Christmas Loot

From Zach I received a fabulous three-quarters length black and white wool coat, a pour shield for my Kitchen-aid (there was a casualty earlier this Christmas season, my half-cup plastic measuring cup, as I tried to pour flour into the mixer without turning it off and without scattering flour all over the kitchen), a brown and green tea set, some speakers for my ipod, and a couple of DVDs.

He also got me a subscription to the Atlantic and Harper's, so I'll be up to date on the forefront of the literary and political worlds. My Uncle Mark got me a subscription to the New Yorker so I can pine for the days of 24-hour falafel.

From my parents I received a Christmas quilt tied by my mother. Zach received a tool set to augment his tool collection. They also gave us a cookbook, The Art of Simple Food, and the Stephen Colbert I Am America book.

Millie gave me pet toys, which Huck loooooves. Sarah gave me a melange of girly knickknacks. Laura gave me a dog training booklet and a Great Speeches CD. And Charlie gave me Glenn Beck's An Inconvenient Book.

I gave Zach an Ipod, some clothes, and a Keyboard instruction DVD. I gave my mom a down pillow and throw. I gave my dad and Laura moisture-wick, name-brand long-sleeved running shirts (I gave Laura earrings for her birthday). I gave Sarah Philosophy Cinnamon Buns shower gel and fancy lip gloss. I gave Millie a nice sweater from Express. I gave Charlie a funky American Apparel t-shirt that says "The Second Amendment" with a sketch of a guy with bear arms. I gave Melissa a set of white onesies, some cute embroidery patterns, t-shirt backing paper, and some embroidery floss.

Besides that, I'm currently following the wise Kindergarten maxim: If you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all.

At the Animal Shelter

Yoda, my cat, seems to have ticked off the neighbors a few houses down, who called animal control to pick him up yesterday afternoon. Part of me thinks that this is my comeuppance for not knowing my neighbors. Anyway, I would have been in utter panic in last night's fifteen degree weather had I not seen the Animal Control truck when I brought the dog home from his walk. I thought to myself, wouldn't it be funny if they were picking up Yoda, but I figured that he was pretty much uncatchable--he's not the nicest most domesticated of all house cats. This morning I called three minutes after the shelter opened and verified that, indeed, they had my cat, and shortly thereafter I set off with my carrier and some kitty treats.

I never fancied myself an animal lover. Even when we adopted Huck last month, I didn't think of myself as an animal lover. We got Yoda because Zach likes cats, and we got Huck because I like dogs. Turns out, I love Yoda, though. I think my inlaws are a little afraid to catsit him when we go out of town for fear of what I'd do if something happened to him. And I love Huck, even though he is not always obedient and even though he likes to chase Yoda. Sometimes I feel like I live in a zoo. I still don't feel like an animal person, but I love my animals.

Perhaps that is why the animal shelter was so disturbing. It is a clean, new looking, institutional building. The greeting room, termed "customer service" was a mini version of the DMV. There were four people in front of me in line, two service windows, and it still took twenty minutes to get to the front. And then I had to verify that the cat was mine and that he had had his rabies vaccinations. And then I had to wait another twenty minutes for them to bring the cat out.

I watched as a woman in her early twenties with a young daughter and a large, young black lab struggled to get in the door as the lab pulled every which way. She tried to push him into a sitting position and then just held the leash firmly so the dog couldn't explore the scraggly Christmas tree. "We took him to obedience school when he was a puppy but he just never learned," she told the woman at the counter. I thought of Huck, who is only obedient sometimes and who is so much more work than I ever could have imagined. I can tell you right now, though, Huck will never ever go to the animal shelter.

Another short man in sweatpants with greying hair surrendered two dogs. "They are very good dogs, very obedient. Good around kids, but not cats, never cats. They sit and stay and they're very good. You call me if you can't adopt them. I don't want them I don't want them put to sleep." "We have your phone number, sir, so we'll call if we can't find adopt them out. With this description, we have a rescue organization that will likely take custody."

And then, the man in his early forties with a dirty, orange keeshond or chow chow, Nika. He wore a University of Utah hat over his greying hair and he scowled, though I couldn't tell if he was angry or choking back tears. His dog staying close by him, occasionally sitting, much more subdued than the hyper lab. "He's find around me but I can't trust him around other people. He's bit other animals." I couldn't hear what the woman at the counter replied. "He bit a goat, do I need to put that?" And then "I'm not going to sign this form. It says here at the bottom I don't have to sign it, and I'm not going to sign it." He wouldn't leave Nika behind the window with the office workers, "I wouldn't trust her back there." He dragged her to the door that led to the euthanasia area. A well-coiffed, overly made up cat-adopter (who I don't like because she wouldn't accept my offer of a whiskas treat for her new fluffy kitten) asked "Are you giving that dog up?" "No, I'm putting him to sleep," he spat. He took the leash and the collar from the dog and the animal worker attached another one. "Would you like to come back and hold her?" the worker asked. "No" he responded and walked away. Nika gazed at him as he left. And I started crying.

