Me In A Pink Tree

Me in a pink tree. No explanation needed.

You may have noticed the t-shirt I am wearing. Yes, it does say Westlaw. And yes, this means that just like this year’s Libel Show, I have officially sold out . And do you know what? I doesn’t feel as bad as all those hipsters make it out to be. I mean, while all the cool kids are going out and spending hundreds of dollars to advertise for companies like Lacoste and Abercrombie and Finch, I am advertising for free. It just makes more sense to let the people who benefit from the publicity front the bill. In fact it makes such sense that I, in my usual fashion of taking my arguments to its ultimate and often absurd conclusion, have decided to completely overhaul my entire wardrobe with free clothing. That is right, if your organization is giving out free t-shirts, let me know, and I will gladly pick one up. I already have a good start, what with my ‘Hoo Crew shirt, my Diversity Pledge shirt, Section J’s softball jersey, and that shirt I got for volunteering for the Admitted Students Weekend. The plan is that by the end of my three years here, I will not have a piece of clothing that does not have the words “University of Virginia” on it or otherwise sport that oh-so-fashionable orange V. I don’t think the plan is to far-fetched either, considering how eager groups are here to give me free shirts.

The one disappointing exception was the libel show, which did not provide their volunteer ushers with those red tops that were on display for so long. Instead, they gave us the opportunity to buy the shirts for three dollars. $3? Please don’t insult me. Ok, $3 is pretty cheap, but lets look at the competition: Admitted Students Weekend Volunteers—free shirts, North Grounds Softball Volunteers—free shirts. Sorry Libel Show, nice try.

Speaking of the Libel Show, despite the high price for volunteer shirts, I greatly enjoyed the program. It really was quite funny, and almost met the standard of UVa humor set by this very blog. If I were to award a “Best Actor” award to someone in the cast, I would have to give it to Socially Insensitive Girl: her performance was so convincing, and I felt so akin to that guy who received no call-backs that I actually felt a well of hatred for her boiling up inside of me and I had to consciously remember the mediator’s reminder to not throw things at the stage. Moving. The one complaint I do have (besides the shirts), is that I was really long. Three and a half hours? come on. Oh sure, it was funny, but a skit show that long, much like making an over-inflated double album (a’hem RHCP), is bound to have some filler, such as that Buddhist Biker Bar Song. I mean, I got that The Buddhist Biker is a bar just like “Cheers” in the first 10 seconds. I didn’t need the whole song. Ok, but now I am getting too critical. The Libel Show was great. 4 1/3 stars out of 5.

Juiced v. Ligers, 10-7

Section J’s second softball game went down today against our Con Law rivals, section I who, in a show of not only terrible spelling, but also the inability to realize that it is no longer 2003, is named the Ligers. Although the Ligers started off strong with four runs in the top of the first, Section Juiced was able to quickly snatch back the lead by the end of the inning. After a few more innings of back and forth runs and an umpire who defended this assertion that even pitches (not mine, of course) that hit our batter were still strikes, Juiced emerged victorious with a final score of 10-7. This win vaulted us into first place (we are the only team in the league who has had 2 games so far). I am also pleased to announce to all of those who think I am merely a defensive player or that pitchers shouldn’t bat, I am still batting 1000.

What Does Mexico Have To Do With My Week?

Now that the deep and cold winter lassitude has lifted from the slumbering hamlet of Charlottesville, UVa is becoming more and more active. Unfortunately, most of said activity revolved around a group of highly-stressed 1Ls frantically scrambling to get those library printers to create their red title pages so they could finish their brief on time, and in my case, also included this particular 1L frantically scrambling to finish his genetics paper on time—even though, the words ‘highly-stressed’ and ‘frantic’ did not really apply in my case for, I coming from a place where the winter lassitude never lifts, I have developed the ability to adopt a wonderful sense of apathy towards a great many things.

Other activities this week include softball, which I have already mentioned, admitted students weekend, where I got to stand in the rain for an hour at 8:00AM, just so I could tell a couple of misdirected students that, “no, you are not allowed to park in this lot,” and our wards “Many Nations” party, where members all brought food from all over the world and we gathered together to happily gorge ourselves on the tastes of the globe (and gorge ourselves we did). Concerning this last activity, I could not help but be reminded of the last such activity, where I was commissioned by my ward in Edmonton to design and man the Mexican table. Sufficiently nostalgic, I looked back trough the dusty files of my computer and was able to find the poster that I created for that event, which I thought was quite clever. (I pretty much think that everything I write is quite clever—hence this blog) Anyway, I have reproduced it below in Internet form, so that you all can enjoy with me my wit and intelligence:

Fifteen Mexicans You Should Know (In Case You Ever Meet Them)

Name: Quetzalcoatl
AKA: The feathered Serpent
Important Dates: Born, ~947 AD
Is Famous As: the white and bearded God that outlawed human sacrifices, much to the dismay of the Aztec priests who believed that without daily human sacrifices, the sun would go out. Often confused with Spanish conqueror, Hernan Cortés.

Name: Montezuma II
Important Dates: Born, 1466
Is Famous As: the last Aztec emperor. Conquered many rival tribes and had a penchant for looting, taxation and murder in the name of religious sacrifices to his favorite God, Huitzilopochtli. He mistook Cortés to be a God and invited him to stay in his fathers palace. Died of stoning, either by the Spanish or Aztecs (depends who you ask).

Name: Eagle
Important Dates: Founding of Tenochtitlan, 1325; Appears on Flag, 1821
Is Famous For: helping the Aztecs found their city. According to Aztec ledged, the Gods told the people to settle where they see an eagle standing on a cactus eating a snake. Unfortunately, they saw the sign in the middle of a lake, but they built their city (present day Mexico City) anyways.

Name: La Malinche
AKA: La Chingada, but don’t call her (or anyone else) this to her face
Important Dates: Born, 1505
Is Famous As: the native princess who betrayed the Aztecs and joined Cortés, serving as his interpreter and mistress. Is the mother of the first Mexican (born of both Spanish and Native parents). Feel free to call any Mexican who betrays you Malinche to leave a powerful impression.

Name: The Virgin of Guadalupe
Important Dates: Appeared, 1531
Is Famous As: the patron saint of Mexico who represents the blending of Spanish and Aztec cultures. Appeared to the native, Juan Diego and, in an innovative printing technique, used rare Spanish roses to imprint her image onto his poncho, which can still be seen in La Basilica de Guadalupe.

Name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
Important Dates: Born, 1651
Is Famous As: one of the most important Mexican authors, who composed hundreds of poems, stories and plays. Was a gifted child became a nun because of the limited carriers available for women at the time, but spent her days reading, picking fights with world-famous theologians and generally infuriating her superiors.

Name: Miguel Hidalgo
Important Dates: Began War of Independence, Sept 15, 1810
Is Famous As: the father of Mexican Independence. Called the peasants to arms by ringing his town’s church bell, thereby beginning the long struggle for independence and making the bell a national symbol, (for which Taco Bell is grateful).

Name: Benito Juarez
Important Dates:Elected President, 1858
Is Famous As:the most loved president of Mexico. In an amazing display of progressiveness, Mexico elected Juarez as the first Full-blooded Native President in America. As President he reformed the constitution and defeated the French in the battle of Puebla, which we now celebrate on Cinco de Mayo.

Name: Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna
Important Dates: Elected President, 1833, 1841, 1847, 1850 etc…. (total. 11 times)
Is Famous As: the most hated president of Mexico. The villain of the Alamo, the scoundrel who sold over half of Mexico to the USA and an all-around nutcase (for example, he lost his leg in battle and had an elaborate—and expensive—military funeral for it).

Names: Emilano Zapata and Pancho Villa
Important Dates:Mexican Revolution, 1910
Are Famous As: two of the most important Mexican revolutionaries. In the North, Villa lead a poorly equipped army of mercenaries and criminals and in the south, Zapata lead an army of peasants with machetes. Surprisingly, both were defeated, but not before they were able to make a profound impact that led to more peasant-friendly laws.

Names: Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera
Important Dates: famous, ~1920s
Are Famous As: Mexico’s most famous husband and wife artists, although the term “marriage” should be used loosely because both had more affairs than famous paintings. Were quite eccentric and active communists. They hosted Trotsky during his exile and he was killed in their house with an ice pick (presumably imported from Russia).

Name: Subcomadante Marcos
Important Dates: Beginning of EZLN uprising, 1994
Is Famous As:the mysterious spokesperson for the Zapatista National Liberation Army. A masked, pipe-smoking, lyrical, philosophical, web-savvy, post-modern revolutionary who uses more ink than bullets to fight for indigenous rights in southern Mexico, and has recently began publishing children’s books.

