True Story

So apparently I need to clarify. Yes, I am in fact going to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. Literally.

Perhaps a little explanation will help. For those of you who don't know, post-bar exam trips are quite commonplace for those among us who've sold our souls and best years of our young lives to giant law firms and the clients who pay them. It works like this. I'll spend May through July preparing for and then taking (up the ass) the Illinois bar exam. Thereafter, I have approximately two months to travel before I start work. It is, quite simply, my last, best chance to do something crazy before I buckle down for a couple years (in theory). It's kinda like the summer before law school but with money.

Many of my friends are doing some pretty cool things. For instance, three guys are riding the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Vladivostok (with extensions from St. Petersburg and to Hong Kong). Others are going to India, the Middle East, and New Zealand, while most everyone else is will spend their remaining days of freedom in Europe. And two girls (two of my personal heroines) spent five months this year past trekking through Eastern Europe, Southeast Asia, and South America after their bar exam. And to boot, their adventures aren't even over. One's at a legal aid clinic in Argentina while the other is stationed in London.

Anyway, I'd been struggling to come up with a trip that was suitably exciting and worthy of my bar trip rite of passage. I just spent several months in Europe, so I didn't much want to go back right away, and I also wasn't having much luck finding friends with whom to travel. I needed something big. Something crazy. Something unique. And something about which I could get genuinely excited. As much as I love Europe, it doesn't stir my blood quite like it used to. After all, weekend trips to Paris are possible. Weekend trips to the far corners of Earth are not.

For some time, I was thinking Bali or Fiji or some other tropical paradise. Then, I got an email through my university's alumni association advertising a climb up Kilimanjaro. I usually discard association emails without much thought, but this one obviously caught my eye. To be honest, it took no more than two minutes before I decided to go. Nonetheless, I still had to research the idea and iron out a few kinks before committing. There are several operators that run treks up the mountain, so I had find the right one. Lots of Googling and a few phone calls later, and now I'm all booked up.

Of course, I'm not just trekking Kilimanjaro. I've currently committed to the climb (six days, from September 2-9) and a week-long safari thereafter (September 9-16) that includes trips to Serengeti National Park, Ngorongoro National Park, and Olduvai Gorge. For extensions, I'm looking into a few days on the beaches of Zanzibar, as well as a three or four day excursion to track chimpanzees through either Gombe Stream NP or Mahale NP. Other ideas I've kicked around (emphasis on 'kicked') include Victoria Falls, the Greek Islands, Cairo, and South Africa. Any thoughts? Suggestions would be *greatly* appreciated.

But that's the short long of it. With a new adventure comes new blog fodder. With luck, you'll see some pretty cool pictures of Africa right here around the first of October.

Climbing Kilimanjaro

My apartment is on the third floor on my building (which still feels like it should be called the second floor). Sometimes I get winded walking up the stairs. It's about 30 feet.

In September, I will climb Mount Kilimanjaro. It's about 19,340 feet, so I kinda have my work cut out for me.

Yes, I will climb to the top of this. Don't laugh.

A reasonable person might be inclined to ask such questions as "why are you doing this?" and "are you a masochist?" or "when did you grow such a giant pair of balls?"

I don't really have a good reason other than "just because." I get bored easily, so I just think this will be a good way to fill my time. It's not really any different than if I took up solitaire or knitting.

Also, I'm not really a masochist, I'm just naive. The operator and head guide that will lead our little trek said the final push to the summit was the hardest, most painful eight hours of his life. His wife said the same, and yes, she's given birth. But they're not invincible like I am. They're at least seven years older.

And as far as growing giant balls goes, who are you kidding? It's me we're talking about here. If I actually knew what I was getting myself into, I'd be signing up for that free knitting class at Joann Fabrics instead of a six day climb to the roof of Africa.

Overdose

I was walking through the law building at lunch today when a friend asked if I wanted some food left over from her student group meeting. They bought milk and cookies but no one showed up. I hadn't eaten lunch yet, so I thought I would help my friend out by eating her leftovers. I took a half gallon of milk and a large chocolate chip cookie, and then I finished them both.

Let me tell you, a half gallon of milk is not a good idea for lunch.

Go Cubs Go

My brother apparently doesn’t do much “work” at work these days. During March Madness, he somehow managed to throw together a bracket that won him a $1300 first-place office pool prize. He claims he only spent a couple hours of lunch researching. No one really believes him. Nonetheless, we were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. As my Dad always says, “Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then.”

