The Joys of Class(less?) Discussions:

Often in college, I didn't care for class discussions. Now, not all the time. Sometimes, they were fun and lively, but they also tended to be the same handful of people talking all the time, saying the same exact thing over and over and over again. Well, the law school class discussion is a definite upgrade.

Sure, some people talk more than others. That's to be expected. But I wouldn't say that discussions are dominated by the same people. Also, people don't just echo the same point ad infinitum. (I wanted to bring "snaps" to discussions, but alas, was denied. Luckily, they haven't really been needed). Instead, it tends to be an engaging discussion, usually well-facilitated by the professor. And if you have Professor Weinreb, it can be a lot of fun.

Allow me to illustrate. For those of you who don't have the immense privilege of having Prof. Weinreb for Criminal Law, imagine your prototypical "old-school law professor." This is a man in his 60s, dressing in a suit every day, sometimes tweed. He calls everyone Mr. or Ms. He uses a form of the Socratic Method, but in a friendly, way, not the "I'm here to make you cry and regret attending law school." Polite. Professional. Ok? Good. Now, let me paint a picture from today's discussion on rape:

Professor Weinreb poses to us the following scenario. Imagine you're a prosecutor, and your witness comes to your office. She is wearing a dress that looks like it was poured on. Obviously, what clothes she is wearing now are not relevant to her testimony. Now, Professor Weinreb poses this question:

"Do you want to get her out of that dress?"
*Pause*
Class loses it. Laughter for several minutes. Everyone asking: "Did he just say what I think he said?" Admitting his Freudian slip in good humor, he moves on. You can't make these moments up.

Later, a few of us went out to lunch with him, and he tells us how (pleasantly) surprised he was after how "sophisticated" our class conversation was today. Now, this isn't the "traditional" form of sophisticated conversation, but we understood what he meant. After all, some of the comments in class included things like: "Any good prostitute knows that you get the money first" or questions like "Can the victim admit evidence that the sex was bad the first time, thus making it less likely she would have consented again?"

Now, I'd like to see your class discussion do that.

Don't Make Me Shove My Footnote Up Your Ass

Ah, remember the days of college writing? You would get to the bibliography, and it was gravy from there. I mean, who really cared about following those rules of MLA and APA? You might slap some stuff on a page, and call it a day. As long as the information was there, was it really important how? That was my attitude at least.

Well, those days are gone. Long gone. Welcome to the world of The Bluebook. For those non-law students, allow me to clue you in. This is a book of citation, put out by the Harvard Law Review, governing every rule for citation. And I mean every. Need to know the official abbreviation for "Communication"? (Who knew it was "Commc'n"?) Need to know when to use "See" "E.g." "Cf." "But see" or "Compare"? Oh, there are rules aplenty. A veritable cornucopia.

So who on Earth cares about this? Me, that's who. And not because I feel some personal attachment to it (Although, I am anal-retentive, I admit). Rather, I have to care about it. Why? I'm a sub-citer. One of the nameless, faceless drones that works on a law journal, checking the footnotes, making sure that they are properly cited, checking the sources to make sure it's an accurate representation, and making other contributions to articles (additional research, general comments). What exactly is the purpose of this? Most law schools don't let 1Ls work as sub-citing, but not Harvard. Perhaps the 2Ls just don't want to, so they pass it on to us naive, unsuspecting types. But whatever the motivation, or however useless it might appear, I think it actually might be beneficial. It's good practice. Sure, it's secretarial work, but I think attention to detail is a hallmark of professionalism (again, need I point you to my anal-retentive nature?). In my search for sources, I am actually learning. Sure, these aren't the BIG lawyering skills, but it's the little things. The polish. The experience. Could be I've just been brainwashed by the system. But I think it's something else. After all, I kind of enjoy it. And if you think I would have to be crazy to enjoy some kind of mind-numbing, repetitive, pencil-pushing, menial task, that requires hours of my time in the library, all for the unattainable goal of "perfection," well, then we haven't met.

Let's Get One Thing Straight...

Me. I like girls. Yeah, that's the wittiest thing I could think of for an intro...

Anyway, things are going quite well these days. I feel like I have a solid handle on my classes. Rehearsals for the fall musical, The Wild Party have started, and I do love a good musical. I get to play "Phil," which should be a particularly fun character for me to play. He's one of the lover/brothers. Seedy! I've gone to my mandatory sub-cite training for journals. The very idea of proofreading footnotes gets me all hot and bothered. I'm not entirely sure yet which article(s) I'll be working on, or any kind of timeline, so that's a tad worrisome to Anal Retentive Andrew (I do love my Perry Ellis day planner). I'm really cutting myself off there. As much as I would love to do things like improv or the Prison Legal Asssisstance Program, I just can't. This isn't college or high school (although it does feel like it in so many odd ways). Plus, I have been thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to go to really cool speakers, like the World of Law Series that had the panel on criminal lawyers. Now that got me all hot and bothered. In an "I can see myself pursuing this career" kind of way. And today we had a screening of the movie "Rikers High" about the jail high school in New York City's Rikers Island. Very challenging stuff.

Don't forget that I need to have some kind of a life! I don't know what I would do without my Project Runway viewing parties. Probably cry. Even when the episode is terribly anti-climactic (Come on! Somebody has to get cut. Cheap). Or the late nights at the bar in the middle of the week. Ah, nothing like kicking back a few beers or several gin & tonics with your friends. Especially when Journey is playing in the background. And when you bribe a girl to grab Savith's ass. Hilarious! Nothing like making an awkward friend feel even more awkward (see Teddy).

Not really anything on the ol' "Lady Friend" front, but hey, that's probably for the best. Priorities, right? Now excuse me while I play "All By Myself." Hey, don't stop believin'...

It's soooo difficult being me...

