Today is the first day of a the period of my life which I shall call "studying for the bar." Husband and I briefly reviewed all of the multistate subjects, just to get an overview.
Criminal law and torts are my old friends who still call me every few days, just to see what's going on.
Evidence sends me e-mails on my birthday.
Contracts is an acquaintance who looks familiar, but I could be remembering someone else.
Property law?
Friday, May 09, 2008
Stroller Selection
I'm on a quest for Baby's perfect New York stroller. Last summer, I borrowed a Maclaren Triumph from my generous sister-in-law. I used that stroller for most of Baby's waking hours. I used it as Baby's high chair, I carried my groceries in it, I rocked Baby to sleep in it, I took it to church, I rattled it across the cobblestones at Fulton Fishmarket, I bounced it down subway stairs, I plowed it across the Sheep Meadow at Central Park. The Triumph treated me well, but of course I found some minor problems. As a purely hypothetical example, it just might maybe tip over backwards if you hang a bag full of soup cans over the handles while you're grocery shopping.
As many New Yorkers have told me, shopping for a stroller is like shopping for a car (and nearly as expensive, I'm finding). In some ways it's even more difficult than shopping for a car.
First of all, for all of its excellent qualities, Provo is not a great place to buy high-quality strollers. There are lots of babies, yes, but people with money just drive their babies around in their SUVs and people without money can't afford to drop hundreds of dollars on a stroller for their hundreds of kids. You can find a not-too-bashed-up Graco at a consignment store for thirty bucks, it'll pretty much do yuh. So, if you're a Provonian in the market for a stroller that's very lightweight, very high quality, foldable with one hand, steerable with one hand, manageable over curbs, cobblestones, and subway stairs, your selection is limited.
Also, strollers are baby items, and the baby world goes through fads. For example, right now I am seeing a fad of dress-up fairy princess birthday parties among two through four-year-old girls. If little girls had these when I was little, they didn't invite me. Ruffly dresses with matching lacey panties are out. Monkeys and alligators in primary colors are in. Keeping this in mind. I have to wonder how much of the $900 on the price tag of the popular (well, popular in New York) Bugaboo Chameleon is due to the fact that it's trendy. Don't get me wrong: I'm pretty dang trendy, but not $900 worth of trendy.
As many New Yorkers have told me, shopping for a stroller is like shopping for a car (and nearly as expensive, I'm finding). In some ways it's even more difficult than shopping for a car.
First of all, for all of its excellent qualities, Provo is not a great place to buy high-quality strollers. There are lots of babies, yes, but people with money just drive their babies around in their SUVs and people without money can't afford to drop hundreds of dollars on a stroller for their hundreds of kids. You can find a not-too-bashed-up Graco at a consignment store for thirty bucks, it'll pretty much do yuh. So, if you're a Provonian in the market for a stroller that's very lightweight, very high quality, foldable with one hand, steerable with one hand, manageable over curbs, cobblestones, and subway stairs, your selection is limited.
Also, strollers are baby items, and the baby world goes through fads. For example, right now I am seeing a fad of dress-up fairy princess birthday parties among two through four-year-old girls. If little girls had these when I was little, they didn't invite me. Ruffly dresses with matching lacey panties are out. Monkeys and alligators in primary colors are in. Keeping this in mind. I have to wonder how much of the $900 on the price tag of the popular (well, popular in New York) Bugaboo Chameleon is due to the fact that it's trendy. Don't get me wrong: I'm pretty dang trendy, but not $900 worth of trendy.
Friday, May 02, 2008
On the Road
When I was in eighth grade I wrote a poem called "On the Road." I can't remember the whole thing now, but from what I do remember, it was pretty awful. I haven't written a poem in a long time. If "On the Road" is any indication, that's probably a good thing.
Anyway, today I really am on the road. Our family is in the fine city of Winnemucca, Nevada as we end the first leg of our road trip to California. By the way, "Winnemucca" is precisely the type of word Baby would say on his own, so I had high hopes of adding an extremely cool word to his vocabulary. Alas, even after multiple efforts to trick him into saying it, he failed to add it to his vocabulary before he fell asleep in his car seat.
Every time I go on a long car trip I promise myself that this time I won't read in the car (motion sickness, I know, nerd-alert) and I won't eat junk food (not a good combo with motion sickness). But what would a long car trip be without the combination of junk food flavored motion sickness? Not the kind of car trip I've ever had. So I spent my first hour in Winnemucca settling the Pringles and Nutty Bars in my churning stomach.
Baby is sleeping in the motel closet. He seems to like it. Hopefully he won't wake up with yet another hideous memory that will need to be repressed and then gradually drawn back into Baby's consciousness with the help of a kindly, parent-hating therapist.
