Diary of a Sadman

Last night I had the worst gluten-based allergic reaction since I was diagnosed 2 years ago. It felt as if I was doing a live-action reenactment of the birthing scene from Alien (Worst. State-fair booth. Ever.). But what is the cause of the infinite sadness panda?? Retracing my steps, it appears that the veggie burger I had after an evening run had something called "vital wheat gluten". First, good reading comprehension Dave, your ignorance of basic fact-checking could get you an anchor job on Fox News. Second, what the fuck is up with the adjective vital? Seriously, should that term ever be used for something that terrible? Anyway, when the veggie burger company owner trick-or-treats this year, I hope he gets hard candy with vital razor blades.

Sad Pandas never forget.

In other news, had my first rainy-day bike commute! How do you protect your books/computer when the most desirable means of transportation would be an ark?, you may ask moistly. Sit on my lap, dear blog-reader (side note: if you arrived on this website from today's trending search of www. snooki nipels, then the lap offer is rescinded), while I tell you how:

1. Get a trash bag.

2. Slide the trash bag gently over your backpack.

3. Chuckle about the fact that it appears you are a mix between Macgyver and an 8th grader attempting to put a condom on a banana (this step is essential).

4. Poke holes for your arms (this step is not advisable for the 8th grader).

5. .....

6. PROFIT!!!

Back to reality, I am pretty sure that any chance I have of ever getting a date was ruined when I walked into school in full spandex carrying a mutilated trash bag.

This picture makes Don Draper very sad.

Later that day, I was able to run with fellow first year Duke Law student and all-around amazing person Lauren Bonds! She was the Big XII 1500 meter champion last year, and is a finalist for the NCAA Woman of the Year Award. In related news, she poops roses and the polio vaccine.

Kittens love the poop jokes.

Finally, in a super-exciting update, I officially became a dual-degree student at Duke (law degree with environmental science masters)! This consummates my relationship with mother nature in our wedding bed made up of free-range pine needles. The smugness is 100% organic!

Seriously though, I think this will ensure that I do not lose track of why I am attending law school. I am not here at Duke to make money, or academically analyze the law---I am here because I want to do my part in making a positive difference in the world. Hopefully, these degrees, and the amazing people/resources at Duke, will be the first step in a journey that ends with a world that is just a bit better because I passed by.*

*Also, as a friend pointed out on Facebook, this world will have more dangling participles. Can we disregard basic principles of grammar? YES WE CAN.

Durham 5k Race Report (First Overall)

Executive Summary:

1st overall out of an indeterminate number of sweaty people. Unfortunately, I made a wrong turn after a cop pointed in that direction. I am not proud of what I said to the cop, but then again, his mom should not be proud of having such a terrible, terrible baby-grip.*

*I don't mean this at all

Vaguely ethnic baby feels his pain.

Pre-Race:

Being in law school is like running a marathon. Only the aid stations use hydrochloric acid as a mixer, the road is particularly hot lava flowing in the opposite direction, and old people in tweed jackets are standing at the finish line to congratulate you by introducing a scythe into the general area of your sphincter (Ed. note: may be an exaggeration). With that in mind, I did a few shots last night (to relax!). Now, my body DOES NOT HANDLE shots well--after a few, I distinctly remember slurring "They'rrrrre Grreatt!" as if I were the overly affectionate uncle at Tony the Tiger's family reunion. But the show must go on, so I laced up my shoes, toed the line, and tasted the excitement. As a side note, excitement tastes a lot like bile.

Show us in bowls of delicious, nutritious frosted cereal how bothered that imagery made you.