Ok, not really. I mean, let's face it, there are some great perks: you have the ruggedly handsome good looks, the style, the metabolism, the wit, I'm a great package. In fact, lately I've been thinking it's Cloud Nine. Life is great. Well, life is great, but perhaps not quite as great as I was led to believe. I mean, everything was all fun and games, until someone lost an eye. Just read Scott v. Shepherd (Oh man, a Squib-Case joke would have killed in Torts).

So what has happened to the fun and games? Well, they're still there. I'm still hanging out with the super-cool Section 3 posse (as well as a few outsiders). There are still wild shindigs (such as our booze and Taboo fest outside the Hark), dinner parties (thanks for hosting, Silvia!), Project Runway viewings, and law school events with tons of free food and drink. So, the fun and games are still there. They haven't disappeared.

Here's what has happened: now there's too much going on. The first two weeks of school were great: I had everything balanced, things were going swimmingly. Now, we're in the thick of things. Ginormous piles of readings and assignments that seem pointless are met with the desire to get involved. What with all of the kick-ass guest speakers (Office of Public Interest Advising with Bryan Stevenson's incredible speech), the journals and organizations I want to get involved with (American Constitution Society, Civil Rights Civil Liberties, Law & Technology... this is the problem with a school with unbelievable opportunities), there just isn't enough time in the day. So who really suffers here? All of the ladies vying for this Man-Candy. Seriously, I need to fend them off with a stick.

But I'm not complaining. Not by a longshot. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm happiest when I'm busy. And when I'm eating something deep-fried. And when there's a pony. Hopefully, all three. But the important thing is I always make time for the things that are most important to me. Chances are, if you're reading this, you might just fall in that category. So feel special. Now get over yourself. Psh, how can someone be so narcissistic?

Bane of My Existence:

Ah, the ever expanding, ever irrational list that is "The Bane of My Existence." Some of you might even be on it (you know who you are). And now, I think I can already add another child to that woeful family. Civil Procedure.

I enjoy Professor Desan, don't get me wrong. However, I seem to have very little idea what we are talking about in class, and if I do understand what we're talking about, why we're talking about it is another matter entirely. I expected it to be dry and mind-numbing, such as any course with the word "Procedure" in the title might warn. However, that's not really my problem. Although, I must say, reading 19 different Federal Forms was quite dry (except for the one on Merchant Marines. That one was interesting). Anyway, my point is this: I feel awash in a sea of jibberty-jabber. I need foundation; grounding; stability. Perhaps that's my problem: I'm expecting something that doesn't really exist here. Ok, strong possibility that I actually need to form my expectations to the outer world. But what will that do to bolster my delusions of grandeur? Nothing. Perhaps I'm just afraid that when Professor Desan calls on me on Friday (that being the day my group is up), I won't have a clue what to say and embarrass myself. Ok, I'm used to embarrassing myself, that's not a problem in and of itself. I mean, how many times have I worn women's clothing in public? Don't answer that. (Besides, it's strictly a comfort issue). It's also the biggest workload of the other classes: three hours of reading each night, easily.

Well, all I can do is prepare, prepare, prepare. After all, maybe if I give it time, it will grow on me. Of course, the same thing can be said for cancer.

[Editor's Note: Ok, the class on Friday wasn't all that bad. Plus, I was able to laugh off my fumble. 9/16/06]

My First Week:

Ah, I have forgotten how glorious the weekend is. After all, during the summer, when I had no job or real responsibilities, it was one great big weekend. But no more! After my first week of law school, I am back to cherishing those two days like the last french fry in the bag.

So, what is it like so far? I'm glad you asked. It's definitely a different feel from college. I go to the same classes with the same 70+ people, so there's some quick bonding within the section. Especially over our confusion with Civil Procedure. It's certainly a relief to know that everyone is just about as lost as I am (for now, anyway... I'm sure that will get better, right?). The really nice thing about Professor Desan is that she breaks up the class into 6 panels, and each day a panel is responsible for the material. While anyone can volunteer to answer, she only 'cold calls' people from that days panel. So, if you're not in the panel, you don't have to worry about being called out of the blue. Unlike in Criminal Law. Professor Weinreb calls on volunteers and the seating chart. (Oh, that's right. We have seating charts again. Ah, the comfort that comes with order and predictability in an otherwise crazy world. Can you tell I'm borderline OCD/anal retentive?) Weinreb doesn't seem to be cruel about it, but then again, I haven't been called on yet. He is very much the classic, old-school law professor (who still calls students Mr. and Ms.). I really enjoy the material, but then again, I'm a crim junkie (hence the criminology major). The last real class that I have is Torts. So far, the class amounts to "good-touch/bad-touch" (ok, not really...). I really enjoy many hypotheticals that Professor Arlen tosses tosses out at us. She's the professor with the sense of humor. She's a visiting professor from NYU, and commutes here every week. I think since she wants to teach here, she's really trying to win us over. I'll take it! The last class I have is Legal Research and Writing. Since this one is pass/fail, I don't think anyone takes it seriously. Our teacher is Sonja Starr, who looks like a cross between Amy Poehler and Reese Witherspoon. The LRW classes are taught by fellows that want to become professors, and this is the first big step. Sonja seemed pretty nervous and a little awkward, so I hope she becomes more comfortable. The whole class is rooting for her.

So that's what my classes have been like. Once I'm out of class, I head over to the library for several hours. I'm definitely not used to spending several hours on studying every night, so I've been trying to get in good study habits now (I sure as hell can't coast like I did for undergrad.). Time sure flies when you're spending 3 hours of reading per class each night. But that's not the end of it. There's always something to do at night, most of which involve food and drink. The best ones offer free food and drink. The core crowd from Section 3 has been pretty good about going to events and planning our own. We don't go out every night (like some certain sections that will remain nameless), but we're pretty tight already.

So, it's been a week. A hard week. But a damn good week nonetheless.

Orientation, Ho!