Name: Chivas Vs. Club America
Are Famous As: The biggest soccer rivalry this side of the Atlantic. If you thought the Oilers and the Flames were rivals, most games between these competitors usually ended in a riot and at least one death. So next time you’re the lone fan wearing an Oilers Jersey in the Saddledome, be glad you don’t have to be worried about being beaten with a corner flag.

Name: Felipe Calderon
Important Dates: Elected President, 2006
Is Famous As: The current president of Mexico, whose election was so controversial that he was rapidly sworn in while the legislatives were (literally) duking it out in the National Palace. Succeeded President Fox, whose landmark election ended over 70 years of corrupt, single-party rule

Name: Randal Miller
Important Dates: Mission, Mexico City South, 2001-2003
Is Famous As: the creator the Mexican Booth at International Flag Day, 2005. OK, maybe he isn’t actually Mexican, but, aside from being the best looking on this list he’s probably the only one you will actually meet.

Softball's Back

Spring is in the air. The temperature is rising (to a whole 26 degrees Celsius yesterday), the trees are budding and North Grounds Softball is back. That’s right—its time to dust off the ‘ol Juiced Jersey, import that glove you have been using since little league from Canada, grab a six pack of beverage with whatever alcohol content that you deem appropriate, and head over to Copley Field for some slow-pitching action. I know I’m ready, and have been working on my “Corner Gas” style pitching—especially Brent’s signature pitch: the Fried Green Tornado.

Section Juiced sailed to a comfortable victory over their first opponent of the year, Lobster Clause, a team who, believe it or not, actually drinks more than Section J. I do really have to commend them for their amazing spirit, which even included theme songs for all of their players. I am going to say though, that they should be glad that our team decided not to hang a big K every time I struck one of them out, as they did, or they would have been mighty embarrassed.

Oh, am I every glad that softball is back—it’s like my blog has regained something that it had lost last November. A special piece of its soul nestled close to its heart.

Spring Break!!! Party!!!

Spring Break, Wooooo!

Time for sun, sand and drunken women mindlessly flashing passerbys, and the occasional cameramen shooting videos that include in their titles the words, ‘girls,’ ‘wild,’ and usually some sort of verb to connect them. So, being the wild type myself, I took my newly arrived wife off in search of topless women, or at least a few skimpy bikinis (and maybe some thongs for the misus). My search lead me to Colonial Williamsburg with my Grandparents, where I was hoping there might be some sort of “Hotties of the Eighteenth Century” colander being shot, but much to my dismay, it turns out that women in the 1700s had a tendency to not flash or wear bikinis, but rather suit up in floor-length dresses and bonnets. Not willing to let this temporary setback deter me, I started throwing beads at suitable patrons, hoping that, although it was neither Tuesday an I am not particularly fat, the ‘ol marti gras trick would be universally recognized enough to secure my desired results in the largest of the thirteenth colony. It isn’t. In a last ditch effort to see some action, I took the lead myself and started flashing tourists at the blacksmith and outside of the wheel maker’s shop, trying to get the ball rolling. Unfortunately, my public display was not well received and I was escorted at the point of a couple of plastic bayonets to the public goals, and tired alongside a suspected witch. The witch was found innocent when she was tossed into nearby lake and sank like a stone, but I found guilty creating a public mischief and indecent exposure of an ankle, wrist or midsection and was sentenced to three weeks in the stocks. Theresa was also found guilty of attempted conspiracy with a captured prisoner. The tale of my escape is a long and adventuresome one, but a magician never reveals his tricks and I will leave this part out of this tale. (And yes to all those who have picked up the references, I have been watching Arrested Development.)

Needless to say, by quest was never accomplished, and I was unable to appear in any videos with either ‘girls’ or ‘wild’ in the title. Some of my other failed attempts this week included trips to the downtown mall art galleries and used bookstores, playing Bocce at McIntire Park, Shopping at Short Pump and Target, hanging various pictures and artwork in our apartment (for some reason, Theresa preferred wedding pictures and framed art to tattered posters of Che Guevara) and Dining at The Cheesecake Factory and that Mexican place that I tried to convince Section J to try a few months ago. (And yes, it is by far the best Mexican food in Charlottesville—it’s called “Aqui Es Mexico” for anyone interested and is kind of tricky to find). Other than these notable bursts of excitement, spring break has been a pretty low-key holiday for the Miller household that involved plenty of lounging and absolutely no journal tryouts. (Why? Because I didn’t want to). As for school, I’m still plugging away. I am happy to announce that my summer plans are no longer a big, scary question mark in my future, for I have been offered a position as a research assistant with Professor Riley, whose research interest is in bioethics—the very field I am most interested in. So I’m very excited about that.

Good night and good luck,
rm

Observations...

Because Theresa was scheduled to arrive in the Old Dominion last night, I did not plan on writing a blog post today. But since Mother Nature decided to kick me while I’m down with one of those sharply pointed shoes that have been in style (cruel women are always impeccably fashionable) by sending Minneapolis a snowstorm that canceled my wife’s incoming flight, I am spending Sunday morning alone one more time. So, not having thought of a brilliant idea on which to write, I will fly this one like a blind pilot and list five random and completely pointless observations I have made of late:

1. Law School interviews bear an uncanny resemblance to speed dating: I mean, you are forced to sit across the table from a complete stranger for 20 minutes, force out a conversation about the weather, try your best to feign interest in each others hobbies and then hope to get a call in the next few days. (Yes, this observation does mean I have speed dated. No, I did not meet my wife this way. And yes, speed dating is as completely worthless and agonizing as it sounds.)

2. I don’t know if anyone else who aimlessly wanders the dark bowels of the Law School at night (Grogan?) has noticed this before, but one night after my Genetics class finished watching Gattaca, I heard a muffled cheer from a dimly-lit conference room near my locker. Upon investigation, I discovered a surprisingly large number of Law Students huddled around the table playing Magic: The Gathering. Or at least I think they were law students, but judging from the shady nature of the gathering, they just as probably could have been the mole people of Jennifer Toth’s underground cities, come up for a little air. I mean, I didn’t see that club’s table at the activities fair.

3. Our fellow law students are completely wasting that flat panel TV that is set up so enticingly in the library’s group study room. Whenever I walk past the room after staring at my textbooks for hours, I hope to see someone in their basking in the soft glow of daytime programming that I could join for a study break. But alas, the room is always occupied by one or more students quietly studying (an act that could very well be accomplished in a room with no television), the remote control resting unused on the table and that large, beautiful screen completely black.

4. I have noticed with a hint of satisfaction that public washrooms are the great levelers of society. Whether you are the CEO of a fortune 500 company or a humble sewage diver (I recently watched a program on the world’s worst jobs), if you are at the movies and nature calls, you’ve got to use the same dirty crapper as the next guy. Kind of makes you feel nice inside, in a socialist kinda way.

5. At the risk of sounding overly frugal, I would like to point out that there seems to be an awful lot of fundraisers at a school that costs so much I’ve heard rumors that next year’s tuition will include signing away your first born child. $50 for beer pong? You can’t squeeze blood from a stone! But then again, I am probably underestimating the number of students whose Daddy pays for their school, have already made their first million or are already counting on those big paychecks that are dangled in front of us like the dollar on the cover Nirvana’s “Nevermind”. I am especially baffled that UVa Law churns out enough bake sales to fuel an obesity epidemic. I would complement the school on it’s mastery of the domestic arts, but more than half of the products sold come in a package that says “Krispy Kreme,” or “Harris Teater” on the side. I you love your club so much, roll up your sleeves and do a little work—a batch of cookies takes less than 20 minutes to prepare.

6. I hate Con Law. OK, that was six observations, but it had to be said.

Happily Ever After

It’s Done. Hallelujah.

I’m so happy I could vomit.

Theresa Miller is now officially the proud owner of a shiny new American Immigrant Visa. After months of waiting and the expenditure of more dollars that I like to think about, it is all over. The sad part is that after all that waiting, spending, and more than one harrowing journey across the continent, the entire process culminated in a five minute interview. That’s right, we waited four eight excruciating months and flew through blizzardy torrents over Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario and Quebec, just so Theresa can go sit in a small room for five minutes while a consulate officer quickly skims the documents that cost us our fare share of blood and sweat, more than or fair share of tears (Theresa’s of course, I’m to manly to show that kind of emotion), and perhaps just a milligram of begging in order to give her a little stamp in her passport, send her on her way and call in the next applicant.