Race:

AND THEY'RE OFF! The race speakers blared a song called "California Girls" as a harem of scantily clad men shimmied away from the start line. Indeed Professor Snoop, all that ass really is hanging out. Because law school has skewed any perspective I may have once had, I just decided to go about 400 meters after the start. Blowing past the top 5 by increasing the stride rate, the mile passed in 4:52. This was a typical out-and-back 5k, gaining 400 ft of elevation to the turnaround before plummeting back to the finish. I knew I was going hard enough at this point because the full-blown race-goggles kicked in and I had the sudden visual epiphany of the "skort", a low-cut skirt that the lead female was running in. Angel Snoop appeared on my shoulder and said he was very proud.

Back to reality and opening up the stride on the descent, the 2 miles hit in 9:56. Nothing could derail a good race now other than some sort of fail so epic that one day I could sit with my imaginary grandchildren to reminisce about those days when I was young, stupid, and significantly less lonely. Well, little Barack and even littler SneezingBabyPanda Roche, come have this gluten-free cookie while I tell you about the dumbest wrong turn in history. On the final stretch, I saw a road sign that I recognized from the pre-race GPS as a policeman pointed to go that direction. So I made the turn. Notably, I jumped over cones to do so. It was like Moses making the wrong turn in the Red Sea. Back on the course, I accelerated to the finish having covered the last 1.15 miles in 6:18 (so probably about 30 seconds lost by my idiocy).

Chairman Meow thinks you're pretty dumb, mister. Also, power to the proletariat!

16:14 overall ($100 richer!) and the record on a tough course, which I am absolutely thrilled with. The race was a blast, the people were great, and the policemen were forgiving. Thanks so much for the pre-race texts, you guys are amazing. Hope things are awesome!

Werewolf Dance-Parties and Ferret Love

Yesterday while sitting outside the library promoting a public interest event, I had an epiphany..... law students with 160,000 reasons per year to give the cold-shoulder will do so without shame. I was rejected so many times during lunch break that I would not have been surprised if Dikembe Mutumbo walked by, said fuck no to my speech, then did the finger wag.

This is actually the main question they ask when you are interviewed for environmental law jobs. Well, that and your feelings on, like, the universe.

Perhaps the most common form of rejection was the undeniably fake, yet extremely urgent phone call. I imagined the other end of the line screaming, WE NEED THOSE LAUNCH CODES DAMMIT, PUBLIC SERVICE CAN WAIT. The phone charade was much preferred, however, over the straight ignore. It's not like I'm trying to start a laser-tag competition, and you can just decide to sit this one out. I KNOW YOU HEAR ME. Crap, even your service dog pricked his ears when I mentioned the extreme value of networking and synergy. A couple hours of this taught me that the hardest job in the world would be a traveling salesman, or a Jehovah's Witness. When unlimited amounts of free candy can't even get people interested, you know that the profit margins of subjugating the innocent are still looking good.

Speaking of rejection, the Duke Law Fall Semi-Formal was last night! It was also the Harvest Full Moon, which was cool until I went through the transformation and an entire ballroom worth of women simultaneously declared themselves captains of Team Edward.

It was semi-formal, so I am wearing a collared shirt. And no pants.

In athletic news, the last week has been an awesome lead up to the first race of the fall season! On Wednesday, I did a 15 minute strong tempo, followed by 6 all-out hill reps to open up the suffering mechanism for Sunday. During the 15 minute blow-out, an older couple was sitting on their porch in the neighborhood where I do loops. After 2 laps, they started cheering.....then they moved to the curb to offer more encouragement. After I finished and began cooling down for the hills, they offered me water and asked if I was anyone famous. Durham really is amazing, and I am so fortunate to be here (even if the last question indicates that they were probably senile).

Bitching, Law School Style

It looks like I picked the wrong week to quit huffing glue. Without the calming influence of some Elmers (street name: the Horse Whisperer), the sheer amount of stuff is beginning to take its toll. So now it is time for the ultimate catharsis--whiny bitching. Or, as it's called in law school, 50% of all conversations with your fellow classmates.

Wait, this isn't the Horse Whisperer! Though, true story, Robert Redford stars in both.

