving behind a certain emptiness and a desire to remember. This will require harassing those remaining members of my mother's family for their memories; if you are reading this, you know who you are. Leaving your phone off the hook will not save you, but nice try.

Don't worry, I will keep you updated on my progress (or lack thereof).

And thanks, again, for sticking with In Good Graces. You have my eternal gratitude.

From the Latin for "buzzer." No, really.

2009-07-14T11:33:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff is not an ideal travel companion. I am, in fact, aggressively difficult on traveling matters. I am picky about my food, a light sleeper, afraid of the outdoors and, unfortunately for the Official Boyfriend, extremely climate-unfriendly. My ideal temperatur is between 70 and 80 degrees. And outside of "ideal" generally means "intolerable."

Given that the low in Tucson, Arizona has yet to drop below 80 degrees, this is going to be a long visit for the Official Boyfriend.

Another particular annoyance about traveling is the insects. San Francisco is blessedly free of excessively loud pests, unless you count the parrots. The rest of the world, however, seems to have much larger, noisier bug populations.

The recent trip to Guatemala with the VBFILs provided ample opportunity to rant about bugs. Antigua itself had very few - several annoying mosquitos, but really nothing serious. It was in venturing outside the precious city that my sanity was invaded.

The VBFILs are, generally speaking, far more outdoors-friendly than I. They backpack, they hike, they camp, they are skilled with those little outdoor stove thingies and they build me blessedly toasty camp fires. And, to my enormous relief, put up with my torrential rain of complaints.

And it was through the benevolent guidance of a particularly outdoors-friendly VBFIL that we found ourselves at an "eco-hostel" in the Guatemalan outback - 11 km on a dirt road from the tiny town on the dirt road 8 hours from Antigua. Now, "eco-hostel" sounds quite pleasant, doesn't it? Right on the river, communing with nature, living away from the frippery of the world. I do have to say, to their credit, that the eco-hostel produced excellent spaghetti for dinner.

They did not, however, produce the tranquilizers or earmuffs I so desparately needed to survive the night. The problem with Nature is that I find it largely foreign. I grew up in cities and suburbs and was comforted by the garbage truck's weekly visit at 5 am. The soothing sounds of Nature, in other words, scare the crap out of me.

And so it was that I spent six hours curled up in my hostel bed petrified of the various clicks, grumbles and chirps that surrounded us in the pitch-black (electricity free, so environmentally friendly!) that first night. I was even convinced I heard a distant chorus of a macabre, gothic church choir on the winds and half expected the horsemen of the apocalypse to descend upon our cabin at any moment. Or that they would take me home in a straitjacket the next day, whichever.

Cranky (to say the least) and lethargic the next day, I threatened to sit on one of the VBFILs heads if someone did not stay up with me and convince me that we were not, in fact, being attacked in our beds by swarms of furious giant horsemen of the apocalypse cockroaches or something.

Blessedly, they all agreed to hold my hand as long as was necessary.

We had already identified cicadas, a harmless and particularly raucous bug that seems capable of blowing out your eardrums. They sound like they all have hold of tiny but VERY loud castanets that they can wield at warp speed. One VBFIL read that a single cicada once disrupted the entire Sydney opera house and had to be located before the performance could proceed. I believe it.

But through the thunder of the cicadas I could make out other noises, which I would panic about into the dark and be quietly reassured.

"What the HELL was that?"
"Don't worry Grace, that was just a bug."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What about that creepy whining sound?"
"That's one of those flashlights you can wind and use without batteries."
"Oh. They make those?"
"Yes."
"What about that clicking sound?"
"More bugs."
"Oh."
"And I heard that church music sound - it totally does sound like a choir. But I think it's actually a toad."
"A toad?"
"Yes."

Despite these careful reassurances, I still lost several years off my life when I heard my first cicada in Tucson. Those bastards sound so much like rattlesnakes to me, I swear they do it on purpose. I spent five minutes standing stock-still in front of a bush wondering if anyone would find me in time before I realized the true offender.

And now I miss the Toads of the Apocalypse quite badly.

Even More Great Lyrics in Country Music

2009-07-10T12:20:00.000-07:00

"We Need a break!
Let's go out to the lake, Earl
We'll pack a lunch
and stuff you in the trunk, Earl
Was that alright?
Good! Let's go for a ride, Earl!"

-The Dixie Chicks, "Goodbye Earl"

One Hundred and WHAT Degrees?

2009-07-09T23:17:00.000-07:00

The In Good Graces editorial staff is not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

In fact, I have never been to Kansas. I am, at present, in Tucson, Arizona. Essentially the same thing to me, only one is hot and one has corn. Or is it wheat? Damn. I think Kansas is actually hot, too, in summer. This is what I hear. Does Arizona have tornadoes? Hm.

ANYWAY. You may wonder why this erstwhile heroine would exile herself from the gorgeous bay area to the desert (which is actually quite pretty, I find, especially at sunset). I am, in fact, taking a hiatus to observe the Official Boyfriend in his natural habitat, i.e. his master's program at the University of Arizona. For about three weeks.

Yes, three weeks. With nothing to do but complain about how hot it is. However, I am looking forward to lots of naps, relaxation, good books and snacks. What more could one want?

In addition, I am planning on embarking on an as-yet-undetermined writing project, with the goal of finishing a large chunk of raw material (of undetermined size) by the end of the month. The brainstorming session begins tomorrow, and you will of course be updated with whatever I settle on. And, if you are incredibly unlucky, I will share tidbits of the ensuing bedlam with you.

More on how one spends a blazing hot July on one's boyfriend's couch. Stay tuned!

Ding Dong?

2009-07-03T12:52:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin is leaving the governorship of Alaska early.

How should we feel about this? And, perhaps more importantly, why is she leaving?

Listening to her rambling press conference won't help us answer these questions. It's totally unclear, but it apparently has something to do with Trig, Kosovo, politics as usual, some sort of bloodwar, and affecting change from the outside.

Okay. . .

My favorite, however, was when she attributed a quote to General MacArthur: "We are not retreating, rather we are attacking in a different direction."

Now, maybe I am mistaken, but I first heard that quote in reference to the Korean War, when US troops were forced to turn and run to save their tails.

Granted, I also heard it attributed to Corporal "Chesty" Smith, so maybe my reference is incorrect.

But still. Don't they have a quote book over there or something?

Required for Obtaining your JD

2009-06-30T12:34:00.000-07:00

So now that I am officially en route to law school, there are a lot of forms. Not surprising, right? Forms are part of life. So I settle in today to fill out some of the easier ones that don't require official transcripts, passport photos, firstborn children or pounds of flesh.

The first on the list is the Photobook Profile. You fill in your name, undergraduate institution, major, etc. and they put you in a little pamphlet with all the other Class of 2012 kids and your pictures. Charming, right? Sure, why not?

I left the "Hobbies, Interests, Sports" field blank because I don't have any. Not really. And what do you say in that field that does not make you sound like either a self-aggrandizing ass or a hermit? So I left it blank. But when I tried to submit my form, I got an error message.

"Hobbies required," it said.

Hobbies required to be a law student. I am already, clearly, a failure.

I'm not even sure what counts as a "hobby," so I looked it up. Dictionary.com says it is "an activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation." Let's see, what do I do for pleasure or relaxation for which nobody pays me? Jogging does not count because I do not do it for pleasure or relaxation; I do it because it is "good for me." Similarly doing my laundry does not count, nor does rolling my IT bands.

After considering sleeping, eating, daydreaming, napping, searching Wikipedia for serial killers and infectious diseases, catnapping, idling and snacking, I settled on simply: "reading, baking, dinosaurs."

I guess I could have gone all out and made up some incredible hobbies. "Enjoys hang gliding, crocodile wrestling and high fashion design," or "avid polo player, cagefighter and thespian." But if ever forced to make good on the statement I would really hate to die in a Florida swamp for the sake of my ego.

And so I take my first steps toward law school sounding like a cross between a grandmotherly librarian and a six-year-old boy.

Strikes the perfect chord, no?

A bit off topic . . .

2009-06-29T00:31:00.001-07:00

If you ask a sleep expert (or read the endless stream of sleep advice articles in major magazines), there are certain standard recommendations. They include going to bed at the same time each night, eating no later than two hours before bedtime and getting regular exercise (no more than two hours before bed, again). And, of course, do not use electronic equipment, phones, TVs, etc. within an hour (give or take) of bedtime. And keep your bedroom a shrine - no TV in bed, no working in bed, no reading in bed, just sleeping.

So as I sit here at 1:00 AM blogging on my bed while listening to Pandora, I feel silly wondering why I have so much trouble sleeping.

But might as well make good use of the time, yes? So let's talk about IT bands.

Don't know what your IT band is? How fortunate for you.

I found out what mine is when my dear massage-therapist type VBFIL found it for me. Oh yes, one of my VBFILs is an excellent masseuse. Sounds great doesn't it? Most of the time it is. Until she figures out your hamstrings are "interesting." It is very bad when someone massaging you finds something "interesting" about your body. It's a bit like when the dentist tells you something "might be a bit uncomfortable"- it means it is really going to hurt.

And lo and behold, my IT bands hurt like hell. Why? Because I am bowlegged. Among other reasons, probably, but my parenthesis-reminiscent bone structure does not help. So, after performing some odd action that felt distinctly like she was destroying my femur from the outside with her thumbs, the VBFIL instructed me to roll on my IT bands. This will "help," like when the dentist tells you to "relax."

