Tubing Excursion

It's quarter of seven on Saturday night, and I'm seriously considering going to bed.

Lame? Probably, but I'm exhausted. After my first-ever tubing trip, complete with gorgeous skies and not-so-gorgeous sunburn, I've had about as much fun for one day as I can stand.

Last week's tubing was something of a mixed bag. Lightning made the three-hour float a bit iffy, and I heard that a few of the smarter folks who got out of the water during the worst part of the storm were accidentally left behind when the buses began the 40-minute trip back to campus. We were hoping for better weather this weekend, and waking up to rain didn't bode well for the day, but by the time we reached the river, the sun had come out full force. Tubes were passed around, cooler tubes were rented, and several dozen law students--and probably as many beers--set off down the James.

The party fractured quickly into clumps of folks around coolers and smaller clumps of folks who wanted no part of the Natty Light. Suffice it say that "Shotgun Island" has nothing to do with firearms, there's great amusement in watching the inebriated try to tube down rapids, and I had no idea how high alcohol tolerance could go. At the end of the day, we were all a little sunburned (no surprise here), and some of the 1Ls were at least a little buzzed, but we survived low water levels and swarms of mating dragonflies, and it seems like everyone had a good time.

Classiest tubing accompaniment: brie and baguettes
Sketchiest tubing accompaniment: a cooler half-filled with punch, to be consumed via turkey baster
Best sunburn: to be determined

One of those days

Confession: I freak out a little when things go wrong with my car. It probably doesn't help that since high school, I've been driving vehicles that turn on a helpful "SERVICE ENGINE NOW" light every time they have the slightest hiccup--ever vigilant against sudden engine explosion, I end up taking the car to the dealer and getting it serviced, all the while grumbling about catch-all doomsday dashboard lights. (Also, when one is in Birmingham and the nearest dealer is in Atlanta, and one is working two jobs, "ENGINE DEATH IMMINENT" lights are the last thing one wants to see.)

Last night, I discovered that my Pioneer disc changer has up and died. While nowhere near the level of the "BEWARE ENGINE FIREBALL" indicator, this problem annoys me for three simple reasons:

1) I like my disc changer.
2)I haven't the faintest idea how to fix the disc changer, even after poking around for manuals online and calling Pioneer. (And unscrewing the back of the console unit, looking for batteries, before realizing there were no batteries to change.)
3) Since the disc changer is obviously not receiving or responding to power at the moment, the magazine is stuck inside, meaning I can't remove my CDs.

Granted, there's not much inside the magazine that I haven't imported into iTunes by now, but it's the principle of the thing--I'd like my Albanach CD back, thank you, and my bought-at-the-vintage-store-for-$3 copy of "Live in the X Lounge IV", and the homemade disc that the car's previous owner left in the changer, which has good tracks that I've, sadly, not yet bothered to look up.

Best Buy says they'll have a look at it, but it's $20 per 15 minutes of work. Any other ideas?

Singing again

After a month's hiatus, I've joined a new church choir. Now I once again have a reason to sing outside the confines of my car! (Of course, that may or may not be a good thing, but as long as I sing along with the Rent soundtrack by myself, no one gets hurt, right?)

Yes, I realize the SBA activities fair is Thursday afternoon, but priorities, people. If the law school spawns a choir that wants to tackle something Messiah-like, come find me, okay?

Speaking of which, this activities fair should be fun. We leave Civ Pro with half an hour to make the rounds, get the fliers, and do the whole "So...how'd you like to join our club?" thing we all knew and loved in undergrad. At least there won't be roving bands of a cappella singers at this fair...unless someone forgot to mention them in the brochure...

Tomorrow afternoon, we get to hear a few remarks about public interest law. Thursday is the aforementioned fair, Saturday is tubing, and Sunday is softball. A few parties are being thrown in the mix as well. Oh yeah, and reading. Right...that.

Actually, the reading has been much better than I'd anticipated. It's usually interesting, for one, and with this nice break in the middle of the day, I've had time to do some of my homework without having to lug the casebooks home. I mean, the bookbag's sexy [cough, cough] enough when it's not bulging at the seams.

Friday? Really?

Well, we survived the first week. As far as I know, no one cried in class.