Oh well, I am just so overjoyed and relieved that everything went well and our separation is finally behind us, I don’t care how anticlimactic the process was. So, for anyone who was beginning to doubt the American immigration policy that lets thousands of illegal immigrants across its borders every year but strictly forbids entry to a young and harmless girl from visiting her husband simply because she was too honest to lie to the port officer, you can take solace in this outcome. The process does work—kind off.

My immigration problems don’t end her, though, and it looks like my next challenge might be even more difficult than my first. Now I have to put my bureaucrat-fighting skills to work trying to register my car in Virginia. Aye…

Well, I don’t really know what to say now: one of the main topics of my blog is finished and I don’t really have too much more to write. I suppose all of you can get back to checking out all of the other web pages that you brose during class time, whether it’s CNN, the Onion, Pitchfork Media (my personal favorite) or, in Sam’s case, other sites that I will not mention because my family reads this blog. Or should I say my family used to read this blog, since “Adventures in a Strange and Distant Land” has officially come to a close.

Yes, of course I am joking. Someone who thinks so highly of his wit and ingenious sentence structuring would defiantly not stop posting on his blog simply because he has absolutely nothing more to say.

Especially when he had nothing to say to begin with.

See you soon

A Guest Blogger Means You Don't Have to Listen to Me (as much)

You can tell it’s Valentines when just about every organization in the western world either sells roses, candy-grams (or any other kind of love-themed gram), or allow computers to take the jobs of well-meaning aunts everywhere and attempt to match you up with your perfect mate. (I personally didn’t participate in this last activity, for ever since that year where I was accidentally listed as a girl I haven’t trusted my intimate details to a scan-tron). In truth, though, I have never really treated February fourteenth to be any different from the thirteenth, or the twelfth. That is, until now.

This Valentines Day, I have opened my blog to a special guest author. Hot of the presses and more anticipated then The Arcade Fire’s next album, I am proud to present the sequel to Bailey Miller’s highly successful book “All About Love,” which delighted readers worldwide and inspired a film by the same name (this being a documentary made by your own humble author for his wedding reception). For those of you who aren’t well enough read to recognize this work, I have reproduced it in its entirety below:

All About Love:
By Bailey, Illustrated by Bailey

Some people are in love. My brother is in love
Don’t forget love; you can never forget love
Wow! Being in love is hard. Yes, it is hard
Even getting married, buying all those things
I like food. Food is yummy
Food is Important; you can never forget food
Mmm, carrots
Can love be in the sea? No
In the park? No
Ring Pop
Whatever your name is, you will always get married
Yes! They kissed! The End. Kiss!

And now, part two:

All About Love: Version 2
Writing by: Bailey Miller

Once upon a time, there was two people named Randy and Theresa. They Lived in a Castle



Family



Wow! Wrong story
[This is a joke: Bailey tricked us by making us think that she was going to write a story about Theresa and I having a baby. A situation which will not be occurring any time soon, I can assure you. For one thing, I think that the couple actually has to be in the same country to have a baby together]



Love is love and you respect it! Now, love is when two people fall in LOVE



Kids can't fall in love! They're not old enough!



A message from the government of Canada: Canada Rocks!

About the author: she is seven years old. She has four siblings

To end, I just want to say to my dear and sweet wife, Theresa: I love you.

That is all

Dia De Juicio

February marches on, Feb Club marches on, firm receptions marches on, and my continual streak of unending work marches on. I am not complaining, though, because this semester’s schedule is a carefully orchestrated plan designed to get all my work out of the way before my dear sweat wife makes her triumphant return to the US of A in a week or so in her most daring mission to date American Eagle II: Judgment Day (or AE:II, for those of you who prefer speaking in the often confusing language of acronyms). This hastily created and entirely unimagitive title, which sounds like the name of a horrible Hollywood sequel, refers to Theresa’s Visa interview that is scheduled this very Thursday. The preparations are (barely) complete, and our stalwart heroine is ready to make the cross-country flight to Montreal (where the only consulate that processes immigrant visas is located), stay overnight, brave the mean streets of Canada’s second-largest and first-most-hip city, and face down the consulate officer in a battle of the wits (only to have to fly all the way home because of the office’s strict policy of mailing the Visa to one’s home). Everyone wish her luck, although our case is straightforward enough that there should be no problem securing her permanent residency.

As for me, and returning to my previously mentioned semester plan, Thursday just happens to be the very last day of my rewarding yet arduous Genetics and the Law course, and on Friday the bulk of this semester’s only Legal Research and Writing assignment is due, leaving me with a much reduced course-load for the half of the semester that Theresa will actually be here for. The bonus, if anything is needed to sweeten the pot, is that I will only have three, count ‘em, three exams this term. So, to recap: now I have an above average workload and a markedly below average love life—soon I’ll have a below-average workload and a markedly above average love life. A pretty good setup if you ask me.

This weekend was particularly busy since I decided to participate in the Dillard Fellow (read: Legal Research and Writing Teacher Assistant) tryouts, which consisted of editing a student memo that was so incredibly badly written that I am sure that if the author was an actual student, he would have had to have used some extremely sophisticated method to hack in to LSAC and change his grades enough to get himself accepted into any law school, let alone UVa. The tryout also required a statement of intent. Below is reprinted an portion of my actual statement:

“I am a grammar geek. I have a favorite punctuation mark: it’s the full colon. I can spot a comma splice from fifty yards away. My pet peeve is people who say “quote” when they really mean “quotation.” I attempt to write 500 word sentences—grammatically correct ones, of course—just for fun. I have a special green pen that I use exclusively for editing (red sends too much of a negative message). I formatted my blog’s softball write-up like a legal memo. And I would love to be a Dillard Fellow. I have wanted to be one since my first day of Legal Research and Writing, and I truly hope that I am offered the position.”

Comments

I have changed the settings so that anyone can post comments, regardless of whether or not you have a blogspot account, and I encourage all to do so, partly so that you can voice your own two cents, but mostly to feed my own self-aggrandizing sense of self-worth that is so caught up in other peoples opinions that if I don't get any feedback, I just might end up with a serious eating disorder--I haven't decided which one yet, but I'm currently leaning towards hyperphagia.

West Coast Boyz! (Or East if you so desire)

VRS

I might just be another one of those nutcase conspiracy theorists who come up with crazy ideas like that George W. was elected by a secret plan laid out by the ultra-conservative cheese lobby (we don’t want France’s namby-pamby gourmet cheeses forcing hearty Wisconsin cheese out of the market, do we?), but I think I smell another East-Coast, West Coast gang war in the music industry. Only this time, its not going to be competing rap labels who will be popping caps at each other, but rather those art-schooling, clarenet-playing indie-rockers who will be involved in this decades turf wars—and not just any indie rockers, Canadian indie rockers.

That’s right. Over the past few years, I have been studying the patterns closely and have come to realize that the Canadian indie rock scene is sharply divided into two main camps, roughly divided by their latitudes. These factions involve bands that intermingle frequently, forming new bands together and collaborating on albums, but rarely, if ever does a band member from one coast play together with a member from the other. This, in my humble opinion is a recipe for an eventual turf war that has the potential to leave Canada without many of its most prized musicians (no, not Avril Lavige).

So who are in these gangs? Well, the head of the East Coast is none other than Broken Social Scene. I mean, when there are 20+ members in a rock band, you know there is going to be trouble. Other affiliated groups include, to name a few: Feist, Metric, Apostle of Hustle, Do Make Say Think, Valley of the Giants, Stars, Emily Haines, Memphis, The Most Serene Republic, Jason Collet, Amy Milan and The Dears. Notice how members of these bands seem to intermingle. Yet, have you ever heard of Amy Milan play with The New Pornographers, who just happen to be the ringleaders of her West Coast rivals? Oh no, the New Pornos are too busy gallivanting about with the likes of Destroyer, Neko Case, Wolf Parade, Frog Eyes, Sunset Rubdown, Hot Hot Heat, Swan Lake, Bell Orchastre, and The Arcade Fire. Again, these bands intermingle and have a sound quite distinct from the East’s social scene.

Now, it’s possible that these two factions will learn to co-exist peacefully, but I’m willing to bet if the Pornos ever walks out of a Vancouver bar late at night and sees Kevin Drew (of BSS) hangin’ in their turf, there is going to be some major violence erupting, indie-rock style.

Oh, and if anyone cares about my two cents, I’d put my money on Broken Social Scene emerging victorious, mostly because of their seemingly infinite line-up, but also because I think Emily Haines will be two much for the Pornos to handle. Sorry guys.