Since Thursday, my calendar has been chock-full of activities. That's because it's 1L Orientation, and it's a blast! Between meeting really great people and having a ton of events to attend, I have been keeping busy, to say the least.

On Thursday, everything kicked off with a welcome by our section leader, Professor Singer (he'll be teaching Property in the Spring). After some discussion on a few cases that were assigned reading, we took off for a campus tour. Then, it was section photo time. I was sporting my Gap blue-and-purple-striped shirt, with khakis. Truly, a vision to behold. After which, we all chowed down at lunch. The last official business of the day was registration, which included paperwork, ID photos, and getting a bunch of free mugs, bottles, key-chains, etc. Throughout all of this, I was meeting a lot of people. Sure, it was the same conversation a thousand times :"Where are you from? Where did you do go to school? Are you coming right from undergrad? Could you please remove your hand?" (Ok, maybe not that last one.) With the beginnings of a core group of friends, a bunch of us met up for dinner, followed by the welcome celebration at the Kong. (Free drink tickets for 1Ls!). The place was packed! Makes sense if you invite 500+ people to a bar for free drinks. The scorpion bowls were the house signature: a large bowl filled with punch and various amounts of alcohol. A tad underwhelming, but not bad. My voice hoarse from trying to hold conversations in a packed bar, it was time to call it a night.

Friday: Our sample property class began with more discussion on the cases from Thursday. Professor Singer was really good about trying to get us to relax. However, it seemed a little intimidating. The classroom was a large lecture hall, and the seats are outfitted with microphones that you have to speak into in order to be heard. It looked more like a congressional hearing rather than a lecture hall. After class, we were divided up into groups of about 13 to go to lunch with our student advisors. I don't know how, but it lasted from 11:00 until 3:00. We went to the North End of Boston for some damn fine Italian food. We were all ready for a nap when we had to head back for Dean Kagan's welcome speech. It was your basic : "The students are our greatest resource... this is going to be the most important time of your life so far... have a great year." This was followed by a reception at "Hogwart's" as it is affectionately called (Annenberg Hall really does look like its cousin). Ah, free food and wine. Harvard certainly knows how to dish out the good food and drink. It was basically a swank cocktail party for about 500 people. After a good nap and some cleaning, a bunch of us headed to the Gypsy Bar in Boston for another event hosted by HL Central. That night, all the 1Ls didn't have to pay cover and stood in a separate, faster line. Do we have connections or what? It was a pretty snazzy bar, complete with dress code. The club was outfitted with a number of plasma TVs with fashion shows, and there was a jellyfish tank behind the bar. We were able to snag a table. Again, conversation wasn't easy, but we still tried. After a rocking good time, I grabbed a cab back home at 1:30.

Saturday: What better way to start your day after an evening of carousing than with a brewery tour? I certainly don't know of one. A bunch of us from Section 3, and others, met up at 10:30 to go over to Harpoon Brewery, and began tasting at noon. I'm a bigger fan of wine tasting, myself, but it was still a lot of fun. Afterwards, we all went our separate ways, then met back up again a couple hours later for dinner and a movie with the section. Professor Singer had pizza, salad, soda, and Local Hero. Odd movie that nobody had seen (except Singer), but it was amusing, and we had a good discussion after. When all that was over, some of us headed over to the Cambridge Common for some more drinks and conversation that lasted until 1:00 AM.

So, that's been my very busy couple of days. Food, drink, and great people. I have been really pleasantly surprised by how nice and social everyone is. Even though it's the same basic questions when meeting people, it's amazing how diverse the class is. We come from all over the country, all over the world, with so many different backgrounds. Of course, with our real classes beginning on Tuesday, I'm sure we're going to have a heck of a lot more to talk about then!

All By Myself

So here I am. My sister left for Wisconsin today, and I am now officially on my own, once again. I'm a big boy! And yet I don't know what to do. Orientation doesn't begin until a week from Thursday, so I really haven't met anyone yet. The cably guy is coming on Monday. Until then, what's a gal to do? Err... boy. Man. Ruggedly handsome man. Point being: one man can only watch the same episodes of Scrubs or his brand new used DVD of Silence of the Lambs (Holla, Julie!) so many times. I tried getting a jump start on my assignments (oh, yes, I have received assignments by e-mail, even though classes don't start until Sept. 5. Daaaaamn!), but I can only get so far without access to the law library yet, since registration isn't until the 31st. I've tried planning my outfit for class photo day (also the 31), but I just don't know what to do. I mean, I've hit a roadblock here, folks. Obviously, I'm feeling khakis and some collared shirt. But do I go tie? I don't want to be that guy wearing a tie when nobody else is, but I also don't want to be that guy who isn't wearing a tie when everyone else is (gooooooo conformist!). I mean, we're talking class photos here. CLASS PHOTO! This is something for all posterity. This is a fundamental step. Damn it, it's prom all over again. Let's hope this doesn't end in bitter tears and broken dreams, too (just kidding!). So, moral of the story: what am I to do? Until I figure that out, I guess the only thing I can do is try and grow a pair. And pick out the bitching-est corsage ever. Wish me luck!

Moving is a Bi-yotch*

*Or: Why U-Haul can bite me and corkscrew

I never want to move again. Ever. Seriously. I hate this game, and I suck at it like nobody's business. What should happen but the good people at U-Haul overbooked for Wisconsin by 40 people. So, while I went into Milwaukee for the last time to see Ellen, Mother drove in to Iowa City to pick up a U-Haul. This was soon followed by cramming as much of my crap into the truck as possible. In my usual irresponsible way, I decided to enjoy my last night by seeing my friends in their awesome production of "Little Shop of Horrors" followed by drinks at T.G.I. Friday's. So I didn't get home until around midnight, with lots of packing left to do. I still don't regret it. A great memory of a night out with friends is worth even little sleep and putting up with my pissed-off sister who was so kind and willing to help. Bridges have been burned.

