This whole ‘voluntary unemployment before law school’ thing is rocking. I spend my days reading, vegging at the pool, riding my bike, catching up on various bloggage, playing guitar, and generally loafing around the apartment. It’s fantastic. I’ve got a nice little book list off to the right that I want to work through by August 16th, my first day of law school, a day that will likely mark the end of my leisure reading habit for a good long while. And since it’s summer, well, I figured I ought to give Michael Chabon’s Summerland a shot, especially since I liked his last book, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. It’s definitely one of my top 10.

I’m about half-way through and I wanted to see what anyone else out there that might have read it thinks.

So, has anyone else out there in Internet-land read it?

Summerland feels quite different than Kavalier and Clay. It feels, for lack of a better term, like a children’s book. It’s kind of like The Hobbit, Harry Potter, and something else I haven’t read rolled into one. The premise [so far] finds a couple 11-year-old kids trying to save the world but, first, one of the dads, who has been taken hostage by the Bad Guy, needs to be rescued. Yes, it’s a story of Good vs. Evil set in a fairy tale land. With Kavalier and Clay in mind, I didn’t expect this kind of thing from Chabon.

What also hints towards the kids’ book theory is the size of the text and the amount of text on each page. Getting through 10 pages of Kavalier and Clay took much longer than 10 pages of Summerland. It seems well suited to pre-teens. Then again, it’s 500 pages. When I was 12, there was no way you could have gotten me to read a 500-page book.

I don’t imagine the book will change much in the remaining 180 pages, so I’ll just sum up my thoughts now and refer to them when I finish: the suspense of finding out what other kind of shenanigans the kids will have to work through to save Dad and the world is strong enough to make me want to finish it, but, the book is still pretty damn corny.

I should also mention that there is a chance some of the basic elements of the book could be allegorical or metaphorical to something very real and pressing in the world, but who knows. Right now, it’s just corny.

Second installment of the “things that happen to you while” series; alternate title: “too many p’s: p-man in p-town”; written after a five-day excursion visiting four bloggers I had never met [in person] with three friends I met at my [now previous] employer.

Note: The links don't actually send you anywhere, they just pop up witty witticisms.

- - - - - -

On the way to Portland, you sit next to a woman speaking a language strangely familiar to you. It’s Russian. You talk with her for the duration of the flight about living in Russia, traveling in Europe, how your Jewish parents are basically the same, how writing code gets old, how lucky her kids are that they get to travel the world by age 10. You exchange information. You have now made a friend in Oakland, California.

After several bumbling mishaps, your friends meet you at the airport and whisk you away to a five-day vacation. Your friends say they’re in an orange car. When you see an orange car carrying your arms-flailing-hands-waving friends, your mind flips when you realize the orange car is a bright orange Mustang convertible. Your friends have rented a speeding ticket waiting to happen.

You and your friends drive like maniacs [safe maniacs]. No tickets happen.

You proceed directly to an establishment called the Kennedy School and wonder how long it’s been since you went anywhere with a name ending in “school.” You are oddly excited because this place apparently serves beer. What a great combination. You meet your blogger friends there and you discover their blogs are accurate representations of who they really are: interesting, cool, witty, fun, and just a little bit saucy. Or is it snarky? Both.

You, a couple of the bloggers, and a roommate continue the drinking at another bar. Upstairs, Sonic Youth is making a racket – a beautiful racket you would love to hear in a venue you would love to see. One of the bloggers happens to be a well-known bartender and musician in the Portland area and gets you and your friends in for free. Sonic Youth slowly gets louder as you climb the staircase and walk into a historical gem of a music venue. It’s a ballroom complete with chandelier, frescoes on the wall, and a spring-loaded wood floor. One of your friends says “Welcome to Portland!” as Kim and Co. do their thing onstage. You wonder why the hell you aren’t already living there.

An afternoon spent wandering the many trails of Washington Park reminds you why you like being outside and how much cube life sucks. You find a bench under a redwood and sit. For a long time.

Sushi Happy hour results in many beers and several rolls of rice, seafood, and vegetables. One of your blogger friends ingests an ungodly amount of wasabi. You laugh. He cries. You laugh more.

You spend the evening at one of Portland’s many brewpubs, Bridgeport. You take pictures of your friend’s simultaneously hideous and glorious parallel parking job. Imagine: right next to the pub’s patio sits a bright orange Mustang convertible with half of its nose sticking out into the street. The patrons gawk in amazement: “who the hell are these people?” You enjoy yet more delicious new beers.

Two of your friends leave the next morning, and with them, the ‘stang. You and the remaining member of the Texan crew rent a Taurus to explore the Gorge. Within thirty minutes of leaving Portland driving on a picturesque highway [only a little more picturesque than I-10 in San Antonio] you arrive at mountains and waterfalls. You ogle the waterfalls, want them to be thirty minutes from your door, wonder if you’d ever get used to them and stop visiting them if you lived in Portland. You pinch yourself and think, “stop daydreaming, asshole. there are waterfalls here that need your attention.” Your friend’s new motto for the trip is “that doesn’t suck.” You agree.

