Smoke Gets in Your Eyes ...

Dear France,

I'm just going to come out and say it. You stink. I don't mean you're a bad place to live. That's not it at all. I really don't mind the snooty French people. In fact, they aren't that snooty most of the time. Although, those that are snooty, they definitely have noses reaching for the stars. Aside from that, the people aren't so bad.

You see, what I mean by telling you that you stink is simply this, you have a lot of smells. I've been trying to go running on your streets. It's not easy. Okay, what smells am I talking about? You need to know, there are numerous odors that are inhabiting your streets. Those suped up bicycles, or suped down motorcycles that you have running around are doing something wrong. The exhaust is incredible, and it can't simply be the gasoline that you've got in the country. It's not that all cars are putting out this rancid exhaust. It's just these little mini-motos that you have running around. I'm not talking about the mobilettes either, those are adorable and french and put out soft scents of french bread and butter as they pass by...or at least that's what I imagine. Nope. I'm talking those cheap little motos that 16-22 year old boys who don't want to take, or can't take, driving lessons to get thier license tool around trying to look hardcore and pick up the girls from the hood. These things put out a ridiculous cloud of exhaust. One that sits on the road. The exhaust seems to take an hour to dissipate, so it just waits for you. Walking by? Boom! Exhaust. Trying to run by and taking deep breaths because you're exercising? Boom! Exhaust. I get it. I lived in New York for awhile, the air isn't that great either. But at least it has the decency to permeate all the air in the city. You can't even tell the different exhausts from each other. Here, these little rideable motorcycles are killing me.

On the subject of difficulty breathing; it's time we had a talk. Look, I know you have a reputation to protect. I realize that a black beret and striped shirt with a baguette and cigarette in hand makes up the world's stereotype of french people. I understand that. But how did you, an entire and industrialized nation, miss the memo about the connection between smoking and health? This may seem surprising, but I have to tell you directly, without frills, smoking cigarettes is bad for your health. Smoking causes cancer. Breathing in hundreds of toxins on a regular basis will kill you. I know, the classic response of 'everything kills you these days.' You're snooty and you're attached to your smokes. Well look, smoking kills you faster. Smoking kills your friends and your family. And, on a related but more selfish note, smoking kills me. I'm tired of it. Again, running or walking around the streets and I have to run through billows of smoke what just hang about, regardless of the street, the park, or the direction. Nowhere and no one is safe.

Got a light? Yes they do. 

France, did you know that there are five entrances to the law building--five entrances that are three double-door widths large. With all of these options I'm still unable to find a clear and smoke free entrance inside. Even if you've made large strides to prevent smoking indoors, and I'll admit that it's along the right track. Still, France, I should remind you of a little something about science. Basically, the stuffy air on the inside of a closed space wants to get out. It's just claustrophobic or something. See, so when you have a box, or a building in this case, and you create a small opening for the air on the inside to escape, it will. That air is going to rush on out. But see, this creates a vacuum where that air needs to be replaced. So the air around that opening, let's say the doors to this building will be sucked right inside to replace the air that was stuck inside. Now, whatever makes up that air outside that opening--whether it be oxygen, nitrogen, or secondhand smoke--will move to the inside. All of this is to say that blocking all of the entrances with smokers and smoke will not help keep smoke out of the inside of buildings.

Okay. It's smoky and smelly outside. especially in front of restaurants and school buildings and everywhere. And sometimes those awful smells get inside, and they are less than fun. While I'm here, and on the issue of smelly things inside, there's one more thing I should probably talk about--you know, to continue the stereotyping. No, it's not the people urinating in the train stations. No, it's not the people urinating on the streets. No, it's not the dog feces left everywhere like rank land mines. No, it's not even the fake trash cans that are seeping garbage and coffee everywhere (and by cans, I of course mean the public plastic bags that are hung in places that don't really have cans so much as basketball hoops lifted about 4 feet off the ground with the clear garbage bag hanging inside of it). No. I have something that I need to talk to the french boys aged somewhere between 18-22 ish. See, I know you look good with your new kicks. Those skinny jeans and striped shirt make you look both awkward and solidly french. Yes, you have a great Guillaume Canet jawline and haircut. Yet, no matter how good you look, you need to shower. There it is, I said it, you didn't shower today. I know you didn't shower. You know you didn't shower. And those chickadees you were mackin' on, yeah, they know you didn't shower too. I'm going to go out on a limb (a very secure and strong limb) and say that I don't think you showered yesterday either. Okay, I don't mind when we're outside and you're 30 meters away, I can hardly even tell. But look, I got to class early and found a good spot. There are tons of great spaces everywhere, because this room is never filled. So why, oh why, must you come in late to sit directly in front of my place bringing me into the nucleus of your b.o. cloud? You don't. There are places everywhere. Find one of those. And one of those isn't the seat directly behind me. You see I have a computer so you jump to the obvious conclusion that I'm a super student who takes awesome and complete notes. Wrong. I'm American. My clothes/shoes/face/accent should've tipped you off. Sorry. My notes aren't going to be helpful, even if you breath down my neck as you lean over trying to read my microsoft word document filled with ellipses for words and phrases that I missed, and ridiculous misspellings of obvious place names. I'm sorry. I can't help you, but I can smell you. You should probably find a different seat, or come in earlier to give me a chance to move. Or, better yet, take a shower, use soap, use deodorant.

While not every dude on campus is smelly, i'm mostly tired of the smelly ones sitting in front of me in class. It's old. It's just a plea. There are others around you. You smell bad. You reek of smoke. You stink of b.o. Your halitosis moves like a shockwave. Please, just make an effort.

A concerned friend,
LAW

PS. Thanks for helping me take notes in class smelly dude behind me, I couldn't understand a word that the prof was saying.
PPS. France, you are also full of crazy good smells: mostly bread. Fresh baked bread at most hours of the day. Also, that crazy rich scent of butter melted into chocolate and bread from pain au chocolats is incredible. Thanks for those.
PPPS. I wish Helga were here. She smells nice. 

Nous On Veut Vivre...Vivre...Vivre....

Encore Plus Fort....

Really, you wanted to know about my entry into France. How it's been. What I've done. Etc. Well there isn't really anything to tell. I'm here and I have an address.

I suppose that isn't interesting. Let me tell you then, just sit there for a moment, and let me tell you about "Ma Rentree En France."

You see. It all started with an extremely lonely plane ride from Dulles to Keflavik international airport -- that's Iceland. From Iceland I would head right into France with a plan to hit the concourse runnning. I had several things to do. First I had to go to campus to get paperwork settled for school and to get a dorm room. Then I had to go to the dorms and get the room so I had a home to stay in. This of course needed to be completely taken care of by 5 as afterward everyone shuts down for the weekend. Well, if everything didn't work out, I'd be out of a bed and on the streets for Friday night. So, just to be on the safe side I got a hotel room for Friday night-- I figured I could drop my luggage off there instead of dragging it all around campus, and if everything doesn't go as planned I'll have a place for the night and can figure out what to do from there. The plane landed at 1:00 in the afternoon on Friday, so I figured it would be a lot of rushing around, particularly after traveling so far and so long, but it'd be worth it to get settled in and have fewer worries for the weekend.

Planes were not pleasant, with screaming kids and some turbulence, but they were on time. Landing at 1 I didn't get out of the airport until about 1:50 and grabbed a taxi to take straight to the hotel, which can be found in Nanterre along with the University, but it wasn't next door or anything. So after my 40 minute cab ride, I was at the hotel. Checked in, dropped things off, and was out of the hotel and in another cab by 3:00. Turns out Nanterre is confusing and difficult to navigate, even with a GPS system and innate knowledge of the area -- either that or the driver was trying to really take me for a ride. As we made the same circle a second time, I drew his attention to this and got a few euro knocked off the bill. He was a nice kid, and played it as though it was tough to figure out how to get around which it really did seem confusing with signs pointing every which direction for the University. In any case, made it to campus. 3:30. Time's moving fast. Time to find the person in charge of the exchange. Batiment A, here I come.