-For Legal Writing, we are given these incredible research resources, putting unlimited information at our fingertips. It's like being given a diamond ring, only to be instructed to use it to manually extract your brains through your left nostril. Of course, your method of extraction could use work. And, to be honest, your brains clearly still have activity in the creativity sections, which is purely unacceptable. Actually, you disgust me, and I want my ring back. Check minus.

Because you'd only be good enough for a frowny face if the keyboard could also add tears.

-One of the big problems with law school is that there is no reinforcement. There are no grades until finals, and no one is there to tell me that the uniqueness of my snowflake brings all the boys to the yard (or how I could teach you, but I'd have to charge). In lieu of encouragement, it is easy to assume you are doing everything wrong, and that you should probably start the job search in your dress skirt at 3AM on the nearest street-corner. As far as I can tell, those that deal with this uncertainty the best are our classmates who are cocky intellectually. Now it might be useful to break down that phrase.

Intellectual--pertaining to the head

Cocky------dicks.

In other words, dickheads. I guess this explains why the Senate is made up of lawyers. For everyone else, it can be damn near impossible to escape the self-perpetuating cycle of self-doubt. I think this is why is is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL to have major focuses outside of law school. For me, this is obviously athletics (along with taking care of my 26 imaginary cats). For others, it can be something as simple as reading, or sewing. But if school is the first thing you think about when you wake up, and the last thing that crosses your mind before going to bed, you will feel anxiety even when you finally are able fall asleep.

---------------

With this in mind, I am going to race on Sunday! It's just a local 5k, but it is in Chapel Hill and put on by a sorority. From what I hear about the girls at UNC, I will be somewhat disappointed if I don't have to chain myself to the nearest immovable object to resist them when they give race instructions. Besides that, I cannot wait to open up my body and mind for a quarter-hour. Because sometimes there is nothing so positive---nothing so reinforcing--as just letting go.

The Origins of Humor (with NYC Marathon entry opportunity for readers!)

This post is going to be slightly more straightforward in tone, because I am currently at the law school library wearing pants. And everyone knows that good jokes emanate from the loins.

How I usually blog.

First, I was contacted with an amazing opportunity for readers of the blog for entry into the NYC Marathon through The Fresh Air Fund charity. They provide disadvantaged youths with trips out of New York, and have made a positive difference for 1.7 MILLION kids since 1877. Email Sarah if you are at all interested in running New York for a good cause.*

*For newer readers, two amazing blog-readers stepped up to a similar challenge last April and guided disabled athletes at Duathlon Nationals (and again at the World Championships in August). I did not meet them until later, but this really confirms just how awesome you guys are.

Anyway, I sincerely hope that this great charity opens up a West Philadelphia branch, and add "Prince of Bel" between Fresh and Air. First class, drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass is indeed what the people of Bel Air are living like, and the kids deserve to know.

/has realization that younger blog readers may not have seen Fresh Prince of Bel Air
//sighs dejectedly while sipping Ensure

In other news, training has been amazing this weekend! Yesterday, Duke played Alabama on campus, and the atmosphere was insane. Alabama fans bought more than 15,000 season tickets FOR THIS ONE GAME. Even if I didn't know that statistic, I would have been able to tell when I ran through the tailgating area and my arteries constricted in solidarity. Though, if their cranial adornments were any indication, the crimson-clad fans in were wearing their business casual attire:

ROLL TIDE!

Added on yesterday's 18 miles was a hard interval workout today, with a 30 minute warm-up followed by 1200 meters hard, a jog back to the start, and a 400 meter hill all out going the other way, repeated 3 times. I saw a friend on the trail, and I would not be surprised if, after seeing an up-close rendition of the STROKE FACE, she now thinks that on a cuteness scale of 1 to puppy playpen, I am somewhere around male Alabama fan (basically absolute zero--I am convinced that they find their mate because their back hair has some clingy substance that traps any southern belle that rubs up against them in the buffet line).