Don't know what "rolling on" something is? I am jealous. It means you have no pilates fanatics in your household.

What you need to do is find a Pilates fanatic and rob them of their roller. This should not be hard, they will probably be meditating and doing lots of reps or something. But be careful not to disturb them - they are freakishly strong and travel in herds. You will recognize the roller because it is a large, cyllindrical piece of stiff foam. It looks like a giant, white, sharp-edged Twinkie.

Once you have obtained a roller (lawfully or otherwise), put it on the floor. Now, place the outside of your thigh on the top of the roller. No, I am not kidding. This will require you to assume a quasi-prone stance, not unlike an attempt to do the side-stroke and breakdance at the same time. I like to prop myself up with one elbow while thrusting the other hand high in the air. I feel it gives extra flair. As awkardly as possible, scoot across the floor as you roll the outside of your thigh along the roller, ending at your knee.

You will know you are doing it correctly when your screaming convinces your neighbors to call the fire department.

Despite the excruciating pain, I try to continue rolling on my IT bands when I can muster up the courage. Why? Because it is "good" for me in some way.

Sometimes I think that my inability to sleep is the least of my problems.

In true fashion . . .

2009-06-22T22:28:00.000-07:00

As it is now tradition to celebrate parental holidays roughly 24 hours later, I will only now begin to ruminate on my father. Perhaps it should concern me that I am a full day behind. In reality I feel so much further behind in so many other things, only being late a day feels practically early.

Talking about my mom and dad is always fun - they are interesting, quirky and funny individuals (remind me sometime to tell you about the time I tried to explain "that's what she said" to my mother). And it is always fun to talk about my parents knowing that they are the kind of parents and the kind of spouses I would like to be someday.

I think my father has taken on being the parent of two girls admirably. I'm sure it's had its challenges, and certainly its bumps in the road. But he remains always my cheerleader, defender and advocate. So, in keeping with tradition, here are a few notable things about my father:

My dad likes the Dixie Chicks and knows the words to "Goodbye Earl." Because he is outstanding like that.
My dad is a big softie. For bears, for the since-gone cat, for his little girls.
My dad is well-read. He reads like crazy and thinks about what he reads.
My dad is a great storyteller. He knows just what to say.
My dad is comforting. He gives the perfect hugs and always tries to make it better.
My dad is dapper.

Again, only a short list. But at least a beginning.

Triumphant Return! Sort of.

2009-06-15T22:51:00.001-07:00

The editorial staff is back from Guatemala! Actually, I got back a week ago. Sloth has gotten the best of me yet again.

The trip to Antigua was excellent, with much fun and conversation and tolerance on behalf of the VBFILs. Because oh, am I a whiny traveler.

And there are, of course, many stories to relate. Fortunately the VBFILs and I get along very well - we can amuse ourselves endlessly and spent roughly 288 hours straight together with nobody dying or being maimed.

But even if you're easily amused, you run out of things to talk about after 288 hours. And so it is that four 23-year-old friends guessed at their fates with a middle school tradition: we played MASH on the airplane.

Don't remember MASH? Before your time, or after? It's an incredibly silly game ten year old girls used to play essentially to tease each other about the guys they liked. You pick different options for all kinds of future unknowns in your life - the man you'll marry, the city you'll live in, the job you'll have. Whether you will live in a Mansion, Apartment, Shack or House. After the selections have been made (with more than a few unpalatable options thrown in by your very good friends), one of the girls makes tally marks at an undetermined speed. When the player says "stop," the tally marks are counted. The number of tally marks is then used to count off the options, moving from category to category and crossing one off every time you hit the selected random number.

And whichever option is the last left standing in each category, such shall the fate of the unfortunate be.

You can imagine the margin for error on this.

Perhaps you can also imagine the deep chagrin on the parts of the persons forced to sit near us for four hours from Houston to San Francisco.

But we, of course, were endlessly amused. It turns out one dear VBFIL has a promising future in the adult film industry, while another is going to live in a hot air balloon. While I unfortunately lost out on marrying Daniel Craig, I can look forward to the arrival of my pet pygmy albino alligator, Cream Puff, at some undetermined future date. I think this is much better than the VBFIL stuck being a physicist with an ostrich.

So we send out a large apology to our fellow Continental passengers. I promise to let them pet Cream Puff whenever he should arrive.

It is good to be back.

You need nothing but underwear and passport, all else is negotiable. Ok, cash.

2009-05-20T21:01:00.001-07:00

In other exciting In Good Graces news, we (i.e. I) am off to Guatemala with a group of VBFILs.

Like, tomorrow.

You know how things sort of creep up on you sometimes? They do it more and more as I get a wee bit older. I can't decide if it's the vague beginnings of senility, or just a severe lack of focus. Either way, you end up totally not packed 24 hours before departure. Oops.

So I have named this post after the best travel advice I ever received. I will have my underwear (several pairs), passport, and wallet. And perhaps some snacks for the plane. Never underestimate the need for snacks.

Stay tuned for the mayhem to ensue.

Feeling Un-ceremonious.

2009-05-19T21:36:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff had the pleasure this last weekend of attending the graduation ceremony of both the Official Boyfriend and a dear VBFIL. I do think graduation is a pretty important event in one's life, or at least it was in mine. There was a real sense of accomplishment and completion that accompanied it. I think most liberal arts colleges would agree with the need to acknowledge such an occasion.

Why they must do it by boring us all to death, however, is beyond my comprehension.

I've been to several such graduation ceremonies, and my alma mater seems to have a knack for it. Perhaps it is simply the mission of liberal arts colleges to celebrate the departure of their students by punishing them with unnecessary pomp and prose. Is it just me? I doubt it.

The first step is to create several highly traditional steps that must be performed at every graduation. Perhaps this makes more sense if you attend a college or university with a long and illustrious history. If your school was founded in the last 70 years or so, however, the whole thing seems a bit hokey. I had never heard our school song until graduation day. Never. And that was a very fortunate thing, as it's heinous.

After the various traditional bits, be sure to spend at least a full ten minutes introducing each speaker. Find as many irrelevant details as possible; if you know what they had for lunch, so much the better.

We won't even go into the art of selecting a speaker capable of putting several hundred people to sleep at once.

So, if you were similarly engaged this past Saturday, I send you my condolesnces. It is very exciting to see people you love walk across the stage and be acknwoledged for all their hard work, and I am thrilled to have been included. But really, people, if I needed a nap in the sun I could have taken one in my living room.

A bit late, as usual

2009-05-11T23:15:00.000-07:00

If you are the kind of daughter I am, i.e. the kind who puts up a note to her mother 24 hours after Mother's Day has officially come to a close, some or all of this will ring true.

In my limited powers of mental ability, it seems there are few things more grueling, confusing and difficult than parenting a child. It's hard enough trying to get your own ass up, fed and dressed every day, let alone tending to the social, physical and emotional needs of a tiny creature who, for no good reason, thinks you know what you're doing.

And perhaps I am wrong, but I sometimes think this is particularly difficult to do when the child is of the same gender as oneself. There is suddenly an added pressure to prepare this individual for the role others will expect he or she to play and for the specific challenges levied at him or her. It sounds like a huge pain.

And daughters, particularly, make this process very difficult. We openly and subversively disbelieve what our mothers say. We wage quiet wars of insubordination about everything from laundry to prom dresses to life philosophies. And even though we can admit being wrong, God forbid we should openly acknowledge that our mother was right.

I could include here a list of all the things my mother has, in fact, been right about when I was horribly wrong. This would, however, take most of the night and all of your patience. So instead I will content myself with a few nifty things you may not know about her that make her a great person and/or an excellent mom. In no particular order (DWTS fans, anyone?)

My mother writes excellent letters. They are witty, interesting and well-phrased. I have all the letters she sent me at college tucked away for this reason.
My mother is thoughtful. She is introspective not only about herself and the world, but thoughtful of others and their needs.
My mother is a great listener.
My mother is, and forever will be, the Queen of Hand Laundry.
My mother is very cultured. She reads, digests and can speak intelligently about plays, the news and literature.
My mother is forgiving, particularly of the many slings and arrows directed at her by her offspring, to my great relief and appreciation.

A short list, to be sure, but at least a starting point.

The End Arrives

2009-05-07T21:53:00.001-07:00

Well, the Status Checker from Hell never did change, but I received my rejection from the fancy Ivy League law school today.

So, it is official: In Good Graces HQ will be relocating to the LOS in August.

I was expecting to be much more melancholy and whiny about receiving the rejection, but actually find myself quite chipper. Just having the whole process over with is a huge relief, and at the beginning I worried I wouldn't get in anywhere. So, oppressive sunshine or not, I am much looking forward to the fall. We will see how I feel after the first week of class with all of the successful Question Guys and Gals.

And there is a moment to be had at this time to thank all of those who helped me get to this point. Because really, it took a village and then some to haul my sorry ass this far. So if you are one of the many people who offered support, advice or solace, you have my gratitude. Particularly those so unfortunate as to have borne the brunt of the ranting this process has elicited. If you are reading this, that probably means you.

My thanks, for everything.

Now, onward! The editorial staff pinky swears not to come back from Los Angeles blonde. EVER.