On Sunday, we finally left around 11:30. To sum up: the trip ended in tears. Namely, my mother's. And not entirely from losing her baby to law school, but because I couldn't take it any more when she started talking to the police officer on the street in a baby voice. "Hi! This is our first time in Boston!" as she moves the man's earflap so he can hear her. Wow. My words: "You are a 55 year old doctor. Start [expletive deleted] acting like one." Granted, this is after I've been driving around Boston and Cambridge with a 14' U-Haul, dealing with the construction workers who are blocking our reserved parking spot (that cost me 25 friggin bucks for the day!), and attempting to parallel park a U-Haul. However, all went well after that. The rain from the morning finally stopped, we got our parking spot, we unloaded everything, and some people who were moving in to the adjoining unit volunteered to help.

Now everything is pretty much set up. All the furniture is put together with a little blood, sweat, and tears. Quite literally. I dropped the heaviest item (my desk) on my foot. So much for wearing sandals again this year! Damn. There goes my foot modelling career. Once I get rid of the trash and boxes, this place is gonna look damn fine. Just remember: If my bachelor pad is a rockin', feel free to come a-knockin'. Wink!

Am I actually ready for this?

I mean, seriously. The freaking out has crept in. I am leaving on Sunday for Boston. This Sunday. Harvard. Yow. New town. New school. New people. New everything. Considering that I'm not even ready for the physical move (yeah, I've had all summer, and I have accomplished nil), I don't even know about the whole uprooted social scene. Maybe that's why I've tried to avoid seeing people, so I don't have to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. Plus, you rarely know when "goodbye" really means "goodbye." How many times have I said it, and still seen the person again? Far too many to count. So, I will take that optimistically. If I haven't said goodbye to you, that's why. I'm just such an optimist.

Area Rugs on Clearance are Better than Sex:

Or: So this is what my life has become?

Upon preparing for the big move, I realize that I have reached a certain stage of my life. I'm not sure exactly what the technical term for it is, but I shall just call it "Nesting." This is where I am finding things for my new apartment. Now, to the untrained eye, it might appear as though this is the same as finding the new things for the room freshman year of college. However, this is entirely different from the residence hall (or "dorm" for the bourgeouis swine who have never become slaves to the cult of res life and know better). Then it was a time of finding cool, kitschy, handy space saver items. Fun patterns, bright colors, and if it's plastic, all the better! No, no my friends, I am now firmly in the place where I drool over Crate & Barrel. Apparently, and don't ask how, I am now on the mailing list for Pottery Barn. Pages are dog-eared and committed to memory. Which is handy, because some of them stick together (ok, ew, not like that - my sister's dog threw up on it). So what is a day in the life of the Nester?

I wake up around 7:30 AM, even though I don't work, I'm not in school, I am far from the mythical "morning person" and normally having nothing real to do. However, today is an exception. I eagerly get up this early because I have a date. No, not the real kind (honestly, you should know me better than that!). Starting at 8:00 AM, Kohl's is having a huge sale. Well, I want to get there before all the old geezers who can save an additional 20%. (So not only do they get Social Security - which won't exist when I'm their age - but they get better discounts? Bastards!) Anyway, I find a lovely area rug and end up paying only a third of the sticker price. Result! Add some kitchen rugs, a pillow that is the perfect shade to complement my chair, and I'm quite accomplished. Later, it's off to Menard's to try and find a carpet runner for the bedroom, which I've decided to do in shades of blues.

Yep, this is my sad life. Perhaps the saddest part is I really don't think it's sad at all. I'm excited about it. I like nice things. I like my hardwood floors. And I need to put the effort into making my home look nice now, because when school actually starts, I'm not going to have the time or energy to do it.

Now, for everyone out there worried about me, please don't. I'm still just as obsessed about clothing. I've simply added home furnishings and decor to my repertoire. To illustrate: I'm at Boston Store while Mother is shopping for purses. As I browse the men's section, I find the most gorgeous grey pin-stripe suit. Perry Ellis. 100% wool. And, best part yet: flat front pants. No pleats! And, because of the one-day event, I could save $50 because Boston Store classifies Mother as a "senior citizen." But of course, it's nowhere near fitting. I'm just too tall. Bastards. This would not be a problem in Italy, where things are made for my body type. I swear, sometimes the tall, skinny, handsome ones just can't catch a break...

There and Back(pack) Again:
Chapter 5: "Lazy" is a four-letter word
Ok. Here's the deal. As much as I would have liked to finish translating my travel journal into blog form, it's just not going to happen. Also, I have considered the fact that I am moving in two weeks, and at that point should have new, exciting things going on in my life. So, quite apropos (yeah, I just wanted to use "apropos". I'm That Guy.) for my whirlwind tour of Europe, I shall finish up my account in whirlwind fashion.

Torino - Italy
*Woke up to realize my credit card is lost. Ginormous headache. All better now.
*Stopped by drug police at the train station. Think the dog smelled Liz's bloody crotch. No, seriously.
*Hour-long trek to find tampons in the morning, then back on the train to Nice.
Nice - French Rivieria
*Beach was gorgeous. Stayed in the sun too long. Burned like Joan of Arc. Too soon?
*Saw 70-year old woman with large, fake breasts oiling her leathery hide. Shudder.
*Accidentally walked in on a funeral service. Awwwwkwaaaaaaard...

San Sebastian - Spain
*Did laundry (this was the highlight of Spain).
*Fell in love with sangria.
*Fell in love with watching the waves of the Atlantic Ocean crash into the shore.

Bordeaux - France
*Wine Tour! (We took notes!)
*Acted as "tour guide's pet"
*Had some damn good wine (I recommend the 2003 Sauterne.)
*Sketchiest layover ever: Dax train station. The man telling us about the secret archives buried under the Vatican was the least crazy person there.