I didn't have her office number, it wasn't in any information i could find, but Batiment A was about international exchanges and relations and all that business. Walked into Batiment A. There is an 'Accueil' (welcome) desk. I walked up to the welcome desk, relieved that I would be able to quickly and easily locate the office. Then I asked the desk for directions to her office, getting a confused look and eventually writing her name down on paper to try and be clear. Having no idea, and seemingly in disbelief that the person even existed the desk suggested I head into room A09, just around the corner.
This is one (of many) rooms for inscription (registering for your classes basically). Into the room I head, map of hte campus in hand, and high hopes in mind. Again I ask for the program director's office--again I give her name--again nobody has an idea of who or where she is. Not frustrated, but a little disappointed, the best advice I get is to head up to A103, apparently there is an international relations office there. Up the stairs I head...it seems like twice as many stairs as necessary for one flight, but after those 40 steps, I arrive at the first floor. (In France (and other countries I'm sure), the ground floor is either 0 or the rez-de-chausee, and the floors begin counting as you go up and thus the first floor is the first floor up from the ground.) A handwritten sign is on the door of room 103, "For exchange students incriptions, go to room C12." (It may have been C13, I don't remember that well.) Batiment C, here I come.

Confident of the room, and confident I would not find who I was looking for, I headed to Batiment C. Here I would find a collection of 17-20 year old boys and girls who seem to be somewhat in charge of explaining inscriptions and campus life to any foreign students walking in and trying to get their business organized. Well, I could care less about 99% of what was going on, I really just wanted to find the office or the person I needed. Thus, I ask two people that weren't helping anyone at the moment. As to be expected there is a certain consistency with people, as nobody has any idea of who the person is. Never even heard of her. Awesome. They were kind enough to give me a sheet of orange paper--a sort of hall pass to get around and to go directly to a building or office without being stopped by the numerous security guards standing around smoking. Apparently they ensure only so many people are in a building at a time...with the thousands of students trying to register, it makes some sense. Now I can blow right by everybody. I have a little sheet of paper, signed and ready to go. It gets me directly to ... A09. Batiment A, here I...

I knew there was something more to A09, then was being let on. Back to A09 I head. It's been engaging, and I am learning the lay of the campus. At least, I know where buildings A, B, and C are all located. They are all, also connected--but the doors between them are all locked at this point. Don't need any drifters I guess. Into A09. I'm not sure even what to ask. I ask the same question again. Next they ask what it is she does; I explain the general exchange program. I explain that there wasn't anyone in 103, but a sign that says C12. Suddenly the kid remembered something. C12 is where the inscriptions are being done for foreign exchanges. I should head there. I just came from there. No, he's sure someone there can help me. Batiment C...

Batiment C will not be of any help, again. Into C12 I walked. Apparently the director is either a missing person or a complete figment of my imagination. And despite the surprising friendliness of people, nobody is able to help. I'm slowly explaining to a girl who looks to be 15ish who I'm looking for and what she does. Then a security guard comes in, asking about where I needed to be (probably a result of having seen the same guy walk back and forth a couple times now. He asks what I was looking for. Back to A09 I go. Batiment A.

In A09. Nothing to say. Nothing to do. A third person asks to help me. Still no clue who the person is. Still the best that can be suggested is C12. This person has to exist. They have to be around. Someone has to know her. I tried A103 again. Knocked harder this time. Was convinced that everyone is at C12. I'm at a loss. Batiment C.

Between A and C is B, locked off but with people in the front doing some kind of student help. I dragged my feet, step by step, headed toward Batiment C, again. Constantly looking around for some other kind of clue, some large, neon sign that tells me which way to go. Then, as I'm dragging my feet, searching, struggling, a ray of light that is another student asks if I need help. Yes. Yes I did. She asked who I was looking for. I told her. It was fantastic. She had no idea who the person was. What she did know was a big help though, as I explained that the director helped with international relations the helper explained to me that "International Relations" was in Batiment L. What? No wonder nobody has heard of the person I'm looking for. She doesn't exist in these buildings, she must be in Batiment L. A clear and fortunate explanation of all my wasted efforts. It was tough, but I was finally headed somewhere. Across campus was but a stroll in comparison to those long trips between A and C because I had a new found spring in my step. A step that would take me to resolution and eventually a dormitory. Yes. Batiment L, here I come!

On the other side of campus, past buildings G, E, and F, and not even close to A, B, C, D, or DD, was Batiment L just waiting to help me. Into Batiment L I go. To the Accueil desk, I'm looking for the international relations department. A gentleman tells me to go past room R07 and to the left. Wait. R07? What? How did I not end up in L? For whatever reasons, I was in L, but they also have R numbered rooms. Sure. Also, apparently the gentleman who told me left, really meant right. I get confused too, so I won't fault him. I'm on my way to success. After some brief confusion and being confused on my part, I found the international relations department. Oops. It was definitely the place for international relations, as in the study of international relations. Naturally, it figured. Definitely my fault on that one. Huh, well, I saw something on the ground floor that may have been helpful, so I'll go check it out. On the ground floor I found the French Language for Foreigners --they call it something else. But I thought, this is here and so the actual exchange people can't be far. I thought that they deal with a lot of exchange students, maybe, maybe someone will know where in Batiment L I can find my director. I ask the man who's hanging out. Finally. Yes. He has heard of the person I'm looking for. He has heard of her, he has dealt with her, and he knows where her office is. This is the best news I've had all day. And so off I go, unsure of what to expect, to A - 1 - 0 - 3.  Batiment A, I'm coming for blood.

A103. I have confidence it's the right place. I don't know what will have changed between the minute I first got there, and now, but something has. Possibly just in me, 'cause I'm definitely getting tired, frustrated, and hungry. Back to Batiment A. Into Batiment A, past the security guards and up the unnecessary flights of stairs to A103. I'm there. It's the same. Same handwritten sign and same unhelpful everything around it. That man was certain, certain that it was 103. Yeah, he mentioned it was right around A103. Wait, there is another 103, there's an A103A, and an A103B. A103A clearly says something about physical sciences though. Whatever. I knocked to see if anyone was in A103A. There were. I asked if they knew the director. They didn't. I asked if they had an idea of where I should be looking. The friendly, and round physics teacher told me exactly where to go. A104.

A103, and A104 are in the corner together. A103 on one side, the left side, and A104 on the other side, the right side. Turns out 104 is very nearly, exaclty the place I had been looking for. There is a sign, explaining who is in the office and that the office handles international relations e.g. exchanges. Sweet. Still, again, I was tired, and frustrated, and naturally the person I'm looking for was not actually on this list. Still not the right place. I'm tired. I'm done. I'm walking away dejected and heartbroken and seeing that on the same wall of 104 is 106. A106. Same titles and function, international relations. But new people. Here she was. Finally. I found her name, First Initial, Period, Last Name. It was incredible. And like a light of glory, with little hope left. It is 4:55. No way. I can't make it in time. Well, maybe if I can get through this quickly, and have the director help me a little, I can get the directrice at the dorms to stay a little late and be super nice and give me a place to stay. There's still a chance!