OH and P.S.

2009-05-04T22:06:00.001-07:00

The status changed. To "Decision Rendered," as of 5/4/2009.

Too bad they haven't mailed the damn thing yet.

The week got quite a bit longer today.

More Great Lyrics in Country Music

2009-05-04T22:01:00.001-07:00

One of the VBFILs says this is her theme song.

"It's not like I'm not trying
cause I'll give anyone a shot once
and I close my eyes and
kiss that frog
each time finding
the more boys I meet
the more I love my dog."

-Carrie Underwood, "The More Boys I Meet."

How about now? Now? No? When? Hello?

2009-05-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, May 1 is one of the magical deadlines in the law school application process. On this special day, prospective students all over the country plunk down a wad of cash and send out one (or several) Statements of Intent to Register. This is when everybody picks their favorite or buys more time by picking a few.

But if you listened very carefully, a la Grinch on Christmas morning, you may have heard a strange sound Friday. Perhaps a distant cry or faint grinding of the teeth.

That, my friends, was the collective wailing in anguish of those prospective law students who have yet to heard from at least one law school. If you were at In Good Graces HQ, i.e. in my room, you could also have witnessed what is now the In Good Graces Official Jig of Annoyance and Frustration, which is performed around one's desk chair while gripping your hair and growling through clenched teeth.

I do acknowledge that it is a tad melodramatic.

The particular school I have yet to receive a decision from is not without cause. Their application date was a bit later than most schools, and thus my application arrived a bit later. So, technically, their 12 weeks of deliberation time are not up. I'm sure they are also very busy and doing the best they can to alert everyone. And clearly languishing in uncertainty is a vast improvement on prompt and direct rejection.

If it wasn't for the damn Status Checker, I think I would be much more calm.

A status checker, for the blessedly unaware, is exactly what it sounds like: an online site you can log into to read the current status of your application. Now, as of April 21, 2009, my application status at the remaining school changed from "Complete," to "Under Committee Review."

Herein lies the true evil of the status checker. Are you familiar with the Skinner Box experiments? You probably are. A very basic rundown is as follows: if you give a rat a lever to push that releases food, the rat's behavior changes depending on the reliability of food production. If there is a pellet every time the rat hits the lever, it will stop trying. If there is never a pellet, the rat will give up and surrender itself to starvation. But if there is sometimes but not always a pellet, the rat will pound away at that lever until Kingdom come, just in case.

Now do you see my point about the status checker? It makes us all into crazed rodents, logging in every half hour just in case. First you start to scheme that it may change in the morning, when the admissions staff first gets in. Or maybe at the end of the day, when deliberations are done. Or maybe that's what they want you to think, and really they sneak the changes in during the afternoon, when you're dozy and slow.

It does not help that "Under Committee Review" is not as straightforward as it seems. There is a committee somewhere reviewing my application, sure. Of course, we do not know how many steps there are to that process, nor when in the process the status is adjusted. Perhaps it is the moment your file hits the table in the committee meeting. Perhaps after all the members have sat down. Perhaps it is once the discussion of your application (if such a thing occurs) is complete.

But I doubt it. I would bet it is when your application is placed in a cardboard box full of other applications and left in the hallway outside the committee conference room. Or maybe at the bottom of a stack of such boxes. Either way, I was hoping my application status would show meaningful change on May 1, given that this is the theoretical Judgment Day of sorts.

And what do you know, it did change. I am now "Under Committee Review" as of May 1, 2009, not April 21, 2009.

Now, if you will excuse me, there is a different site I must log onto right this minute. You never know when they might be working late.

Quite Hilarious, if maybe sinister at times

2009-04-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

Stolen, as are so many things, from Andrew Sullivan's blog: a site that collects texts and tweets that ought never to have been sent.

My favorite?

"(775): Hello Stephanie, you need to come pick me up at Par Blvrd correctional facility and bring $750-$1000 for bail. I just got a DUI. Thank you.
(1-775): What!?!?! How are you txting?!
(775): Because this is Officer Reynolds, and I just arrested your boyfriend."

Great Lines in Country Music

2009-04-29T15:20:00.000-07:00

Several of many:

"I'm sure you waited for a long long time to find a man like mine
but honey you're too late
so before you go and make your move maybe me and you
should get a few things straight

there's two ways we can do this
I'll let you decide
you can take it somewhere else
or we can take it outside."

-Gretchen Wilson, "Homewrecker"

Definitely would not want to be taken outside by Gretchen Wilson. This is a woman who wrote a whole song about not making her take her earrings out. Good advice.

Aging gracefully? Let us hope . . .

2009-04-26T13:03:00.000-07:00

The editorial staff of In Good Graces officially completed our 23rd year yesterday.

Although the wisdom and perspective of age has yet to settle in, I have my fingers crossed for sometime soon. I am very excited to note that I am now, for the first time in my life, an age that is both sequential and prime. I have not been sequential since I was 12 and have not been prime since 19. I will not be both of these at the same time again until I am 67 (I am not counting backwards sequential; that is not the same thing).

A good friend once said she took her birthdays as a time to remember everything good about the past year and to be thankful. I have absconded with the tradition since 2005, after a particularly unpleasant beginning of the year, and find I like it very much. It is certainly a more self-centered way to give thanks than on Thanksgiving, but I like to think that as one of the more oblivious among us it is probably best I do this on two official days of the year rather than just one.

So, without further ado, here are some of the best things about the last year, for which I am endlessly thankful (by no means exhaustive, but hopefully with most of the big stuff covered):

The loving and wonderful Parents and Sister, without whom life would be empty.
The VBFILs and other Truly Excellent People, who keep me sane, happy and hopeful.
The In Good Graces Official Boyfriend, who is charming, funny and sends flowers
The continued emotional, psychological and physical health, or at least survival, of all of the above
The presence of ample food, shelter and medical care for myself and many of those above
The continued employment of myself, my family, and many of those above
The many wonderful burgers procured at Burgermeister, Houston's, that place in Berkeley, and so on
Being laid off and thus deciding to apply to law school
Surviving the LSAT
Being admitted to law school
Graduating from college
Going on a car camping trip I actually enjoyed (with s'mores!)
Surviving said camping trip without contracting poison oak
Warm days in San Francisco
Being home for Thanksgiving
An abundance of retractable ball point pens
Discovering Dancing with the Stars
Slowly learning to enjoy hiking
The french toast at Mama's

. . . and much much more. A big thank you to everyone who made this a great birthday, I am extremely grateful.

I will miss it here. . .

2009-04-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like the sky only looks like this at the end of a ninety degree day in San Francisco. But that's probably just my imagination.

Huddle Up, We Have a Situation

2009-04-21T20:49:00.000-07:00

People, we need to talk about this. It's driving me nuts and I really feel that our concerted effort is necessary to stem the tide. It's a crisis, and immediate action is the only option. We may not succeed.

Can we please address the total tragedy of the names and mascots chosen for female professional athletic teams?

Really. I'm not kidding: we have a serious issue on our hands. These names are egregious.

Apparently all the good names were taken when they started passing them out to female pro teams. They were fresh out of intimidating animals and quaint local traditions (no Knickerbockers or 49ers for you, young ladies). So, female teams have been saddled with some of the most ridiculous monikers in the athletic universe.

Let's take a few examples, shall we?

We'll start with the newly reformed women's professional soccer league in the United States. There are a few respectable team names here. Take the Boston Breakers, for example. Not great, but not bad. And we'll throw the Washington Freedom in on the better side of things as well due to thematic coherence.

On the other hand, however, we have the FC Gold Pride (for the SF Bay Area), the Saint Louis Athletica, the Chicago Red Stars (oddly similar to Red Star Belgrade, a Serbian soccer club with notably, well, devoted fans shall we say). Taking the cake in the current league is Sky Blue FC.

If the oddity of these team names is not immediately clear, let me elaborate on my mild outrage. Female teams, for whatever reason, don't always have nouns as their main focus; they don't get things, they get weird adjective-like auras. Not a lot of panthers or grizzlies or avalanches. Someone please tell me, what on earth is Sky Blue, other than a paint swatch? What speaks aggression, intimidation or power in that name? Unless it's some kind of an ominous sky, like the weeks of sunshine during a drought (or the freakish ninety degree weather in San Francisco right now). But if that's the goal, why not just be Team Global Warming and call it a day?

Similar issue with Gold Pride; is the pride made of gold? Or are we proud to be gold? What the hell are they getting at? I know we're in the golden state and all, but why don't they damn well call themselves Golden State Pride if that's really what they're going for. It's not like Gold Pride sounds that much better, and at least the other way makes sense.

And let's not even get started on how odd it is when American teams use the "FC" (football club) for their soccer teams. It's the women's professional soccer league, for the love. If you really must rip off teams in regions where they are actually good at the sport, at least use "SC" or something so we can pretend we're in command of our own dictionaries. (Granted, the female soccer teams in the United States are very competitive internationally. But sadly far fewer women play the sport globally and teams in the men's MLS league are guilty of the same offense)

But even when the teams get nouns to enjoy, they pick the strangest ones. In the former women's pro soccer league, the WUSA, the local bay area team was called the CyberRays. Don't know what a CyberRay is? Can't help you, neither do I. I think they were looking for a Scary Ocean Animal name, but realized the Sharks were in San Jose and so settled for a ray. But this needed to be a special ray, so I guess they figured since it was close to silicon valley it could be CYBER! Watch out, we'll commandeer your hard drive and send everyone on your Buddy List a virus!