Over the next two days, you continue to consume refreshing beers and visit places like the Pittock Mansion, The Japanese Gardens, and The Chinese Gardens. During those two days, you end up at the Kennedy School once again and wander off the beaten tourist path to a pub called Bonfire.

You spend Monday morning wandering the many stacks of Powell’s Bookstore. At 1, your friend leaves for her flight back to Crap Antonio. You hug and realize this trip basically changed your lives. Now you’re on your own with one more night and no hotel room, you wander the streets of downtown in search for lunch and a good time. You invariably end up back at the bookstore.

Your friend's husband calls you and invites you to the park to see if there is any kickball to be played. Looking down at your feet clad in sandals, you wonder if that’s such a good idea. You say, “Fuck it, worse comes to worse, I can play barefoot.” You meet a lot of cool people and head over to the Portland version of a dive bar called the Triple Nickel for beers and music geek talk.

A show at Dante’s featuring the Short Bus Dub All Stars is waiting, so you head back to the house to change and pick up your friend’s wonderful wife, the one that let you crash on their couch. While the husband plays pool, you and the wife skank to the opening ska band and wait for Short Bus to come on. While the bands are loading/unloading from the stage, a high school-esque drum line entertains the audience with cool beats and crashing cymbals. The crowd starts to pogo; you pogo; everyone is getting into it. For a split second, you wish you were in marching band in high school. Then the next second arrives and you’re glad you weren’t. Jazz band was way cooler.

You end the night at a strip club down the street from your friends’ house that oddly has one dancer that isn’t stripping. It’s late on a Monday night and she’s hanging out and talking to the few patrons left. You aren’t the biggest fan of strip clubs but you like this one. You talk with your friend, the dancer, the bartender, and the patrons till late.

The next morning, you and your friend eat cheese and crackers and watch the best cartoons since Transformers. Imagine the old Hanna Barberra cartoons on crack. And a couple 40s. After a short drive to the airport, you pull up at the departure entrance and tell your friend he and everyone else are always welcome in Texas and to drop you a line if they ever go, but as soon as you say this you realize chances are better that you will end up in Portland before he or his Portland crew will end up in Texas. Lo and behold, he says just that. You agree. You say thanks again, shake hands, and hop out of the car.

On the flight home, you sit next to an elderly nun. There is an empty seat between you and her. You spend the entire flight engrossed in one of the many books you bought at Powell’s and gaze out the window at the black sky, a little fidgety in anticipation of getting home. The nun spends the whole flight motionless – she stares at the seat in front of her blinking for the duration of the flight. Doesn’t move. No book to read, no magazine, no music, no journal to write in. Just sits. You wonder what kind of thoughts she has that keep her entertained or if she needs anything at all to be entertained, or if, more simply, she needs to feel entertained at all. She just is. You wonder why the hell you can’t do that. You look at her and notice you’re staring. She turns her head and smiles. You smile back. You look at your hands and try to think of nothing.

And then all the badass people you met and all the badass things you did in Portland flood your brain. Hey, doesn’t Portland have a law school?

In response to a short article about a website listing famous guitarists and their guitar/amp rigs, the following exchange ensued:

Person 1: Juliana Hatfield isn't listed, so the site is worthless.
Person 2: It is well known that Juliana plays Evan Dando, or at least used to.
Person 3: 1994 called. They want your lameness back. Juliana Hatfield, Person 1?

PS: I actually kinda like Juliana Hatfield, but anyway…

PPS: the post category formerly known as "contact" no longer exists. my condolences. it never did much anyway. it has been replaced with a new category, law school. since that is where i'll be in about a month's time, i figured a post category was in order. also note its strategic placement - between "beer" and "about." excellent. [actually, that's just where contact used to be.]

in honor of contact’s demise, my friend aaron donated his spiffy email form, which I have placed in the official “about” post.

Richard Posner, pinch-hitting for Lessig, says in his last post:

The uncertainty concerning the proper scope of IP rights is magnified by the onrush of technology. As I said, repeating a Lessig point, law is relative to technology; technology can disrupt a balance carefully struck by law. But if we have no clear sense of where the balance should be struck, this makes it difficult to know what stance to take with relation to encryption technologies that enable IP owners to obtain greater protection from copiers than IP law would give them.

Any volunteers?

I have officially moved back to Houston. After leaving it six years ago for college in Austin, I never thought I'd return. Funny how things work out.

But six years can make a difference. I can [legally] drink, I know where I can catch all the hip bands, and the museums rock. I know a few people here and will be meeting more in law school.

