Midterm week begins on October 2, and yours truly has a contracts midterm on Thursday, October 5. I am actually really excited about my midterm because, to be quite honest, I have become very bored…

Well, what did I expect right? If I’m repeating my 1L classes, then this is the price I pay. But for some reason I thought I was really stupid and hadn’t absorbed anything the first time around, so I just assumed I was going to be learning stuff I kind of didn’t know to begin with. But…lo’ and behold…I remembered everything and now….now it’s just boring. Damn my intelligence.

So I’m really looking forward to taking a real midterm—with grades and stuff. It’s going to be different and a challenge…and plus, I really want to experience what it feels like to get a high score instead of the lowest one. I imagine it to be fun…heh.

By the way, has anyone seen the Jackass 2 movie yet? I would like to see it but I want to know ahead of time if there are any scenes that are especially disgusting; e.g. paper cutting scene from Jackass 1. The only reason why I knew ahead of time when to avert my eyes for that one was because EVERYONE I talked to said that was the worst scene ever…and I would like to take the same preventative measures this time around since I will be seeing it in the theater instead of on Comedy Central…can’t mute it or run to the kitchen in a theater, now can I?

Spoilers are welcome.

Found this terrific review of Jet Li’s movie, “Fearless” on msn.com just now. It’s not written by a legitimate film critic–which is obvious considering the biggest gripe this guy has:

SUBTITLES ARE LAME By: John 0 out of 0 users found this helpful

I didnt know this movie was all subtitles, it totally bites having to read long stretches of dialogue. The movie was bad. Got boring and dragged. Why pay money to watch it in the theater and read, when you can wait for DVD and watch it with English.

Indeed, John, subtitles are lame…for the illiterate. But it shouldn’t be an issue if you know how to read those “long stretches of dialogue”–oh wait, I’m guessing you can’t because you ended up becoming lost and are now trying to cover it up by saying the movie was “boring and dragged.” I too, find movies to be boring when they are in a foreign language and I can’t read the subtitles fast enough because I have a fourth grade education. Oh wait…that’s not me…that’s YOU! And everyone else like you who complains about reading subtitles.

I get it…some people prefer not having to read words on the bottom of the screen because it takes your eyes off the rest of the screen for a few moments. That’s fine…those people probably avoid watching movies featuring a foreign action star–who is wearing clothes and has his hair done the way they did back in the old days in China. Somehow that movie poster tricked John into thinking the film was going to be in English…but if he could read he probably would have figured out from other sources (i.e. internet, newspapers, DMX not being in the movie) that this is going to be Chinese-language only.

Hey, I could care less if you don’t like subtitles. Fine…whatever. My problem is by going to a foreign movie and complaining that there are subtitles, you are (1) asking for it, and (2) setting literacy back a million years. Deal with it. And if can’t read fast enough to follow along, or you get tired of reading…you’re really pathetic and just plain lazy.

And why the hell would you want to watch the movie dubbed in English? Why not just dub it yourself then?

I went out to dinner a few nights ago and recognized one of the restaurant’s patrons as a sorority girl who went to USC at the same time I was there (I’m not going to say she went to USC with me because that would imply that we were friends…I don’t want to be linked to slutty trash). She was with her male “friend”…which could mean anything nowadays…and was wearing a small T-shirt wrapped up so that her stomach was showing and a pair of tight jeans. Oh, and she accessorized her ho-bag outfit with a pair of tires coming out the waistband of her two-sizes-too-small jeans. That’s right: she was sporting a MUFFIN TOP. And no amount of pancake make-up or brown highlights was going to hide it.

I overhear a woman behind me whisper in Chinese, “that girl looks terrible.” Word, lady, word.

(I bet that girl lives on Drury Lane…please tell me someone got that joke because it was sheer genius on my part.)

I don’t have anything against sorority girls…what you people do with your money is your own business…but I do have a problem with bulging bellies that should be completely covered underneathe layers and layers of cloth, and then chained up with a big “Hazardous” sign attached to the front. It doesn’t matter who or what you are: if you’ve got a muffin top, you’re on my sh*t list.

What’s the deal, ladies? Whatever happened to taking care of our appearances? If the jean feels too tight, it probably is. But if it looks too tight, it most definitely is. And maybe your legs look great in those jeans you no longer fit in, and maybe your butt has never looked better…but no one is going to be noticing those assets if all they can see is your gut drooping off the sides.