And it's not just lacking in the animal noun department. Elementals as team names is legitimate, I feel. Plenty of good force-of-nature names, including the Hurricanes, the Earthquakes and Rapids. There are plenty of intimidating things about nature. But what do the women's teams end up with? The former WUSA had the San Diego Spirit and the WNBA now has the Atlanta Dream, Chicago Sky (what is it with this sky crap?) and the Connecticut Sun. The Seattle Storm, I think, has a much better approach.

The WNBA teams do seem to be making some interesting inroads into biological and scientific aggression, however, which I think should be encouraged. There is already the Indiana fever and Phoenix Mercury. Maybe there's room for the Plutonium or the Prions in there somewhere?

I am definitely not on a feminist rant about some whacky conspiracy against female teams. I have no clue why they end up with such dopey names, and I confess to not really caring why it happens. Maybe it's all in my head and I am studiously ignoring all the strangely-named men's teams (I am excluding minor league baseball, as even their funnier names are at least that: amusing and not just loopy).

Anyway, crazed ranting aside, can something be done? Can we not follow the admirable examples of the Minnesota Lynx and Los Angeles Sparks? I'm sure there are plenty of dangerous predators, poisonous snakes and horrific natural disasters to go around.

Just smile and nod

2009-04-16T21:43:00.000-07:00

Young drunk women. It can be a beautiful thing, if sometimes an obnoxious one.

We talk loudly in bars. We rant about our friends' boyfriends. Especially our friends' fiances. I apologize on behalf of all of us; we're a pain in the ass and we cackle at inopportune moments. I can only imagine what it's like to hear us follow tangents in our conversations from new shoes to annoying roommates to our passed-away pets.

But please, unless we've spilled an entire dirty martini on you, leave us to our craziness. We need it. It replenishes us, hanging out with our girlfriends. And of course ranting about significant others, celebrating great sales and having deep philosophical conversations about the future are sometimes done best over happy hour drinks.

Because there are people in your life, if you are as fortunate as I have been, who ground you. Not who keep you realistic or cautious or focused, necessarily. Rather, people who bring you home to yourself, who remind you who you are and what you want and what you like about yourself. People who you like and appreciate so much, they make you feel better about everything. I wish at least one such person on everyone.

So if you find us, perched on our bar stools and gesturing wildly, just know we are okay. We are just recharging our batteries, so duck the flailing arms and flying bar peanuts.

Again, I extend my apologies to you on behalf of us all.

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

Countdown to Cadbury Creme Egg Sale Day: T-2 hours. And a bit of blasphemy to round out your day:

(For more, check out the fabulous Eddie Izzard's website)

Return to the LOS

2009-04-07T22:37:00.001-07:00

It is raining in San Francisco and I would like to come out and show my support for the precipitation.

Not only because we need rain, but because I miss the rain when it goes away for too long.

And I'm sure I feel this way largely because I will soon be returning to the Land of Oppressive Sunshine to undergo my legal education. By the LOS, I mean Los Angeles (convenient, eh?).

I get it, I get it, the weather in LA is great. It never rains, it's always sunny, not too hot, blah blah blah. It's just never cloudy. One or two days of the year does not count. And I've never seen it foggy. Life without fog is just sad.

I think maybe you have to be from another California microclimate to see the distinction. Specifically, you have to be spoiled in a very special way. And you have to loathe summer clothing lines and colors which, fortunately, I do.

Los Angeles is just not a place for the pale-skinned, I'm sorry. The cancer-prone among us are stuck huddled in the minimal shade muttering and wearing ugly hats and wishing desparately that we could put on a damn sweater in an earth tone.

So I am soaking up the rain as much as possible before I leave it. At least I can drive down so there won't be any airport disputes about my plans to pack a GIANT box with nothing but sunscreen bottles over 3 ounces.

Making the Work Day Better

2009-04-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

Too good to pass up. From I Can Has Cheezburger.

Could we trade the ark in for a cruise ship this time?

2009-03-31T21:12:00.000-07:00

As stolen from Andrew Sullivan's excellent blog:

As the kind of Catholic who only knows it's Lent because everyone celebrated Mardi Gras and who only looks forward to Easter because that's when the Cadbury creme eggs go on sale, I do not pretend to attack Mr. Shimkus' religious beliefs.

And not being politically involved enough to even watch C-Span, I would not dream of assaulting Mr. Shimkus' political views on job loss, etc.

And, even though I am a professed dinosaur enthusiast, I have no damn clue what the carbon concentration was in the Age of the Dinosaurs. Especially because the age of the dinosaurs stretches over three eras and covers almost 200 million years. So I won't harrass him about his facts on this, either.

Being a survivor of the LSAT, however, I do take issue with his logical reasoning and critical reading. Let's examine:

"Never again will I curse the ground because of man, even though every inclination of his heart is evil from childhood and never again will I destroy all living creatures as I have done. As long as the earth endures, seed time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease." (starts at 00:28)
and:
"And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call and they will gather his elect from the four winds from one end of the heavens to the other. The earth will end only when God declares its time to be over. [no longer from scripture] Man will not destroy this earth, this earth will not be destroyed by a flood." (starts at 00:55)

Now, last I checked the climate change issue was not a concern because man might destroy the earth. That would be nuclear weapons, perhaps. But climate change (unless I missed the memo?) won't destroy the earth itself. The earth is a rock with a molten core. It will survive.

The problem lies in the survival of the things living on the earth, i.e. us, and the conditions of the places where they live, i.e. cities and towns in areas soon to be excrutiatingly hot or under water. Nobody ever said we would destroy the earth, Mr. Representative. Rather that we would destroy ourselves.

And notice that God carefully doesn't mention that He would not destroy man. He just says He won't destroy all living creatures as He has done. That doesn't say squat about man (and in a petty feminist note, does that mean He will leave the women behind?) .

Plus, He said He would only refrain from cursing the ground because of man. Considering the way we've been treating it, maybe He's just going to give the ground a darn break by going ahead and striking us all down. Or just sit back and watch us strike ourselves into smithereens. He has some options, certainly.

So, if this were the LSAT, Mr. Shimkus, your reasoning would not pass muster. Only if God is defining "Man" as "All Living Creatures" and the "Ground" can we really feel safe, yes? And we would further have to assume that by "the Earth," God means "Man and the trappings he has created to sustain himself." Hm. You would think God would be more specific if that were what He meant.

But onward, perhaps Mr. Shimkus can salvage his score with a poorly-worded reference to Science.

"Two other issues, Mr. Chairman, today we have about 388 ppm in the atmosphere, I think in the age of the dinosaurs where we had most flora and fauna we were probably at4000 ppm. There is a theological debate that this is a carbon-starved planet, not too much carbon." (starts at 01:33)

This is an interesting point, Mr. Shimkus. But again, aren't we assuming a wee bit much? True, the dinosaurs lived in a much more carbon-rich environment. Perhaps the planet pines for this time of "greenhouse earth." There are only a few teensy obstacles for people to overcome to live in the carbon-tolerant world of the dinosaurs.

First, it would help if we held onto the A/C. The dinosaurs lived in a much hotter world and I, for one, get quite cranky when it's over 80.

Second, we would probably have to expand our pallette. After all, many of the things we eat and enjoy today would not survive in the world of the dinosaurs. I am sure the ferns will be delicious, though.

Oh, and speaking of floods? In the time of the dinosaurs, most of the rocky mountain states were under water (well, only really in the Cretaceous - Pangea, anyone?). But hey, who needs them? Utah always goes red anyway.

When you see glaring holes in my statements here, feel free to ridicule me. I make them broadly, generally, unfairly and perhaps foolishly. Maybe I don't get it. Maybe I am missing a few pages in my Bible, or a few chapters from my science textbook. I am definitely missing many of my marbles. But maybe Mr. Shimkus and his compatriots have joined me on that front.

Well, I am certainly looking forward to returning to the Age of the Dinosaurs, and I feel so much better about the erosion of our climate after this. So. Much. Better.

Don't you?

Ruminations on a Life of Laxity

2009-03-25T19:42:00.000-07:00

I wish I could say I had been using my time away from In Good Graces to better myself emotionally or physically, or perhaps was doing something good for human kind.

I have done nothing of the kind. Haven't even gone to the dentist- appointment isn't until April.

Rather, I have been amusing myself in a number of tragically unproductive ways, not limited to watching Dancing with the Stars with religious fervor. It amazes me how Shawn Johnson can be the most charming thing on two feet and yet clearly strong enough to beat the crap out of everyone else on the floor. And don't think I'm not counting Lawrence Taylor.

So, since I have no real pearls of existential wisdom to bestow upon you today, let's just have a brief run down of what I'm learning as a lazy, part-time-working couch potato who lives in an apartment with no TV:

The entire BBC Pride and Prejudice production is on YouTube. That's right, all of it. In easy-to-find sections. There goes your afternoon.

Eating an entire bag of chocolate chips at a time is a bad idea. You should try to cut down to half a bag at a time, at least. It helps if you eat them with peanut butter straight out of the jar, as it greatly improves the gustatory experience but is a lot more work. Try not to sit on the counter, this will not help your cause.