Mystery.....EXPLAINED

Finally, in super exciting news, a close friend and I are starting the Duke Law Health and Wellness Coalition, a student group focusing on promoting a healthier student body through physical activity and mental health awareness. We aim to do this though education, group activity (including outdoor service activity), and practicing mindfulness (through simple yoga and meditation). I realized today, however, that I may not be the best person to lead meditation sessions when I found myself (after a somewhat upsetting event this afternoon) doing the deed to the Gary Jules version of Mad World. Suddenly, I thought that if anyone walked in and saw me listening to that song (best known from Donnie Darko) while cross-legged with my eyes closed, they would probably think that I was about to engage in self-mutilation (the non-sexy type, something like impaling myself with nothing but a mechanical pencil and moxie). After my mind wandered to that thought, I began laughing in a way that if the spectator decided to walk in at that moment, they would have thought I just heard the Tea Party campaign platform. In conclusion, I even suck at being sad, and should not be given any responsibility in anything.

/other than impromptu hipster musical interludes

/JAZZ HANDS!!

The Greatest Stories Ever Told (Law School Edition)

Imagine yourself sitting there in something called "Civil Procedure." It is a typical class, where we discuss such exciting topics as where exactly you should sue the girl with the Craigslist W4M add who, you later learn, appears to have a rare form of dyslexia where the first letter of any acronym is turned upside down. So we are sitting there, with our proverbial thumbs in their proverbial places of residence, when suddenly the professor (who is awesome), asks us a question about what he just drew on the white-board. Now this, dear readers, is the part of the blog where you can play along at home.

In the words of the professor, what is this???:

If you said that the professor should buy you a drink first, then you're something like me when I have the time to think of clever witticisms. If you had a nearly uncontrollable giggle-fit, then you're something like me in real life. And if you said that showing this drawing to an intern could get him on the Supreme Court, then you're probably Justice Clarence Thomas.

Anyway, for those scoring at home, the correct answer is "Scotland". And no, the professor never figured out why everyone was laughing. NINJA CHALKBOARD DONG STRIKES AGAIN.

They are everywhere, and nowhere. Also, that guy on the right wants you to know .....that isn't a belt.

In further law school-related unintentional comedy, last night everyone on the ACLU email list received a message. For those that don't know, the ACLU is all about tolerance and equal protection of the laws, which is admirable and possibly the most noble pursuit one can have as a lawyer. Hence, the email excerpted below, is full of ironic win:

Earlier this evening, as I left the Bikram yoga studio, I approached a woman I had met last week to say hello. "Ebony, right?" She looked at me blankly. "Ebony? We met last week. I'm Zack." This woman was not Ebony -- her named is Jeanine.

Oh gosh, I really, really (ed note: REALLY) like where this is going. "Ebony, right?" will forever after be my ice-breaker in social situations. He continues:

Now, to my credit, Jeanine and Ebony look a lot alike. Same build and facial structure, same skin tone, same braided hair.

I am guessing this is not Ebony.

At this point I am reading the email while stifling a horrified chuckle. He couldn't be doing what I think he's doing, right?? He could not possibly be using his own experience of getting a name wrong to infer that all black people look alike to white people in criminal investigations....

Cross-racial misidentification is extremely common. But it's "mistakes" like these that lead to wrongful arrests and convictions each and every day...I hope you take something away from this -- I know I did.

Holy. Crap. It's like Aesop had a lovechild with Michael Scott from The Office. This, my friends, is why you do not type fables from the Ivory Tower. Because even if you have an okay point, it may be obscured by your own horribly skewed perspective. Also, when you are typing from the Ivory Tower, all of the Ebony Towers look alike.