Insanity

My life right now is too hectic to be enjoyed. I'm paying the price for procrastination and puppy-time over the past month. My schedule for the first three weeks of December looks like this:

December 6 Oral argument at the Ninth Circuit in behalf of a civilly committed sex offender who was given an antiandrogen that caused severe osteoporosis. For this I have a practice oral argument today at 5, Monday morning, and all day Wednesday. Also, unlike my tax grade, this impacts someone besides myself.

December 10 Tax final. I haven't read for tax since September. The class is four credits. Kill me now.

December 13 State and Local Government final. Ditto on the reading, though I have actually paid attention in this class so I feel a little better about it. Also, it is multiple choice. Which, I guess, who knows.

December 18 Ethics final. Also multiple choice. Also I have a twelve-page "reflection" about "professionalism" in the legal world due this day.

December 12 now, but will be moved to the 21, my final opinion for Supreme Court is due. It's the Guantanamo detainee cases. One of the main questions is whether the writ of habeas corpus would have extended to the detainees in 1789. Fun.

As I write this I've been up already for an hour and a half feeding, bathrooming, and playing with my dog. There is at least six inches of snow on the ground and its falling fast. It feels like a day for drinking hot cocoa and reading mystery novels. I hope it snows like this in about three weeks.

Thankful

Today I am thankful.

I have to make 100 rolls (2 Thanksgivings + helping out a neighbor) and I'm going to make some Kale, Butternut Squash ragout for dinner tonight. But I love cooking and have a lovely kitchen, so good.

My husband HATES Huck because he doesn't do any tricks and he's a lot of work. (Hello, he's a baby!) But if I take care of him I get to keep him. And he's adorable. And learning some tricks. At least we don't have an actual baby, right?

I'm way behind in school, and the dog isn't making it any easier. But I have three weeks until my first final, so plenty of time to learn the ins and outs of the Federal Income Tax code.

I have a hard time being completely grateful for anything. There is always a downside. But I truly am grateful for friends, family, puppy, and school.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Huckleberry Finn Wears Me Out

This is Huck, my new puppy. Names are hard, and I hope I don't regret this one like I do my cat's name. My grey/brown tabby is named Yoda because when he was a baby he had ear mites so his ears were flat, like Yoda. He did not grow up to be wise or green, though, so the name doesn't quite work. Also, a little mitricide and his ears were no longer flat. My little sister came up with Huckleberry Finn for the dog. She also came up with Moby, which is our second choice, but this dog does not seem quite sad enough for Moby. I thought maybe Puck, from A Midsummer's Night Dream, but I think the well-intentioned mischief of Huck Finn describes this guy a little better.

Huck is thirteen weeks old and he reminds me more of a two-year-old kid than of, say, my very low-maintenance cat, who, by the way, is Not. Thrilled. with the new addition to the household. In fact, if the dog so much looks in his direction, he hisses. Splendid. So much of my dream of having them cuddle up by the fire together.

Huck requires constant attention to make sure that he does not chew things that he is not supposed to chew. Like the television cord (now safely coated with Bitter Apple), law review articles (though I think Huck might be putting them to their highest and best use), and novels (Cry, the Beloved Country! is now merely the Beloved Country!). He has also found some old change and document clips to chew.

In order to combat our little guy's destructive side, I take him on a half-mile jog/walk in the morning and I take him outside to visit the neighbor dogs (and "eliminate") a few times a day. This makes him pretty tired, which makes my life considerably easier. I can actually get things done when he's asleep rather than chasing chew toys all over the house.

I have to say, all this work does not make having kids look good.

Best Birthday Ever

I love good food. I spent this summer eating at nice restaurants in New York: Babbo, Gramercy Tavern, Union Square Cafe, L'Atelier, etc. I haven't had a meal like those since I went to Gotham Bar & Grill for my farewell lunch. So for my birthday, Zach decided to take me to Log Haven, a New American restaurant up Millcreek Canyon, and it was divine.

Our waitress was a little condescending but very helpful. After determining that we had never been to Log Haven before and that we were not going to be imbibing, she started describing things in elementary detail. I wanted to interrupt her and say "yeah, I know what mascarpone cheese is," but I thought it might be rude and she seemed to be having fun.

Zach's dinner:
Jumbo Lump Crabcake
Roast Long Island Duck Breast
Crispy Crepe Napoleon

My Dinner:
Roasted Red and Yellow Beet Carpaccio
Seared Rare Ahi
Pistachio Semifreddo

My dinner was an A+, while Zach's was more of an A-. The crabcakes were good, but a little rich and kind of fishy. But my salad, which the waitress described as "pretty basic", was perfect. Beets, pine nuts, and a garnishment of Humboldt Fog goat cheese. My seared tuna was served over rice with some incredible soy/wasabi sauce. It tasted more like sushi courtesy of Chef Yasuda than the actual sushi we got at Tsunami last month. I dream of tuna like that. Zach liked his duck but HATED the rapini mixed in. He picked it out, and enjoyed the rest of the dish. Dessert was fab, of course. Interesting and well-presented.