Twitter is not a life-changing event. I have twitter. If you're really wasting your early twenties away with a bag of chocolate chips and a jar of peanut butter, even 140 characters is too much space.

The Harry Potter series can keep you occupied for at least a month. Start with your favorite and work your way to the one you hate, re-reading only the parts you like. There are so damned many that by the time you're back at the front, it will feel like you haven't read the best one in forever.

The electric mixer is not a toy.

Now go forth and lounge.

Because nothing makes the duck lips better

2009-03-03T19:49:00.000-08:00

In my lengthy hiatus from the In Good Graces interface, a key thought occurred to me: nobody likes going to the OBGYN.

It seems a little duh, doesn't it? Does anyone really enjoy any doctor's office past the time when they give you stickers and lollipops? And even when you are a kid you never fully appreciate the value of the lollipops because you hate the doctor SO much, you can't imagine the cruelty of going voluntarily with no lollipop.

But still. All the women I know reserve a special measure of dread for the OBGYN. Even if they like and trust their doctor, nobody likes putting their heels in stirrups (and no, the oven mitts do not make me feel better) and being told to relax. Bite me, relax.

Maybe it helps if you like your OBGYN. Some people tell me this is the case. Given a recent experience with the erstwhile caretaker of my own feminine health, I'm not sure it's true. Because my OBGYN is a big pain in the ass. She talks as quickly as possible, clearly thinking that she has better things to do than cater to your neuroses. She gives different answers to the same question on different appointments. She has the bedside manner of a bored NFL coach. Plus her ancient Pomeranian wanders the main office area in an ugly sweater. I keep wondering if he will still be conscious the next time I come in.

But I take great pleasure in disliking my OBGYN. She seems competent, I don't feel my health is in danger, and now I can be annoyed with her for good reasons, rather than just because she performs an uncomfortable procedure while you wear a paper tablecloth. For more on this satisfaction in disliking someone you pay to make you uncomfortable, recall my reference to aerobic instructors here.

I'm just saying. I once had a doctor wave a little princess wand covered in ribbons around my head and hug me out of the office. The appointment still sucked and the oven mitts still didn't make it any better. It felt much better to stomp out to the parking lot in a righteous huff after a ten minute appointment and drive off muttering, "Bitch."

Some Readjustments

2009-02-10T15:22:00.000-08:00

Time for a little context.

We at In Good Graces were recently laid off. This Friday is our last day at work in litigation consulting. Expect to find us at a bar. For at least the next month.

As a result of this news, several changes are taking place. First, law school applications were unsolicitously rushed to various harried amdissions offices. This may either be a stroke of genius or an utter failure. While theoretically giving me a shot at some schools before the waves of jobless undergrads send in applications next fall, it also puts me at the very end of the rolling admissions cycle- i.e. acceptances have been going out since January and now the offices are inundated with heartfelt essays about quirky habits and soulful ambitions to save the world.

My personal statement is about a trilobite.

It also means I will be embarking on an exciting new career as a part-time personal assistant.

And theoretically I will have significantly more free time. Some call this "Funemployment." Here at In Good Graces, we are not convinced that any such thing exists. But we are willing to investigate.

So, look forward to updates as our heroine resolves to do some or all of the following with her newfound partial freedom:

1. Knit a scarf that is not ugly (no small task).
2. Learn to cook (something. anything.)
3. Reorganize hanging file folders (we are really looking forward to this one)
4. Locate cheap food options near the new digs for when resolution #2 fizzles pathetically (outlook for sucess very poor)
5. Go running more than once a month
6. Get a new library card and use the facilities appropriately
7. Plan a gruesome end for the annoying Telegraph Hill Parrots
8. Visit a VBFIL in Central America (still in the works. . . )
9. Double the Spanish portion of our vocabulary (twenty words or bust!)
10. Come up with New Life Plan in the face of Total Chaos

Updates to follow, I assure you.

Filling the Void. . .

2009-02-01T22:20:00.000-08:00

I apologize, dear readers, for my updating failure in the last few weeks. In truth, I am at war against a massive writer’s block and lethargy. I have started and deleted multiple posts on bra shopping, online advertising, resume building and law school. Nothing has emerged. So I will now be filling this space with whatever pathetic concept comes to mind in an effort to proverbially “sweat out” the writer’s block.

For those of you already appalled with the content on this site, I hope this really puts your blood pressure meds to the test.

For the rest of you, I really am sorry.

Let’s start this rousing round of poor quality with some recent musings of the editorial staff here at In Good Graces. Things on our mind include:

• How many cool gadgets has Bernie Madoff found that he never knew he had? We can imagine that Mr. Madoff hired a lavishly overpaid decorator to stock his abode with lots of useless but cool gizmos that he has never used. Since Bernie must have lots of free time to mosey about his digs now that he’s under house arrest, imagine the discoveries to be made! Is it like Christmas morning every day, getting to yelp “Oooh, look, a built-in toothbrush sanitizer!”? And how likely is it that there is a deluxe kegerator in there somewhere?

• Should I be concerned that the percentage of babies born to unmarried mothers has gone from five (1960) to almost 40 (now)? How concerned?

• How bad is the law school application pool going to look in fall 2009? How many jobless recent graduates and former bankers will be lining up to hide in the hallowed halls of academia for three years?

• Is anyone else sick of the new super-high heels fad? Platforms went out for a reason. Let’s leave them there, shall we?

• How many Chipotle burritos could I buy with the $18 billion in bonuses handed out by obnoxious, bailed-out firms? Vegetarian: about 3,025,210,084; Chicken: about 2,589,928,057; Chicken with Guacamole: about 2,045,454,545. But that doesn’t include tax, so a few less. I could also service about 43% of California’s debt. You know, if I was feeling frivolous.

Hopefully there will be an improvement in work product soon.

Hopefully.

If I had easy access to a helicopter, I'd fly to Pt. Lobos Reserve this weekend

2009-01-30T17:59:00.001-08:00

The picture you see here was taken at Pt. Lobos, the epitome of Pacific coastline. I'd love it more than life itself if not for the poison oak. I can't go there without my designated VBFIL Poison Oak Guide, a courageous nature camp counselor who guides me away from the leaves of three.

Serious Rotational Inertia

2009-01-23T15:49:00.000-08:00

I am a bit remiss but trying to plot something of substance for the coming week. Until then, enjoy what I am enjoying in my cubicle, over and over again. Found originally on Jezebel.

Cat Versus Dog - watch more funny videos

Vigorous Editing Ahead

2009-01-22T12:25:00.000-08:00

Maybe it is bad form to make fun of the linguistics of a hardworking, Joe Sixpack American (or whatever it is she calls herself). Maybe my visceral judgments of her intelligence and competence based on her ability to assemble a grammatical sentence are misplaced. It goes without saying that I am not Strunk and White over here.

If I had more of a conscience and less of a vicious elitist streak, maybe these ruminations would take hold. As it happens, they won't.

So I take a good degree of pleasure in pitying the ghostwriters and editors assigned to Sarah Palin's potential book. I wish them courage and Godspeed in taming the Wild Wordsmith of Wasilla.

"Aint" is never okay, Madame Governor

2009-01-13T16:32:00.000-08:00

I recommend that you all check out this post from the blog of Alaska Daily News editor Pat Dougherty. It's the transcript of an email exchange between himself and Sarah Palin. Even if you like the governor, the editor's response is an excellent piece of writing in and of itself.

And if you don't like her, you can join me in feeling hugely relieved.

I stole it from Andrew Sullivan's fabulous Daily Dish.

New Tricks

2009-01-09T15:09:00.000-08:00

One of my Very Best Friends in Life is a dancer. A good one. One of those dancing-since-out-of-the-womb type of people. Having gone through tap, ballet, jazz, modern, circus, juggling and many other forms I know nothing about, she is now mastering belly dance. I try to ask questions about it sometimes, but the scale of her knowledge generally trumps my ability to process it. So I just sit in overflow mode and nod and smile.

And then she suggested that we (my other Very Best Friends in Life and I) should accompany her.

Now wait just a minute. I hate dance classes. Hate them. My life since a tragic shoe incident in Miss Tilly's Ballet Class for Even the Most Awkward Children has been consciously opposed to instructed dance activity. I don't like exercise as a rule, but it seems especially cruel to force me to look at myself in the mirror while trying to look cute at the same time.

Not to mention the instructors. I don't know where they find these women, but some of them are nuts. I had the particularly unpleasant experience of being in a hip-hop/kickboxing/ass-whupping class once. The teacher was an obnoxiously fit woman who clearly added too much meth to her protein shake that afternoon. She spent the hour bent at the waist, prowling between rows of grunting housemoms exhorting them to Pick It Up, Keep It Going and Lift Those Knees.

It's what I imagine a pack-hunting theropod looks like when it stalks through a herd of stampeding, spandex-clad Apatosaurs.

I did not want to go to belly dance. But she promised me we would not go to Happy Vegan belly dance, where she took one of the other VBFILs. This particular VBFIL is much more open and friendly and health-food conscious than I, and so likes Happy Vegans. I dislike any instructor of exercise activity who is not at least a little bitter or a little mean. If they are neither of these things, it is harder to dislike them in moments of great pain. That is unacceptable.

She promised me we would not go to Happy Vegan belly dance. She said it would be fun, and not too hard - I could spend the whole class watching the awesome facial expressions of women trying to squeeze half of their butt at a time.