Yesterday, my brother sent me an email with some interesting stats he threw together on the Cubs’ outstanding early-season play. Again, he claims he didn’t spend much time on it. Apparently, the story goes, he listens to Cubs games on his lunch break, since 1:20 games start at 11:20 in California (where he lives). Because the Cubs were snowed out yesterday, he had a little extra time to kill and threw together his email. Of course, Cubs games last at least two hours. Those must be some pretty long lunches. It’s now blatantly clear there isn’t much “work” going on out in Irvine these days. From my brother:

Total Games: 8
Record: 3-5
Central Position: Tied for last with Houston who beat us twice
Runs Scored: 31
Runs Scored/Game: 3.875
Runs Allowed: 35
Runs Allowed/Game: 4.375
Cubs Salary Paid: $4,921,991.70
Dollars/Run Scored: $158,773.93

And because he’s our favorite middle-reliever, a special look at Bobby Howry.

Total Appearances: 4
Total Outs: 11
Hits Allowed: 5
Strike Outs: 3
Walks: 1
Wild Pitches: 1
Total Runs: 4
Earned Runs: 3
ERA: 7.36
Record: 0-2
Salary Paid: $222,222.22
Dollars/Out: $20,202.02

Speaking of the Cubs and interesting numbers, I recently came across some other facts worth sharing. We all know they haven’t won a World Series in 99 years. It’s common knowledge and given little thought. But, when put in context, their drought proves way more pathetic. For example:

- The Cubs last World Series title preceded: 1.) the Model T (by thirteen days); 2.) the construction and sinking of the Titanic (by four years); and 3.) the construction and explosion of The Hindenburg (by 29 years!).

- Just 28 years prior to their last World Series title, Thomas Edison received a patent for the light bulb.

- In the twenty years prior to their last title, the United States gained 8 states (North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana, Washington, Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and Oklahoma). Since the title, we’ve gained four more (New Mexico, Arizona, Alaska, and Hawaii).

And if the start of this season is any indication, we might be in for another 99 years.

...Stop Being Polite, and Start Getting Real

I know, it’s tired and played out. Two posts in two days on the same topic. I’m whining. But it’s kind of a big deal. If you’ll grant me kindergarten, this is my twentieth spring break. Twenty springs. Twenty breaks. Twenty weeks of lukewarm temperatures and rain, or, if I was lucky, an escape somewhere hot or adventurous. That’s almost half a year of this. Five months, at least. And now, the end.

On the other hand, one of twenty isn’t much of which to speak. Yet, as it’s my last, the break precedes only shortly the impending thrust that will force me headlong into the “real world” – that scary place where all things financial are truncated to abbreviations (IRA, 401k, FICA, etc.), where student discounts and the appurtenant treatment don’t apply, and where the address on your license becomes yours alone, not a constant if latent reminder of your childhood home and the stability of your parents. Oddly (thankfully), none of this makes me nervous. A little responsibility never hurt anyone. Indeed, much of me looks forward to casting off the “student” label and the claustrophobic binding it necessarily imposes. It’s been a long time coming.

Nonetheless, I hesitate and even push back a little. I like school. I’m good at it. It’s what I do. Why fix what ain’t broke?

Ok, I’ll stop now. No more sulking. No more last this and that nor counting all that matters. I should be enjoying myself, not thinking about school on my last free week in March. And I would be, if only it weren’t forty degrees and pouring rain.

Enumerated Nostalgia

There’s something about impending “ends” that lends itself to list-making. I made all sorts of lists the last few weeks I spent in Leuven, and I once again find myself doing the same as law school comes to a close along with my formal education. They provide, I think, a convenient means of reminiscing, of looking back, taking stock, and appreciating the sum of a particular experience. Of course, it’d be great to have foresight enough to record events at the beginning of adventures, but who ever knows what’s worth remembering before the fact?

After seven years in The Corn, there’s a lot I won’t miss when I leave. But there’s also a lot I will. After all, I’ve traipsed about those streets for nearly a third of my life. There’s no doubt I grew up there, and when I drive away for the last time in May, I’ll leave more than just a college town and a few friends behind. In the next few weeks, I’m sure I’ll find myself listing all that won’t come with me wherever I go next.

For now, I’ll enjoy my last Spring Break for all it is and was. I’ll no doubt spend considerable time looking back. But to be honest, my eyes are squarely focused on the road ahead. With so much coming up, something tells me I won’t be missing law school very long at all.

Anarchy

Hell hath no fury like three baked girls in Panera when the manager gives away the bakery.

It snowed today. A lot. The University cancelled all classes for the first time in nearly thirty years. Of course, I didn’t find out until I actually went to class. All dressed up with no where to go, I headed out in search of coffee and nice place to study. Some stuff happened in between (three clues: snow, rear-wheel drive, unplowed parking lots), but eventually I made my way to Panera. Six or eight other brave souls (all of whom drove Jeeps!) had the same idea, including aforementioned “artists,” but the restaurant was otherwise empty.

Not long after I arrived, the manager announced he was closing the restaurant and sending his employees home before the roads worsened. But what’s a bakery to do with a day’s worth of fresh-baked goods and no one to buy them? Give them all away!

