you really do make sushi.

this was sent to me by my friend josh. it's pretty long, but please at least skim it. i would especially love it if you would leave me any reactions on the comment-roll here--i'm writing a paper for my education law class on something loosely related to this article, and i very much want to know what you think. please.

in other news, i can't stop alchemizing. nerd.

you and i are the same

there is a moment when you find yourself gnawing on twizzlers as if they were soft, heavenly cakes of mana when you realize that you have become a monster. it is eight-thirty at night, and you have just broken your brain trying to learn about secured transactions, which is a subject people teach in law school because it's on the bar exam, and because God hates you. there is another moment when you argue with yourself about God hating you, but then you remember He really does hate you, and with good reason, because you haven't cracked your bible in months and you have no patience for anything except your own insistent complaining and the sound of your own voice.

this is where you panic about getting on a small plane tomorrow evening and flying to chicago for your interview tomorrow, because you haven't been grateful or thankful enough about the many blessings and wonders in your life, and you hate to fly, and then you become convinced that the plane will crash and you will die.

so you spend some time on your knees before bed, praying to Jesus that you will be safe and alive and sound this weekend, as you fly to there and fly back. and then as an afterthought you pray a little bit about your interview, but you haven't thought at all about it really because you're more worried about all the other shit you're wasting your time with.

and you do feel like you're wasting your time, especially when you think about your life, because there are so many wonderful and good things in the world, or at least, a lot of actual real living to do, and you feel like you're not doing much of that at all. you really just feel like you read and re-read and work and go on the internet and check your email and sit at that table and finish your projects and panic about your papers and go home at night to play video games for a bit until you fall asleep.

but you wash your face first with stuff, because you're breaking out these days what with the stress. and you wash your hands, but carefully, because you have a lot of papercuts.

and you haven't talked to anybody in a long time, not a real conversation anyway, nothing beyond you going through the reasons why you feel so tired and then listening a little bit on the other end. but that's okay, because nobody calls you to see how you're doing, since they've all got their own shit. or if they don't, well, that's just okay with you, isn't it? because it really has to be.

but then you remember: it's just this week that's been so intense, because you'll be gone for the weekend, right, and you're internalizing all your stress about the interview, and you do have the papers due but you'll be okay, you know, it'll be just fine. but all that's sort of fleeting and weak, because it's a lot easier to choose to die, spiritually of course (and here's where you panic again about the plane), than to live and believe that God really loves you a lot and will keep you safe. yes, right? right.

i'm trying to get into soups.

hello, and welcome back to Law School: This Sucks, season three. i think this might be our last season (cycle?) and it's turning out to be a real gas. deadly, toxic gas. at the present moment, i'm in wills learning about nonmarital children. the professor has just said "frozen sperm" aloud.

this morning at work i had this amazing feeling like i was doing exactly what God wants me to be doing. it was a good morning, and some nice things happened, but enough confusing and/or scary things happened to give me a good balance. my first trial is next wednesday, so we'll see if i still feel good about prosecuting. today was the first day i've gone on the record, and the first day a magistrate has referred to me as "Prosecutor Loya." ha. like a magic cape or superhero costume. i'm thinking of making everyone address me as prosecutor loya. wait, in caps though. Prosecutor Loya. that's good. including at law school, by professors.

are you disappointed or relieved i don't write as much or as often? i can't decide which one i am. maybe a little bit of both.

i want this dog. what kind is it? please leave me a comment and tell me. i'm sorry about the word verification, which i'm sure can get annoying, but i need your help. my happiness depends on it.

get out before it snows

it is beautiful outside. i have been awake for some hours, broken fast, and am about to showercoffeehomework. grocery will follow, with perhaps more homaworka and a nap. last night i had the great fortune of having a few drinks with the lovely renea and the varying shades-of-brown bob, and then i actually had a good sleep. i didn't wake up once until the morning! will wonders ever cease? is it ever or never there?

i have trouble thinking about the tremendous amount of work i have to do. i actually think "staggering" might be the best fit here. what happens is that i don't think about it all at once or let it take any sort of discernible shape, and then i can concentrate on the first few things at a time. the next event to come is an interview in chicago this weekend, followed by a paper proposal the week after. october is filled with studying for the ethics exam and writing a paper for expert evidence class. see? i am starting to panic. no thinking ahead too much please.

in other news, the revolution controller is out. it is apple-white, and my brow is furrowed.

letter from the missing

i am doing some unaffordable delaying of reading wills homework in order to tell you this: i am sorry i have neglected you. having three jobs and looking this good is not as easy as one might think. and look: today i have been offered a fourth job at the law school, tutoring civil procedure. i went to ask marge for some of her good counsel, and she paid me a wonderful compliment: have you considered teaching undergrads or law students? she said. and she squinted her eyes at me intently, and then it came: i think you would be good at that.