I'm sorry, what?

Yes, she assured me, it's true. You learn to flex one side of your gluteous muscles, then the other. You alternate.

And this I had to see. I was sold.

Because if you're anything like me, the second you read "squeeze half of their butt at a time," you immediately began bouncing around in your swivel chair trying to do just that. As did all of the VBFILs. We actually tried to do it for the rest of the day.

And you feel strangely illicit standing at the bus stop fighting with your butt and frowning in concentration. If you're me, you've been doing this with great focus for a full ten minutes before you wonder if anyone is looking at you strangely and wondering why you are making that face.

Don't believe me? It's true.

You see? Just imagine all the other things your tush might be able to do that you don't know about! The possibilities are endless.

To Whom It May Concern

2009-01-06T21:51:00.001-08:00

Dear Sirs and Madames of California's Legislature,

I understand you are all very busy doing nothing, since the propositions have taken away all accountability for your job. I'm sure you have pressing agendas to attend to, and would not want to keep you from "Gossip Girls." I hope you can spare a few moments.

I don't know if you've noticed, but California is in a bit of a bind. This article reports we are so strapped for cash the Controller is going to start giving out IOUs in February. IOUs, folks.

Apparently you all and the governor can't agree. He has concessions, you can't meet them, no new taxes, blah blah blah. And a whole bunch of you are pissed off that you had to pass essentially illegal tax changes because you couldn't get the absurd 2/3 majority. Evidently, you are planning to fight it in court.

As a constituent, I just think that maybe we're missing the bigger issue. The python for the pig and all that. So let me try to break it down a little more simply, in case you haven't figured all this out already.

WE'RE BROKE, YOU MORONS. B-R-O-K-E.

And in case the gravity of that just won't settle, let's try putting it this way: when they say IOUs, that means you all are not getting paid.

So, how about instead of calling each other names and carping about law suits, you figure something out. Which is what you're paid to do. Which is what we've been paying you to do for years. And yet we find ourselves in the current quandary.

Please do your job. Effectively. Just this once. I almost believe in you.

Regards,
Grace

When you REALLY want to kill some brain cells

2008-12-24T23:39:00.000-08:00

I know you've been there. That special type of crappy feeling of angst or disappointment or self-doubt that makes you wish your brain was pudding so it would shut the hell up. Maybe you have your own strategies for numbing your brain into relative quiet. I do not recommend watching Rihanna's "Disturbia" video. It makes me feel a little too much like I'm sitting inside my brain on a bad day. And I think it's going to give me nightmares, I mean seriously.

So no, do not watch creepy videos. Instead, watch episodes of Dancing with the Stars.

Yes, that's right. Dancing with the Stars is perfect for this state of mind. It effectively kills all mental shenanigans with an onslaught of cheesiness and big hair. Questions about your future or your 401(k) or dead pets are immediately quieted by such deep ruminations as "Wow, Warren Sapp is wearing a LOT of maroon in that outfit," or "How many Big Birds did they kill to make those dresses? How can such a tiny dress have so many sequins? It's an engineering miracle."

Plus, Dancing with the Stars is like crack. Before you know it you're obsessed. You become an avid fan of some defunct star and viciously hate their rivals. Fortunately, your affections can be quickly transferred to said rivals at a moment's notice in instances of elimination. So one minute you could hate Lance Bass for that tricky little move, and the next love him for his creativity! And damn you Brooke Burke for all that pep! And come on you pathetic excuse for a judge didn't you see the FLAIR?

I imagine it's not unlike the sensations driving English football hooligans, but with glitter and half-naked women.

So, if you have any sleepless nights of fretting in your future, let me recommend this as my cure-all brain sedative. I think it has to do with the chemical reactions set off by the lights flashing off the costumes and everyone's capped teeth. Or maybe the amount of mental faculties required to keep up with the visual stimulation. Or perhaps the extensive psychological energy required to prevent a full-scale collapse of neuron circuitry saps the brain of all worrying functions. I'm not sure there's been a scientific study yet.

But there's a million episodes. Enjoy!

**In Good Graces is not responsible for any babbling, drooling, cursing or sobbing that may result in attempted use of this procedure. In the event of such occurrences, we recommend finding a good friend or family member to give you a swift kick in the ass, also known as "knocking some sense into you." We are also not responsible for bodily injuries incurred therein.

'Tis the Season

2008-12-23T14:50:00.000-08:00

I had meant to write this post several weeks ago, but was too lazy. Then Nicholas Kristof made me feel guilty. And now I am exhorting you to join me in a little guilt, gratefulness and giving.

My inbox is under siege. The War for Holiday Giving has begun, and the nonprofits are out in force with an onslaught of appeal emails. I am sure many of you are experiencing the same phenomenon, and perhaps fretting a bit over the state of the economy, jobs, collapsed 401(k)s and so on. I don't blame you.

But I am going to put another push out there for some causes I think deserve a little love and nurturing this holiday season, especially since I find myself in the happy position of being able to help them out. If you find yourself in a similarly happy situation, I encourage you to pick your favorite and do the same.

Thus, without further ado and in no particular order, the In Good Graces Official List of Worthy Causes 2008 (obviously not exhaustive, but I plan to personally donate to each organization listed and know that you have holiday duties to attend to):

Asylum Access: A brave startup on a mission to give refugees living in Asia, Africa and Latin America a chance to build new lives. The organization provides refugees with legal aid to obtain official refugee status and exercise their internationally-recognized rights, like the right to work and education for their children. A great mission with great people, and a "teach a man to fish" strategy that is innovative, efficient and effective.

The Fugees Family: My belief in God may be a bit tenuous, but my belief in the game is unshakeable. The Fugees Family is an organization that runs soccer teams for refugee youth living outside Atlanta, Georgia. The organization provides coaching, tutoring and support for its charges, helping them and their parents navigate confusing new languages, schools and job markets. The community encourages college enrollment for its players and has been featured numerous times in the national news. You can also do one of those shop-at-Amazon-and-donate dealies. Snazzy Fugees apparel is available!

The Neediest Cases Fund: The New York Times collects donations from readers and funnels them directly to families, children and elders in need. It does so through various local charities and has been doing the program since 1912. The paper covers adminstrative costs so all of your donation will go directly to help those in urgent need. There is a series of articles published about the fund's projects to better explain their activities.

Heifer International: Another nonprofit that uses donations to create lasting and positive change. Heifer uses funds to purchase animals for families throughout the world, teaches them to care for the animal, and then redistributes that animal's offspring to the community. They have gift cards you can print to donate an animal as a gift to a friend or loved one. This theme is not new or unique to Heifer, but I think Heifer's products are best suited for it. Someone once "gave" me 20 oral rehydration packets which, while certainly needed and important, is not quite the same as someone "giving" you a llama. I would name such a llama Cecil (after a relative, of course) and imagine him frollicking in the Andes with his new family, growing wool and spitting on people with abandon.

Planned Parenthood: I know, I know. Many of you are probably cringing beneath your desks already as the Ghosts of Political Seasons Past float up from your screen. I get it, PP is not everyone's favorite neighbor, cause or organization. They are political, they are active, and they give abortions. If you are deeply offended, I apologize. But I donate to them because I think they are tireless advocates for health, safety and women. Even if you disagree with me on some particular issues, I would like to express my appreciation for an organization that offers so many free services like primary care, HIV testing and vaccines to many men, women and teens in need. They have lots of fun t-shirts too!

I wish everyone a very happy and healthy holiday season, and hope for many of our sake that the price of coal jumps significantly after December 25th.

The Cool Kids' Table for Grown Ups

2008-12-17T22:17:00.001-08:00

One of the dubious joys of modern technology is endless advertisement exposure. You can be harrassed, coaxed, cajoled and harangued into buying things nearly all the time. Sometimes the ads are clever or charming or touching. Usually they're totally forgettable.

But the other day one caught my eye.

It was for an online dating service, and said something like "We Chuck People Unfit to Date."

Pardon? A dating service that polices its records to remove those "unfit to date?" Your online dating service has bouncers?

Now maybe on the surface this sounds great. Nobody wants to be in the same dating service as people unfit to date. What a drag. But then the question remains: who joins a dating service that throws people out, and do I want to date them?

Because the question looms: fit in what sense? Emotionally and psychologically prepared for the brutal dating world? In possession of excellent social skills? Employed? Successfully maintaning excellent abdominals? What?

Because theoretically the people who join this service are convinced they are Fit to Date. There is something about them that they consider Fit. They are the Chosen.

I consider myself generally Unfit For All Social Interaction, being of the muddle-along-and-try-to-offend-as-few-people-as-possible social school. Would I be ejected from the Elysian Fields of those Fit to Date? If not, their service would be decidedly lacking in enforcement of the stated policies.

Anyway. It was an interesting thirty second inner conversation of who automatically assumes they are Fit to Date, and do you want to be in a dating pool with them?

Are you Fit to Date?

Totally remiss, but with good reason

2008-12-13T10:39:00.000-08:00

The editorial staff of In Good Graces is moving.

Yes, we are shifting our base from idyllic suburbia to the metropolis of San Francisco. It’s only about fifteen miles away.

No, I am still not moving out of my parents’ house. Don’t get excited.