So I think I'll give Houston a clean slate. No pre-conceived notions, no expectations [aside from the heat, humidity, traffic, yadda yadda].

One thing’s for sure – I’ll stay far away from my old high school. They tore half of it down the year after I graduated for health violation issues. Seriously.

I would have liked to say “anywhere but unemployed” but i figured i ought to not embarass myself so soon in the semester. Here’s approximately what happened.

On the first day of orientation, the Dean gathered the entering class of 350 into an auditorium and gave a “congratulations on getting into law school” speech. Then, with spare mic in hand, he took to the aisles.

So imagine my surprise and slouching posture when the Dean began to discuss his desire to learn about where some of the students went to college, where they saw themselves in 10 years, and what kind of law they wanted to practice. As he spoke, he proceeded directly to ME, an aisle-seat occupant. Yes, it seemed I would be the first student to speak publicly to the entering class. I was thrilled. As he spoke some more about the various fields of law available to us, I prayed and hoped and swore to all that is holy in the world that if I was absolved of this task, I would perform an untold number of community service hours, study my balls off, stop drinking, post more to my website, so on and so forth.

The praying didn’t do shit. Never let anyone tell you praying helps. It doesn’t. He chose me.

The exchange, as best I remember it, follows.

Dean: Mr. [Particleman], tell us where you went to school and what kind of law you see yourself practicing in ten years.
Mr. Particleman: I went to UT Austin -
Audience: [cheers]
Dean: Oh, so we have some UT Grads? How about A&M?
Audience: [hands raise, more cheers]
Mr. P: [mumbles] Put your hands down, people.
UT Grads: [chuckle]
Dean: So, Mr. Particleman, now that we’ve given you some time to come up with a good answer, what do you say?
Mr. P: [internal dialogue: whatever you say will be held against you for the next three years. better make it good.] I’d like to get involved in copyright law dealing with music and the rights of musicians. [man, that was cheesy].
Dean: Ah, were you a music major?
Mr. P: Uh, no, but I play music.
Dean: Interesting... [commentary on the new wave of issues affecting copyright law resulting from the internet].
Every female in the audience: [internal dialogue: hey, he’s a musician, he’s gonna be a music lawyer, and he has cool glasses. i must flirt with him later.]

Overall, orientation so far has been very exciting. I already have plenty of reading and bar-exploring to do. I went out on Saturday night with an old friend and he introduced me to some local bars. And you know what, all that doubting I did earlier was unfounded. Houston has some cool hang-outs. I think I’ll be all right here.

Not what you'd expect.

In other news, do you remember Student Government aka SG? High school had it. College had it. Your job probably has it or an equivalent thereof. I always thought: Why spend more time than necessary on school stuff? Why spend more time than necessary at school?

I was never an SG person. The above questions were relevant to my decision, of course, but there was an underlying theory at work here: laziness. I had a bass and a guitar waiting at home. I sat in class all day anxious to get home and make some noise. School activities just weren’t part of my agenda at the time.

But law school is a new phase in my life. I’m not [quite so] lazy anymore. Law school’s version of Student Government, operating under the clandestine moniker “Student Bar Association,” is a great way to meet people all over the school. I’ve met some of these SBA people and liked them, so I’ll apply to join. From what I understand, SBA involves meeting people, notifying your class of happy hours, and getting plastered on the school’s rooftop terrace. I can do that, I think.

Jackie Mason, a somewhat famous Jewish comedian focusing, for the most part, on Jewish humor, once made a crack about how all Jewish mothers are known to say the same thing to their children: “eat eat, never stop eating.” It may be the remnants of hard times over in Europe, it may be because we might have to wander the desert for another 40 years, or it may be because they over-cook for every meal and have lots of leftovers that will spoil if not eaten.

At either rate, my mother did [does] the same thing, and now I know why. I’ve lost some weight since law school started. Eating seems to be a secondary priority lately. It’s not good. I’ve held the same weight since I was 19 and remained in decent shape over the years, fluctuating a few pounds here and there. But Sophia dropped in the other night for a visit and told me I looked skinnier. I know I’m just a scrawny white boy, but no one has ever told me I’ve lost weight since they last saw me. And it’s not just that I don’t have the time – I’m not as hungry as I used to be. I can’t eat as much as I used to. I think my lack of physical activity is the main factor, so I’m going to try to tweak my schedule to fit in some work-out time either in the morning or afternoon.

I pushed myself to go for a bike ride this morning before it got too hot and managed to cover 20 miles. I ended up in my old neighborhood. It’s always weird to go back to the place you grew up and see how some things have changed while some have not. The Schwinn shop was right were I left it. So was the Blockbuster. And the liquor store.

Oh yeah, and my tan line is back in full effect. God bless that Texas sun.

One large step for independent musicians looking for a cheap way to get their music disseminated.