Let a Geneticist Into Your Genes

As I lay in my bed after church attempting to have a short nap, which despite my great fatigue was ultimately a failed endeavor, I pondered on what glimpse I might provide into my increasingly uneventful stint in the Old Dominion, I realized that I effectively have no life. The thing is, I cannot complain too much about my sad state of affairs because, in the immortal words of Radiohead: “[I] do it to [my]self, [I] do. That’s what really hurts. [I] do it to [my]self, just [me], [me] and no one else.”

But how has this happened? I’m pretty hip, right? I could get some (strictly platonic) action, couldn’t I? The answer, my friends, is yes—yes I could. However, last fall, I was tempted by that wily short-term class devil, who lured me into its grasp with a light end to the semester and no exam, only to bind me with the silken cords of an extremely arduous schedule with classes that begin on most days at 9:00 AM and end on all days at 6:15 from Jan 22 until Feb 15, which unfortunately for me, is the exact time period that I am currently experiencing. This means that while my section-mates are wining and dining at law firm receptions and preparing for one of the daily Feb-club parties, this humble protagonist is either still in class or trying to tame the mountain of reading that has accumulated the first couple of weeks this semester.

The redeeming virtue of my short-term course, and I really mean redemption because it is easily my favorite law school class, is that this short-term course is “Genetics and the Law,” which just happens to be the very subject I spent four of my best years studying (well, minus the ‘and the law’ part). So, after too many long weeks of contracts and …shudder… Civ Pro that made me reexamine my reasons for packing up and traveling all this way to study law in the first place, I now feel like I’m back in the good ‘ol gene-splicin, chromosome isolatin’ and florescent in-situ hybridizin’ days of degrees past. Ok, to be honest, the only thing that my class has isolated is ourselves for a couple of hours each day. But the point is that we’re busy discussing the latest genetic issues, from genetic discrimination to non-medical sex selection to pre-marital screening. So, if anyone out there is thinking of marriage (or are just worried that their not-always-platonic Feb-club antics might catch up with them) and is wondering if they and their partner are genetically compatible, give me a shout, and I’ll be sure to help you out. Or, at least engage you in an intellectually stimulating and rousing debate about the ethical and legal implications of discovering said compatibility.

And if Section J ever manages to set up a mixer with UVa’s genetics students and are wanting to do a little non-medical sex selection of their own, I suggest they try this pick-up line, (compliments of Train): “If I were an enzyme, I’d be an alpha-helicase, so I could unzip your genes.” (You see, in order for DNA to undergo its usual semi-conservative replication cycle, the double helix must first be denatured and the phosfodiester bonds between adenine and thymine, as well as cytosine and guanine, must be decoupled in order for the DNA polymerase II to attach and initiate the 5’ to 3’strand elongation that ultimately results in the complete synthesis of an new but identical DNA molecule. Alpha-helicase is the enzyme that provides this essential function, so although it is not the most accurate way of phrasing it, it not incorrect to say that the enzyme performs the above-mentioned “unzipping” of a person’s genes.)

Blog Securty Update: Orange Alert!

We have a situation on our hands of paramount importance. My brand new UVa Law hoodie, which was generously given to me by my loving wife for Christmas, has been viciously kidnapped and put up for ransom by freedom-hating terrorists. Judging by the culprit’s flagrant disrespect for the unalienable rights of private property, I have concluded that this crime must have been committed by radical, pinko-commie Canadians.

I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly decry this outrage and emphatically state the “We Will Not Negotiate With Terrorists!”

My Triumphant Return to the Hallowed Halls of Virginia’s Most Prestigious Educational Institution

It seems like just last week that I was basking in the warm Edmonton sun with nothing better to do than to enjoy the freedom from any kind of deadline or obligation that vacations are designed to provide. But alas, since then I have been caught up in a such a large whirlwind of school and job searching that I almost expected to see a the Wicked Witch of the East fly by, laughing that distinctive cackle that further reminds me that I am definitely not in Alberta anymore. However, the fresh blanket of snow that greeted me when I awoke at 2:00PM, in Charlottesville for the first time since December, I almost was able to convince myself that that entire previous day of traveling was but a dream—that I was alone in my admittedly comfortable bed quickly dispelled that illusion. With my wife once again a continent away, it was August 2006 all over, except, of course for the aforementioned snow, the furniture in my apartment that allowed me to spend the night in a bed instead of on the floor, and the previously alluded to fact that, unlike the first semester, UVa Law did not feel it appropriate to ease us back into the swing of things and, at least in my case, scheduled four classes for that Monday, none of which had I completed the first days reading assignment.

The area’s law firms joined the school in thinking that the returning 1Ls are all well-enough aware of the comings and goings of law school life that they do not need any adjustment time, and scheduled receptions starting on Tuesday. These receptions are basically opportunities for us future lawyers to acquaint ourselves with our future career possibilities, but in my humble opinion, their real purpose is nothing more than an opportunity to eat hors d'oeuvres and, if its your thing, drink free alcohol. I mean, there is so much sucking up at those receptions it reminded my of the time when my sister thought it would be a nice gesture to my mother to invite in a vacuum salesman who promised to clean our living room carpet; and like that day, I imagine that some of the firm lawyers who were at the receptions would have like to have exercised the same tacit to avoid the various brown-nosing 1Ls who perfected their gunning skills last fall that my parents did to avoid the salesman: hiding in their rooms. In short, the student to lawyer ratio was so high that I doubt that any hiring partner will remember any potential employee enough to influence their decisions in the slightest. The evenings weren’t a total loss, though: there was food, and at one I even picked up one of those cool highlighters that have built-in sticky tabs. Oh boy, I can’t wait to start outlining now!

The other firm even that I was able to participate in was the mock interview program that took place on Friday. Now that 30 minutes or so was not a complete an utter waste of time and resources. I had an interview with Kennedy Covington, and had spent the previous night perfecting answers to questions I expected to receive, such as “What assists do you think you will bring to this firm” or “So, why do you think you want to work in North Carolina” (which was a little harder question to come up with a convincing answer considering I don’t want to work in North Carolina). However, none of my carefully prepared responses turned out to be of any use, since we ended up spending almost our entire time together discussing Alberta weather, last year’s Stanley Cup final when the beloved Edmonton Oilers took on the heartless Carolina Hurricanes, and my preference to Macs over PCs. The fact that employers are more concerned with how well a student will fit in to their firm that their qualifications just showed me that Haines was right all along: First Year Associates are just fungible billing units. I’m glad I’ve chosen a profession that will value my skills so much.

My Impending Death on the Banks of Lake Michigan

Here I am, back to where I never thought I would go again. I am not talking about my delayed return to Charlottesville, although our month-long break is roughly twice as long as my usual holiday and just long enough to forget that I am in law school and begin to believe that my real calling in life is to sleep in until 11:00 every morning, waste the day and finish the nights hanging at my friends’ (who, by the way, have been back in school since the 8th) house reliving past activities such as attempting to create a tin-can telephone between 2nd and 13th floor apartments and contaminating my water with centerpiece candle-oil at Julio’s Mexican restaurant. No, being 6:00 PM after spending since 5:30 AM in airport after airport, I wish I was back home at the ‘ol UVa.

But, since traveling in airports is such a boring subject, let us change it to something a little more uplifting: irrational fears. Everyone is afraid of something, I’m sure. Sorry, all you macho guys who claim immunity, I’m not buying the act—there has to be something that sends chills up your spine, be it spiders or heights, or just committing to that girl you have been seeing for a while but you haven’t even been able to muster enough courage to take the next step. My fear, which is, in fact, entirely rational and fully explains this post’s opening sentence, is Chicago Illinois. That’s right I am afraid of Chicago, the very city where I sit right now, typing this message and nervously shifting my eyes back and forth in search of trouble because being in a metropolis such as this, you can never be too weary.

This fear of Chicago started not to long ago actually, but has since taken control of my life to such a degree that I have had (and this is complexly true and factual) had nightmares of the dreaded monster of concrete and people, millions and millions of people, crawling up and down the walls and hiding out in thousands of cars trucks and SUVs that inhabit its vein-like freeway system. I take you back now to August 2006, when I had just unexpectedly left my bride of a mere three months at border-post in Montana and traveled halfway across the country in Fanny, my amazingly reliable Ford Escort. I arrived in Chicago at about 10 AM with high hopes and Sufjan Steven’s anthem of the city playfully streaming out of Fanny’s speakers. I traveled without incident when it happened: the mother of all parking-lot style grid-locks loamed behind me as far as the eye could see and quickly expanded for miles behind Fanny and I. Now, being the stalwart adventurer that I am, I didn’t panic—at least not for the first couple of hours that I used to travel 10 miles or so. No no, the panic didn’t set in until the low fuel light came on. I had never before tested the low-fuel light, but luckily it lasted the 20 minutes or so that it took to reach the next available off-ramp (Fanny saves the day again), which I excitedly took and ended up leading straight into what I will describe simple as ‘the ghetto.’ And I’m not talking about the "oh, Garneu Towers’ old stoves are so ghetto," but the actual get shot in the back because someone doesn’t like your brand of tennis shoe (or, perhaps more likely, because he particularly likes your shoes) ghetto, where I had to pre-pay for my gas to a gruff-looking attendant seated behind what I could only assume was bullet-proof glass. Fortunately for all, I was able hastily completely re-route my cross-country odyssey an escape from that horrible, horrible city (after a few more hours of adventure in its never-ending suburbs with a full tank of gas and all limbs attached.