I know, I know, I know. The young of the species are supposed to be thrust from the nest into the big, cruel world to make their way for themselves. I have not done this, and have no immediate plans to do so. Why? Because I don’t fancy signing a lease in a financial crisis, thank you. If there is one thing I have inherited, it’s a deep paranoia that all things are going straight to hell and one should always be prepared for the collapse. My father calls it the “Chicken Little syndrome.”

And sadly, that’s not all I inherited. I, in the great tradition of my dearly departed grandmother, am a packrat with a vengeance. While packing up my worldly possessions I found out I had every school paper since the sixth grade; every t-shirt from a memorable event, soccer game or school fundraiser; a huge stack of ridiculous teen magazines. Yes, that’s correct. A HUGE STACK of OUTDATED PRINT MEDIA with NO SUBSTANTIVE INFORMATION WHATSOEVER. Clearly necessary for some unknown future purpose.

That’s not even the worst of it. I know I was an aggressive collector as a kid. I liked to horde large amounts of useless things in different colors and so on. I tried to collect one of each of the state-specific quarters. I collected key chains and hung them on my backpack until it weighed a ton and jingled like a flotilla of Christmas reindeer. I loved seashells, small animal figurines, marbles. I know that.

I had conveniently forgotten how much I liked to collect rocks.

You read correctly. Rocks. And not fancy rocks, like geodes or precious metals or fancy geologic formations. Just rocks. I can’t find anything remarkable about them. Some have very nice holes in them, worn totally smooth. But it’s still just a rock with a hole in it. I can’t imagine why I wanted so many. I’m thinking I will just have to go chuck them in the creek. Or maybe into the neighbor’s yard with her annoying dog. But seriously. Rocks?

It’s not all my fault. The dearly departed grandmother mentioned above put my piddling packrattery to shame. She was the pack-capybara (for those non-dorks out there, the capybara is the largest living rodent in the world. No offense, Grandma). She had every carpet, every christening outfit, every photograph that ever foolishly strayed across her path. She had a deep and enduring love of footstools and kitchenware. No bundt pan was safe. The desire to trap things in boxes and store them in attics is not all my fault. After all, we just might need it someday.

I even caught myself in the act. I found the marble collection on a high shelf, unused and alone for so many years. All the types have names, many of which I sadly remember. The black and white ones are “Pandas,” the red and yellow ones “Red Devils,” and the shiny goldish-purple-brass ones “Oilies.” There are “Galaxies” and “Meteors” and “Cats’ Eyes.” And as I was pawing through the box reminiscing on the Good Old Days of “Orcas” and “Blue Surfers,” I noticed that some of the marbles were a little smaller. I don’t remember if they came separately or as a little present in the bags of big marbles. They’re just a little smaller, with the same patterns and funny names. Gee, I thought, they look so neat. Little marbles, how cool!

And ten minutes later I found myself picking daintily through an entire shoebox of marbles, doing size comparisons and filling a plastic baggy with small marbles. Small marbles. A marble is a ball of glass. That you theoretically use to win other peoples’ balls of glass. I don’t play marbles anymore. What in God’s name am I going to do with funny-named miniature marbles? And what good are miniature marbles if you don’t have any of the bigger ones for comparison?

And I sat, holding my baggy of miniature marbles, and thought, What the hell is wrong with me?

And that’s when my sister walked in holding the top of a shoebox. The box top was full of small erasers in bright colors and patterns, the cornerstone of any middle school academic experience. She waved the box top under my nose and said, “What was I going to do with all these erasers? What the hell is wrong with me?”

And somewhere, as I tucked my baggies of mini marbles (it required two snack-size Ziplocs) into a box marked “Grace’s Room,” I’m sure my Grandma laughed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2008-11-27T13:41:00.000-08:00

In Good Graces wants to wish you and yours a happy and healthy Thanksgiving! And if you run out of things to be thankful for (after the big ones like family, friends and the continued existence of the planet), here's a few off my own list that I am happy to share:

1. Wonderful readers like yourselves!
2. Naps (and sleeping in)
3. Funny-looking animals (especially pugs)
4. Snappy female columnists (a la Maureen Dowd, Gail Collins and Olivia Judson)
5. Thick, winter-defying socks

Now, go forth and gorge!

p.s. and if you have minute, read Nicholas Kristof's awesome column.

Cause for Concern

2008-11-25T16:31:00.000-08:00

The situation in this town is frightening.

A group of local high school boys went out "beaner jumping" and killed an Ecuadorean immigrant.

Friends and family of the 17-year-old who is being charged with stabbing Marcelo Lucero in the chest are coming out in his defense. They claim he was a gentle, friendly, sweet young man. He had friends of different ethnicities and even a half sister who is one-quarter Puerto Rican.

Ah, that explains everything. Nobody kills people of an ethnic group from which they know other people. Imagine anyone even thnking such a charming young man could do such a thing.

The defendant pleaded not guilty and his lawyer aims to prove his innocence. Maybe he is innocent, I don't know. But a man is dead and I think it's foolish to assume that one has to be a swastika-tattooed skinhead to kill people when one goes "beaner jumping" (which, by the way, is apparently a common pastime on Long Island- ah, the idylls of suburbia).

The locals also cite the Latino heritage of two others in this fun-loving crew as evidence against their having done anything. Because nobody ever attacks anyone with whom they share a generalizing ethnic distinction. Evidence suggests that some parts of Long Island are living in a cave.

For the purpose of arguing over a hate crime, maybe some of those points are important. But it sounds like people are using these teenagers' non-racism (which I find a bit suspect - "beaner jumping?") to deny the possibility they did anything. The defense attorney for one defendant reportedly said of his client, "the idea that he, of Hispanic heritage, would beat up another Hispanic is patently absurd." Speaking of patent absurdity, this is the same defendant who stated he previously knocked out another Hispanic man and only did this "maybe once a week." Ah, our mistake. Clearly nothing to see here.

An earlier article cited the deteriorating economy as a partial source of increased anger directed toward the Hispanic population. If economic concerns worsen, will we see more brandishing of the pitchforks and torches?

Tough times bring out the worst in us. And if this is any indication, the face under the mask is grotesque.

A Public Service Announcement

2008-11-24T13:51:00.000-08:00

Fellow childhood nerds will appreciate this, as will all foodies and produce fanatics.

I would bet a good chunk of cash that I know why Persephone ate the pomegranate seeds and Hercules mucked out the stables, but not the other way around.

Because clearing the Augean stables might be a pain in the tush, but it is totally doable. The Nemean lion? A bummer, but not bust. The hydra? Meh.

But had someone handed him the damn pomegranate and said they wanted EVERY SEED, uninjured and pristine, immortality would not have been his. I bet that's what really happened to Persephone.

Pomegranates may be perfect as the food of the dead because you burn more calories raging and trying to claw the skin off than there are in a dumptruck full of those damn seeds. But I don't think that's why she couldn't leave. I wouldn't be surprised if some underhanded business went down. "Here, sweetheart, if you just get every one of those pretty red things out of there and eat them, you can go home!" And it only took about eight to break her will to live.

If you think I'm crazy and making all this up, you are probably right. But I know that some of you out there have been similarly bested by a fruit the size of a softball and seriously questioned your self-worth as a result. I spent a solid forty-five minutes picking bits of peel and that spongey white stuff out from around tiny little seeds last night. The countertop ended up covered in carnage and red juice. And why did I do this? Because they looked so pretty and bright and inviting at the grocery store. An amateurish mistake.

So, since it is the season for fun, earth-toned fruit products, I strongly caution you against this unassuming monster. It will leave you in ruinous decline, I'm convinced.

Thoroughly Cowed

2008-11-21T08:52:00.001-08:00

Okay, since David Brooks says so, maybe I'll even take back the comment about the socks.

And stick to dinosaur commentary in the future.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/21/opinion/21brooks.html

In Retrospect

2008-11-19T21:15:00.000-08:00

We at In Good Graces are a bit ashamed of the last post.

Having said that, it's not clear why.

On one hand we are trying to curb our negativity towards the universe. Given the state of the financial markets we think it's time to invest in something more solid, like karma.

It also sounds terribly naive. As a good friend pointed out, all politicians are full of it and this is not surprising. I still wanted a little ignorant bliss (perhaps it's time to dispense with the royal We, don't you think?).

But finally, and perhaps most importantly, I might be terribly wrong. I don't know exactly how many people get appointed to cabinet and adviser positions, but I imagine it's quite a few. On a percentage basis, the Clintonian influence might be relatively small. Maybe Bill Clinton was a genius and surrounded himself with the very best people in the business. Maybe our president-elect is taking this opportunity to compensate for his own lack of experience by bringing in some White House old hands.

Either way, I would like to apologize for the skepticism. Perhaps it is unfair. It is likely unfounded.

But I will not be taking back the comment about Mr. Obama's socks. I still wish laundry decimation upon him, either as a preemptive strike or on the off chance I am right after all.

I don't get paid to do this, so I can be that way.

The Day the Music Died

2008-11-18T20:21:00.000-08:00

I voted for Barack Obama. I cried when he won. I thought there might be a new beginning, a chance for real change. A little cockroach of hope crawled out from under my deeply cynical attitude.

And then His Changeness stomped it flat. Yes, he did.

Why? What could possibly be so bad about the charming (and very tall, may I add) new White House couple? They're smart and funny and attractive. Their children are adorable. They want a goldendoodle, for God's sake. How can you be mad at anyone who wants a breed of dog that sounds like Martha Stewart made it out of angel food cake and cherub poop?