My plane landed at 1:00 p.m., giving me a possible afternoon to get things done. It was a lot of running around, and my chances were slim to none at this point. Truly, I didn't expect much either. Nothing against the French, but they are known (in my mind) for closing their doors early, not giving a darn, and ensuring that they are home by 5, as opposed to just leaving at 5. I can assure you, that was not the case here. I gave the door a solid knock; one that says I'm here and I have a reason to be. As I waited for some answer I was checking out the signs around the door, some handwritten, some general college campus ads, and one that told me the office hours. It closes at 12:30 on Fridays.

I miss Helga, a lot.
Law. 

Next time you're feelin' blue just let a smile begin....

Happy things will come to you, so Smurf yourself a grin....

My word of the day -- and probably many other people's word of the day as well-- is: weltschmertz. Why do I love my word-of-the-day widget? Usually the words are limited to 'copacetic' and 'lionize' which do me fine. I feel intelligent for knowing them and haughty for being disappointed in my 'word of the day' widget for not supplying me with a genuinely new word. Generally speaking, I feel satisfied. What's a weltschmertz? Apparently it is a noun, "sentimental pessimism; sorrow that one feels and accepts as one's necessary portion in life." Woh. I mean, that's a heavy word. It even feels heavy as it over the tongue and forces its way through the upper layer of teeth--and its German for those who don't know/couldn't figure it out (of which I may have been one, I won't say)-- so it comes out awkward and bizarre as Vel-tuh-shmerts.

I mean good golly, how often do you see a word with 6 consonants in a row? All right, 'catchphrase,' 'borschts,' and of course, 'eschscholtzia' for those Californians. Really though, otherwise there are only a few and those few don't seem to struggle to get out of the mouth nearly as much as weltschmerts. So there it is, a nasty word that seems to carry its definition quite well, as it leaves a seriously nasty taste that doesn't appeal to any of your tastebuds after having said it. In the end, that feeling will stay, too. Sitting there always a reminder of the unfortunate luck of of its ill existence. I suppose each person should probably say the word, genuinely say the word out loud once--if for no other reason than to get a good idea of its meaning.

Apparently (thanks wikipedia) it is a term coined by a German author, Jean Paul and 'denotes the kind of feeling experienced by someone who realizes the physical world can never satisfy the demands of the mind.' Huh. Well, until this word came along most of my mental demands were pretty well satisfied to tell you the truth, particularly as far as my word-a-day widget was concerned. And now?

Now after this latchstring (6 consonants in a row) has been untied I feel like a sisyphean lengthsman (6 consonants in a row) constantly searching a nasty street for the papers that have appeared since the earliest archchroniclers (6 consonants in a row) who must have put together, what used to be very satisfying, word-a-day calendars that are now tranfigured into weltschmertz (6 consonants in a row) inducing widgets for some lonely and erudite florist selling eschscholtzia (6 consonants in a row) to use as a catchphrase (6 consonants in a row) to impress and deter customers with their generally offputting attitude as they sit on their lunch break...eating their borschts (6 consonants in a row), of course. I feel that way, well, because there are many words out there that I'll see, pick up, read, and promptly forget; it leaves me with a sense of loss both of myself and of the language--of which I won't really be able to do anything about. Weltschmertz.

LAW

All right, so there was another word that has 6 consonants in a row: postphthisic. Here's the thing. I searched high and low for a definition of this word--I plugged it into google--and came up without a definition (not even urban dictionary had it in there). Apparently the word only exists for the purpose of having an additional word with 6 consonants in a row. This being the case, I have decided to also come up with a word. Or at least alter a word so that though it has 6 consonants in a row, it will leave me with a much better feeling after it all....

WeltSchmurfs: la LA lala-la La, La, lala- LA....it mean, uh, it's a noun. and it's, 'a smurfs world'/ It can also be used, more colloquially, to describe yourself as optimistic and excited about an enormous world of opportunities,

e.g. "As one little American student in this crazy French law school situation, I'm really in a weltschmurfs here!"

And you may ask yourself....

So. I've clearly moved. For those of you who don't know, I actually was just looking for a new format. A new means of blogging that would be fast and easy and not necessarily for one message a month, because I unfortunately missed August. Which is heartbreaking and ridiculous because a. I didn't have a job that took me away from the intense time commitment of blogging of one's own life, b. I went on amazing adventures with my amazing fiancée, Helga, and thus had plenty to write about and to share, and c. it was my new year's resolution that as far as I can tell has just drifted out of the window.

So, I find myself in a new place. Well, a new place isn't entirely accurate as the actual place has been around for awhile. I'm in France. I'm in a student dormitory in Saint-Cloud. I suppose the other interpretation isn't super accurate either because I've certainly been to France and stayed in France for long periods of time as well. Still, I've never been in a French dorm before...so it's something. In addition to the Jackie Chan movie title, I find myself tumbling down this path toward an uncertain career future. That being said, that's for the later, and for the now, I'm here. While I miss Helga terribly and have been recently wanting little more than to return to her, she is stronger than I and reminds me to stay. I'm here. I'm here for a reason. I should see it to the end. I don't consider myself a quitter, but let me tell you a thing or two about my current situation.

I suppose there's an old expression: You've made your bed, now lie in it (or something like that). Here's my bed. I didn't actually make it this way, this is how it came. Although, I suppose I opted for the French trip. In addition to the slasher like tears across the protective sheet --used to protect the mattress, not me-- there are som spots and stains that accompany the hacked up mattress. I suppose if a slashed up mattress is your only problem in a home its not that horrendous. (And I do understand that there are millions out there who would do anything to get this mattress and have something to sleep on instead of the floor--this isn't about them however, this is about me and my life in France.)

what are those spots?

Worry not, you see, I haven't pictures for my entire room. It's spacious --which I wasn't expecting-- and comes equipped with very nice amenities like a kitchenette and bathroom in the apartment! To be clear though, there are some repairs that need to be addressed in addition to the mattress which was to be replaced two wednesdays ago. In addition to the mattress being ready for a role as a significant prop in an attempting hack and slash of a college coed in a new B movie, the plank under the mattress is also less than impressive with an enormous crack that travels down the center lengthwise jutting in various directions. Clearly the bed was either used for something other than sleeping, or a very large person was here before me. Perhaps in support of the latter theory, the outlet next to the bed has been bashed farther into the wall than had been intended. We'll call it unusable for now, but really it looks like it should work all i have to do is reach in with my fingers and plug something in that way. Yeah. that should work-no problem. I suppose while we're on the subject of the last tenant being an overly sized and aggressive monster, the toilet seat is quite loose. Somehow the nut holding the bolt in place has been both dislodged and gone missing. Not to fear, it is still functional. Again, these small things--even when piled up-- are all silly whatevers in the mess of an old dorm not being able to pull it together. Ce n'est pas grave.

Before anything else, I owe a HUGE thanks to MikysectionF and JenJenny for hooking me up with several very useful things in my French move: movies, DVDs, a pasta dish, a pot, a collander and a couple of utensils! THANK YOU! So much, I finally got to cook myself some dinner the other night and it was GREAT! Hope to get a working internet and Halo situation up at some point.

I know, it had been nearly a week before I cooked my first dinner. I ate out a lot, and I ate a lot of cereal. Delicious "Fitness: Chocolate Noir" cereal which balances out the healthy figure on the box with chocolate. And quick aside, because the chocolate pieces and chocolate endowed wheat flakes are heavier, the further into the box you get the sweeter and better the cereal gets! I figure my last bowl will be all 55% chocolate. Any way, i cooked my first dinner, pasta...no butter, no emmental, not even salt. It was just pasta because it was what I had and the store was closed. I was looking forward to it though, 'cause it was a step up --as Law cannot live on Fitness cereal alone. Sure enough, turn the burner on, which involves also turning the timer on because the burner will not work without a timer. Also, to be clear, by burner I just mean a modified set of two hot plates a smaller one in front and the better one in the back. I say better because the smaller one in the front isn't exactly reliable. The kitchenette's light is on so i can see, the timer is clickiting down from 35 minutes, and the burner is on somewhere between medium and high--there used to be numbers to indicate heat level but they have all since worn off. Yes sir, hot plate started to get warm, i could see some flavorless but warm penne in my future when suddenly a snap sounded through the air and the kitchenette went dark. I know, you're thinking, jeez it's rough, all that's stuff is broken in his place and the light bulb goes out--ONE MORE THING.