Anyway, today I really am on the road. Our family is in the fine city of Winnemucca, Nevada as we end the first leg of our road trip to California. By the way, "Winnemucca" is precisely the type of word Baby would say on his own, so I had high hopes of adding an extremely cool word to his vocabulary. Alas, even after multiple efforts to trick him into saying it, he failed to add it to his vocabulary before he fell asleep in his car seat.
Every time I go on a long car trip I promise myself that this time I won't read in the car (motion sickness, I know, nerd-alert) and I won't eat junk food (not a good combo with motion sickness). But what would a long car trip be without the combination of junk food flavored motion sickness? Not the kind of car trip I've ever had. So I spent my first hour in Winnemucca settling the Pringles and Nutty Bars in my churning stomach.
Baby is sleeping in the motel closet. He seems to like it. Hopefully he won't wake up with yet another hideous memory that will need to be repressed and then gradually drawn back into Baby's consciousness with the help of a kindly, parent-hating therapist.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Graduation
I know, I know, I've already graduated, but I was allowed to experience the full graduation experience again last week when Hubby graduated.
I think most people would agree that graduation day itself is kind of a mixed bag. With all of the emotions tied into it, wonderful, sad, and boring, it kind of comes out a wash. An emotion map of Hubby's graduation day:
1) I was stressed up to my ears, pulling all of the last-minute plans together for picture taking, video taping, calling everyone about parking, getting a babysitter, etc.
2) I was surprisingly moved with pride when the faculty and graduates marched in. I've been to dozens of graduations, but I still think the pomp and circumstance is really cool.
3) I was super nervous before Hubby's speech. I knew it was a good speech (I wrote about a third of it and edited all of it), and I knew that Husband would deliver it well, but I really, really wanted everyone to love my fabulous husband, and I knew law students are groomed to be a prideful, sneering lot.
4) I had a growing sense of elation as the speech was received with applause and laughter (the good kind).
5) After the glow wore off, boredome, boredom, boredom. The Provo Tabernacle is hot and the doctoral hooding ceremony takes a long time.
6) I had my usual crowds-make-me-nervous jitters during the reception afterwards, but luckily Hubby's talk and our upcoming move to New York City gave me and enviable two automatic topics of conversation with my hundreds of law school acquaintances. I was also sinfully proud of my husband.
7) The rest of the day is an exhausted blur. Dinner? Some kind of something at my in-law's house? So tired. Haven't truly slept in. Five. Years.
The next few days I watched my husband go through post-graduation depression. First it's "hooray, I have so much time on my hands, and everyone loves me!" Then it's "boo, I have so much time on my hands, my friends are all gone forever, and I'll never be popular again!" Now he's turning the corner to "hmm, I have so much time on my hands, maybe I'll engage in an interesting and world-improving non-law activity before I have to start studying for the bar." I have to hand it to him: It took me three months and a baby to get to that point.
I think most people would agree that graduation day itself is kind of a mixed bag. With all of the emotions tied into it, wonderful, sad, and boring, it kind of comes out a wash. An emotion map of Hubby's graduation day:
1) I was stressed up to my ears, pulling all of the last-minute plans together for picture taking, video taping, calling everyone about parking, getting a babysitter, etc.
2) I was surprisingly moved with pride when the faculty and graduates marched in. I've been to dozens of graduations, but I still think the pomp and circumstance is really cool.
3) I was super nervous before Hubby's speech. I knew it was a good speech (I wrote about a third of it and edited all of it), and I knew that Husband would deliver it well, but I really, really wanted everyone to love my fabulous husband, and I knew law students are groomed to be a prideful, sneering lot.
4) I had a growing sense of elation as the speech was received with applause and laughter (the good kind).
5) After the glow wore off, boredome, boredom, boredom. The Provo Tabernacle is hot and the doctoral hooding ceremony takes a long time.
6) I had my usual crowds-make-me-nervous jitters during the reception afterwards, but luckily Hubby's talk and our upcoming move to New York City gave me and enviable two automatic topics of conversation with my hundreds of law school acquaintances. I was also sinfully proud of my husband.
7) The rest of the day is an exhausted blur. Dinner? Some kind of something at my in-law's house? So tired. Haven't truly slept in. Five. Years.
The next few days I watched my husband go through post-graduation depression. First it's "hooray, I have so much time on my hands, and everyone loves me!" Then it's "boo, I have so much time on my hands, my friends are all gone forever, and I'll never be popular again!" Now he's turning the corner to "hmm, I have so much time on my hands, maybe I'll engage in an interesting and world-improving non-law activity before I have to start studying for the bar." I have to hand it to him: It took me three months and a baby to get to that point.
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