Zach really outdid himself for the birthday this year. On my actual birthday he made eggplant parmesan, bought me a necklace and earrings from the Sundance Catalog, and we watched The Royal Tenebaums, one of my favorite movies. Then Log Haven last night. And today, today we got Huckleberry Finn, our new dog.

Things That Cheered Me Up

I woke up with a splitting headache and there was no ibuprofen in my house. I think it was caused by thinking about when to hyphenate compound adjectives (always, I say, but others disagree). After realizing I was hopelessly behind in tax, I went to the bookstore to buy a study guide, but they were out of the kind I like. I bought a Diet Coke, some Cheddar goldfish, and a caramel. I forgot to buy tabs for my Federal Income Tax Code and Regulations book. It's over 2000 pages. I need tabs.

In the effort to ward off an entirely disastrous day, I drank another Diet Coke, which violated my 24 oz. maximum rule. I also made a list of things that cheer me up.

1. My New York offer? Open through the end of my clerkship. Yay! Nearly two more years until I have to formally decide whether to move!

2. A birthday email from my motherinlaw. That wished me a happy birthday. Today. My birthday is tomorrow. This blunder wouldn't have really made me laugh--after all she was only one day off and the only reason I remember my motherinlaw's exact birthday is because it is the day before my mother's. Except it reminded me that for the first five years I knew my husband, she thought my birthday was November 26. I didn't figure it out until my husband's aunt called to wish me a happy birthday and told me where her information came from. I always just thought she procrastinated sending the card!

3. Due to daylight savings time + my husband leaving for work at 7:00 instead of 8:00, it felt like my first class was at 10:20. My husband has to wear business casual not jeans+ to work these days. That also cheers me up.

4. When my husband had a church meeting at our house last night, they spent at least ten minutes discussing how nice my house is. If you want to win me over (or Zach for that matter), say nice things about our house. We spent months picking out the perfect floor plan (and then even modified it further), colors, furniture, wall decor, etc. When I had a party with my cousins last month, my cousin and his friend spent a lot of time telling me how nice my house is. They said words to the effect of "your house looks like a magazine." I can't be sure, but I think they were sucking up. It worked.

I Listen to Opera

My mother thinks I'm an insufferable snob for this. She and my father love going to the theater to see musicals and plays, but the opera? Never. I've only been to an actual opera once, in high school, to a production of Carmen on a rehearsal night. I had an obstructed view.

I first realized I loved opera when I saw Merchant Ivory's production of A Room with a View a few years after my first opera experience. While Lucy experiences the freedom of the Italian countryside, O mi babbino caro plays in the background. Sublime.

This summer I sat next to my partner mentor at casino night. When another partner asked where I was from, and I told him, my partner mentor interjected, "Wow, when you say that, people must look at you like you just said you were from Zimbabwe or something." Right, like that.

Her next story was about a contestant on the British American Idol who sang an opera aria that was so compelling that even though the kid's voice kind of sucked, he wasn't voted off the show. "It was that aria, that famous tenor aria, umm Nessun Dorma, in in, I don't remember the opera." "Turnadot. By Puccini." I replied. At that point, she actually did look at me like I was from Zimbabwe.

Contradictions

Today I sent my MPRE scores to the New York Bar. Then I spent the afternoon planting perennials in my garden.

Why I Am Going to Fail the MPRE

Maybe because I don't want to be a lawyer after all.

But I do want to be a lawyer. Sort of. I'm coming to terms with the fact that it is looking more and more unlikely that I will ever be the Best Lawyer in the World. The next step from there doesn't seem very clear. I told my favorite professor that maybe it was time to get on with living my stupid little life. He told me to move to New York.

Anyway, I'm thinking of starting a blog. This blog. Where I will talk about . . . me. Everyone likes to hear about me, right? Well, I amuse myself anyway.

The problem is I have kind of disperate interests. For instance, I imagine that not many of my putative readers care at all about my opinion on whether it was legal for George W. Bush to write an informal memo requesting that the Texas court provide another hearing to a double murderer in order to comply with the Optional Protocol of the Vienna Convention. (I'm not certain, but I think it was.)

But those who do probably don't care about the most incredible dulce de leche I made last Sunday. Or my plan to create a nice picture collage for the wall above the piano. Or my dilemma about whether to adopt the Great Pyrenees-Border Collie mix puppie that Z and I saw at at the pet store on Tuesday.

And, really, I'm pretty sure that every single person that I know in real life is completely sick of hearing about how hard it is to decide whether to take my Vault-5 job offer in New York City for after my clerkship next year.

So. We'll see about the blogging. I've tried this before and it's never worked out.