Don't worry. The light bulb is fine. I blew a fuse. Apparently the front burner is quite fickle, and by fickle i mean it doesn't enjoy working--but then who does? Yes, the combination of timer, light, and front burner would seem to be disastrous for cooking. To be sure, and also to be clear, I ran some tests and it turns out that a strong majority of the time just combining the timer (to turn the burner on) and the burner will cause the problem. Of course, these places are protected and have those neat security switches, which is really what caused the noise. So all i had to do to get power in the kitchen back was flip the switch. Well, flip the switch and not ever use the front burner again. naturally I forgot about it a couple of days later and tried to cook again. I think i've got it down now. So if you want warm pasta and warm sauce you're out of luck because I can't really do both. Yup, it's a silly little student studio I have.

Oh. Also, while I'm talking about my place, I should probably mention that Monday was a pretty solid day for discovery as well. The cord that connects the faucet to the shower head broke spraying water all over my bathroom and making it unnecessarily difficult to rinse off. Thankfully it broke just after completely lathering up in the shower--wouldn't want an excuse to avoid the difficult aspect of a broken shower now would we? Apparently the water here (and I'm not sure if 'here' means Saint Cloud, the residence, or France in general) has tons of calcium. Not the good, healthy stuff: the stuff that sucks to drink and erodes shower tools. Well, i suppose they are essentially the same thing, but you know what i mean. Also, during my Monday, I got to add to my theory of a Yeti being the previous tenant as the door handle broke off. Yes. The door handle. The little device that I use to open and close my front door, yeah it's broken. Apparently there's a little screw that holds it together, it fits snugly into a tiny hole that is dug out of a metal bar that comes from one side of the door handle. That nail has been pulled and scraped along the length of the bar so as to cause it to no longer function.

That's all i got for now. I've been around town a little. I'll tell you more about other stuff later. I just needed to get some of that fun stuff out there...in the open. Maybe it won't be a crazy surprise if I move to a different place in the very near future. Although, it seems as if this place will be ripe with opportunities to write about.

Sorry it's taken so long,

LAW.

New York, New YOOORRRKKK.....

This is late, and I might add another tomorrow (and by tomorrow I'm sure anyone reading this realizes I mean at some point in the undetermined future).

I have to write something however, otherwise I will feel guilty. Guilt will lead to overindulgence and tons and tons of ice cream. Which isn't that bad, but getting married in a year means I should only eats some ice cream instead of lots and lots.

In any case:

Dear New York Cabby,

I understand you are not used to the rules of the road. Many of you have been taught to drive by a long list of New York Cabbies. Here's the situation: you are doing it wrong. I know, I know, it seems simple. Go on Green. Stop on Red. Eventually the green will turn to red and also yellows are fair game.

Basically, my concerns are with you misunderstanding your situation, your cab's situation, and your passenger's situation. Humans were made with the ability to graduate motions. Unlike, for example, some insects who seem capable of jumping impossible heights for their size because of an inability to go through a motion and simple go from one position to having their leg in another position which acts as a sort of super amount of pressure--humans have an infinite number of positions by which to move their limbs. So, when the light turns from red to green, you--as a human--do not need to simply go from one pedal all the way to the ground to the gas pedal all the way to ground. Perhaps you're confused. It's a simple matter really: that quick change motion is not good for your car, nor your passenger.

When you press that gas pedal down--putting the pedal to the metal (or is it medal, or is it mettle...probably not the last one) puts an enormous strain on the vehicle. Suddenly your automatic must shift between gears violently in order to keep up with your inability to understand slowly pressing the pedal to gradually get to speed. Perhaps once, in a great while, would not be the end of the world for you. Unfortunately, like a first time mario kart driver, you're forced to stop and go, stop and go, stop and go, and then stop again. (I realize this process of driving isn't entirely your fault as people are often disregarding personal safety and jumping in front of cars and hanging out in the street, and the drivers around you are all...well...new york drivers and expect you to moving and supersonic speeds before the light has changed any way.) With this stop and go, stop and go, stop and go action that you've got going on, your car is swiftly and violently heaving like a binge drinker forced to run wind sprints. Sure, it can do it--but it really, really shouldn't. Meanwhile, you're vehicle is heaving back and forth, and you're weaving in and out of traffic and people, your passengers are being tossed around the back seat experiencing the acceleration and variation between zero and three Gs repeatedly.

Your passengers are not enjoying themselves. I understand the TV in the back should make it easier, but it doesn't. You see, people have this crazy liquid in their heads (in the ears, I'm pretty sure). This liquid tells our bodies, "hey, you're moving forward," and "hey you're moving backward," and, "hey, what exactly are you doing because I'm swirling around inside here like a toilet bowl in the southern hemisphere?" So, as the car is moving forward and jack rabbitting off the line in order to be the first one in the intersection (but not able to actually get across yet because traffic is always clogged by bad drivers and irresponsible pedestrians), and then stopping in order to cause an accident just as quickly as you had stopped, the liquid in your passengers head has gone from a calm wading pool to Charybdis (look it up (i think the spelling is right)). Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, however the messages that this wild ear liquid sends to your brain needs to corroborate with other signals--like from your eyes--in order to make sense of the world. If your body can predict the type of motion and moves that it will go through, then Charybdis won't destroy your body from the inside out. If, however, your passengers are watching Alec Trebek or Jimmy Kimmel on the the little Taxi Tube in the back, then their brain is receiving a message that says the world should be stable. When these two messages conflict with each other, the world that is your passenger's body cannot deal with these several messages and, simply, gets sick.

I propose to you this simple suggestion--and it applies to all New York drivers--

S L O W . . . D O W N

Thanks,

Law

PS. We're all trying to get someplace. Stop honking your horn. Nobody is sitting at green light, that was red a full hundredth of a second earlier, with the intent NOT to move from that spot. He will move. She will move. You will move. If you're the eighth or ninth car from the light, I assure you, it is not your responsibility to be the first one to honk.

PPS. I get it--it's a hard job. People have expectations of you to know where everything in the city is, and they expect you to be able to get there. But try to remember, it is also your job to drive people around wherever they want to go. Period. If we're unhappy it's because it wasn't a nice ride.

Also: Totally found this image elsewhere, but thought it appropriate.

Also: There were definitely good things about New York, it's just that this is on my mind and so i had to put it down.

They Give Me...

Cat Scratch Fever.....

Hey Casper,

What was that song about anyway? I mean, I tried google-ing (or is it "googling") the song to find its meaning. The answers ranged from contracting an STD to an actual medical disease associated with getting a cat-scratch. Well, either way, the song was played at every high school sporting event. Basketball game? Yup. Football game? Yup. Hmm...maybe there is something to the STD, well, them and the high school sports scene.

Okay, that was inappropriate. I have nothing against the high school athletes that worked so hard to bring us home all those championships. Well, there weren't exactly championships, but I think we won one or two games. Look, we were a new school. We had new students and hundreds of new computers. Well, newish...they were free. Yeah, that teenage prison was a haven for learning on computers. From research to typing to powerpoint to all those online video game websites, we learned about it. What a silly place. Who cares? Why write about my high school? Well....