Ever since that day, I have been terrified of Chicago, yet here I am, back in that death-trap of a town, listening to the PA system warn us of the airport’s “orange alert” and anxiously awaiting my delayed (surprise, surprise) flight that will carry me safely away from almost certain death. Aghh, does that old woman have a gun!

Oh wait; it’s just an apple.

Finally, Some Good News

The day that everyone has been waiting for with baited breath and sweaty hands has finally arrived. Well, not exactly arrived, but actually has a date to attach to it. Yes, I am pleased to announce that my wife finally has a Visa interview date: As of Feb. 15 (and barring some unforeseen circumstances), Theresa will be a permanent resident of the United States, much to everyone’s relief.

Words to Live By

You would probably think that since I am currently enjoying a long Christmas break, I would have nothing better to do and update my blog pretty regularly, but the thing about having nothing to do is that there is nothing really exciting to talk about. This being my immediate predicament, I first thought that I would make up an exciting story about fighting off terrorists in downtown Edmonton, but realized that since there aren’t really any terrorists in Alberta, no one would believe it. Instead, because it is the start of a new year and time for resolutions and such, I will take this time to expound on some of the wisdom that I have learned over the past twelve months. So, I’ve got out my soup box and am perched precariously atop of it and my oversized ego, ready to dole out some good ‘ol fashion learnin:

First off, vacationing in Edmonton during January is not a very good idea, unless you are an inuit who is used to living in a house made of ice, in which case Edmonton might seem to you like a tropical hot spot. For anyone else foolhardy enough to choose this particular city as your next winter getaway, be prepared for a winter blast of -30 degree weather (which, for those of you who think that because I always report my temperatures in Celsius this is not as cold as it seems, coverts to -22 degrees Fahrenheit). I was able to sneak away on one of the warmer days to take in a day of snowboarding and otherwise spend my time in the worlds biggest mall (sorry all you American patriots who think the Mall of America is the biggest, but we hold the Guinness record).

Next, if you are flying out of Dulles airport on the Friday before Christmas, make sure you arrive at least 3 hours early. Either that or cut in front of the entire line like I did.

During my stay in the US of A, I have learned (or rather reaffirmed my previous knowledge) that Americans, not matter what age, race or station in life, love to make fun of Canadians, and, to accomplish this task, have only about 3 jokes to use. So, as a word of advice to all those who think they are Dan Akroyds or Jim Carrys: I’ve heard it all before. Now, I’m not trying to be all whiney because I really don’t care what anyone says about my home and native land, and to prove there are no hard feelings, I will provide to anyone who wishes to continue the Canadian merry-making a short list of potential jokes to keep you going: hockey, the metric system, “Zed”, beer, the loonie, igloos, Mounties, doughnuts, maple syrup, “toques”, Celine Dion, Zambonis, curling, monopoly money, snow, “hoser”, Wayne Gretzky, Marijuana, homosexual marriage, “Eh”, small military, universal health care, no guns, better and cheaper education, clear air, lower crime rate, and top 3 rank on the UN’s ‘Best countries to live in’ list. Oh wait, were there some good things on this list? I guess I forgot what I was writing about.

Speaking of Canada, I wouldn’t be much of an indie rock fan if I did not use my advice post to recommend looking out for the new Arcade Fire Album due out in March. And, by the way, I’m sure all of you other indie-rockers out there will be happy to know that I have finally kicked my nasty little “Dashboard Confessional” habit once and for all. It happened all of a sudden too: one day I was listening to my iPod on random and this Dashboard song came on. Well, about half-way through the song, when Dashboard was taking what seemed like an eternity to singabout which shirt to wear on a date that I just felt like yelling: “Stop your incessant whining, you namby-pamby baby!” And that is when I realized that my disdain for emo is finally total, much to my relief. So, with my newly aquired rise in hipster status, I will attempt to play the part of a music blogger just a little an recommend an album that I think is quite something and am quite sure that most readers have not heard. “Phages,” by The Most Serene Republic is a limited edition EP available on iTunes, emusic and the Arts and Crafts website that is a light and Jazzy indie-rock gem.

Do not try to take any shortcuts while walking in Charlottesville. The last time I tried to cut across the field to get from the law school to the post office in Barracks, I ended up half-jumping-half-falling at least 12 feet down a cliff through thorny bushes and ending up in the UVa bus depot, where I had to descretely brush myself off and pretend that I actually had a purpose in the lot while mechanics were probably laughing under their breath. The good news is that my shins were the only things cut—I probably saved about 3 minutes or so in traveling time.

As for advice pertaining to other forms of travel in Charlottesville, ie driving: just say no. Charlottesville is a small town with big city traffic (plus a police force that is more oversized than Morgan Spurlock after a month at McDonalds, and whose sole purpose seems to be closing the exact roads that you need to use to get home).

Tim Horton’s is a Canadian Gem (which luckily has recently expanded into the USA): I just haven’t found an Apple Fritter in Virginia to match one of Timmy H’s. Old Dutch Jalepeno Chedder Potato chips are another. Sorry Utz, you may have been voted best chip in 1993, but you cant really match the power of the Dutch Crunch.

Now that the whole “I’m LDS” thing is out of the bag, I am in a good position to give this advice that I learned when my friend and his girlfriend came to Charlottesville for a visit; it would be useful for anyone who is having LDS guests over (who are not married). As I’m sure everyone knows, our church believes it is important to remain pure before marriage, so certain steps must be taken when traveling with your girlfriend (or boyfriend). As far as I can tell, these are a few guidelines that I thought were pretty arbitrary, but that Theresa seemed to believe were obvious enough that it was almost laughable and certainly disappointing that I was not already aware of them (and I remind everyone that these ‘rules’ are just a set of observation and in no way reflect official church policy, but may serve as an interesting insight): first off, girlfriends are not supposed to stay in the same house as you when you are visiting your friend who is also single. This means that if you are visiting said friend with your girlfriend, it is customary to find your girlfriend another place to stay, usually one of your friend’s female friends. This was the situation Theresa and I were in when we visited her sister in Calgary to go to a Stars concert. This rule apparently does not apply when the friend you are visiting is married (although separate rooms are still a must). This was the case when my friend, Danny H, visited me. So, as Theresa explained (on the phone), even though I was living by myself AND am younger and much less mature than Theresa’s sister, the same-house-but-different-room sleeping arrangement was acceptable. So, that’s it: if your LDS friend is coming for a visit, follow these guidelines and no one will be offended.

And on that enlightening thought, we will end for today. Don’t worry, I have much more advice to give, but we’ll have to save it for another post.

The Year is Dying, Let It Die!

Now that I am a family man and all, I have picked up the long standing tradition of composing a Christmas letter. Below I present the Miller Family's Christmas Greeting:

To our dearest friends and loving family,

At the dawn of this year, the two thousand and sixth of our Lord, the Randal and Theresa Miller family was yet to be formed. Sure, they had spent the better part of the previous year blissfully enjoying their courtship, and the ring-watchers had had their sights set on Theresa’s left hand for at least 11 months, but as of January, the couple had not formalized their marriage plans with an official engagement. During this first month, Randy’s arms were practically overflowing with his many Law School applications, and Theresa spent her time fretting more about whether her seemingly dead-beat boyfriend will ever muster up enough courage to finally ask for her hand in marriage than completing her full course-load at Grant MacEwan.

Unbeknownst to Theresa, Randy’s engagement plans were already in there final stages as February opened, and on the first Monday of the month, Theresa received a small note under her door that began a week-long scavenger hunt with the reported goal of asking her to the big sweethearts dance. The hunt sent Theresa on a whirlwind review of their relationship, as each note lead to a different location around Edmonton where she and Randy had shared a significant memory. The trip ended in Hawrelak park, with Randy not only asking Theresa to accompany him to the dance, but to accompany him throughout eternity.