Training:
Wednesday--AM-6 miles easy
PM-10 miles (6 hard tempo)
Thursday-5 miles easy with 2 barefoot

Bone Dreamcrusher's Puppy Redemption

In some exciting news, a North Carolina magazine is interested in publishing the last blog post! This all blows my mind, and is ridiculously humbling. Of course, this means that the last post was serious, which invokes the only blog rule: Bone Dreamcrusher is required to write after outpourings of sentimentality which make Henry David Thoreau pantomime the wank-off gesture from the grave. BDC is an alter-ego that began as a tool to confront racing nerves before last year's World Championships, but has evolved into something of a writer. He is also a cocky asshole, and is hated by children and puppies. Take it away Bone:

BDC, go have carnal relations with a Brillo Pad. Bark!

Thanks Dave! I can only imagine that you are in law school because Duke has a Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy when it comes to unrealistic idealism. THE OPTIMISM OF YOUR ANCESTORS IS WHY ALL OF THE UNICORNS COMMITTED SUICIDE. Other things which annoy me:

Bike Commuting. Ugh. Dave, doing it with such an overloaded, colorfully blue backpack makes it look like you are being humped by a disgustingly obese peacock. Tree-hugging bike commuters.........hippies.........whatever else those lacking olfactory self-awareness are calling themselves these days----we get it, you love the environment. But at this point, if we saw bike grease in the general vicinity of a sad panda, it wouldn't take a forensic scientist to realize that someone was frustrated with their lack of desire to procreate, and decided to take matters into their own hands. Literally.

A much better way to treat pandas:

Barefoot running. Wow, I saw Dave doing this the other day, and that is the moment that I officially lost hope. He began by running out of the law school, wearing nothing but short shorts and what was either a smile or an attempt at a live-action art installation permanently displaying "The Scream". Of course, he passed some of the many brilliant girls from the law school on his way to the grass fields at 8AM. To maintain hope, I think we should tell him that their disgusted facial expressions said "No," but their inability to speak while gagging implied "Yes". Then, after a 5 mile warm-up, he went to the soccer field and did 20 minutes at a strong tempo while barefoot. I firmly believe that the dichotomy of a gracefully delicate footfall coupled with a powerful stride is a metaphor for the dual nature of his femininity.

It's either the first Google Image result for "femininity", or the inside of a damaged large intestine.

Quran-burning. I am surprised these nutjobs have so much animosity towards books, because there is no way in hell they can read. I mean, if they were literate (even Sarah Palin-literate) they would know that faith does not create evil, people misconstruing meaning with close-minded stupidity creates evil. Granted, this theory is partially undermined by the fact that the Florida pastor likely has the mental capacity to look into a mirror without thinking he found his twin, in which case he would already know the result of close-minded stupidity.

It appears that Chester A. Arthur mated with a constipated walrus.

The mosque near New York is rousing the same empty rhetoric and pathetic proselytizing, which is confusing on several levels. This isn't some batshit insane Florida pastor--this is a disturbingly large portion of America. This isn't the city of New York---this is coming from a variety of places where Match.com just gives subscribers a copy of their family tree. Most of all, this isn't stupidy.....this is group-delusion. So my message to those who oppose the building of a mosque, or resist gay rights, or deny global warming, is this---feel empathy, show some basic human decency, and open your fucking mind.

As always, sorry about Bone. Anyway, thanks so much for reading the blog! I don't know how the magazine found out about my online scribblings, but the amazing karma from my awesome readers must have played a part. Off to law school softball, hope things are great!

The Stranger

The car suddenly bellows--the honk is held for a half-second too long. "Shit!" I think as I jump into the hedges, "What type of asshole does that?" Putting my head down, I try to be optimistic. Hey, maybe if they decide to throw a Slurpee next time, it will be half-empty! Chuckling over my clever use of a Slurpee and irony in the same thought, I delicately pick my apartment keys from the thicket of what is most likely a virulent strain of poison-something (ivy? oak? tulips?) and start moving forward again. It is mile 11, the furthest from home I will be on this run, and through the forced humor I just hope that the next gust of wind from an encroaching bumper is accompanied by a harmless honk rather than a sickening thud.