Belgium: Brussells
*Almost too quaint. Borderline Disney, without actually being obnoxious.
Brugges:
*Heard the infamous quote : "Y'all, they do NOT have TexMex here!" from a dumb sorority type American girl, shocked that the restaurant in BELGIUM didn't serve TexMex. Gasp!
*Choco-Story: museum detailing the history of chocolate. Free samples!

Amsterdam - Netherlands
*No we did not.
*Skin crawled at the concept of window-shopping for people.
*Van Gogh museum rocked my socks. Sex Museum was lame.

Paris - France
*Stayed in a one-star hotel. Wondered why it cost only 16 Euro a night. Found out quickly. *So many sights: Notre Dame, Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, Opera House. All gorgeous. Never enough time.
*Went to the Moulin Rouge. Had to buy shoes. Wasted by the end. Topless women and ponies!

Frankfurt - Germany
*Found out we didn't have entry stamps on passport. German guard alerted us it was a crime. Crapped ourselves. All worked out.
*During security check it felt like I was being frisked by cotton candy and smiles.

Newark New Jersey
*10 hour layover from 8 PM to 6AM. Let us never speak of this again.

Home Sweet Home!

For individuals who want to see even more photos, please check out my Facebook albums. For those who still can't get enough, if you really want all 490 in disc form, just ask, and I'll call your therapist!

There and Back(pack) Again

Chapter 4: Roman Holiday

Ciao, Florence; Ciao, Rome! Thank goodness there was a Lolita-esque girl offering to help us buy metro tickets in Rome, and we found the Colosseum with no problem. We thoroughly enjoyed walking around the ruins. Plus, Elizabeth was able to purchase her "Prada" bag for a mere 15 Euro, haggling down from 28. I have yet to see her take it anywhere. Anyhoo, we spent a couple of fun hours around the ol' Forum, popped in on the Pantheon, and paid a visit to the Trevi Fountain. Nothing particularly funny or interesting happened at these locales. However, on the train ride to our Campground, we were treated to a rendition of "La Bamba." O....k....

The campground... how do I begin? We were unable to find any hostels in advance, and the best we could come up with was a campground with a bungalow for two. I think the word "bungalow" should have tipped us off. No, what should have tipped us off was the receptionist offering us a "trailer." Yes, that should have been a warning flag. Ok, it wasn't all that bad. It was just... Spartan? Luckily, our two-person bungalow was spruced up with some sassy paintings on the walls (literally on the walls, not hanging). One was a cheetah, and the other was a tree with a girl and boy squirrel. Anyway, we spent most of the night in the internet cafe, trying to book hostels and budget hotels for the rest of the trip. We wanted to get the hell out of that cafe. Random children, skanky American girls flirting with the bartender, and a giant dog that put Cujo to shame. It took a couple hours of planning, but we got the job done, got a bottle of wine, and headed back to the ol' bungalow. Fun times!

The next day was the ol' Vatican City. First, we checked out St. Peter's. Thanks to my navigation skills, we ended up in the wrong line. Rather than just going in the church, we were in the line to take the trip to the top of the cuppola. What the hey! It was only 4 Euro. Ok, it was also 500+ steps, hauling a 25 pound backpack on my wimpy frame, but it was well worth almost passing out. After we said good-bye to our shirpa (sp?), and went into the church proper. This was where we got to see La Pieta, although it felt like it was a mile away. Sigh... at least we had the opportunity to see it at all, I suppose. This was also where Elizabeth and I smuggled Holy Water. We simply emptied our travel Dramamine container, and I palmed the tube into the water. The idea was to give it to our Grandmother (which we forgot to do when we saw her. Naturally.).

Next stop: Vatican museums and Sistine Chapel. So, the two-hour long wait that wrapped around most of Vatican City wasn't too bad. What was bad, however, was arriving at the ticket window to find out that they don't accept credit cards. What the hell? What do you mean the Vatican doesn't take credit. BS! Considering we were 3 Euro short (Damn, we shouldn't have had that gelato), I was volunteered to book it to the nearest ATM. Luckily for us (sarcasm), the guards were able to point us in the right direction. This direction was as follows: "Right, then right, then left, then right... and it's right there." Uh...huh... Well, do I really need to tell you that I couldn't find it? So I'm scrambling all over trying to find a damn ATM, hoping that Liz is doing ok holding down the fort with the tickets. I finally found one, got the money, and hustled. I'm sure I looked terribly awkward. Naturally. So, we had the cash. I was afraid of mob violence when I walked up to the front of the line. Luckily, no such thing happened. I'm guessing they thought: "Hey, why does that guy get to go to the front? Oh... he's ruggedly handsome. Sorry, my mistake." It could have happened that way... Regardless, we got our tickets, and sped through most of the museum (since we wanted to see the Sistine Chapel before closing time, which was rapidly approaching). The Chapel was unbelievable. In a perfect world, I would have just sprawled out on the floor, lying on my back, and looking up at it all day. But we all know this isn't a perfect world. Rather, it is one that is crowded with large, annoying people. Bastards.

After cramming culture down and up the wazzoo, we enjoyed the accomodations of a nice Scottish pub near the train station, where we were able to watch the World Cup games. Even I had fun! Between watching the games and the wonderfully attractive people, it was time to call it a night and catch the Midnight Train to Torino (which we didn't stop singing, a la "Midnight Train to Georgia.). Boy did we feel bad for the guy that had to share the sleeper car with us. Plus our shandals and feet smelled of death. Sweet dreams!