Wednesday afternoon, as we were enjoying the brownies and champagne our fabulous peer advisers had provided as an End of Day One party, someone said that it felt like we'd just spent three days in school instead of one. Yesterday was also tough--four of our five classes met--but today was a two-class day, and things are beginning to feel slightly better. We've had all of our classes at least once (Contracts three times), class elections, library orientation, the first cold call, our first Bar Review, and an ice cream social. Tonight brings a potluck dinner; next Saturday will be our tubing excursion. The social calendar is, in a word, packed.

Apparently, one of the upperclassmen takes off time every weekend--from Friday at 5 p.m. to Sunday at 2 p.m.--but I'm settling for spending a few hours in front of the TV. I find that I've appreciated quality vegging more in the last two days than I have in a while.

School's great--the classes are interesting and the reading gets better after the Latin begins to make sense--but those who say that law school is like high school are on to something. We have lockers (mine's at the other end of the building from my first class), we pack lunches, and, for some of us, the book bags are coming out of storage. For me, it's the L. L. Bean, circa 2000, with--yes--the monogram. Sexy? No, but it's almost large enough to hold all my books and it's saving my back.

In other ways, though, this week at school has reminded me so much of undergrad. There's the question script--name, hometown, college, section, rinse, repeat--the activities fair next week, and the bowl of candy in the office. Sadly, my bursar billing privileges have gone by the wayside, but I'll say that the bookstore here is so much more efficient than the B&N at Yale ever was, and they sell bags of Haribo, besides.

Speaking of undergrad, 2013 arrives this weekend, and the grocery store was packed this afternoon. I saw just enough of the Bed, Bath, and Beyond to know I wanted absolutely no part of that store until at least Monday--releasing the frosh is never a simple affair--and even if the crowds hadn't been a giveaway, the three Penske trucks parked nearby spoke of nervous parents and clueless newbies. Here's to not living in the dorms!

Orientation, Day the Second

Orientation officially came to an end after lunch today, but the calendar remains full: tubing, softball, class elections, Bar Review, potluck, horse races, and skit writing, to name a few entries. It's a lot to digest, but at least there are no awkward sex ed meetings/role-playing sketches this time through.

Oh yeah, and classes begin tomorrow. There's always that.

The day begins at 8:50, which sounds early when considering the collegiate mindset. (My section in Edinburgh had class from 4 to 6, for instance, and complained bitterly when our lit class second semester met at 10 a.m., which was tantamount to meeting in the middle of the night for some folks.) I try to remind myself that I've spent most of the last year arriving at work (one job or another) at 7:30, and that this is actually sleeping in, but the undergrad in me is still a touch displeased. Still, the long lunch break will certainly come in handy as the semester progresses--having taken a look at the Legal Research syllabus, I'm foreseeing quality library time in the near future.

Incidentally, tomorrow will probably be the day when someone wins the Cold Call Pot. I'm thinking that this is probably the one time in our entire law school career when the whole section wants to be called on.

One for the folks in Birmingham...

Here's one way to start law school. Paraphrasing one of the speeches this morning:

"Members of your class have worked for NASA, DOJ, and other government agencies. You have been in the Peace Corps and Teach for America. Some of you are in the armed forces. We have teachers, a bartender, a minister--not the same person--and a tenured professor in philosophy..."

And then, after a bit...

"Members of the class have worked for National Geographic, Jane, and...since this is Virginia...Southern Living."

Cue laughter.

Hey, it's a talking point.

Last Weekend of Freedom

By this time next week, I expect to be knee-deep in casebooks, but for now, I'm still blissfully (almost) indolent. After reading my first assignment yesterday afternoon (Contracts looks like...fun? No, that's not the word...) and hanging out downtown last night, I slept in this morning, then hit the Saturday farmers' market at Jen's suggestion.

The bad: The farmers set up shop in the one free parking lot.

The good: Plenty of veggies (particularly tomatoes of all types) and potted plants, plus an odd assortment of other stalls--lamb and free-range eggs, organic cleaning agents, tacos, bagel sandwiches, Bosnian food, pottery, and half a dozen jewelry stands, to name a few. They're only open until noon, but it's worth rolling out of bed and taking a look.

One stall is run by a fellow who sells, among other things, raw cheese. Now, technically, you're not allowed to sell raw cheese in this state, so he advertises "free cheese" in exchange for a donation toward petitioning the legislature to change the rules. When I was there around 11, a woman asked him what cheeses were available. "None," he shrugged. "They're gone by 8:30."