Here's why. I may not know anything about politics and I may be a damn sight dumber than Mr. Obama (several sights, really), but there is something a bit fishy going on. Let's review some of the tidbits the New York Times is sharing about the new adminstration:

Rahm "Rahmbo" Emanuel, the new White House chief of staff, is both a ballerina and "an unusual hybrid of high-level experience as a top adviser to President Bill Clinton together with proven expertise as a Congressional leader and political strategist." Well that sounds pretty good. Sure, why not.

Gregory B. Craig is to be the new White House counsel. This addition is "a longtime friend of former President Bill Clinton and Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton, Mr. Craig was special counsel to Mr. Clinton during his impeachment battle, defending him on the Senate floor." I am sure Obama knows what he's doing.

Peter R. Orszag, "an economic adviser to President Bill Clinton, and before that to Mr. Clinton’s Council of Economic Advisers," is expected to accept the post of Director of Office of Management and Budget. Huh, that's funny. . . something seems odd. . . but I just can't put my finger on it. Hm.

Laura D'Andrea Tyson might make a "return tour as director of the economic council." A return tour? What, is she releasing a greatest hits album? Why no, in fact, she is simply following up her "experience in the Clinton administration." Gee, something seems awfully familiar. How odd.

Eric H. Holder, recently tapped as the future Attorney General, was "a senior official in the Justice Department in the Clinton administration." Now wait just. . . no, Grace, calm down. He's bringing Change I Can Believe In, so I should believe. Right?

Jacob J. Lew, also being considered for the Director of the office of Management and Budget, was "Director of the Office of Management and Budget from 1998 to 2001 under President Clinton." What's that creepy sinking feeling you get when things start to look scarily familiar? Forboding? Or is it deja vu? No, no. It's definitely dread.

Obama is having meetings to select a new Secretary of State, including dicussions with Hillary Rodham Clinton. They're joking, right? It's all a hoax. Very funny. Now when. . . no, really, I'm serious. . . cut it out that's not. . . Really? Seriously?

That's it! I quit Team Optimist! May your goldendoodle get mange. I'm sure they're all very qualified people. Maybe they will all do excellent jobs. For all of our sake, I hope so. But I am informing you personally, Mr. Obama, that the bubble is totally busted. What were those things you were trying to emphasize? Change? Bipartisanship? If we were five and on the playground there are many rude rhymes that would come in handy.

I am getting out my Grinch suit for the rest of the holidays, do you hear me? You've so stolen Christmas and it is not coming back! I hope all your socks shrink to two sizes too small.

And I thought it would last at least a month. How tragic.

In case you were wondering. . .

2008-11-12T10:29:00.000-08:00

In Good Graces FLASH UPDATE:

Another thing you absolutely should NOT do while bored at work and before you walk home alone on a dark and windy night in your idyllic suburb: read all the articles associated with "serial killer" on Wikipedia.

Just looking out for your mental health here at In Good Graces.

WHERE is Emily Post when I need her?

2008-11-11T14:54:00.000-08:00

While sitting at a dinner table in mixed company of Boomers and GenYers (or whatever my age group is called, I don't even know), the issue of technological communication slithered onto the table. Twitter, specifically, came into question. What was twitter? What did that mean? Do people just ist around twittering all the time?

First, it's tweeting. And yes, yes they do. And it hit me: I think one of the great divides between our generation and our parents' (or at least my parents') lies in the discussion of a whole new communication etiquette growing around instant-yet-not-in-person discussions. (For some of the less-plugged-in: this genre does not include email).

After all, anyone who has ever gotten into a sticky spot on gchat or AIM will fess to deleting your planned response and rewriting it. At least five times. There are touchy issues of punctuation in text messages and who, exactly, will be reading your twitter at any given time?

The text message issue is especially relevant. I had a recent conversation with a friend over the proper response to being stood up via text message. Clearly she was not pleased that a certain guy had canceled a date at the last minute with about five words, but did not want to get angry via text message. One wants, after all, to portray equilibrium; you're not happy that he's an idiot, but you're also not so involved or insane to get really angry.

So how do you respond? After all, you could simply say nothing. This leads into a much deeper issue about when to end a texting conversation; at what point is nonresponse not rude? In this particular case, it was agreed that nonresponse was probably not a polite option.

Okay, now what do you text back? You don't want to seem pleased in general, so things like "sounds great!" or "Okay, no problem!" are out of the question. Absolutely NO exclamation points allowed- there is nothing to exclaim about, since "Okay, you're a moron!!" entirely defeats the purpose of this entire post.

But we also don't want to sound catty or mean, so no "oh, fine then." or "i see." but Note the use of the period. A single or several-word response with finalizing punctuation implies annoyance of some kind, or at least displeasure. It lies in that implied moment of silence, when the glare would show the true I'm never going to speak to you again you spineless pool of sludge pathos.

Now, where is the middle ground? Perhaps a simple "oh, okay" or "cool" will suffice, implying neither distaste nor satisfaction. Here, note the distinct lack of punctuation. An excellent mix of disinterest and acceptance, sending the perfect message. Assuming he actually gets it.

Sent! Now to wait. . .

Ah, technology, the great simplifier of life.

The Herd is Spooked

2008-11-07T15:21:00.000-08:00

You can't read the paper anymore without a new story about the economic pinch. I’ve read tips about clipping coupons, getting more gas out of your tank and finding cheap vacations (behold: the staycation).

And among the scariest are the articles about the implosion of consumer spending. Some part of me always thinks it’s good that everyone is spending less. We spend too much already, and generally on things we probably don’t need (I did pay $10 for a burger and fries on Monday).

But here’s the thing: This is just like the Jurassic.

Bear with me, I promise the metaphor extends. The Jurassic was an age of HUGE dinosaurs, not the least of which was Allosaurus. Allosaurus was a monstrous meat eater, the Chevy Explorer that came out before the Expedition-like T. Rex. In many ways Allosaurus might have been more frightening; it wasn’t much smaller but had stronger arms and was leaner and more agile. It was certainly a huge upgrade from the Model T carnivores that came before it. It essentially owned the Jurassic age.

As my favorite dorky dinosaur analysts from Jurassic Fight Club like to point out, dinosaurs got big to compete with each other and deal with bigger prey (a la Brachiosaurus). The problem is, you need a lot of meat to sustain an engine big enough to power 2.3 metric tons (roughly 4,400 lbs.) of dinosaur.

And thus, when things get hard, Allosaurs can’t last very long without their normal supply. If there’s a drought in what is now Utah (whose state fossil is Allosaurus, well done!) about 140 million years ago, the first things that die are the plants. Then the plant eaters (this should not be hard to follow). And for a while, all the Allosaurs are in hog heaven because the plant eaters just keel over; no hunting necessary. And then they can eat the little meat eaters when there are no plant eaters left. But sooner or later, there’s nothing but Allosaurs (and a few tiny animals- don’t forget about them) who can’t find enough meat to fill their big bellies. And then they start to die.

Now, the winners in all of this are the little reptiles and mammals that are small enough and adaptable enough to adjust to the new environments, or at least survive the bad time. But lots of things in between that can’t quite make it to the new era get wiped out, making space for new huge dinosaurs in the next boom.

Now back to articles about depressing economic conditions. The LA Times reported on the serious profit decline in the legalized sex worker trade in Nevada. They are seeing losses of up to 20% as long-haul truckers are forced to spend more and more income on food, housing and fuel.

And suddenly I start to feel like I work for a medium-sized carnivore.

My firm helps big herbivore firms sue each other. The herbivore firms get fat and happy because the proverbial plant matter like me buys gas, goes on vacation, eats out, accumulates lots of handbags and so on.

But suddenly the money to buy the handbags is thin on the ground. All the plants are withering and clinging to their income desperately. The herbivores can’t sell any handbags and they’re getting thin, and some are already keeling over.

Suddenly all the meat eating firms that live off these chubby manufacturers and hotel chains and insurers are starting to see a whole lot of wheezing bodies lying on their sides in the foothills. For a while there might be lots to go around among us; failing companies will sue each other, the remainder will struggle to comply with new regulations. A charming little Utahraptor litigation consulting firm like mine might do quite well.

For a while, anyway.

All I can hope is either that a) I’m horribly wrong, or b) that I can sneak in like one of the crafty little mammals or reptiles that learns to eat nuts or something and lives to fight another day.

All I’m saying is, if the sex worker herbivores are having trouble, it won’t be long now.

Rebuild California, One Beer at a Time

2008-11-06T16:14:00.000-08:00

At first I thought the governor might be suffering some kind of over-tanning dementia.

Mr. Schwartzanegger (which yes, I did have to look up to spell correctly) wants to increase sales tax in California by 1.5 cents on the dollar.

This confused me because all I hear these days is that people are spending less. Way less. I'm sure it would still raise money and that the shrewd financial analysts in Sacramento took this into account (the place is, after all, overrun with competence). But gee, I thought, isn't an implosion of consumer spending a bad time to raise sales tax?

But then I actually read the first paragraph of the article instead of just the byline: the governor also wants a 5 cent tax on alcoholic beverages. Here is the Austrian genius at work.

If everyone's going to be drowning their sorrows, might as well make some extra cash.