In the next few months, Randy and Theresa hurriedly prepared for their forthcoming nuptials and were able to spend a wintery weekend in Whitefish with Theresa’s family, where hearts were knit and bottoms were bruised (on the ski-hill, of course). They also made the decision to spend their next three years at the University of Virginia School of Law, although they had to consult an atlas to discover where their new home would be.

Not wanting to end his single days quietly, Randy and his roommates escaped to Mexico for a seven-day bachelor celebration in late April. After he returned, on the thirteenth of May, the long-awaited wedding occurred, with Theresa and Randy exchanging sacred vows in the Alberta Temple. Following a family brunch at the Cobblestone Manner and a Calling reception in Taber, the newlyweds hopped a plane to Victoria to begin their eternal voyage among the lush foliage of Vancouver Island. After six days of kayaking, sightseeing and fine dining, the couple returned to Edmonton for a second reception and to begin their married life.

June was a month of long workdays, but the new family was not one to stay in a single city for too long. On Sonic 102.9’s illustrious traveling game show, “What’s In The Van Man?” Randy won a trip for two to Vancouver, and for a few days in July, he and his wife took in the sights and sounds of the harbor city. After this trip, however, they did not return home; instead, they traveled straight to Meadow Lake, Montana to spend a week with Randy’s family. That was the end of their fun.

August was Randy and Theresa’s big move—or should that be Randy’s big move. Because Theresa was waiting for her Visa and despite the couple’s valiant efforts from almost the moment they were wed, the new bride was barred entry into the USA, leaving Randy to travel to Virginia and make a home for himself alone. This was the twilight of their year and tears were shed on both sides of the 49th parallel. For three long months, the couple’s only communication was distant telephone conversations and one brief visit at Thanksgiving. Fortunately, The University of Virginia is a great school, so Randy was able to effectively fill his days with both legal studies and social gatherings that, more often than not, involved softball and/or much drinking (by his classmates). Theresa worked at Boston Pizza. Finally in November, the last piece of the new family’s life became realigned when Theresa made a daring (yet legal) run for the border and was able to satisfy the port official enough to join her anxious hubby in Charlottesville, proving once and for all, that Virginia truly is for lovers.

So, this tale ends happily for all. Although Theresa is still waiting for her immigrant visa, the couple is together and enjoying Virginia’s mild winter. This was truly a momentous year for us, full of great change, good times, a few hard times, but overall, much jubilation. We hope that 2006 treated you as well as it did us. Happy Christmas.

Fondly,
The Millers

1L Finals: Part 2

The funny thing about blogs, besides the hilarious content, is that new posts always come before older ones, so when there is a two-part entry, such as this very post, the second part is above the first. So if you’ve missed the fist part, see below. This second entry is coming to you from the Valgardson farm in Taber Alberta, where I’ve traded in my casebooks for a hammer and screwdriver (which I am using to help build a garage) and have to drive into town in an old 1970’s Ford truck and connect to the internet in the Super 8 parking lot in order to post on my blog.

First off, I’d like to wish everyone a very merry Boxing day, which, since its main purpose is shopping and because of my recent move to the mother of all capitalist countries, has become my new favorite holiday. Also, in reference to the first part of this entry, I would like to make clear that Theresa bringing my hot chocolate is not evidence that she is my slave (since I didn’t even ask her to do it), but was merely a kind gesture by a loving wife who was passing the school on her way home from a shopping trip. But as we all know, my blog isn’t about love and fun times, but strictly about business, so lets get back to the topic of exams.

So, after all of our pep talks and hours of studying, the big week finally arrived. Law school exams are much different from my undergrad experience, which is defined by gymnasiums filled with row upon rows of desks and mediators who walk up and down the isles between the desks to make sure that not one eye wanders or one word is spoken. UVa Law’s exams are taken on the computer and may be completed in any of a number of rooms, none of which are supervised in any way. This mean there are about 739 ways that a student could cheat, from talking to IMing to internet searching to spending submission time to work on answers, but because lawyers are known for their integrity (and perhaps a little bit because the only punishment for any honor code violation is expulsion), none of these possible cheating methods are ever employed by first year law students.

Our first exam was Criminal Law, which was taught during the semester by Dean Jefferies, whose dry humor and passionate outbursts in opposition to unjust laws that often resulted in a raised voice and blackboard pounding made for a very entertaining and informative semester. The highlight of this exam was the students who, in response to Dean Jefferies’ revelation of his law student habit of dressing up for exams because it made him feel more intelligent, came to this exam wearing a shirt and tie. Now they may have dressed in this fashion because they really did believe it made them smarter, but if you ask me, this was just another stunt in a long line of acts that reveal their addition to brown-nosing that is so prevalent that the school’s blind grading policy and professors’ custom of not attending their own exams did not even convince them of the futility of their actions enough to override their innate tendencies to do every little thing they could imagine to try and raise their grade a few fractions of a point.

Next up: Contracts. Overall, Hynes was a good professor who, although he has the tendency to accidentally convey that he does not love his daughter or make other verbal slip-ups, did teach us a virtual tanker-load of contracts law and was able to successfully elevate Section J’s revelry with Section C. On thing Hynes could work a little on is estimating how many thousands of words the type A personalities who usually attend law school will typically write in response to his fact patterns; for example, on the test that he designed to be three hours took the entire four that he allowed, without any time to spare, making contracts the marathon of our finals.

Cival Procedure was our third exam. I particularly enjoyed that, by making one of his fact patterns about a failed Rock star that turned to law school, Garrett effectively wrote an exam about himself.

Last of all was Torts. At the beginning of this exam, Professor Armacost informed us that she tired to write the test so it will be fun for us to write. It is nice that she had such good intentions, but I think it is a little naïve to believe that a group of highly stressed 1Ls at the end of a long exam period would describe any kind of test with any adjective that could be remotely considered a synonym of ‘fun.’ The closest thing that I have ever experienced to a fun exam was a genetics test I wrote a few years ago that had a Lord of the Rings Theme, complete with pictures and questions that asked us to outline the genetic pedigree of Hobbits and help Sauron selectively breed a new species of poisonous berries (I am not making this up). Unfortunately, or Torts exam replaced the dwarfs and wizards of my collage days with mauling tigers and negligent doctors, which made the test more ordinary than I hoped. Hopfully, I was able to remember enough magic language to come out with a half-decent grade in that class.

So that’s that. I successfully navigated the mine-field that is first year law exams. Now all I have to do is sit around and wait for three months before I official receive a transcript full of B+s.

1L Finals: The Greatest Show On Earth

So, as some of my esteemed colleagues in Section J may recall, UVa Law class of 2009 has just competed its first round of final exams, which means, of course, that we can all come out of the library, rub off our eyes that have probably been damaged beyond repair from countless hours staring at their computer screens son intently one might thing that our laptops were dispensing some sort of life-saving safety tips during an airplane crash landing, and step outside into the December sun to realize that yes, even though Christmas is only 3 days away, it is still t-shirt and short weather—or as some of our more pretentious classmates might say, its more like remove your suit jacket and sport the white-shirt-and-tie look that professor Haynes has made so fashionable. Oh yes, now that exams are over, it feels so good to be able to stop trying to write legibly and go back to what I love most: one hundred and thirty-four (that, and writing out numbers long hand so that I can feel intelligent). So, because I’m sure that most of Section J have already just about finished repressing their memories of these past horrifying weeks, I decided to take a few minutes to remind us all just what exactly the end of a fist semester at law school is like in order ensure that my section-mates don’t suffer any pent-up rage that will probably burst forth in a number of years time when we all remember what we were put through and sent at least two or three of us on a murderous rampage (I’ll let you decide who).

First Memory: Kraus’ rousing pre-exam pep talk, where he recounted a story of those lazy ‘ol 3Ls who already have their job lined up, slack off during the year and still get a higher grade than that poor 1L, with her 128 page, color coated, tabbed, alphabetized, cross-referenced, indexed, categorized, cross-categorized, embossed (just in case they loose their sight during the test) and compartmentalized outline. The speech was quite inspiring, especially the way he emphasized the difficulty of the exams enough to put the fear of God, or at least recruiting attorneys, into all of us peons until he could feel the exact moment the stress level in the room slipped out of orange status into the zone where it becomes “more probable than not” that someone will collapse onto the floor in the fetal position, sucking his thumb and whimpering, and then alleviate all of our collective worries by assuring us that grades really don’t matter and, most amazingly of all, actually convincing us of that fact. Yes, the speech was good, but really, the most salient thing I took from the talk was that I can’t wait until I’m a 3L: looking back at my collage carrier, I think I was born for it.