thank you, marge. it is my secret wish. thirdly to teach undergrads, secondly to teach law students and firstly! very firstly! to do it well. now none of that is a secret. it's not even a rumor. welcome to the internet.

but for now there is the decision to have four jobs. four? four. that's a nice round number, i suppose. divisible. two twos. more work, more or less.

on an unrelated note, i would like to say that i disagree categorically that people are all selfish bastards and don't really care about things unless they are staring shit in the face. see me for details.

on an even more unrelated note, i would like to say--shout, even!--that senor coconut will be here in about fifteen hours. this is why the wills needs to be read and not even right now, but four hours or two days ago. tomorrow is looking like the longest day of my life, with pretrials and airports and dogs and offices and class and a fastfastfast dinner and class again and then mr sufjan "steve" stevens will sing to me about a state i will visit in a week for an interview-view-view and driving home again home again for the third trip between cleveland and akron of the day and and i'm getting tired just typing these things out, yow.

wills!

welcome to the third year of law school.

there's a classroom here, which i happen to be sitting in now (and have been for the past two and a half hours. oh, excuse me. two hours and twenty-five minutes. i have thirty minutes to go. see how good i am at math?), that has a tripod that lives in it. a tripod, you might think, is a pretty normal thing to have in a classroom. sure. what if somebody wants to tape something? well! they just put the camera on the tripod! no problems there. but you see, the tripod here in Room 152 is different. yes, in the grand tradition of the combined forces of 1) the university of akron 2) lawyers and law students collectively and 3) human beings, this tripod has two styrofoam plates taped to the top of it.

i mean, do what you want with your styrofoam plates. personally, i eat off of them at picnics. i am reminded of how they destroy the environment (i'm trying to think big like doug, thanks to jessm) while i conveniently and neatly dine on potato and pasta salads, hot dogs, veggie burgers, various kinds of chips and dip, baked beans and the occasisonal slice of watermelon. i have also been known to entertain small children and many dogs with them, taping two of them together in order to create a spaceship or ufo, depending on my mood and availability of tape, along with size of plate(s).

but taped to a tripod? in a classroom? was it a disgruntled attendee of one of our many Welcome to Akron LAW luncheons, pissed as all hell that there was nothing but limp green beans and burned potatoes left? as he raised the tripod, his military standard in his own personal war against the mediocrity of academic appreciation and/or orientation week, he taped the styrofoam plates--the very same ones he would've piled his thought-to-be-edible foodstuffs on, just moments before his heartbreak and resulting rage--to the top, as a warning to those who would thwart his swift and just revenge, as well as a beacon of hope for those who would still suffer under the ever-increasing weight of the Starchy Yoke. lo! beware the styropod! the triofoam! lo!

i also hear that there is something about this making the tripod enabling a mythic-sounding "laser device," but i don't believe it. that's just the cover-up, people. the truth cannot be stopped.

stay here till we reach idaho

whew. ohhhhkay. alllllllright. there you are.

here's the thing about sam's club, or maybe just buying in bulk in general: some of it is really ridiculous. for instance: lemons. you can't just waltz in there and get yourself a lemon or two, you have to roll up your sleeves and haul yourself a whole damn sack over your shoulder and into the cart. what are you going to do with all those lemons? make lemonade? like.....enough for an entire county fair? that's cool, if that's the case. go right ahead. if it's not enough for you to lose fake money playing lemonade stand on your apple iic, or the shiny new lemonade tycoon (which, please) on your "pc," and you just have to get out there and make your own damn lemonade, that's fine. when sam's club hands you lemons, make lemonade. but don't come crying to me because you got lemon juice in your eyes and it rained and you didn't get the ratio of lemons to sugar to ice right. i'll just share with you my personal motto: when life hands you shit.....uh.....make shit-ade.

on the other hand, you can do some good business buying in bulk. i like to call these items "things that don't go bad, ever." some good examples include: individual applesauce cups, granola bars, water.

and then there's the ibc rootbeer they always have in the twenty-four case-pack, and i always see it and the five year old kid in me is compelled to go over and pick it up with my twenty-four year old hands and arms and my fifty-year old back and take it to the cashier, but then i just sigh and go to the sparkling water instead.

i really ought to go read some homework now. there is some chicken marinating very patiently in the refridgerator, and some dvds here to be watched, and some wine and whiskey to be enjoyed. but at the moment it's hard to stop listening to aimee mann at the moment, and her lyrics lyrics lyrics! you know what i'm talking about, i hope, maybel and butler and lynch. wherever you are.