Following the lead of a lower-court decision last year, the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in Los Angeles said on Thursday that peer-to-peer software developers were not liable for any copyright infringement committed by people using their products, as long as they had no direct ability to stop the acts.
...

The decision marks a substantial--if not entirely unexpected--setback for the big record labels and movie studios, which have tried hard to win legal rulings that would clamp down on anarchic peer-to-peer networks such as Kazaa or eDonkey.

Of course, none of this is consistent with my whole “want to be a fair and just lawyer” thing. Where do we draw the line? Is it a big deal if a moderately successful artist is hurt or only a massively successful artist? Who are we to judge how successful an artist needs to be before they fall off the “we feel bad that you’re losing out on album sales” list? Who are we to meddle in the capitalist nature of our market? How is music different from other intellectual property products, e.g., literature and software? Software is easily transferable via the internet but printed literature is not. But what about technology that could scan a document and produce an electronic version? People would trade books like they do mp3s.

My worlds are colliding. Something obviously needs to be done about the structure of our intellectual property concepts and markets.

I haven’t slept well since school started. It takes me a while to fall asleep and I tend to wake up in the middle of the night. The gears in my head are still spinning trying to process all the new information – both scholastic and otherwise – that my brain is receiving. I’ve basically been running on overdrive for a month and I can’t do it anymore. So I’m making two conscious decisions:

1. I will resume two activities important to me that I quit when school started: reading and working out. [I know I mentioned the working out thing a while ago, but I mean it this time. Really.]
2. I’m going to slow down. I always feel like I need to be rushing off to somewhere. No more. The rushing stops here and now.

The book I started isn’t actually a book; it’s a play, and a damn funny one at that. It’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf by Edward Albee. I started reading it this morning on the light rail on the way to school and I found myself chuckling out loud. The rubbing alcohol bit had me rolling. Seriously, you need to pick this play up. It’s a riot.

There’s nothing quite like rewarding oneself with a tall glass o’ brew after hours and hours of summarizing Torts cases and figuring out how to write case citations. Fittingly, the first beer the new bottle opener opened was a Loft. Oh yeah. Memories, memories.

I feel compelled to put something new up here but strangely have nothing of substance to say (do I ever?) I spent many hours today in a coffee shop doing homework and continued to spend many hours at home. The best part is that I still didn’t get everything done that I wanted to. You should not end sentences with a preposition. Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue is playing on the stereo. I think I’ll have another beer.

addendum, five minutes later: behold the power of the male bartender.

It’s been a while since I’ve done any drinking so I went out last night and met up with a bunch of school friends. My buddy Paul drove so I started drinking rather quickly. Probably too quickly. I think I had about five pints of Harp, three of Pilsner Urquell, and two of Real Ale. Yes, I was smashed and yes, I wish I didn’t drink that much. My old glory days are obviously long gone. [Old glory days being back when I had a job two months ago and lived across the street from a pub.]

Of course I woke up this morning feeling like a train wreck. Ugh. A classmate is having a house party tonight but I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it. I need to start chugging water if I’m going to make it out of the apartment at all today.

Ugh.

Oh yeah, and Sophia also drank too much and enountered a smack-talking cat. It could happen to you.

It’s hard to study for a mid-term that doesn’t count for a grade but is only intended to give you an estimation of how little you actually know. It’s really, really hard, especially when sitting in a wifi enabled library with windows looking out to clear blue skies on a toasty September day.

addendum, post-test: the mid-term went about as planned. but here's the kicker: the prof asked us not to put our names on the test booklets. rather, we were to pick a number between 1 and 1000 and write it on the front cover. smart asses galore probably picked 007, 666, 69, 427, so on and so forth, but i chose a much cooler number: 42. who else in law school would pick a number from a geeky sci-fi-meets-philosophy book? as I turned my test in to the teacher, i noticed the test booklet on top of the stack HAD THE SAME NUMBER. i'm not not nearly as cool as i thought i was.

It’s become readily apparent law school is having several strange effects on me.

Ashley, one of the instigators who helped prod me to go on the infamous Portland trip, sent me a surprise care package last week. Its contents were: a cd of the pictures she took, a Lifescapes “Sleep” cd, Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime tea, a vanilla candle, and a sweet bottle opener I ogled over when drinking at her house one night. Better yet was the nifty artwork on the package and the purple and green confetti stuff on the inside.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ashley. You are awesome. Friends like you are a rarity. The care package is slowly working its magic and I am starting to get more sleep.

Whatwith all the trendy new technologies out there these days (internet, e-mail, microwaveable Ramen), one sometimes forgets about the more archaic ‘technologies’ that were once marvels of human accomplishment. Like the mail. No no, not e-mail, but plain old, stamp-and-envelope, wait-a-few-days-for-it-to-get-to-you mail.