1/2 score less 1 week ago (10 years minus a week) I graduated from Century High School. GO JAGS! Wait, were we the jaguars? Technically we were, and you could find some Century Jaguar paraphernalia with the spotted jaguar and the ol' silver, black, and turquoise of the school. Of course, there were just as many paintings and representations of "black jaguars" (which are better known as panthers (think Bagheera from the Jungle Book)) all around the school. Just the same, we were the jaguars and we were proud. I suppose some of us still are, I mean, I am.

Honestly, I never felt that the school was a prison. Sure there were about 15 sets of doors that could lock the hallways from one direction so that potential escapees would simply be locked into the school. Of course the building was very square and very brick with a fenced in yard. And naturally the blinds covered the few windows available, at all times (if it was sunny, then there was too much glare on all of the classroom's computers; if it was not sunny, then there was no point). Basically, there were some resemblances; but it wasn't a prison. It was an opportunity for most of us to find other people who were like us, and then be friends with them. Of course, not everyone had the best time in high school. Heck, we may not have even had the best time. It was a great time, though. By golly, I know I wouldn't want to go anywhere else--my best friends come from that time, and I still love them.

That being said, I am sad that I won't be able to attend our 10 year reunion. Yes, yes, I could have gone. I'm in Brooklyn and could have purchased the flight back home for the weekend. Honestly, though, I didn't think it was worth it. If I lived in the area, I would definitely make the drive. It's being held at Helvetia Tavern. Then again, there aren't any tickets to buy, instead it's a buy your own food and drink kind of reunion. To be perfectly honest, it's mostly the fault of facebook. I can see what everyone is doing. Maybe not everyone, but anyone that I can actually remember, I can find out about. Rather, i have found out about, and know where they are, and where they are going. There are of course a few friends that don't use facebook. How is that possible, you say? Well, easy. They just don't do it. This may blow your mind, but there are still ways to know what's going on with them. We ... wait for it... wait...for...it.... We talk. On the phone. Over email. Skype even. I'm not saying that they don't use the internet, just no facebook. I'm still able to keep up with them, and lo and behold i don't have to go to the reunion to find out about them. This isn't a reunion from the 50s, where people joined the service, left home, and weren't seen or heard from again until the reunion.

Why not go? Like I said, I'm on the east coast. It's a hassle to fly home for a weekend. On top of that, it's not going to be a crazy party, with an open bar or free appetizers or living statues of half-naked men and women. Nope, just a good old fashioned facebook gathering. I barely go to facebook gatherings of people that are in my area. So when I see something along the lines of "hey Century Class of 2001 Grads, let's meet up at Helvetia Tavern for our reunion," then I think that not much time and effort was put into it. While I can appreciate someone definitely had to call and reserve some space, and had to fill out the facebook event page --then later the evite page-- I'm simply not super-inspired to go. I am curious. I wonder what everyone looks like. Do people look older? Do they have kids? Where do people live? Are people still really weird? Did anybody do anything exciting? ... Most of these questions have already been answered through facebook though, so you know, whatever.

On the other hand, if Helga could've gone with me, I definitely would go. It may seem silly, but I would totally show her off and be like, "remember that overweight kid in high school that did all that dorky stuff? Yeah, He's still a dork but has a super-smart, super-hot fiancée!"

Love

Law

PS. To my closest high school friends--the Feet Family, GPP, Double-A: I love you. You made my high school experience what it was, and you continue to enrich my life.

Let's get married....

Okay, So it's not May anymore. I'm sorry. It's definitely poor form on my part. Oh well, what're you going to do? PS. I love Al Green.

Maybe stop reading. I could understand that. Well, if you are still reading, then consider this May's entry, and I'll figure something better out for June. Who knows, maybe it won't be better in June.

In any case, I was supposed to tell you all about how Helga and I got engaged. Since it's been 2 months now, I'm sure anybody who is reading this, already knows. However, if you don't already know, then allow me the pleasure of pretending to have an ironclad memory and recounting even the mundane details for you.

Once upon a time, two law students were put together in the same doctrinal section (law school speak for "class"). Oh, right, we've covered most of the first year and a half. So beginning in November 2010, Helga started working on an article for her journal, a.k.a. her "comment." This thing was a monster and took up a significant amount of time and research for her, not to mention energy and brain power. In any case, this monstrous commitment was to end on March 27th, the comment's due date.

While she was going through this process, I was going through my own process: I had decided that Helga was the person whom I wanted to share the rest of my life with, and so was going to ask her to marry me. I needed a ring, and a plan.

Well, my initial plan was to wait for our August road trip along the west coast. We are going to try different wineries and just generally take our time. It should be very exciting. In any case, planning on asking then would give me lots of time...then it was simply a matter of finding the ring. I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted, a simple band, a simple (and small) stone, and something that looked simply amazing. Well, I found a couple of nice things online and thought that I would stop by the jewelers to check them out: you know, make sure that there were everything i had hoped for. Even having found the ring, getting it was another story. Apparently metal, gems, and putting it all together costs money. A. Lot. Of. Money. Well, I'm on a bit of a budget, what with the whole law school thing and all--so i asked the folks for help.

Well, there was some chance for borrowing, and some other ideas. Amongst the other ideas, the best was definitely the offer of a an engagement ring, that I could have. This ring came from my godfather, and was his late wife's ring (a.k.a. my godmother's ring/an important family memento). So, at first I wasn't sure about it. It was bigger and grander than anything that I had been looking at--but realized how important it is and how nice it would be to keep a ring in the family. So I was very thankful and graciously accepted the ring to offer to Helga. Now I had a ring but the plan seemed so far away. Here it is March, and I'm going to wait until August to ask her? Ugh. That sounds like forever and a day away right now.

So. Helga's working on her comment: it's turning into a 120 page article! Me? I can barely READ 120 pages, much less write them. Well, as impatient as I was growing, i couldn't interrupt this process. But I was growing impatient. So, I decided to go ahead and ask her the night her comment was due. So I asked her to an event, there was a cherry blossom ranger-led lantern walk around the tidal basin for that night. It started at 8 and her comment was due at 8. We'd be cutting it close, but it seemed cool. So I asked her if she would be able to finish a little early and give us some time to get down and go on this nice cherry blossom festival event dealie. She said she could probably finish a little early, and turn it in and everything. So I was pretty excited. This excitement then turned to anxiousness and concern that a walk wouldn't be enough. So I asked her to dinner, to our favorite 'us' restaurant, Le Chat Noir (translated: the black cat). She wasn't sure if she would have time, so we decided that it would be a wait and see sort of plan (for dinner).

Helga finished on Saturday, March 26th. She's a hard worker. In any case, we had time for dinner and for our stroll around the tidal basin. It was a very nice dinner. We had some fancy delicious stuff--yeah, it was french. She was still pretty exhausted from her comment writing (which means i was really glad that she finished on saturday, 'cause she would not have been excited if she had just finished that sunday). In any case, we were having a lovely time at dinner, and then made our way down to the tidal basin via metro.

The ranger-led cherry blossom walk was up next. Simple enough plan: walk around, listen to the ranger, admire the cherry blossoms, at the end of the walk, find a nice place, then...then...uh...ask her to marry me. Simple plan. Right? Sure.