And guys, what are you thinking? You’re probably right in assuming that this girl is really slutty and is going to great lengths to get your attention–and therefore you’re automatically guaranteed a one-night stand–but you’re banging a girl with a belly. And you know she doesn’t have an excuse for that belly other than that she is too lazy to exercise and she thinks she’s better looking than she really is…that’s not a lay worth bragging about. “Woah dude…I got with Fat Fannie…she’s easy…” Well duh…she’s got a nasty belly.

Remember this?

I have never used drugs…other than prescription medication prescribed directly to me by my doctor (Rush Limbaugh, you dirty bastard)…I’ve also never smoked before in my life. Except for the poppyseed muffins I had a few years ago, I’m 100% Drug Free…

But why am I so fortunate in this day and age of fornication and rampant substance abuse? I never got a “don’t do drugs” speech from my parents…but I did pass “D.A.R.E” in the 7th grade…not that I remember any of it…so I guess that doesn’t count.

I actually attribute my clean slate to my vanity. Pure and simple: I am so into my looks that I chose not to do drugs because I didn’t want to look like them:

Before and After Meth User Photos

There is nothing wrong with being thin, but there is when it is coupled with gaunt complexions and facial lesions.

That’s right…I stayed drug and smoke free, not because I wanted to be healthy, but because I didn’t want to look like a horrible mess of skin, stank, and broken blisters. That’s not a good look for anyone…unless your name is Flavor Flav. Because apparently, as long as you have some money and a VH1 camera crew in tow, you can have a massive herpes outbreak all over your body and you’d still get decent looking women. Albeit thick women…but to each his own.

My reason for being an Ideal Citizen is pretty bad…it kind of misses the point of all those public service announcements and after school specials: drugs can kill you, smoking doesn’t make you look cool, crack is whack…etc. But then again, I might have been ahead of my time.

Children nowadays are wrapped up in being adults…not just regular adults, but worshipped adults who set pop culture precedents (those Bratz dolls aren’t helping). And I think as long as children believe that being Paris Hilton is a career option, they’re less apt to care about the consequences of certain actions—like using drugs–and more about being a stupid used-up coochie woman who can’t talk her way about a DUI.

But what if you tell them that if they use drugs, they’ll end up looking more like Freddy Krueger than Freddie Prinze Junior (that was the only name I could come up with, okay)? With all those potholes and scabs on his face…facial deformities a prom king not maketh. And if you want to be sex symbol, you can’t go around looking like you’re necrophiliac bait.

See, hearing that makes my unborn child not want to use drugs either (because she is vain like me…even in egg form). It’s much more effective than “your days are numbered if you smoke meth Arr!”

NBC should seriously consider me for a PSA.

My desk…

My cats picking the best spot to nap.

I have long been aware that my body parts work together to help me stay alive because they know I am unable to do it on my own. I live on a staple diet of Cheetos and Oreo cookies, I don’t brush my hair, I sleep using my cat’s butt as a pillow, I rarely exercise, etc. etc. I am pretty much a hygiene disaster–thus my organs and parts have achieved identities and souls and are working hard to make me function properly…because if I go, well, they do too.

I realized this morning that my brain and bladder have made a pact to work as a team in getting me to go to the bathroom while I’m asleep, but without my having to urinate on myself. I guess they are upset because I have a tendency to hold my pee in for as long as possible. But I think the minute it takes me to use the bathroom is a waste of time, and can be put off until later…like when I’m on my way to the kitchen and the bathroom is along the way. I’m not going to get up from my desk or bed or couch to go…unless it’s an emergency…an “emergency” being where Niagra Falls has escaped the confines of my body and is breaking through Security Level 1 ( = my underwear). 

But a few years ago this habit of competing against nature’s call got revenge and bum-rushed me with a trip to the hospital for peeing blood. And I’m not talking yellow with tinges of red…it was red all the way, and I was positive I was going to die. (You would too if you peed blood and you weren’t even on your period…besides, those aren’t the same orifices.)

Turns out I had a serious urinary tract infection, and the bacteria had eaten away the linings of my bladder. Those bastard bacteria. Couldn’t they go talk to the yeast cells instead? I’d rather have a yeast infection instead of blood pee any day…because I’m really curious to know if the those one-day treatments actually work.

Anyway, I’m guessing since that incident my brain and bladder have taken the initiative to take me to the bathroom. Nowadays I go whenever I have to, but that’s when I’m awake…when I’m asleep is a different issue.

But last night and this morning I had three dreams where I really had to go to the bathroom, but I couldn’t find one anywhere. I don’t remember the first two dreams, but I do remember waking up and realizing that I was nearing emergency status. The third dream I had was of me driving to a supermarket at 10:00 PM, finding out they were closed, and going straight for their women’s room. But the stalls were taken, and as it was nearing my turn a supermarket employee ushered in some elderly men and women and told them to go ahead and use the open stalls. They had priority because they were handicapped or something…anyway, there must have been a million elderly people because no stalls were available and at some point I woke up.