After at least two weeks of neglecting to check my mail due to various school-related distractions, I finally took a walk to the mailboxes and found my little rectangular piece of postal space filled with coupons, ads, and dreaded bills. How crappy is that? You’d think someone would realize “Hey, this poor bastard is in law school. Let’s hold off on sending him bills.” But no. They have no shame. So what did I do? Why, I tossed them on my couch, unopened, and left them there.

Just kidding. I like having electricity and internet access. I’m not completely irresponsible; the bills did get paid. They did sit on the couch for a couple days, though. That part wasn’t made up.

On the bright side, one pleasant surprise did greet me in the mailbox: my bestest friend in California sent me an early birthday present. Every year, we send each other books for our birthdays. Last year, she sent me Liar’s Poker, which I ingested in about 15 minutes. It was awesome. This year, she got me Crossing California, and it looks equally entertaining. So thanks, my bestest friend in California, it’s looking like another great birthday present. I had better start looking for something to get you for your birthday… got an interest in law-related books?

My school is holding its 2nd annual softball tournament along with two other local law schools and several law firms tomorrow. As a member of the student government-like Student Bar Association, I was originally drafted to play on the SBA Team. But at the last minute, a prominent law firm that donated a nice chunk of cash bumped us, so we’re not playing.

Instead, we get to do something much cooler: hang out and drink beer. All day. This is all well and good for me because I haven’t swung a bat in at least 12 years. Hey, I’m an endurance athlete. I don’t adapt well to sports requiring competent levels of hand-eye coordination. And by endurance athlete, I mean that I was an athlete about 6 years ago. I don’t even think I can endure anymore.

Hence, the beer. Or is it: hence, as a result of, the beer.

Currently slogging through my paper and listening to lots and lots and lots of Fugazi.

You know that the world is right and gravity is doing its job when your dark beer is contently resting on top of your light beer, all in the same glass.

...
The keen reader will notice that my posts have been reduced to ogre-like short sentences and snippets of speech. To whence did those treatises on music and novels go? The crazy stories of jumping out of airplanes and sampling every beer brewed in Oregon?

I don't know either, but maybe the answer is in the bottom of this bag of pretzels...

Finals are over. My first semester of law school has come to a screeching halt and I’m left with piles of laundry that need to be folded/ironed, a car that is aching for a wash, and guitar strings that are on the verge of rusting. So much to do. Where to start? At the bar, of course.

After Monday’s final ended at 9:00 pm, I headed straight to a TexMex restaurant with my classmates and had fajitas and four margaritas. After that, we proceeded to a bar where I took several shots (the recount is still pending) and had a few beers. Everything was fine until I couldn’t stand up anymore, so I sat on a couch and waited for the room to stop spinning. It didn’t. Thankfully, a classmate came to the rescue and drove me home. Once home, I puked my guts out college-freshman style. It was clutch.

I woke up with a hangover from hell that is only fading now (two days later). I guess I can’t party like I used to…the years add up, don’t they? But I still went out last night with my classmates again and shook my arse as well as any skinny white boy can. Word. I did not, however, drink more than half of a beer. Self-preservation is a funny thing…

I had all kinds of great plans for my winter break. I’d catch up on some reading (see books on right), ride my bikes, hit the gym, go grocery shopping, and start applying for summer jobs. So far, I’ve only done two of those things, and they were half-assed efforts. I’ve only ridden my mountain bike once because it keeps raining and have yet to ride my road bike. I tried going to the gym last week, but ended up straining my neck and am only now starting to work out again. Overall, it’s been a rather lackadaisical winter break (I just really wanted to say lackadaisical).

On the other hand, I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with my sister, brother-in-law, and 18-month-old niece. Sister and her hubby took a two day vacation in Austin, leaving baby Maya with grandpa, grandma, and yours truly. The kid is absolutely terrified of me. I’m apparently a terrifying person. Everyone tells me it’s only because I’m new to her and that I’m taller than anyone else she knows. Thus, when I want to approach her, I must get down on my hands and knees and slowly crawl towards her, but not too close, else she freaks out. The idea is that maybe she’ll get used to me and let me hold her, but as of yet, no dice. She breaks out in a blood-curdling scream strong enough to make anyone feel like the most worthless human being on the face of the planet. Making a baby cry sucks. Making her laugh is the greatest thing in the world.

We almost had a breakthrough yesterday when she gave me one of her stuffed animals to hold. She likes giving people her toys, only to take them back and give them to someone else a second later. It’s an advanced barter system I have yet to decipher. When she gave me the stuffed animal, I looked at it, hugged it, smiled, and gave it back. And she smiled a beautiful smile. I almost melted.

This is just about when you, the reader, let out an exhaustive, “geez, please take me to a another website before I gag myself.”