I quite enjoyed both of our final legal research and writing classes, where in the first, Section J competed in true capitalistic style for fabulous prizes by beating the rest of the class at finding relevant cases. Considering that before this class, I didn’t even know what the “within 40 words” feature was, I was as surprised as anyone (if not more so) that my teammate Liz and I were able to snag a nifty, old-fashion outlining kit, complete with encouraging stickers that Liz thoroughly enjoyed and I finally found a use for as a way for Theresa and I to keep track of our scrabble victories (that’s right, I’m a geek). Right now, Theresa is up 3 to 1 (unfortunately, it seems like I’m not even a very intelligent geek). The very last class was just an excuse to eat pizza, which I really think we should find more of at UVa.

Despite all of the vicious emails that were floating around because of the parking snafu that arose out of the Circus’ unannounced and unexpected arrival in the Law School’s parking lot during the beginning of exam season, I believe that the whole affair was a large conspiracy to give fretting first years a chance to realize what a horrible mistake they made when they decided they might enjoy becoming a lawyer and join the noble carnie profession. That’s right, I believe the Law School administration was giving us the opportunity to run of and join the circus. I for one, decided to capitalize on this once-in-a-lifetime chance, and figured I could do something like tame the lion or be shot out of a cannon or something like that. So, I marched my way down to the blue lot, asked the bearded lady for directions, knocked on the door of the ring-leader’s trailer, and handed a copy of my resume to Wolf-boy, who apparently double as a secretary. Later that day I receive this reply: “Thank you for your interest in the Big Top Circus. You have an impressive resume and are to be congratulated on your hard work. However, we are not in a position to enter into employment discussions with you at the present time. I would encourage you to reapply in the fall of 2007 for a 2L position.”

You may or may not believe this next statement, but not once did I see a single undergrad in the library during the admittedly few hours I used the area for my scholarly pursuits (I mostly studied at home), but did on occasion politely overhear a conversation or two about how some Law students believe that their study time might be more effective if such students refrained from using our pristine faculty, and conducted their business in spaces dedicated to their programs. I am particularly disappointed that I was unable to meet the student who apparently brought half of the grocery store to his library table, as well as a coffee maker and toaster oven—disappointed because I spent my library hours munching on horribly untoasted bagels and lukewarm… hot chocolate and would have greatly appreciated a chance to borrow his equipment. Except, of course for that time when Theresa popped over to the University and brought me some nice warm cocoa—that’s right, single folks, my wife came to the school and brought me snacks, so have fun having to go all the way from the library to the cafeteria and buying your own heated beverage, suckers: I’ve got it made. Or else, I guess, you could always bring a coffee pot.

This post is getting too long. I'll post the second part shortly

No, I Have Not Lost My Fingers

But with all the outlining and exam writing I have been doing, I think I came close.

Just when I thought that my blog was getting to be old new and no-one read it anymore, you guys pulled through and… sniff… complained that… sniff… you… sniff… I promised myself I wouldn’t cry… that you missed my entries… sniff sniff… What happened is that once I passed the 6 mo. mark, I felt like there was no need to continue, seeing that I had already beaten the odds. Ok really, it stopped posting because it was finals time, and after I have spent hours typing up outlines and whatnot, the absolute last thing that I wanted to do on my study breaks is continue typing on my computer to post new entries, especially when I have an adoring, beautiful wife who is anxious for every minute we can spend together.

But finals are done, for better or worse, and Section J celebrated in their customary fashion: Drunken Debauchery and terrible, terrible Mexican food. I, being the kind who is not usually a party to said activies (by which I am only talking about the ‘drunken’ part) have taken the huge void left by the absense of anything meaningful to do, have gone back to my nerdy ways in front of my computer screen to post this simple message.

Oh, and although I thought that this was common knowledge, it is becoming increasingly clear that many of my section mates still do not know why I refrain for our school’s poison of choice, so I will take this opportunity to clear up any confusion once and for all: I’M LDS

And I will be posting during break.

Dashed Dreams and American Ones

It has come to my attention that my blog posts have become more and more anti-American. I assure you all that this has not been my intention, and have decided to show my true feelings of American patriotism by dedicating this entry to extolling the virtues of the great collection of states that sits as Canada’s southern neighbor. I considered showing my approval of the states by opening the post with a “U-S-A” chant, but I don’t think I am at that point yet. Baby steps. Instead, I have decided to comment one what I feel is a great analogy about what makes America great displayed on a billboard that I saw during my thanksgiving voyage to Southern Virginia University. The ad was for a little dinosaur tourist attraction, and while on my great road-trip through Montana and North Dakota I saw more than my fare share of dino statues, this park was different because the billboard depicted a Cowboy fighting an Dinosaur. This, to me, is America.

Oh sure, Guachos and Vaceros predate American cowboys and China has the worlds largest and best dino remains, but the image of a cowboy fighting a Dino embodies the great American ideals of freedom and independence, standing up for ones principles and not being afraid to take on seemingly-impossible goals. Also, Dinosaurs and cowboys are just cool. I, as well as probably every young boy, have at one point or another dreamed of being both a paleontologist and/or a Cowboy. Unfortunately, both these dreams have—so far—gone unrealized. The former dream was officially dashed when, as an undergrad, I lived out my childhood fantasy by attending a paleontology class and realizing that paleontologists actually spend much more time researching marine invertebrates and planktonic foraminifera than the terrible lizards whose replicas dot the Montana countryside. The later dream will also never be attained, mostly because of my tendency of forgoing wranglers and flannel for corduroy and Lacoste cardigans. Oh well, there is always Law School. Sigh….

And, if anyone is wondering, the Dinosaur would destroy that cowboy faster than Hynes would win in a fistfight with Garret. No contest.

The Big Zero-Point-Five

I read that 90% of potential bloggers do not even last for 6 months. Well, mine has officially completed 1/2 a year, so take that! (remember, my blog started on myspace, but was moved here in Sept.)

And Grand It Is

As a number of astute observers have noticed, my blog postings have become a little less frequent as of late. You can place the blame for this squarely on one person’s shoulders, and that person is Theresa Miller, beloved wife and notorious time stealer. Not that there is anything wrong with her stealing my time; when I let her take my free time, she fills it with activities that are much more fun than those I used to do in my spare moments (goodbye internet scrabble). I will continue posting, though, but updates will probably be limited to once a week, most likely written in Civ. Pro.

As to this week’s post: on Wednesday I took a little trip up to DC to attend a luncheon with Judge Rader of the Federal Circuit, who was scheduled to give a talk on “Intellectual Property in the Third World.” But don’t be fooled by the title of the speech, as I was, because the words ‘Intellectual’ and ‘property’ were probably not spoken during the whole day, except, perhaps by curious listeners whispering to each other during the presentation, ‘is he ever going to talk about intellectual property?’ The Judge instead spent his time relating the kind of stories about his global travels that I am sure he has retold so many times that they might induce him to vomit a little in his hand, like that guy on “I heart Huckabees.” They were quite entertaining stories though, and Judge Radar put out a fine effort trying to excise a moral out of them. Here is a very short rundown of what I learned from the stories:

In North Korea, they don’t have freedom of religion. Moral: America is great.

In the Ukraine, they have a huge and inefficient government bureaucracy. Moral: America is great.

In Uzbekistan, there is a Taliban-backed rebel force. Moral: America is great.

In China, the government built a disco into their brand new Federal courthouse. Moral: America is ok, but China is awesome.

Oh, sure, Judge Rader tried to explain that his story was really about how China’s communist civil law system is much less fair than America’s common law tradition, but once I learned of the courthouse disco, the effect of any other moral was completely lost. An interesting observation I have made throughout my time here and exemplified at this lunch was that the United States toots it own horn more than Dizzy Gillespie, as if by constantly reminding itself that America is a land of freedom, the country can collectivly look past its flaws, such as corrupt corporate lobbying and the diminishing quality of education in its public schools. I mean, Canada enjoys the same freedoms as our southern neighbor, but you don't get the same sort of chest-thumping self-aggrandizement you see in the States. The real lesson of the day, however, was that when you are a federal judge, you don’t have to actually talk about what you are supposed to, and are able to take the entire day from a very busy first-year law student who thinks he is going to expand his education with an informed discussion of technological law in developing nations, which means I would make an excellent federal judge.