The car suddenly screeches--the shoulder is blocked 20 yards ahead. "Shit!" I think as the break lights eye me with a cyclops stare, "What should I do now?" Fingers and toes tingle while the heart pumps fear like a hummingbird's metronome. This is a neutered type of adrenaline; fight or flight are distant thoughts, playing dead seems to be the message radiating from the pit of my stomach. Confronted by a four ton foe, I know who has the advantage. At my most vulnerable moment, alone on a deserted road, dehydrated and tired with nothing but fear providing companionship, I just hope I think of something in the next 5 seconds.

The door suddenly clicks--its dented shell opens as a disembodied boot hits the pavement. "Shit!" I scream voicelessly as my mind shakes to blankness, "There is nothing I can do now." I stop, paralyzed. There are empty fields on either side--let's just hope that the owner of the boot isn't particularly committed to his quarry. The boot becomes jeans which transform into a looming torso--my muscles tense 10 yards away, a quarter second from firing. He exits the car, and I see it glinting in his hand. My mind, still swirling, and my muscles, still coiled, do not respond to the presence in his palm. My face is different--my face reacts with instinctual clarity. Gripped by the residue of terror, I smile.

The man gave me the water-bottle. "Keep it!" he said joyfully before driving off down the empty road. Drinking the water with unabashed thirst, the smile became stronger and fuller until my cheeks ached. "This is Durham," I thought ecstatically, "People can be amazing. Shit, life is beautiful". As my feet began ticking on the ground, animated and rejuvenated, I realized that aching cheeks weren't the only byproduct of the amazing experience. No, as I ran off down the empty road, accelerating into the sunset, the smile persisted. And my eyes began to water.

Law School Escape and Headline News

Law school can be a bit all-encompassing. Your friends are doing the same thing, you are in a bubble all day, and the pinnacle of your romantic relationships is wondering whether your Constitutional Law professor has a gavel in his pocket (Answer: it is a gavel, and he is not happy to see you). Occasionally, to escape being marooned on this island of stress with nothing to drink but the urine of lunch breaks, I read CNN.com. Why do I do this?? Primarily to learn awesome metaphor-construction techniques. Another related benefit is that I get to know what is going on in the gooey, Snooki-flavored nether-world that is America. NEWS HEADLINE RUNDOWN TIME:

Barbaro pities this horse.

1. Book Alleges Paris Hilton Had Special Hiding Place for Drugs

By this logic, the most vehemently anti-gay Republican Senators have a special hiding place for hamsters.

2. Shampoo Ad evokes tears for some

Hello ladies, look at this shampoo ad, now back at me, now back at that Shampoo ad, now back to me. Sadly, that Shampoo ad is isn't me, but if it stopped taking itself so seriously, it could sell products like me. I hope you get kicked by a horse.

3. Editorial: Quran burning is a stupid public stunt
Ooooohhh, what cojones you have Editor. Such a bold pronouncement! I need more wisdom....ummm, what are your feelings on using rusty fan belts from 1974 Ford Pintos to cut umbilical cords??? WE NEED TO KNOW. In fact, I will make my own editorial decision and decide to omit the 'L' in my reading of public. If the fires are concentrated in the general vicinity of applicable reproductive organs, we probably wouldn't have to hear any more about this crazy intolerance. Or NASCAR for that matter.

I don't think any of those words mean what they think they mean.

On the home front, it looks very possible that this will be a 100 mile running week. After 6 days (assuming a good run this evening), I'll be around 86. I feel like I owe this to the sweet tunes of Durham, North Carolina radio. Because Durham radio sucks, and because I have no remaining dignity, I listen to pop stations. This brings up a pretty huge problem when it comes to running with music--no matter what comes on, I identify with it. I AM free-falling! It IS a Party in the USA! I DO want to take a ride on the disco-stick! Though when "I fought the law" came on, shit got too real and I switched to public radio.