Charlottesville folk are serious about their raw, organic, green, pesticide-free, recycled, free-range whatever.

On the way back, I learned a new way to the law school. It's really only about two miles or so from our apartment, making it technically walkable in case of ice storm and/or Cooper failure. (I mean, yes, it's more than walkable now--I did it yesterday--but with temperatures here in the 80s and humidity in the 90-95% range, I'd show up too gross for class.) Orientation begins Monday, and for the time being, however, I intend to take full advantage of the lax parking restrictions. What commuter lot?

Happy Days Are Here Again

Late this morning, I obsessively checked LawWeb for the umpteenth time, only to discover that my two-week "Well, maybe they're giving themselves a large window" vigil was at an end. The section list was up.

I soon learned that I was a member of section J, which meant little at the time but allowed me to grab my tote bag and head for the bookstore to complete my 1L Fall Term Library. (We're not sure how the sections are divided, but my guess involves a Sorting Hat.) Fortunately, the bookstore has the 1L buying spree down to a science, and once I told the clerk my section letter, she quickly walked me down the line, pulling copies while barely stopping to check the labels. $500 later, I left with three casebooks and assorted paperbacks. It could have been worse: some of the sections, in lieu of books, had copied packets to buy next door. Good times.

As I was contemplating my purchases, I decided to head for the lounge, where I noticed that the students milling about fell into one of two camps. In the first were the 1Ls, wearing jeans or shorts, t-shirts, and sandals, carrying bookstore bags and looking generally lost. In the second were the 2Ls, who sported business suits and briefcases, and sat around scarfing trail mix and drinking coffee between interviews. There was no mingling, but then I suppose the 2Ls had more important matters on their minds.

Shortly thereafter, I headed back to the apartment and returned to LawWeb, where I found the course listings and started looking for my section. I scrolled down, seeking out the Js, and then I found it: 8:50 a.m. class, five days a week.

First thought: Aw, crud.

Second thought: This is God's idea of a practical joke after the last year of 8 a.m. freshman English classes.

It turned out that my section isn't the only one thus scheduled, and no one seems to care for the arrangements. Still, I consoled myself over dinner with good company and delicious sweet potato fries. Let's hope the nine-mile walk this morning was good for something!

Virginia Vino

Basically, I've been in a holding pattern for the better part of the last two weeks. I'm here, I'm moved in, I've located the bank and grocery store(s), and I know where my school is located. All I need now is...work to do.

Dear God, that's a sad statement.

I've been checking the school website daily, hoping the section list will be released early, but so far my hopes have been crushed. Without books or assignments to keep me occupied, I've taken to going on excursions, hoping to see a bit more of the area than the walls of the apartment. Today, I retraced my steps to Barboursville, which I visited yesterday in my quest to find ruins, which had been alluded to by a sign on the way to the antiques shops in Ruckersville, a 20-minute drive up 29...

Suffice it to say I'm going to miss this free time by this time next week, but anyway, back to Barboursville. There's a nice vineyard located on the grounds of the old Barboursville plantation, and for $4, you get to sample 16 wines (and keep the glass! Cheap stemware!). Since I made the trek alone and on a largely empty stomach, I figured sampling all 16 wines might be a mistake, even though I knew enough to sniff, sip, and toss the rest of the wine into the bucket (thanks, Davenport Wine Tasting Night!), so I chose a few and ended up buying two bottles, then walked over to the ruins to take pictures. It wasn't Urquhart, but hey, I'll take what I can get (and, lest this factoid be overlooked, Thomas Jefferson designed the place. Did the man ever sleep?)

I ended up continuing the trek north, almost to Culpepper, and spent some quality time in yet another antiques shop (though I refrained from purchasing the 1938 Minute Tapioca recipe guide, which was largely unremarkable except for the inside back cover: paraphrasing, all tapioca is grown in far-away Java, but only Minute Tapioca is produced in America, in clean American factories, so you know it's pure!).

Oh yes, I also managed to cook a turkey breast (points deducted for presentation) and make mashed red potatoes, so the day hasn't been entirely wasted. Not sure what to do tomorrow--sections, please? Pretty please?

One last note: I managed to speak to Shotgun Man, the fellow hanging out in his yard with a firearm. He's trying to kill the groundhog that's been eating his flowers. That's one way to do it...