There and Back(pack) Again:
Chapter 3: Drive-Thru Culture

Our first full day in Florence was dedicated primarily to the Uffizi Gallery. We had both heard so much about it and its infamously long lines that we prepared to be there well before it opened. That didn’t happen, and we had a solid 2 ½ hour wait. This provided us with plenty of opportunities to acquaint ourselves with our fellow tourists-in-waiting, including (but not limited to): the newlywed couple and their incessant PDA, the trashy American high school girls who were dressed for Nascar’s finest, and the awkward-sense-of-humor Germans (allow me to elaborate: after I had cut my hand on a water bottle – don’t ask – I was holding my hand above my head to stop the bleeding. At which point the German father jokes: “White power!” Too soon?). Finally, our turn came and we were let in to one of the finest museums in the world.

We spent a solid three hours in the Uffizi, and it still wasn’t enough (although it never is). As we were about to leave, it came to my attention that we had somehow missed the Boticellis and Da Vincis (even though they were right near the entrance). So, we backtracked through the entire museum, because I was not leaving without seeing the Birth of Venus or La Primavera. It was well worth it.

Since we hadn’t eaten all day and it was already 14:00 (or 2:00 PM for you bourgeois Americans), lunch was in order before we trekked over to the Duomo. At this point, Elizabeth and I learned something about the metric system: namely, our total lack of understanding. If we had considered the situation more carefully, we might have realized how much a liter of wine actually is (NB: most bottles are .75 L). However, we were impatient and it was cheap. So, we were a tad tipsy… at 3:00 in the afternoon… in a cathedral. Meh. If you think that’s the most sacrilegious thing I’ve done, you don’t know me at all.

When we returned to the hostel, we finally met some fun hostel-mates hanging around. Soon, the “Firenze Posse” was born. This included (other than my sister and me) Jen, from California, Sara, from Canadia, and Frank and Josh from Pennsylvania. Soon we left for the pub, had a few rounds, a few great stories, and an all around good time. One of the best things about traveling around had to be the great people we met.

The next day, Sara, Liz, and I woke up early to check out the Galleria del Accademia to see Michelangelo’s David. The other guys were going to join us, but we think they decided to sleep in instead. Anyway, we were expecting another few hours in line, so we arrived about half an hour before the museum opened, which paid off since we got in right away. Unfortunately, the museum did not have a cloak room, and Liz and I had our ginormous backpacks. Thus, we were informed by the museum people that we could take turns going into the museum, and that was the best they could do. I got to go in first while Liz watched the stuff. As I entered the gallery itself, I turned the corner, and there he was. At the end of the corridor, standing approximately 5m tall was my favorite sculpture, David. My jaw literally dropped. Just being able to walk around him, look up at him, it was an experience unlike any other. I do not know how to explain it any more than describing it as a spiritual experience. As difficult as it was to tear away, I had to give Elizabeth her chance. After she finished, we said goodbye to Florence with an amazing last impression.

P.S. My latest addition to my "Top Ten Sexiest Things Ever" List? Beautiful women wearing skirts and riding Vespas. Sigh...

In Lawrence, Kansas right now, enjoying the 100 degree heat and the company of my Dad. More details on that later. For now...

There And Back(pack) Again:
Chapter 2: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Flamingo...

After spending the morning in Venice, we hopped on another train to Florence. Along the way, however, we decided to take a pit stop in Ferrara, to see Castello Estense, the ancestral home of the Este family. Clearly, our family has gone somewhat downhill from the good ol’ days. Going from Machiavellian tyrants rivaling the Medicis to white trash from Arkansas, the Estes family has certainly seen some changes. We had a friggin’ moat! Anyway, we went through the castle to learn a little history about our family. It was quite nice, actually. We called it a day and headed back to the train station. This is when I realized that I no longer had my glasses on (this also says something about how much I need glasses when I can go an entire day without realizing that they are missing). Checking through the digital pictures we had taken, I noticed the first time I was not wearing them was the castle dungeon. There was something oddly humorous about leaving my glasses behind in the family dungeon. Oh well, we had a train to catch!

Arriving in Florence led to one of the many moments of tension between my sister and me. I will be the first to grant anyone that my sense of direction just plain sucks. However, Elizabeth is even worse. We were trying to find the hostel, and I was trying to help by offering the simple advice that we should travel in the correct direction. I think she believed my ability to discern the direction we were facing by the position of the sun in the sky was pure witchcraft. Anyway, I simply kept my mouth shut as she led us around in the complete opposite direction. Eventually she had to ask someone else for help (twice, actually). The important thing is we found it. This was an actual dormitory, unlike the Venetian attic. Bunk beds, lockers, what more do you need? Once we were settled in, we decided to hit the town!

Our first stop was a bar highlighted in my travel book for having a snack buffet. It took us a while to find the Elliot Braun Bar, since the numbering system was quite f-ed up. The deal was if we purchased a 5E drink, we could eat all we wanted. Sounded good to me. Liz had a nice glass of wine, and I ordered a mojito. I figured since it was only 5E (in a very nice-looking bar) and came with our grazing dinner, it was going to be weak. This was when I learned that Europeans make damn good drinks. This was basically a glass of rum. Oh, and it was delicious. The bartender made it with painstaking love and care. Mmmmm… once we had our fill of food, booze, and people-watching, we were ready for the next stop.

One of the greatest disappointments of the trip was the Flamingo. In Elizabeth’s guidebook, we were told of this great gay bar called the Flamingo. How could we pass this opportunity up? We followed the map and the address listed, which seemed to lead us to some shady-ass back streets and service entrances. The Flamingo was not to be found. However, in the strange way that the world works, when we were heading to the Flamingo, I heard someone say: “Andrew?” My ears perked up, but I kept walking since obviously this person couldn’t have been talking to me. Then I heard: “Andrew Estes?” This is when I stop in my tracks. I wheel around, and am greeted by Sara Podoll, former Straz resident. I was very freaked out. Oh, not by her, just by seeing someone from Marquette on the streets of Florence. Small world, huh?