But since you’ve gotten this far, you might as well keep reading to find out where Maya and I now stand. Whenever I’m around, she looks at me like a science project, like she’s trying to figure me out, like she doesn’t know where to classify me in her various classifications of people (mom, dad, someone I like, someone who looks funny, etc. I’d settle for ‘someone who looks funny’). But at least she doesn’t scream, so I’m happy with that. One day, her parents will tell her, “Maya, that’s your uncle. When you were a baby, you used to scream at him simply for being in the room, but now he’s the guy that’s going to babysit you while daddy and I go out to dinner for the first time in eons.”

I can live with that.

Not yet, at least. Give me a couple of weeks and I’m sure that will change. The registrar’s office is closed till the 4th, which equates to no grade postings until, like, the 15th. Chances are I’ll keep checking grades anyway cuz, you know, someone might have felt the urge to go into work and post a grade or two. Right?...right?

Based on the majority of my posts, it probably seems like I have a drinking problem. I promise I don’t. I just have a party-like-a-mofo-until-school-starts problem, and I think I’m completely entitled to it. Last night, I met up with a bunch of my law school peeps and had a great time. Once again, some strange shots made their way into the mix (how does that always happen?) We did a round of a coconut-flavored concoction and my buddy Matt was so riled by the taste he demanded an immediate refill of his beer to counteract the coconut-ness. He apparently doesn’t like coconut. Sorry man. But when the shots show up, you gotta take ‘em. Thems the rules.

Oh yeah, and this was the bar we went to, which, by the way, had COMPLETELY OVERPRICED PITCHERS of Coors Light.

Sometimes, you find yourself studying in a spacious and stale cube with whitewashed walls otherwise known as a study room. You and your buddy inadvertently end up trading mp3s via the wireless network and doing everything you can not to study. Then, you look up at the ceiling during one of your many neck-craning five-minute space-out sessions and notice one of the ceiling panels is made of perforated metal. You can see straight into the air ducts. You wonder what it would be like to jump up into the air ducts and crawl around until you ended up in another room, like they do in the movies. You could surprise some other students in the midst of their mp3 study session, have a good laugh, smile and nod, and head back to your corner of the library.

Sometimes, you could really use a margarita.

and you can download the whole thing, sample it, and do whatever else you want with the tracks. and it's totally legal. artists include beastie boys, david byrne, spoon, chuck d, and gilberto gil.

thank CC Mixter, creative commons, and wired.

[via slashdot]

One of my classmates made the wise decision of living at home and forgoing that whole “paying rent” thing. I applaud her. Personally, I couldn’t do it. I’d rather amass more debt than live at home. But anyway, I digress. Her parents went out of town for the weekend and she invited the whole class over for a house party. Granted, it wasn’t quite as rowdy as a high school keg party, but it was pretty darn close, especially considering most of us were still exhausted from the week and were dreading having to spend all day today studying.

The highlight of the night was (for me) yanking a dollar bill out of her friend’s spaghetti-strap top WITH MY TEETH, and her boyfriend was supposedly in the room.

See? High school.

www.patentlysilly.com:

Each week there are thousands of new patents issued by the United States Patent and Trademark Office. Every week I sort through them and to find new ones to put on the site. The patents I pick are usually a) really weird, b) really cool, c)really scary.

In other news, I spent the weekend in Austin hanging out with various friends, drinking various beers and mixed drinks, and eating lots of Mexican food. It was like San Antonio, but cooler (sorry San Antonians – you know you love Austin). And for some reason, I always take my digital camera on these weekend excursions and leave it in my bag for the duration of the trip. I have no idea how that fits into the train of thought. All I know is that I would really, REALLY love to find a summer gig in Austin. Man, I miss that place.

Before I start ogling over Austin, however, I must face the fact that school starts tomorrow. I’ve gotten through some of my readings, but by ‘gotten through,’ I really mean that I read the words and understood a fraction of the information. It’s hard to get my brain back in gear after weeks of idle dawdling.

But I’m excited to see everyone again. I’ve gotten to hang out with a few of my classmates over the break, but for the most part, it’s been five weeks since I’ve seen any of the people I just got through spending five months with every day. And let me tell you, getting us all in a room again will make quite the family reunion.

I’ve spent the past four weeks of my winter break compensating for the previous four months’ lack of partying, reading, bike-riding, and binge-eating. It’s been great, and I have seven more days of freedom left to party, read, bike, and eat. School resumes on Tuesday the 18th, and, oddly enough, I’m looking forward to it. As much of a cluster-fuck as the previous semester turned out to be, I’m ready for more. More pressure, more reading, more ridiculous papers. I guess I’m a little masochistic in that sense, but then again, I think all law students are to some degree. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be where we are.

So, tomorrow, I plan to start my readings for next week.

But right now, I’m meeting some classmates for margaritas. C’mon, have some faith in me. If I’m going to start reading ahead for school, I’m going to need a hangover of some sort. I try to keep things as close to real-semester conditions as possible.