Anyway, there is really exciting news on the horizon about a student group a friend and I are starting, along with an awesome sponsorship offer in the works--updates to come. Thanks so much for reading, unlike the Constitutional Law professor, I am always happy to see you! (though I may need to consult a doctor if you hang around for more than 4 hours)

Anatomy of a Cold Call

On Monday, it finally happened. I was cold-called. For those that don't know, cold calls involve a law school professor calling a lamb to the slaughter by asking questions that may possibly have answers. Notably, the student is so far away from anything remotely resembling correct that the only logical conclusion is that they were born to a family of genetically-inferior slime molds. This goes on for the entire class, or until the student taps out with sufficiently pathetic tears. DISCLAIMER: In the event of any opinion written by Antonin Scalia, tears are actually the correct answer.

So I was summoned in Constitutional Law, for what may be the most difficult case of the semester. It involves 7 opinions, all of which seemed to me to say basically the same thing. As I paused to contemplate whether running away was an acceptable response, the professor began asking the first question. "Something, something, billy-goat rodeos?" is what I heard. Most likely he asked something slightly more topical, but my brain was already spinning around the fact that THE ENTIRE CLASS would be centered on me for the next hour, dealing with a topic on which I had no more authority than a badly edited Wikipedia page. Somehow I produced an answer, so he proceeded. The next question was even more involved, so I began to think. Then, I started thinking about the fact that I was thinking. And finally thinking about that.

Now I was convinced that the resident hamsters in my brain that should have been turning the wheel were instead performing particularly uninspired renditions of the Vagina Monologues. This continued for the next 60 minutes, and surprisingly it was a good experience. As friends came up to congratulate me afterward, I realized law school isn't that bad, even at its worst. Most importantly though, it reminded me that the Socratic Method was named after a guy who like to have sex with children. It all makes sense now.

"If you answer correctly, I have candy in my windowless van!"

This experience also gave me a severe case of the not-giving-a-shits, which reached its pinnacle in Criminal Law when we were discussing indecent exposure. The statute requires genital flashing, of course, but notably there is a clause that states, "for the purpose of arousing or gratifying sexual desire of himself." So I asked about what would happen if he dropped his trenchcoat for a reason other than arousal, such as if this hypothetical person thought it was his important duty to show the world just what he was packing. In a reason that makes me love America, the answer was that he would be acquitted.

More like Decent Exposure, AMIRITE???
/shows self out

In other news, does anybody want to make a quick run down to the park?? Ummmm....anyway, things are really great. I've ran 60 miles over the last 4 days, over 2/3 of that barefoot to account for the messed up toe. The knee is feeling stronger every day, and life in general is pretty exciting right now. Also, the professor that had the audacity to call on me made the following statement while calling on the next student today:

"I am so unbelievably hot listening to you."

In reality, he may have been talking about the room temperature. But, in my head at least, he was proposing a test case for the indecent exposure statute.

Law School and, of course, the Squirrels

Of course, the fucking Squirrels.

I finished my first big law school assignment today! Imagine my normal writing, then take out every joke, literary flourish, and all structural creativity. Then, add words that could either be Latin, or the sound made by recently harpooned whale. Finally, add a pinch of salt, preferably tossed over your shoulder for luck, in order to account for seemingly random grading. Once you bake that in a cauldron of infinite sorrow, you have what I just finished writing. Learning to "write like a lawyer" is similar to being assigned the task of banging your head into a wall repetitively, only to be told that you need to bang your head in a way that is almost, but not entirely unlike the way you attempted to do it. And instead of a wall, you should realize that a stove-top set to high would be a much more efficient option, for this particular set of facts.