Wildlife

To kill time/improve physical fitness/see the area, I've been taking long walks in the last few days. Yesterday's was a nine-mile slog downtown, so I decided to give my legs a break and go for something shorter and greener this afternoon.

Unfortunately, the route into the country gets a tad crowded during rush hour, and since there's no proper sidewalk, you basically have to get onto the shoulder and pray. Still, it's lovely out there, I've been seeing wildlife (Deer! Groundhog!), and the terrain is nice and hilly.

And then there's the dude who lives about a quarter-mile down the road.

As I passed by this afternoon, headphones firmly in place, I chanced to look over and spotted him sitting in a lawn chair in his side yard, positioned directly in front of what appeared to be a barrel for leaf burning. Across his lap was a shotgun.

I seriously hope he was waiting to kill rabbits or something. In any case, I picked up my pace.

Charlottesville and Blender Cookery

Once upon a time, I used to blog about doing graduate work in Edinburgh. It was fun.

Then I left Scotland, returned to the States, and found myself unemployed. Unemployment isn't exactly a subject upon which one loves to dwell, and so I didn't blog as often. And then, miracle of miracles (and before the economy completely tanked), I became gainfully employed at a Real Company.

Of course, the first rule of business as imparted to my generation is "Thou Shalt Not Blog About Thine Employer, Idiot," and since pretty much all I did was work (at two jobs!) or sing (in two choirs!), the blog fodder basically ran out. Couple that with an unreliable Internet connection, and I ended up with this, a blog that I haven't updated in nearly a year.

Long story short, I'm now in Charlottesville, about to begin law school. I have a shiny new student ID for my collection, which looks remarkably similar to the faculty ID I just removed from my wallet. I have exactly three course books--we don't learn our section-specific reading lists until Thursday--a lovely edition of Black's from my parents, and another gift of my father's, The Complete Idiot's Guide to The U.S. Constitution. At least it has friendly icons, which is more than I can say for the casebook beside it.

Orientation is still a week away, however, meaning I have plenty of time to get acquainted with the town that's striving for the coveted "Crunchiest City in America" title. After griping about Birmingham's flaws for the last two years--you've got to love a city in the top five for murders per capita--I've found Charlottesville adorable on first impression, from the downtown pedestrian mall to the abundance of fro-yo options (to offset the abundance of Five Guys, I assume). The only thing that's rather creepy about this place is its devotion to Thomas Jefferson. The man is practically deified in these parts, but hey, at least he showed interest in his university, which is more than I can say for Elihu Yale.

The aforementioned mall hosts "Fridays After Five" during the summer, a chance to come down, hear a concert, and shop late with thousands of your closest friends. Last week's gave us a heavy metal act, plus a woman on the side of the stage who was dancing like it was the Summer of Love. Hippies seem to abound, but someone has to keep the vendor of pro-marijuana t-shirts in business, right?

Anyway, we stumbled across a vintage shop while we were downtown, where I found a most amusing volume: The Blender Cookbook.

By way of explanation for this purchase, I've been a fan of Lileks.com for several years; I own four book by James Lileks, and I've subjected my friends and family to some of the more...interesting pictures in The Gallery of Regrettable Food. Basically, the site showed me how much fun it is to laugh at the culinary horrors produced during the golden age of Wonder Bread--the photography is bad, but the ingredients are often so much worse. (My last job gave me the opportunity to look through 1960s magazines, which just proved that no one working in the food industry prior to, oh, 1980 should be allowed within ten feet of a Jell-O mold.)

Anticipating what could be in store, I had to have The Blender Cookbook. Best $7 purchase in ages.

Published in 1961, this little volume--"an indispensable cookbook for every blender owner"--offers recipes ranging from breads to meatloaf, to horrors involving gelatin and tongue, simultaneously. It also offers "exceptionally fine black-and-white photographs" for a few of these dishes, like this one:



My apologies for the quality of the image--I don't have a scanner, and my camera hates me today--but that gelatinous mess garnished with citrus slices is, I kid you not, Green-Pea-Salmon Mousse. According to the caption, it "makes a colorful buffet dish to serve 12." Who are they kidding?

I'm not posting pictures of the Tongue-Vegetable Aspic.

My sister has warned me that I am not to attempt to re-create any of these concoctions in her blender. Apparently, she has something against Prune Flip. I can't imagine why.