Anyway, with the disappointment of the Flamingo, we decided to find a bar near the hostel. The first one we went into was a tad shady. By which we mean the really sketch guy that came to sit next to us suggested we get the absinthe. Check please! We had better luck at this cool Irish pub. We watched some of the World Cup and ordered a random drink. (Seriously, this was a random drink. The process? By smashing a potato chip on the table, the number of fragments told us which cocktail to order). I can’t recall the name of the drink, but it was basically a glass of vodka. With that, we headed back to the hostel (2:00 AM curfew… boo-urns!). Liz and I were the last two to enter the dorm room. Clearly, this was the perfect time to get the giggles. We were trying our damnedest (is that a word?) not to wake anyone up as we climbed onto our bunks. I’m sure we failed. After a solid 10 minutes of quasi-suppressed giggles, we fell asleep.

There and Back(pack) Again:

Chapter 1: How do you make a Venetian blind?*

Our first stop on the Grand Tour was Venice. The train ride through the Swiss Alps was simply gorgeous, and filled with colrful characters, such as the 20-something girl sitting across from us who kept smelling her armpits. Or the woman who was bawling on her cell phone, and another woman behind us who, by the sounds she was making, was well on her way to reaching heights of ecstasy that the rest of us can only dream of. Anyway... this city was my pick, since I just spent the last semester studying its history. So, I think I got a lot more out of it than Elizabeth did. I think for her the novelty of the canals and the many winding alley-like streets that rarely displayed names (and if they did, they changed after a block) wore off rather quickly.

It is amazing to look back and see how naive we were that first day, and then compare it to our worldly wisdom by the end. On the advice of Liz's friend Patty, who was a tremendous asset to the planning of this trip, we did not book any hostels in advance. We wanted to be flexible, be spontaneous, and change our plans on a whim. We quickly discovered that would not be the case. As we arrived at our first hostel, the receptionist informed us that they were booked, and that most hostels book days in advance. Good to know. Luckily, she gave us the name of a "budget hotel/hostel." So we checked it out. It didn't look too bad, really. The kind, little old lady welcomed us, and insisted on showing us the dormitory setup before we took it. And by "dormitory" I mean "attic." Imagine an attic. Imagine clotheslines with sheets for walls, separating the tiny beds from each other. Bingo. We quickly got used to Spartan settings.

Since we arrived in the late afternoon, by the time we got checked in, it was already early evening, so most of the museums and sights had closed. So, we took one of the water-buses, or "vaporetti" down the Grand Canal and checked out the Piazza de San Marco, the Doge's Palace, the whole shebang. Sure, we couldn't go inside because they were closed, but it was still really cool just to walk around, check out the amazing architecture, and enjoy gelatto. Sweet, sweet gelatto. After that, we found ourselves near the Museo d'Arte Erotica. Not something you might normally go to with your sister, but then again, mine is hardly a normal family. I actually rather enjoyed the museum. It had a great deal of history to it, and was quite well done. Done with that, we picked up a pizza and a 4 Euro bottle of chianti and headed back to the "hotel" where we spent the rest of the evening drinking and planning the rest of our trip.

In the morning, we took another one of the vaporetti down to Venice's Galleria del Accademia. Yes, my sister and I are big museum junkies, so this trip included plenty of those. Some of the notables in this museum included Titian and Veronese. Good guys. Sadly, that was all the time we had booked for that day if we wanted to spend the afternoon in Ferrara and be in Florence by early evening. Thus, with a small lump in my throat (I think it was the loaf of bread I just wolfed down) I said farewell to "La Serenissima," Venice.


*You poke him in the eye!

There And Back(pack) Again*

Prologue:

Before delving into the juicy bits of my vacation in Europe, I felt it necessary to describe how we actually got there.

On the night of June 6, Liz, Mother, and I left for Chicago, so we could spend the night, get up early for our 9:00 flight. How might I describe the Day's Inn near O'Hare? If you have ever seen the movie Big, simply call to mind Tom Hanks's cozy little pad. If you haven't seen the movie, let me put it to you this way: the first thing we did after parking Mother's car was to remove the "Harvard Law School" decal from the rear windshield. Furthermore, I placed a complicated, "MacGyver" security system on our hotel door that consisted of a chair and several metal coat-hangers. Needless to say, we survived the night and made it to the airport on time.

Our aunt was generous enough (she always is!) to donate her frequent flyer miles to Elizabeth and me. This allowed us to travel to Europe free of charge... business class. Oh, sweet Jebus, did that rock my world. Besides having much-needed leg room for yours truly, the luxuries were fantastic: good food, non-stop beverages (and I don't just mean the standard ginger ale, folks. We're talking booze!), individual TV sets, fully-customizable chairs, the works! This allowed us to arrive in Zurich not only well rested, but also in style!

By the time we got to Zurich, Liz and I had everything pretty much figured out for our trip. Yes, it had taken us a while to actually get an itinerary. After getting back from the NACURH Conference, it was a nonstop flurry of getting our crap together for this trip. During the layovers and long flights, we were able to actually nail it down. The plan? From Zurich, it would be: Venice, Ferrara, Florence, Rome, Nice, San Sebastian, Belgium, Amsterdam, Paris. To do it all in just two weeks, we knew we had to have our game-faces on. This would not be your slackers' casual, lazy backpack trip through Europe. Oh no. This was to be a hardcore, no-holds-barred, "we can sleep when we're dead," whirlwind of fury throughout western Europe. And as you shall soon see, it was friggin' awesome.


*Anyone who says this title is not completely original is a dirty liar. And probably a communist.

Coming (Back) to America

June 23. 11:10 AM. Home. After two weeks of Europe and travelling since 9:30 AM (Europe time!) on June 22, a few things were in order.

1) Shower. I cannot tell you how long it lasted, since I believe all time and space ceased to exist. It was pure energy. Like a snake shedding its skin, I shed a layer of filth. If I smoked, I would have had a cigarette afterwards, it was that good. But since I don't (and thus, didn't), I had something even better...