As we're walking around listening to the ranger. I don't remember her name, but she was very knowledgeable. She knew tons about the DC cherry blossoms. She knew their history, she knew their biology, she knew their everything-that-I've-already-forgotten. So we were listening and walking and everything else. The ranger would stop and talk. While we were walking along, between stop-and-talks, I started to tell Helga my own story about growing up, about living in California, living in France, living in Japan, living in Oregon, and living in DC. I told her about a lot about traveling and looking around and finally....finally the cherry blossom tour was over. I wasn't done yet though. I did have a little bit of story left. I still had to get to DC, and find Helga in my story. So we stopped and found a bench. It was freezing. Okay, not freezing, but easily 40 or below. I was shivering from the cold and from nerves. As we were sitting on the bench, me telling her the story, her thinking that we were in danger seeing that it was 10:30, we were alone, and it was definitely dark and cold out. Well, I finished my story: while telling her that I'd finally found what I'd been searching for all across the world, I got down one one knee, and pulled the ring out of my pocket. Then I asked her to marry me (though I'm pretty sure she saw it coming for about the previous 5 hours). She very happily and excitedly said yes.

I couldn't be happier about it.

Thank you my love.

Drip Drip Drop Little April Showers

Not sure what happened to Spring, we went from cold cold cold and rainy, to 75+ degree days outside. Oh well, Helga is glad to see the warm. As for me, I'm just surprised by the tornado warnings that we've been getting.

Okay: this is going to be quick and dirty.

I know everyone knows at this point, but I meant to write something up at the end of March....but then I decided i would be lazy, or something...sorry...

I know everyone knows at this point, Helga and I are engaged. I know it's surprising, but she did say yes. I will tell the engagement story later, when I have time. Right now it's finals. And all that goofing around i did--trying to convince Helga to marry me by being super amazing--has come back to bite me as I'm now working to finish everything for every class ever. Basically, what should have been my easiest term is turning out to be my most stressful. It's awful, i know, and I don't really know how it happened, but it did, and now I'm going to write a 10 page memo (or so), a 30 page paper (or so), a fiche de jurisprudence, and take 3 finals in the next two weeks.

....

Basically i love you all, but I'm disappearing for a little while. No Sunday sessions, no facebook, no nothin' just me and the future mrs. Law Pal working hard on our studies for the next 2 weeks. I have my Evidence Final this Monday. I'll be putting in the next big amount of effort into that, so wish me some solid luck as i'll need it. My last final is on Saturday the 14th. I'm hoping to be honing in on a Sunday session the next day.

...

This wedding thing is exciting, but taxing when you're trying to figure out every law school class ever.... I'll tell you more soon. Really I will.....

love you casper,

Law + Helga

ps. i guess that really wasn't very dirty. I've got more important things to worry about than making a short blogpost dirty. You can deal with it.

Sean Barnes. R.I.P. and Thank You.

I've recently lost a friend from high school. That is, we have all lost him, and I'm afraid we lost him years ago, certainly before March 8th, 2011. There is a man that I once knew, his name is Sean Barnes. As Ally Spotts has pointed out in her blog, he simply was incredible. In a world of easy to read static characters, Sean Barnes was as dynamic as they come. Rightfully noticed, when we were all stuck in our cliques, Mr. Barnes would tear down those walls. He was everything that she said he was and, honestly, probably greater than that.

I will admit, now, that I am not, nor was I ever Sean's best friend. When I knew him, that was an honor reserved for K (whom I barely knew). While I don't have the same rights to write about him that K does, or that even Ally does, I'm going to write just the same. I will write because, quite frankly, I read Ally's post (@ http://www.allyspotts.com/a-tribute-to-my-friend-sean-barnes) and it was heartwarming, and hit me in a way that I felt I needed to get out of my system as well. This blog that I sort of write, it isn't for the world, it's for me. It's for me to convey some emotions and troubles and fun and everything else with those closest to me. I realize it's on a public space, and make an effort not to give too much of myself because of that fact. Besides, I feel like I'm hiding my journal and letters to you in a library. People could find and read this stuff, and that'd be okay, but they won't. That all being said, let me tell you about my friend Sean Barnes I remember.

Sean Barnes is somewhere around 5'8" and has the body of a lazy athlete, or maybe an athletic couch potato. He isn't really fit, but looks like he could be. He isn't thin, or fat, really just an average body that looks to be on the healthier side but with a little pudge in the middle. He had red hair. His hair isn't bright, or at least it never stands out--probably because Sean has got you looking right into bright eyes or his giant smile, or maybe it's that beat up ol' cap he wears to cover it all up. For whatever the reason, there he is, every time you see him, with you. Sean Barnes isn't a man who sat next to you, or stood next to you. He is a man that is just with you. He stays with you, compellingly. The positive energy that he brings, always carries with it happiness to your day, and then to the days that follow.

Ally asks us to write our stories, or our memories of times that we've had with Sean. I have them. I have some vague memories of things that happened 8-10 years ago. But those aren't Sean Barnes--at least, not the Sean Barnes that I knew. He was much more than a collection of random moments and enlightenment in our lives, he was a man struggling. I think the best way I can honor and remember him is to get it all out--i think that's what Sean would like. At least, if I was talking to Sean about my friend who passed away, he'd expect me to share it all. So, Sean, here it goes.

You may not know this, in High School, Sean Barnes is elected ASB President. His margin of victory is enormous, and really, there might as well not have been any competitors. Sean Barnes loves the entire school, every day. That love is reflected in the election results. Unfortunately, Sean Barnes, though brilliant enough to make the grade--any grade for any class--he lets his studies slide. Getting As in everybody's hearts was only enough to get Cs and a D or two on the report card. Though seemingly cool and calm at school, this turn of events eats at him. Sean puts so much energy into the school and into its students that he lets his own welfare slip away. He's disappointed because he knows at least two things: 1. he let himself down- because he is able to do better; and 2. he let the school down- because he earned their respect and votes and now can't make good on those promises of change. We still love him. He is, after all, Sean Barnes.

Sean Barnes had lived all over the world. He tells you about the mysteries of the world in places you've never been, never heard of, and likely couldn't find on a map (at least not very easily). He learned a lot from his travels. He is sociable, and lovable. He can tell you stories. He can make you cry. He can make you laugh. He can do it all. As the senior year of school comes around, there's another guy in the ASB presidency spot. He's okay, though I don't like him much at this point, probably because he isn't Sean Barnes. A bit into it, Sean is still reading, and writing, and presents to us his memoirs. He had written up several pages about himself, about his own personal rise and fall.

Seans memoirs are a different side of him. We all get to see his smile, his eyes, and his charm, everyday in the halls and in class. Here, in his personal writing, are his general plans for school-wide domination. It seems that Sean had been planning on being ASB president since middle school. I didn't know him then, we only met our Sophomore year. I remember those days though. As I read through his explanation of plotting to be friends with everyone, learning about everyone, and pretending to love and care for everyone...PRETENDING!? Wait, what? Well, I remember that Sean Barnes. He's brilliant, and he's certainly amazing. Still, there's something more to him. Every day that passes, that I'm lucky enough to pass with him, I feel lucky and fortunate to have his attention even for a moment that we pass each other in the hall, but can also see a darkness enveloping him. His smile draws your attention, making you feel good. His eyes are gleaming, brightly shining out like one way lanterns or a lighthouse beam--bright and awesome but behind that light is a growing darkness as the night sets. That's how i feel about Sean.

At the Powderpuff Game, Sean is awesome. By 'awesome' I mean that he was the cheering squad. Well, Sean is there and his buddy Bek. I don't really like Bek that much, probably because I have a crush on his girlfriend but that doesn't matter. They're in pink and purple and tights and ridiculous. He asks me to join them, I don't know why. Maybe I'm the only that will. Maybe I'm the only one that would fit into the leftover 'cheerleading' uniform. Maybe...maybe it doesn't matter, of course I go. Sean Barnes didn't even have to try that hard to convince me, but he would've tried hard, and he would've convinced me if he had to. There we were, "cheering" for the senior girls. Sean sits on my shoulders, and we yell and cheer some more. The moment is brief and the game is over.