Today was also my first day of serious training after last weekend's race! In related news, I am pretty sure I broke my big toe while playing softball last Tuesday. The black/blue colorblind test attached to my left foot called for running creativity, primarily because it is difficult to fit in the shoe after a few miles. So after running the 3 miles to Duke's campus, I went to the awesomely manicured practice soccer field and took off my shoes. "Why does my big toe look like an Easter Egg painted by a Goth child in mourning?" is the question I would have asked if I had a shred of intelligence. Luckily, law school's policy of positively depressing reinforcement is beginning to destroy any claim I had to intellect, so I decided to run barefoot.

For 90 minutes I ran loops around the soccer field. For whatever reason, running barefoot often brings a unique euphoria, and today was no different. Immediately, stride rate quickens and you lean over the balls of your feet, not so much striding to the next turn as prancing gracefully across the ground. For athletes who do not incorporate shoeless running into their training, I don't know how else to describe the feeling than to say it is perfectly natural. It is what we are designed to do. Returning to my apartment a little over two hours after I left, with a possibly fractured toe that was now an afterthought, and a previously painful knee that I hadn't thought about in 17 miles, it is clearly evident that we are born to run.

Moving on to events that are more humorous, let's talk about the Discovery hostage crisis! The manifesto written by the hostage-taker was so wonderful that it is worthy of a direct quote:

Saving the environment and the remaning species diversity of the planet is now your mindset. Nothing is more important than saving them. The Lions, Tigers, Giraffes, Elephants, Froggies, Turtles, Apes, Raccoons, Beetles, Ants, Sharks, Bears, and, of course, the Squirrels.

The Squirrels! Of-fucking-course! They are certainly more deserving than either John, Kate, and however many demon-spawn are on their Discovery Channel show nowadays.

Things have been really great here at Duke! Definitely busier, but the people/places are awesome. And there are definitely more Squirrels than NYC, so that's a plus. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope everything is really great!

Call of Duty

First, I want to say a big thank you to everyone. This weekend's post about the National Championships had an awesome number of pageviews, and it really is humbling. Meanwhile, to those of you that stumbled upon the blog with the trending search terms "Christian Bale shirtless", "Old aging Colorado hippies", and "touched niples," I will do my best in the future to feature programming that will suit your interests. Especially that third guy. What he lacks in spelling ability, he more than makes up in erotic creativity.

I'm not sure I understand your point Mr. Biden.

Anyway, now that the big race is over, there isn't much to worry about. Pretty much the hardest part of my day is deciding whether to take a real shower or a sink shower after bike commuting (correct answer: neither. Ladies like the smell of natural musk. Phermones and all that jazz). Physically, I am taking a bit of time off to let the knee heal. Of course, the rest period did not account for the pure intensity that is Law School softball. Yesterday after the first game, I had abrasions and a sprained big toe. At this rate, if we make the playoffs I will probably come down with lupus.

In law school news, Criminal Law is beginning to slowly break down my chuckling defenses, to the point that any semblance of stoic dignity I may have been able to fake has pretty much vanished. The cause??? The repetition of the word "duty". Now, that probably sounds immature to you, but it needs to be pointed out that you are a stinky-head. Also, it needs to be pointed out that our professor, using her Midwestern drawl, pronounces it dooo-dee. Then, she says it 10 times in 30 seconds, until I am using all of my effort to stop from laughing about the murder case we are discussing. After several classes of thinking about the implications of duty, I think we should all just acknowledge that it is impossible not to laugh at. In fact, from now on the phrase "Legal duty" will replace the word "Objection" in court proceedings. If there is anything the courtroom needs, it's more juvenile comedy.*

*and DANCE!

/jazz hands

It also needs more Corgi's on a treadmill.

Finally, a quick run-down of the most awesome case so far:

-The defendant was charged with arson after going into the hull of the ship to tap whiskey out of a keg, losing his bearings, then lighting a match to see where he was. SPOILER ALERT: He was in a room full of highly flammable alcohol. The chefs out there will benefit from the knowledge that this is exactly how you shouldn't go about executing a flambé. Bonus detail: The casebook referred to him as a "seamen". Oh law school, I freaking love you.