Now, I’ve spent alotta time around alotta people high on all whatever kind of bud or hash they preferred (after all, I lived in a frat house for a year), but never have I EVER seen three stoned girls move so fast! They were up at that counter quicker than beer turns to piss. Ludicrous Speed. It was like watching kids in a toy store, but not. Maybe hyperactive kids on crack in a crack store? Anyway, when they finished, each girl had a couple boxes and a bag full of spoils - scones, brownies, pastries, muffins, you name it. They have their work cut out making sure it all gets eaten. Good thing classes are cancelled tomorrow, too.

For my part, I took a cinnamon roll. And then, I took another. Whatever. Maybe I’ll knock up Starbucks tomorrow. And maybe I’ll throw more snowballs at cars passing by my balcony. Or perhaps I’ll just play football in four foot snow drifts. If only there was a good sledding hill around here...

Yeah, I pretty much love snow days.

The Final Countdown (do-do DOO doooo...)

Somehow, I'm scheduled to graduate from law school 94 days from today (not that I'm counting). After twenty years of education, precious little stands between me and the end of my youth as I know it? a giant bag of cash? the sale of my soul? being a lawyer. A couple months, a couples exams, a couple papers. Oh, and there's the bar. Almost forgot - it's such a minor inconvenience. By "minor inconvenience," I mean "most ridiculous exam ever created," and also "biggest pain in my ass ever." But like I said, precious little.

Between now and then, I'll be occupied with little things - like what to do with my life - and big things - like how I'm going to fit studying for the bar in between Cubs games. But before that, I have a couple classes left. In case you're interested (I know... you're not), the line-up for this semester:

Constitutional Law II: inter alia, procedural due process, substantive due process, equal protection, other fundamental rights;
Constitutional Law III: first amendment jurisprudence;
Federal Courts: Article III courts and the nature of judicial power (with a little jurisdiction thrown in);
Advanced Law & Economics Colloquium; we review working/unpublished papers on various L&E topics;
Advanced Legal Writing: self explanatory, dry, and practical.

Mixed in with all that, I have work to do as grad assistant and as an associate editor of my journal. So yeah, I'll be busy. But believe it or not, I actually love this stuff. Don't laugh. Or do. Whatever.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for laundry and a little non-law school reading. I'm currently paging through The Emperor's Children by Claire Messud, and I *highly* recommend it.

Meanwhile in Champaign

I've been home a little more than six weeks now, but it feels much longer. I still think about Leuven every day. I miss it. Terribly.

Ladeuzeplein, mid-morning, Autumn.

Alexander Pope told us long ago in An Essay on Criticism that "A little Learning is a dang'rous Thing." Some people think this drives at the same idea behind "blissful ignorance". They might have an argument, too. While it's foolish to envy the ignorant, life might be a bit easier, on occasion, if everything was a bit more simple. If I never spent time abroad, I'd be more content back in America's Heartland. I wouldn't ache for last October, and I wouldn't daydream of morning bike rides through Haverlee.

The 'castle' at Haverlee. Though it's in the wrong country, it recalls my image of Austen's Pemberley.

Of course, anyone who argues the virtues of a sheltered life is an idiot in my book. Besides, Pope wasn't advocating a simple existence at all. Most people don't bother to go back and read what actually follows his famous line, but if they were to remove their heads from their asses, they'd discover something completely different. Pope was merely observing the naivete of youth and the ability of experience to dampen inspiration. He notes "In fearless Youth we tempt the Heights of Arts," while those who've already bought the tee shirt "tremble to survey/The growing Labours of the lengthen'd Way." If anything, Pope was telling us to embrace the irrational exuberance of unjaded youth and do crazy shit before we grow old and tired.

Anyway, do I miss Leuven so much? Yes. Would my current situation be easier to handle had I never gone? Probably. But I guess that's just the price I pay, and I'd pay it a million times over before I gave it all up. Besides, I have like 1,500 pictures to look through when I get bored.

Haverlee.

Happy to be of Service

Like many part-time narcissists who blog (at least in part) for the sake of inflicting themselves on the world, I use Site Meter. By the magic of a bit of software, a massively interconnected web, and the internets, Site Meter provides (for free) a very limited amount of information about computers that access my blog. Basically, I can see how many users visit my page and, on occasion, how they got there. Thus, if you were Google the terms "semantic chicanery" and then click on the website that pops up, Site Meter would tell me you arrived here via a Google search of "semantic chicanery".

Now, I can do more with computers than most people this side of those whose job it is do things with computers, but I don't claim to have a strong grasp of the complex algorithms behind search engines like Google. Nonetheless, if the search engine spits out my website as a result for whatever search, I'm happy. It means I get more readers, and thus, more victims. As a (temporarily) small-time media mogul, I'm not picky about who reads my garbage. And so to the individuals who arrived here via Google searches of "Amsterdam prostitution genital warts" and "beer fest bitches", I thank you for your patronage and hope you find continued prosperity on the road of life, though if your searches are any indication, I'm afraid at least one of you may encounter a few rough patches ahead.