2) Mexican food. They do not have good TexMex in Europe, y'all. (There is actually a story behind this sentence, so look forward to that). Our celebration of being home was fed by our good friends at Mi Cocina. Chips, salsa, tacos, pitcher of margaritas, what more could we possibly want? Oh, dear, that hit the spot. We had some good eats and drinks, but there's nothing like good ol' home cooking (which for us, is Mi Cocina).

3) Photos. There would be no possible way to do justice to our stories without having the vast library of photos on the computer. Even after deleting the blurry and just plain ugly, we were left with just shy of 500 photos. 2 weeks. Yep, we were those tourists.

4) Sleep. It was only around 4:00 PM, and it was time for a nap. My plan was just to take a small cat nap, maybe an hour or so. Sure, I was tired after everything, particulary the last day+ of travel, including the 10 hour layover in the Newark airport from 8:00 PM to 6:00 AM. Just enough to re-energize, I thought. I awoke at 2:00 AM, extremely confused, having no idea where I was or what happened. It took me a while to figure things out, but when I did, I rolled off the couch, stumbled upstairs, and crashed in my bed, getting up for good at 7:00 AM. I think 15 hours was a good rest.

5) Laundry. I really should just burn these clothes, but that's just sacrilege for me. Besides, after rewearing them so much, they're like family, really. Perhaps even more so, because I like them (kidding!).

What now? Well, I shall be posting an account of my travels, to the best of my ability. It shall take some editing (not for "adult content" mind you, since that's the best stuff, but simply for length and to fit the format of your TV), and a few days, but I shall do it. Look forward to it, because there are some great tales.

You Can't Spell "Blah" without "BERKELEY"*

Just got back from NACURH 2006 Conference at UC Berkeley. Boo-urns. Thank goodness I was with a bunch of great people from Marquette, otherwise I might just have intentionally walked into oncoming traffic. Worst. Conference. Ever. While that might not seem like a good time for my last "official Marquette experience," I still enjoyed it. What would I have done without a delightful group of cynical, hilarious, fun people, who enjoyed quoting Mean Girls and watching MTV's Parental Control ("I'm Miss USA Internation?) as much as I did? Most likely cry myself to sleep. Which wouldn't have been terrible, since I didn't get much sleep anyway.

Uber-meta-sarcastic rant? Starting.... now! Boy am I glad they had more vegan options than meat options ("We proudly serve Tyson chicken" my ass!). I'm also glad I could count the number of conference volunteers I saw (outside of ceremonies) on one hand. Whew - good thing every program I went to felt like a roundtable. Of course, that didn't really matter, since I was in business meetings almost the entire time. On the bright side, luckily, it only took 4 and a half hours to vote in some name-changes. What a relief. As usual, we topped off the conference with a wonderful meal at the banquet: mmmm... cold chicken and weeds! What will I miss most of all? That would have to be the Transportation Chair, David Sohn, who was shouting at delegations, and even grabbed one of our delegates by the arm. Luckily, he was armed with the twin swords of "professionalism" and "courtesy."

Well, that's the end of that chapter. I came home Monday afternoon, and promptly realized that Elizabeth and I had no planning or packing completed for our European tour - and we leave for Chicago on Tuesday night . Eeeeek! So, we made some quick lists, fired off some shopping extravaganzas, made numerous phone calls, and I think we may actually be ready. We even had time for a haircut and eyebrow wax (for the record, I got the haircut, Liz got the eyebrow wax). We are still not prepared, but we figure we can plan stuff out by the seat of our pants (if only they were tear-away) and on the long plane and/or train rides. Of course, we are confident that we will charm the wealthy locals with our delightful mannerisms, as well as our coordinated shandals and backpacks. They're going to hate us, aren't they? Either way, it should be a blast! Two weeks of a "liquid diet" across the pond? Count me in. Don't worry, I shall have stories galore. See you June 23!



*I am well aware that yes, in fact, you can.

Pompous Circumstances

May 21, 2006: Graduation. I'm hoping to leave Marquette with some wisdom, a little dignity, good friends, and great memories. Four years have passed since I came as a wee freshman, and now I'm leaving as a wee graduate. An alumnus. Some people told me that they just couldn't believe it's been four years. (Mother says it felt like only three - then again, she's senile). But looking back, I feel it's been a solid four. Now, for a streaming highlight reel in quotes and inside jokes.

Bible Bowling. Stalking "Mousy Girl". Chunky Butters. Sober Angel. Camps. Dance Committee. Babysitting. Cult of the RA. Mama Ray Ray. Mountain of Frappuccinos. Photos of me in a nightie. Dressing as a gay trucker from 1987. MKDD2K4. "Friends spoon all the time!" Bajanga-bajanga-bajanga-bajanga. "Colt." Manscaping Conversations. "I Believe in a Thing Called Love." Apples and coots. Maracas-breasts. In-out-in-out-in-out. Monologue mode. Adult Time. Business Andrew. Friday night club. Photos of me in a dress. Drunken MKDD2k4. Manifestos. "Oh, Sugar, Sugar!" Mountain of Porn. Too much shopping. The Sweater. Summer depressing movie club. Margaritas. The Blazer. Suit Premiere Party. "Drill Bill." The Help. Vegetarianism. Slumber Party. Thursday Night Club. Julie's underwear. Sidling. A. Crew and Rand McNelli: Leading with style and direction. Emotional Andrew.

And that's just off the top of my head! That's not including the memories closest to my heart, which cannot possibly be expressed here. So yes, it has been a solid four years of ups and downs, jokes and tears, trials and tribulations, and ending with Pomp and Circumstance (Whatever that means). I will no longer say it's been a long four years, because if that's how long it took to make me who I am today, then not a moment was wasted. So thank you to everyone who has contributed to my four years at Marquette. Thank you for every joke, every hug, every tear, every memory, every moment.