After some initial confusion, my new years ended up at The Continental Club, which featured a wild and crazy band and, a rarity on new years for any club, no cover. I met up with a law school friend and one of her friends. One of the highlights of the night was watching a bunch of college-aged girls shake their tuchuses on stage when the band exploded into an impassioned version of “Secret Agent Man.” What can I say, I’m easy to please. I don't think the club invested much in the champagne because I (and everyone else i saw) made the most horrible face when we drank it. Ugh. Cheap champagne is something to be avoided.

Instant Messenger conversation I had with a friend. Names have been changed and content has been edited to protect us (from ourselves). Things you should know: heb = H.E.B. = a grocery chain in Texas; he lives in Austin and I live in Houston and we have never been roommates.

Other Guy: i'm going to heb... you need anything?
ParticleMan: yeah
Other Guy: keep it under $10
ParticleMan: a bottle of 151.
Other Guy: they don't sell that there dude
Other Guy: and don't ask me for toilet paper cause i bought it last time asshole
ParticleMan: 1 5 1
Other Guy: they don't sell it there damnit
ParticleMan: PLEASE
Other Guy: will you settle for some listerine?
ParticleMan: ok.
Other Guy: that has alcohol in it
ParticleMan: ok.
Other Guy: iight
ParticleMan: cool.
Other Guy: cool mint or peppermint?
ParticleMan: the blue one.
Other Guy: cool mint
Other Guy: i like that one too
ParticleMan: sweet

Last night was pretty cool aside from one small detail to be explained in just a minute. I started drinking at five at the Front Porch and a bunch of my law school peoples came out. We haven’t had an official, pre-planned “happy hour” in a couple weeks, so the other class reps and I threw something together at the last minute, which basically means we told everyone where to go and when to get there. Some people that have never come to one of the “official” happy hours came out and I was really glad to see them. And it wasn’t only people in my class, but people from the other classes also made an appearance. I finally got to meet a bunch of people that I’ve been passing in the hallways for months.

But then, something crappy happened. My car got towed. I’ve been to this particular pub many times, but I always get there after 8:00 pm, the time after which it’s ok to park in the parking lot next door. But yesterday, I got there at 5:00, and didn’t even read the “No Parking until 8:00 pm” signs. So, having already planned to eat Greek food with some classmates, I walk out to my car with my friend and notice it’s no longer there. My car had vanished. Up and left – and without me in it. And for some reason, I didn’t get pissed. I called the number, got the information I needed to get my car back, and my friend drove us to the Greek restaurant. We ate, hung out, and had a good time. Then, after we were all ready to go, I caught a ride to the tow truck’s lot, begrudgingly paid the ridiculous sum of money to get my car back, and went home.

All told, it was a fun night, but it was also expensive, so I probably won’t be doing a whole lot in the way of going out for a while. Or at least I won’t be buying drinks or food. Which is ok, because as I learned in Garden State, you don’t need stuff or money to be happy, you just need Natalie Portman.

What? Did I just say that? Andrew, I hope that was stream of consciousness enough for you.

PS: I never mention any of my classmates’ names (Andrew) on this website out of respect for privacy (Andrew), but this time, I think it was warranted. (Andrew).

Listened to it on repeat for hours last night.

I’d write more, but I’ve got bookoo stuff to do.

The person upstairs is taking a shower and I can hear the pipes sqealing. And I think someone just turned on a freaking generator outside.

Paper, write yourself.

I talked to the old roomie yesterday. We both graduated from UT with the same degree at the same time and got hired at the same company at the same time. I left in July of last year for law school, and he stuck around to figure things out. Well, he figured things out. He’s off to L.A. to see about that screenwriting passion of his. I wish I had the balls he did. If it were me, I’d have left corporate life and toured with a band. I went to law school instead. Yeah, I’m really interesting.

Good luck, dude. You gonna start a blog or what? “Poker-Obsessed Screenwriting Philippino Ditches TX for CA.” And don’t worry, blogs are free. (Hah).

You might be wondering what the deal is with all those links at the top of the page, and specifically why there’s one called “bikes” when I never really talk about bikes. Well, it’s there for days like today, days when I actually get off my ass, tear myself away from my books (emphasis on the ‘tear’), and go for a ride. Clicking one of the links up there will sort every post I’ve ever written by that category. Neat, huh? Damn straight. And it wasn’t even my idea.

I woke up today at 9 am. I don’t know why, of course. I have no school, and yet, I’m up at 9. Whatever. I resolved to do something useful with myself that involved being outside. So I went mountain biking at Memorial Park. When I got there, the cop hanging out at the entrance told me I couldn’t park in the park because everything was closed off for an Art Festival. Art Festival? Fuck that, I wanna go mountain biking. I’m finding a way in.