The CHS BRA really could have used some more members at the Powderpuff game at that time. There was a Senior Prom. It was fun. I wonder if there are photos with Sean, I just don't remember it that well, or if we had fun with Sean or not. He was there, and I'm sure he was having a good time. Hmm, I don't remember Sean at graduation, i really don't remember him until that first summer after freshman year of undergrad.

Sean has a girlfriend. One of my best friends from high school, whom i drifting away from but not worried 'cause it has only been a year at this point, is hanging out with Sean. Really, for me, hanging out with Paul meant hanging out with Sean, and that wasn't really a problem. I love Paul, we share random moments of togetherness, and he's very important to me. Oh the memories. Really, where Paul is bright enough to cover whatever darkness he's hiding, Paul is often somber and introverted to where his bits of socializing that you share with him feel special, like you're connecting with Paul on a deeper level. Honestly, I'm a little concerned these days. Paul and Sean, they're "doing drugs." Okay, whatever that means. They're smoking cigarettes, they're smoking marijuana, they're getting their hands on different prescription meds and taking them but i don't know why. Of course, I'm something of a goody-two-shoes, but wouldn't stop my friends from making their own decisions. Maybe I should. Well, I tell them no when they offer, I don't need anything, i'm just happy to hang with them. Back at Sean's place, some of Sean's light has faded these days. He's still sweet, he's still brilliant and much better read than I am, but he doesn't seem to shine the way he once did. He extols some brilliant ideas, I definitely can't keep up with any kind of debate, about life, about drugs, about books, about anything. Sean didn't care though, he's happy just to share his ideas. He's happy to just explain and examine what's on his mind. Wow. I only read a few things, because of college, so I didn't contribute too much, but it is always nice to talk to him.

Sometime later that Summer, we're at Paul's place. Hangin' out in the back yard. No parents were around, just us boys. Paul needed some smokes, but I'm not about to let him drive because he had a couple of drinks. Maybe it's Sean who needs the smokes. Oh well, Sean wants to borrow Paul's car to hit the gas station up the street to get the cigarettes. I don't think that he is up to the task, at least, I don't think he should go in his somewhat altered state. He's a little drunk. So, he decides to wrestle me for the keys. I'm not sure what got us here, but Sean is ready to wrestle--not totally seriously, but serious enough. I've probably got 80 pounds on Sean at this point--and pretend to be an athlete. As he comes for me, I remember wrestling with him to the ground constantly asking if we were done. It wasn't enough, and he trips me up a little. Again, I've got him in a headlock of sorts (i'm not a wrestler so I don't know the hold he was in-or if it was even a hold). After several minutes, he finally lets me take his place, always with that smile on his face. No hard feelings. Just one feeling lingers with me, he's heavier than usual. He wanted to really get something out, and the drinking and smoking is adding to his problems. Oh well, I'll go buy him some smokes--better than having him drive in this state. After buying the smokes, I show up to the back yard. Sharing and just hanging out is going on again. Maybe that tension was just me--how embarrassing.

I know this is a lot, but I'm trying to dredge up these memories. It's like reading a book you know, these moments are always there, right in the moment. Except, the details get blurry, the drinks you drink, the clothes you wear. The feelings seem stronger, and there's no momentum of time to sweep them away. We're just stopped in the moments to remember.

That's not all i can remember. I remember sitting at a table sophomore year. There was a member of the Chorus, a cheerleader, a hawaiian, a nerd, a new kid (me), and Sean Barnes. I remember his smile at football games, and those turquoise BRA shirts. I know we hung out after the first summer. He and his brother even came down to my apartment in College to drink. That was a random group. It seemed like every time I got to see Sean after high school, his light was growing dimmer, like he just didn't have it anymore and worse, that he didn't care about it anymore. I loathe to say his darkness consumed him, and we weren't there to bring him out, to shine the light back on him to see.

He was bright, and able to be even brighter thanks to inspiration from classics and literature and poetry and philosophers, but also thanks to the smiles and connections that he could make. He was an exceptional individual who gave out so much love and energy, that it took almost 2000 of us to give it back. He taught me more than I knew i would learn in high school. He taught me how to give, not just to the most important person in our lives, but to give to everybody. He showed me how to commit totally to a project, to an ideal. I've close to forgotten about Sean Barnes. What an awful friend I've been. I'm sorry I didn't give back as much as you needed. I'm not sure I had it in me. I'm not sure any of us did. You did. Thank you Sean Barnes, you inspire and teach us again. I wish we could talk one more time.

To Double-A: I love you. To the Feet Family: I love you. To Paul: I love you. To Everyone who is reading this: thank you, I love you too.

Everyday the 14th! Hap-py Valen-tiiines Day!

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone. To be fair, I was going to open up with a, "Merry Christmas...Good Grief!" But changed it in honor of everyone's favorite André 3000 (is that how you spell it?). Besides, it seems like it wouldn't be right, after all, I have an amazing valentine.

For those that don't know, Valentine's day (the 14th), is the day that Helga and I consider ourselves to have started dating. Well, things started happening around then, it was snowing, it was the Superbowl, it was all sorts of fun. Well, that was the first year, which involved a pretty terrible Snoopy Valentine's Day card. To be fair to myself it was very last minute decision making and apparently hitting up the CVS at 10 to close on the 13th is pretty slim pickins. This year was much better!

We went out to the Chat Noir, the French restaurant that we went on our first date at (i was trying to impress her with my French skills). It may have worked a little. Well, we went there to celebrate our one-year-of-dating anniversary. I had more of an opportunity to show off French skills. Having promised not to buy her anything for our anniversary (because of our plans to head out to Phoenix for Spring break). So I did what any middle schooler would do, I put a collection of love songs from my iTunes library onto a couple of CDs for her. I think she liked them. And no, I didn't buy the CDs to burn, I stole them from the extras that Helga had lying around. That's okay, right?

On the note of music. It turns out that we don't have a tone of the same similar tastes. She's a Country girl (with tons of other interests as well). I'm a Soul man (with some other interests as well). I've been thinking about it for a little bit now and may have found the solution to our problems. Well, I was thinking that Country is primarily 'white' music. And I was thinking that Soul is primarily 'black' music. So I want to try and combine the two in order to find a meeting point for both of us. No. Not Kid Rock. We do like Sublime, but that's not what I was thinking either. So then it hit me....Jonny Lang. Does anybody remember that guy? I do. He was supposed to be the next big thing. Okay, maybe Jonny Lang isn't the right answer, but he might be right. I mean, the kid could seriously belt it out.

So yeah, le Chat Noir was delicious. We also decided to buy ourselves a gift (as I believe that birthdays involve gifts for the person and anniversaries involve gifts for the relationship). We bought the platinum edition of Scrabble along with the platinum edition scrabble dictionary (which we later discovered is not the official tournament players' dictionary which involves more dirty words and inappropriate but playable epithets and such. Oh well, we'll just have to make do I suppose. In any case, we've recently become infatuated with Scrabble (on facebook) and have thus decided to make it a part of our lives. Right now I've got more wins, but she's learning fast. Also (on the note of one of my wins) apparently "DIXIE" isn't a playable scrabble word. Ridiculous....and by ridiculous, I mean I felt a little bad when I played it and got 42 points in a game and Helga later looked it up (after a no-challenge) and did not find it. Oops. Oh well. Chalk up another W for Law!

Helga says, "hi!" by the way. She's excited to see you and reminisce and catch up and all that good stuff.

