Geeky Chic

1. Color-customized athletic shoes.  If you can just pick the
   colors of the shoe that you want, it takes all the fun out of hunting
   down the “right shoe.”
2. My mother hectoring me about the neighbhorhood that I live in as
   though I’m a 14-year-old breaking curfew.  If I hear the words,
   “Why don’t you ever listen?” even though I’ve covered my own rent for
   the past 9 years, then I reserve the right to hang out on her.

The year after my parent’s divorced, I had a full-blown psoriasis break
out.  It was everywhere, back, torso, all four limbs, and on my
face.  The doctors tried to explain the potential triggers to the
seven-year-old me. Strep throat (I
had a bout of this the year before), something that my mother ate while
I was in the womb, or simple genetics.  Since then, I’ve always
associated it with stress (my only recent serious outbreak was during
the Bar exam last summer).

Around the same time as this first psoriasis break out, I began to
experience mild bouts of OCD that lasted for one or two weeks at most,
and jumped from theme to theme.  I distinctly remember being
mortified by salt on my skin for a short period…then of ants…then
of ink on the skin.  Once I was in college, I attributed this to
normal childhood development.  As one grew up, the chemical
processes changed, bringing on sudden bouts of OCD depending upon one’s
brain chemistry.  But there’s a new hypothesis regarding the
triggers of these mysterious childhoold phases: Strep. 

**

This is my second day off of May.  I’ve been dealing with this
like a trooper, but I’ve become snippier with each late night, and each
Saturday or Sunday that I spend in the office.  Friends who map
out strategies for a glorious return to legal academia via the
clerkship route, rock.  Friends who point out, “Leaving at 10 or
11 pm on a Friday or Saturday still leaves you with the night
off,”  have been working around bankers way too long.

And now, for a Blackberry-free day…

This annoying little cat game beats Miss Y.’s cartoon sheep.

**

In other news, we have a surprise houseguest this week.  This
means that I have another reason to not work after leaving the office
(as if working for the past 17 consecutive days is not reason enough).

**

Oh, and is Lysistratic nonaction a valid form of protest against the unbalanced (career v. personal) life?

Edit: My site is getting a fair
number of search engine hits for “Valextra.”  If any of my
visitors are interested in purchasing the Valextra purse discussed
below, please email me: eva at hypergeometric dot com.  I have not used the purse; it is brand new.  The purse is the black pebbled version of this bag.  I will email photos of my bag upon request. 

The more I bill, the more I shop, and the more I drink. 

On the way to the office this morning, I happened upon Jeremy’s
40% off everything sale.  Despite the throngs of bargain hunters,
there was a black Valextra camera bag sitting there, unattended. 
I’ve never even seen a Valextra
(warning annoying flash site) bag in San Francisco.  As far as I
know, the only places that carry them on the West Coast are the
Sigerson Morrison store in LA, and supposedly, Saks is launching them
in their stores.  That’s what I like about Jeremy’s, they carry
hard-to-find items at steeply discounted prices.  So, that was my
big score of the month.

**
  An atypical Larry Lessig story. 

If I should decide to become a parent, I don’t think
that I would allow my kid to become a choir boy, boy scout, or altar
boy.  There’s too much danger there.

I am not a Star Wars uber-geek, but enough of one to: (1) have a long
and detailed childhood story memoralizing the experience of watching
Return of the Jedi at the Coronet; (2) have dressed up for Episode
One, despite its suckitude; and (3) have purchased tickets to the
showing at midnight tonight.

Well, f*ck, I had to give my tickets away!  (Thanks to an email
received at 7:14 on that nifty torture device, the Blackberry).

This hurts.

That’s all.

I am no Che fan, but lip balm?  Bloody lip balm?  He must be spinning in his grave.

On the West Coast, the New Yorker
arrives late in the week.   So, I didn’t see this elegy by
Mr. Slaughterhouse Five himself until my morning commute:

True story, Word of Honor:
Joseph Heller, an important and funny writer
now dead,
and I were at a party given by a billionaire
on Shelter Island.
I said, “Joe, how does it make you feel
to know that our host only yesterday
may have made more money
than your novel, ‘Catch-22’
has earned in its entire history?”
And Joe said, “I’ve got something he can never have.”
And I said, “What on earth could that be, Joe?”
And Joe said, “The knowledge that I’ve got enough.”
Not bad!  Rest in peace!

                   – Kurt Vonnegut

Friends in the medical field, I’m convinced that this is all I need to rule the world.