That was my DC trip. Unfortunately, except for the Washington Monument (America’s phallus--talk about self-aggrandzement) I was unable to check out any of the sights and had to head back to the slave-driving Law school just in time for some cake and pumpkin pie. Speaking of Pie, Happy Thanksgiving again to you all. One of the good things about being, like Che Guevara, a “Citizen of America” is that you get to celebrate both Canadian and American Thanksgivings. I, personally, am about to set the world record for most Thanksgiving dinners in one year—I’ve already had four.

Escapades in a Weird and Far-off Place

This is the story of a young and beautiful Canadian girl who miraculously packed at least 3 truckloads of clothing and shoes into 2 suitcases and set off from the land of hockey and government subsidized health care and traveled a ridiculous high number of km (which is a slightly less ridiculously high number of miles) to the sunny commonwealth of Virginia, where large plantation homes remind us of more prejudiced times and where opossums roam the streets in frightening numbers.

The story begins on a blistery winter morn at the airport in the Northern city of Calgary, which carries a slight smell of cattle in the air and is known mostly as the setting of the Jamaican Bobsled team’s inspiring Olympic debut. The day was November 8th, and the task ahead of out heroine, Theresa Miller, was Operation: American Eagle. However, despite the best laid plans of mice and men, the operation met complications from the beginning: instead of passing through immigration in Calgary, as originally planned, Theresa was not scheduled to reach customs until she arrived in Toronto, over half a continent away from the comfort of home. But Theresa, being the intrepid, and slightly crazy, adventurer that she is, decided that because she had already packed and drove to the airport, she might as well carry through with the original plan, even though there was a good chance that she would be stopped in Toronto and subsequently become stranded in that great metropolis, having wasted the hundreds of dollars that she could have been refunded if she had be turned back in Calgary and without hope. The decision was, to say the least, daring, and became a source of great anxiety to her husband, as well as to herself, when she finally realized the gravity of her choice somewhere over Manitoba.

When our heroine arrived at her layover and presented her passport to the authorities, an alarm was immediately raised and she was forcibly escorted into that little room reserved for hardened criminals and illegal immigrants, which may or may not have been room 101. In this detention area, with a bright lamp pointed directly into her face, and sitting opposite a desk to a gruff detective who wore suspenders and a fedora and who had the habit of repeatedly rolling up his sleeves and smoking a bent cigarette, Theresa was given the “good cop, bad cop routine,” until well after her connecting flight began boarding. Finally, after thoroughly searching her bags and examining her documents, the immigration officer decided to let her pass, but only if she could answer riddles three. Unfortunately for Theresa, this particular officer was a cousin to one of UVa’s law professors, and the riddles actually came from one of her previous exams*. The riddles were:

1. I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 10. Tell me what it is.

2. Imagine that a train engine is passing by a house, and sparks from the train ignite the roof of the barn. Now imagine that that train is actually from the future, the barn is made of dark chocolate instead of wood, and instead of throwing sparks, the train engine is spitting out knives. Is the defendant still negligent?

3. Give me some magic language and repeat it at least 3 times.

Luckily, Theresa was able to answer the first two questions correctly by saying, “11” and “yes, because the United States is a country where every rediculous lawsuit should be rewarded, the Defendent is always guilty, no matter how contrived the Planitiff's story is.” She avoided the last question by punching the immigration officer in his ample gut and running out of the room and across the entire airport with her shoes and belt in her hands and her pants almost falling down. At the very last moment, our hero was able to board her departure by jumping from the gate and grabbing onto the airplane door, just as the flight attendant was closing it. (She did, however, drop her package of fireworks, which exploded and caused mass claims against Air Canada for negligently encouraging her to jump onto a moving plane, which was subsequently dropped because the previous description of America's love of frivolous lawsuits does not also describes Canada's policies).

Theresa scrambled onto the plane and this story ends happily for all; Op. AE was a complete success and Theresa arrived safely in Virginia Wednesday night, much to the gratitude of her husband and just in time for the couple’s 6 month anniversary on Nov. 13th.

*provided by a fellow student, used with permission
**Story co-authored by Theresa Miller and may be slightly exaggerated (Seriously though, Theresa was interrogated thoroughly in Toronto and almost missed her connecting flight).

Lets Get Political

It’s that time again: when 16% of the country files into little booths and puts an ‘x’ beside the name of the guy who they think will have the best chance of not actually screwing up the country so much that the Untied States will climb even further up the rankings of the UN yearbook’s “Most likely to infuriate the rest of the world with their cultural imperialistic tendencies and overall self-important attitude” list. By that I mean its election time. Now, I have a difficult decision ahead of me as a Canadian with a modest understanding of American politics. Don’t get me wrong, there is news coverage about the United States in Canada, but I have the persistent habit of switching the channel from CBC news when they begin talking about American Politics in order to see what new Ashley Simpson video is playing on Much Music. This means I have little actual knowledge about the in and outs of those crazy republicans and wacky democrats. Facing such a daunting intellectual task, I have decided to commit to writing my thought process, as I decide who will get my little ‘x’ on Tuesday.

First off: the battle of the mascots. What was the Democratic Party thinking when they decided that a donkey would be a good mascot? An elephant I can see; it is strong and hardworking, and even majestic in its own mud-bathing sort of way, but a donkey? To me that just says dumb and stubborn. I’m sure that the majority of Democrats are nice and intelligent people, but it’s unfortunate that their party’s founders chose an animal that is so easily made to look ridiculous by political cartoonists. In their defense, the democrats are trying their best to make the most of what they are given by coming up with cleaver t-shirt slogans like “Kicking Asses.” But I was under the impression that that phrase referred to an ass that is kicked, and not an ass that is doing the kicking. Therefore the republicans win this round.

Next up is color. Ah, blue and red, the two colors that seem to be constantly battling one another for moral supremacy, even though everyone knows that the actual opposite of blue is yellow and red’s compliment is green. But this Red-Blue battle has been going on since time began: there’s Coke v. Pepsi, Lexis v. Westlaw, Harvard v. Yale, the Canadian Liberal Party v. the Canadian Conservatives, Red Communism v. well, the rest of the word, which when seen from space does look pretty blue, and of course the republicans v. democrats. But witch color is better? Well, I like Coke over Pepsi (which includes my preference of Sprite to 7 Up and Mexico’s Manzna Lift to Manzanita Sol), but I choose Westlaw (blue) over lexus (mostly because their candy is much better and the Lexus rep, with disdain in her voice, called me a ‘Maccer’ because my apple laptop had trouble printing from their site); I obviously prefer the Edmonton Oilers (blue) over the Calgary Flames (red); and I would take the Ninja Turtle’s Leonardo (blue) over Raphael and day. So, I guess this means that I prefer blue. Democrats: 1, Republicans: 1.

The Name. I don’t know what ever happened to the good ‘ol fashion titles of ‘Conservatives’ and ‘Liberals,’ but if I had to choose between calling my party democrats or republican, I would go for the big R, not because I’m against democracy or anything, but because I would want to associate myself as much as possible with Plato, in hopes of one day realizing my dreams of being a Philosopher King. Democrats: 1, Republicans: 2.

Next: Bumper Stickers/Billboards. I did get a little chuckle over the sticker that read, “Don’t Blame Me, I’m a Democrat,” and without endorsing or disapproving the message, I have to say those pro-life ads that show aborted fetuses or holocaust scenes just plain tasteless. Democrats: 2, Republicans: 2.

Killing. And by this I am, of course, referring to Kegs. Last time I checked, the Virginia Law Democrats have dominated in this area. Democrats: 3, Republicans: 2.

The Candidates. Interestingly enough, the only thing I know about Republican candidate, Allen, was that he may or may not have spit on his ex-wife, and the only info I have on the Democrat’s Webb is that he wrote sex scenes into his novels. Although I don’t approve of wife-spitting, I’ve got to give the Republican’s credit for some creative mud-slinging. Also, that Mike Stark really annoyed me (and I had to figure out how to get this contest to end in a tie).

So the final score is, surprisingly enough, 3 to 3, which really doesn’t help my election-day dilemma. I could try to decide based on policy, but both parties are almost equally right-wing and work much more for their corporate backers than for the American public, which means the Republicans are, despite the recent talk of extreme polarization, no less similar to the Democrats than Coke is to Pepsi, who, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover, pour billions of dollars into each party’s campaign in order to further Corporate America’s self-destructive goals. So, since underneath all of their flashy debates the parties are much more similar than they make themselves out to be, I guess I’ll have to decide the old fashion way—by flipping a coin. I’ve got my Canadian $2 coin (or ‘toonie’) out: ‘heads’ will be Republican and that polar bear on the other side will be the Democrats (so that they can be associated with a cool animal at least once). Here it goes…

This post is for you, W.F.F.

Write-Up of Our First Play-off Game

we lost