Had a stall been available in my dream, I think I would have peed in bed. The funny thing is that in all three of my dreams a bathroom was never available for me to use–which leads me to believe that my brain purposely manipulated the dreams so that I would never have a toilet to use even though I really had to go. And as my brain was feeding me these crazy visions, my bladder was sending me those uncomfortable “time to go” notices. My brain and bladder are awesome.

Brain and Bladder Signing a Contract….

I know that a real bladder doesn’t look like a tear drop, but I didn’t want to do any research.

As we all know by now the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, passed away after he was stabbed in the heart by a sting ray barb. Even though he was able to remove the barb from his body, the poison had already spread through his heart and he died.

Not what I was expecting on Labor Day. For some reason, I thought the man was invincible since he made a living hanging out with dangerous animals. Subconsciously I think all people who run around doing things that could potentially kill them are immortal–so “death” and “Crocodile Hunter” didn’t end up in the same sentence in my head.

I have to admit I didn’t like his show. I thought it was boring and he was kind of annoying–always picking up snakes and poking at crocodiles. It’s just not my kind of entertainment. But reading about his passing was quite sad…you can’t help but feel a little bit gloomy whenever someone you’ve seen on television passes away before their time. Whether or not I liked his show doesn’t change the fact that pop culture is now less one figure.

So of course I’m going to have to comment on the sting ray barb to the heart thing because that’s what made headlines. Sure, he was the Crocodile Hunter, but I highly doubt that his death would have caused nearly as much furor if he had succumbed to a disease or a gunshot wound–you know, something normal. And how odd that the sting ray managed to hit the heart over all the other body parts. Of all the places the Crocodile Hunter could have been stabbed, it was his heart…the heart! An organ that doesn’t take up nearly as much space as a leg or an arm…that’s a once in a lifetime shot right there.

Initially, I thought how he died was terribly tragic and sad: the man was killed by a sting ray. Not cancer, old age, a murderer…he was killed by a sea animal that usually doesn’t attack humans unless it’s stepped on. And the bitter irony that follows is that the man dedicated his life to animals…so to be done in by one–seems kind of like a slap in the face, doesn’t it? Ungrateful sting ray.

But later on, as I thought about it more, I started to believe that if the Crocodile Hunter was going to die, then this was the best way for him to go. It was tailored perfectly to his life and what he stood for–if anything was going to do him in, then it should be an animal because that was his only weakness. It would seem less fitting, almost pussy, if he died from illness or a car accident…but death by a sting ray to a heart…that’s Gangsta.

While I find no pleasure in death, and I feel terribly sad for the small children the Crocodile Hunter left behind, I can’t help but admire him for leaving this Earth the way he did. If only we all could have perfectly-made passings to represent our lives as well.

Third Week of Law School (AKA: 1L Redeux)

I have to admit–despite being embarrassed when my classmates from last year ask me why I’m not in any of their 2L classes this year, there are a lot of great benefits to coming back as a do-over 1L. For one thing, I get to see the innocence and naivete I once had as an incoming student last year because the new students this year all reflect that same “virginal” aura. They complain about how hard the reading is, how nervous they become when being called on, and how they didn’t know the stuff on “Law & Order” wasn’t an accurate representation of a real legal environment. They are hesitant about using commercial outlines because their professors and their copy of the “Idiot’s Guide to Law School” cautioned against using them, and they think battery is a tort done negligently against another. They are fresh, well-dressed, straight-out-of-an-Abercrombie-catalogue kids, with perfect make-up and perfect hair…but all it takes is one more week and they’ll start looking like the worn-out, burnt-out, soulless zombies law school students are really meant to be.

That’s the nice, great thing about being a 1L again. The rest of the perks are purely ego-boosts. I have done quite well in my first writing assignments, some of which I didn’t even have to do because they were repeats from last year’s work so I just reprinted my old copies and changed the date from “2005” to “2006.” I also know the answers to most of the professors’ questions so I look like some sort of genius whenever I raise my hand. Little do they know that I’m just a fake. Mwahahaha.

However, having to hear lectures on stuff you already know is quite boring…this is especially true for my contracts class because it was my favorite class last year and I was well-prepared for it. So I’m basically hearing stuff I know verbatim…which can be physically and mentally taxing, but I try to mix it up by raising my hand and showing off.

…I have typed a conclusion paragraph and erased it multiple times, and now I’m getting tired so I’ll just end it here.