So I park across the street where all the joggers and whatnot park and stealthily rode past the cop. OK, it wasn’t stealthy at all. There were other cyclists riding past too. All he said was that I couldn’t park there, not that I couldn’t ride the bike trails. This park has three or four main bike trails, so I hit my usual warm-up trail for a while and felt good, so I tried to go to the longer, more challenging trail towards the back of the park and encountered an obstacle: the Art Festival, and more cops, and buses, and lots of touristy looking people waiting in line to pay $8. Eight dollars? Fuck that, I’m not paying $8. I head across the street to ride the “secret” trail (it’s unmarked) and got lost in there for a while. After I found my way out (via a detour through the Arboretum), I decided to give the other trail another try. I tried to haggle with the guard and said that I just wanted to ride through and get to the trail in the back. He said no, but mentioned he’d seen other cyclists heading towards an entrance at the back of the park… and that’s when I remembered the entrance in the back of the park that I’ve used a million times. Wow, all that drinking is taking its toll on my number of available brain cells.

I ride the trail and, by the time I was done, had logged about two hours of riding for the day and was spent. I look at my bike and notice it’s slathered in mud. I’m satisfied and leave for home. Unfortunately, the Art Festival resulted in several road closures and detours and I get totally lost. I end up downtown somehow and get back on 288. Weird.

Below are my rear brakes.

Buried beneath all that crud is a set of these:

Lower courts have sided with the P2P companies, but there's no telling what the SC will do. Chances are (and the article says as much) that the loser will take their grievance to Congress.

ah, to be a kid again.

i wrote two pages of my paper yesterday. i think i deserve a bike ride. the 76% humidity isn't too nice, though.

This has been a crazy weekend so far and everything I wanted to get done hasn’t gotten done yet, but I still have 24 hours.

Friday was the usual happy hour at Front Porch. I managed to avoid getting towed this time, but my friend didn’t. Bummer. I feel his pain. I left around 7 to meet up with a couple other classmates to see a sweet bluegrass band, The Greencards. They consisted of a violist, mandolist, bassist, and guitarist, and they all shredded. Well, maybe except the bassist, but her vocals were excellent. If you get a chance to see them, do so. They played a great two-hour set complete with encore.

Aside from random cleaning up around the apartment, which you don’t wanna hear about anyway, I spent most of today working on/thinking about a paper and taking pictures at school. More on the pictures thing later. I don’t want to jinx myself.

I’m going to see Sophia for the first time in six (?) months tomorrow. She and her man will be in town for lunch on their way to Austin, and we’re getting together with another UT friend at La Strada. I’m psyched. I haven’t seen them in ages.

After that, I’ll try to get outside at least a little bit and enjoy the weather. But I’ll most likely end up at my desk working on that paper that’s due Tuesday, which coincidentally won’t get done Monday night because I’m going to see Steve Miller Band! Can you believe it? I never thought I’d get a chance to see SMB. My only memories of SMB revolve around high school and its various questionable activities at house parties and/or riding around in someone’s car. I don’t really listen to SMB anymore, but I know all the songs on that greatest hits album everyone has.

Law School Prom is this Saturday. Well, it’s technically called a Banquet, but it’s affectionately known as the Prom. People dress up, eat at big tables, drink mixed drinks, dance horribly to a band, and drink mixed drinks. Did I mentioned they drink?

Drink. Mixed drinks.

I’m very excited. Apparently, a good number of the teachers go and actually stay for the band (and the drinks). I’m extra-excited for that. I’d like to see my profs throw a few back.

But before I can revel in the glory that is law school prom, I must wallow in the misery that is my appellate brief. Oh yes. I’m about ready to pull out my eyelashes one by one (seems worse and more original than “poking my eyes out”).

i uploaded the image to flickr and added lots of notes. still working on the band list which is now at 84 entries. but i also have 24 pages for my paper, so i'm pretty much done. thank the lord.

i forgot my friend's birthday. i forgot my brother-in-law's birthday. i never forget birthdays. chances are, if you've ever told me when your birthday is, i still know it. if not, i can get one of the numbers right and probably the month too. so i'm not too happy that i forgot my friend's and my brother-in-law's birthdays. my only excuse, and it's a lame one, is that school is pretty much an all-consuming thing lately. i have dreams about it. how messed up is that? it's not that i'm bitter or anything, it's just that i'm sitting here in a coffee shop studying on a friday night.

ok, so i might be a little bitter, but only because i have a twenty-something page paper due monday and finals to study for.

i'll get back to my rage against the machine and torts now.

i'm making a list of every band / show i've ever seen. one hour and forty-nine minutes have been used up so far and i have 81 bands. i know there's a lot missing too since i saw a ton of shows at Emo's in Austin that i know i'm forgetting. when the list is done, i'll post the Word doc.