I know this is short, there was actually a lot of stuff I had planned on mentioning, like my lackluster term and my externship (an internship with academic credit), and the fact that the last two weeks I've not been exercising properly but have been playing basketball a little bit...but well, I'm in a hurry to finish this before the month is up. You understand.

Besides, I'm going to see you in a week! (less by the time you get this.) I'll tell you about all of it then...or maybe just bawl my eyes out since it's been too long since I've been able to give you a hug.

I love you Casper and can't wait to see you! Woot, Spring Break in Phoenix, A-Z! okay, well the town might not be fort lauderdale, but hey I'm gonna get to see the guy who has a picture next to 'cool' in the dictionary (I'm not talking about the Fonze). I love you tons!

Law

PS. For anyone who reads (i think there are 6 of you besides my brother), please tell me what would your first/next tattoo be? (You don't have to actually get one). Helga asked me recently, and as some of you may know, it would be one of a couple things....a modified triforce (i know, i know), or a design my brother drew for me of a dagger and heart that I used to sign off--but of course, my brother would have to do it, and we'd work on the design together (it was an original sign-off of mine that Casper made awesome). It's a brotherly connection that means a lot to me...he also did a sweet bird that I liked, but heart dagger and triforce are first.

Auld Lang Syne

....Honestly, I don't even know what that means, but it's always sung on New Years Day, so....

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Dear Casper,

It's the New Year! Here's the catch up--

My best friend, Double AA--I think I've mentioned him before once or twice--came down to visit over the New Year. He and his wife (of a year on New Years' Day), we'll call her Fate, for it's close enough and could be fate that they met...or something. Anyway, they rode the bus down from New Jersey for New Year's Eve celebrations. They came down and after some not very difficult planning, we decided on making dinner, staying in for the midnight celebration, and playing cards all night. It was a great night! We decided to do one main entrée together, and each person had a side or appetizer.

Entrée was roasted duck -- which may still have been quacking when we pulled it out of the oven-- fried brussel sprouts, beet salad, baked awesome potatoes (my side dish), and also awesome"fig jam flatbread" (Helga's side dish).

So I don't really know how to describe fig jam flat bread. It's got caramelized onions, fig jam, and blue cheese (it was a Rogue Creamery Smoked Blue---a $15 wedge of home), all on pizza dough from the pizza place down the street. It's gooey, and sticky, and pretty much an awesome mess.

Everything else looks pretty self-explanatory: sliced awesome potato (each slice filled with garlic and butter (more garlic than butter to be honest)). pink duck (which is supposed to be pink...but maybe not dripping blood when you pull it out of the oven), beet salad (which was delicious but if you eat too much you start to worry when you...well never mind), and the brussels sprouts were simply fried with some butter and garlic and then covered with cheese. Oh yeah, there was also garlic bread, which I'm pretty sure helps to make every evening meal totally complete. So that's the explanation that you didn't really need, since the foods are what they are, and since there's a picture here too....but i mean come on, that potato looks pretty awesome.

We played some card games, nothing too crazy. Then the New York Ball dropped (we're so proud of it growing up), and we celebrated the coming of the new year. Music was played (Double AA wanted to listen to his wedding music mix in order to start his own little tradition with his wife ('cause they were married on the first of 2010), it was very sweet). Sparklers were lit, and then swiftly burnt out.

I suppose that's the life of a sparkler though...brief, exciting, and dangerous when in the wrong hands.... beautiful and deadly! That's my love, Helga; Fate is standing behind.

That was our exciting New Year's Eve ...New Years' Eve ... which is it? New Years' Eve with apostrophe out, or New Year's Eve with apostrophe in? I guess they both work, I'm either comparing it to the plural Eves that are out there or the single one that we had, right? Whatever, if they both work, then they both work.

That was our exciting New Year's' Eve.

On New Year's' Day, we stayed in mostly. Helga had some work to do, and I wanted to keep her company. Double AA and Fate went out to some museums because it's DC and the museums are both spectacular and free.

Later on we went to the Zoo, for their final night of "Zoo Lights." As you can tell, there were two signs. One features a raccoon (which is a red panda) and the 2nd--actual Pandas.

To be honest, while I appreciate that there was no cost to the Zoolights attraction, for some reason I keep reading this first sign as either offering zoolights for the taking to any who want them, or as a political statement that Zoolights have long been unjustly imprisoned...probably because it seems silly to have the word FREE in Zoolights fashion. Then again, I suppose I'm not a Zoolights designer...which is probably why I didn't realize that the Red Panda is not a raccoon until Double AA pointed it out to me. Also, just for funsies, here we are in front of the dangerous Tigers!

Okay, so they're not dangerous....but there was a wolf that was crazy scary and howlin' at the moon...The moon was a little low in the sky that night. Well, you get the idea, there were lots of fun lights and lots of pretty shiny things.

---

So we had some good times on New Years. You already know that we had some dim sum, it was delicious (though i ate WAY too much). It was probably a good thing you called, otherwise I might have eaten two or three more sesame sticky balls....Hmm, can't tell you why that doesn't sound right, but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be saying that I ate sesame sticky balls, much less two or three more of them. So in any case, here we are, 2011. The time for change...or maybe something like that.

---

So what kind of changes are we talkin' about? Well, this will likely be a big year for fun and different types of minor life accomplishments. I figure if I write them here, I'll definitely be committed to them. Resolutions? Sort of. Really, these are more like goals that I plan to accomplish and ...wait, i guess those are resolutions.

--> we talked on the phone, and I told you I was going to lose weight. Here's the plan, I'm rockin' the weightlifting scene and focusing on stamina and strength instead of size (hopefully it'll pay off). To set it out there, I started at 196.6 pounds. I'm being precise so that I can count each and every loss of a tenth of a pound. Losing a tenth of a pound of fat sounds significant (and like i'm paying attention). Although, i guess if I were to say out loud, I've lost ten tenths of a pound it doesn't sound like much at all. Well, whatever, I'm going to lose weight and get into some kind of shape (that isn't a pear). Totally saw a spare tire around my midsection in the mirror the other day. I was so disgusted, threw that mirror right out!

-Also in an effort to lose weight and get in shape and do something sweet, Helga and I are training for a half-marathon! Maybe a half-marathon doesn't sound as impressive as a full marathon (more commonly referred to as a marathon), but running 13.1 miles in a single go is nothing to shake your head at.

--> Helga and I are planning a wine tasting tour through Oregon and probably California as well. Sometime in beautiful August we're going to drive through tasting wines and enjoying each others' company. It should be a good time.

--> Helga will be working in New York for the summer, for some awesome firm, and as a result I'm doing what I can to get a job in New York as well. Send positive thoughts my way for that!

--> Later on I'll be headed out to France this year. I'm less excited about leaving Helga but am very excited about her coming out to visit me! Hopefully she'll be able to come out over Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years, and then for next year as well.

It's a little hard, I feel a bit like Vincent in Gattaca, "It's funny, you work so hard, you do everything you can to get away from a place, and when you finally get your chance to leave, you find a reason to stay."

--> well I didn't exactly work hard to get away, but I was trying to get into that France program, and now...well I'm going but it'll be really hard to leave (in September) when I'll want to spend more time with Helga (and having her help me through all the schooling).

--> I'm going to write you once a month, and that means at least posting here once a month.

--> Last but not least, and I'm sure I'm forgetting some things that are going on (like my good friends having a child!!!), but anyway, we're coming to see you!!!

We'll be out for our Spring Break, giving you a big hug and everything!

So be good. Prepare for our visit.

Love

Law Pal

PS. Don't forget, we're losing weight together so as I slim down, you will too!

I'll keep you updated as to each tenth of a pound I lose....