A Thanksgiving Tableau

Attendees at my parents' house this year for Thanksgiving dinner were my parents, of course, my aunt Sue and uncle Victor, and Scott and I. A traditional holiday feast consisting of turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, dressing, veggies and rolls was served. Conversation began with the usual topic of midget wrestling* then moved on to co-workers my dad has had at various jobs, including but not limited to Fish Eye and Broke Toe. Eventually, my dad worked in his schpiel about how men are inherently greater than women. At this point I began clearing the dishes, followed shortly thereafter by my mom and aunt. My dad continued to regale my uncle and Scott with his opinions on women, how they should be kept** and their uses.*** He then tried to help us finish clearing the table and was met with dismay. My mom insisted that he join the menfolk and that they could talk about manly things that we poor women just wouldn't be able to understand. She also told him that the next time he got hungry he could just go to the reservation and hunt him up a new woman.

On Saturday before we left, my dad apologized to me and said he had his medicine and would start taking it again.****

I love family holidays. Only three more weeks to go until the next one!

*If my dad doesn't bring it up, Scott will; he loves hearing about the glory days of the aforementioned "sport."

**In case you're wondering, as I'm sure you are, women should be kept on reservations, then when a man needs one for whatever purpose (see note below) he can just go and hunt one up. Who knows, this could turn out to be more entertaining than midget wrestling. After all, no one said we can't carry our own weapons.

***Sex, cooking, having babies, cleaning, sex, laundry and, obviously, sex.

****Which means that Christmas will be much less offensive but also much less entertaining.

Graduation Recap

Bre, I'd totally hire you.

It's been almost a whole month since I officially went from unemployed law student to unemployed law grad and with all the subsequent commotion, I am just now getting around to uploading those pics to my computer, and I thought I'd share some highlights from the day:

1. Commencement Speaker WIN - Secretary of Energy Steven Chu. In a surprisingly entertaining and sincere speech, Secretary Chu advised all Wash U grads to "do something that matters." That was after he likened himself to the corpse at an Irish wake, i.e. the only thing between us and the party.

2. People Watching WIN - While waiting for the processional to end at the university-wide ceremony, we were afforded a great people-watching opportunity. Reagan found a guy with an awesome pompadour, and we decided that the Secret Service was there with Secretary Chu. Also, while waiting to leave the first ceremony, a poor WULAW staffer, stuck waiting with our banner, had clearly had enough of the festivities.







3. Undergrad WIN - At least I assume it was an undergrad scheme to bring in a giant inflatable penis, blow it up and send it flying through the graduate section toward the end of the university-wide ceremony.

4. Commencement Speaker FAIL - Strobe Talbott, President of the Brookings Institute. We all had much higher expectations for this speaker than for Secretary Chu, but our confidence was misplaced. The speech was more appropriate for a political rally, making many in the audience, regardless of political standing, a little uncomfortable. I was trying to hang on, thinking the president of one of the nation's oldest think tanks would eventually have something to say worth hearing, but as soon as the words "nuclear proliferation" escaped, I became much more interested in trying to find people I knew in the crowd and calculating how long my poor feet could hold out, which brings me to...

5. Cute Shoe FAIL - So I had these super cute strappy snakeskin, 3.5" heels that I wore. Big mistake. While they gave me a bit of much needed height, my hubby informed me that I was still one of the shortest grads. He said he found my spot in the processional for looking for the dip towards the end of the alphabet. (In my defense, I was surrounded by about a dozen guys on either side, so I could have been a normal-sized person and still been shorter than those around me.) Also, in the process of crossing campus for the first ceremony, I tripped and bit it, hard. I actually have a graduation scar on my anklebone. The shoes came off as soon asI got to my seat on the quad, and stayed off until I had to process in for the law ceremony. They are now in their box in a packing box, probably never to be unpacked again.

6. Voice of the Class WIN - Becky's "Part of Denmark" story was cleverly analogized to our class and she left me feeling good about choosing Wash U, largely due to the many fabulous folks I have been lucky enough to meet while here.

Just one of those fabulous folks, my old rooomie!

7. Gathering FAIL - Due to the general chaos of the day, and the large number of people I was toting around after the ceremony, I was unable to find any friends post-J.D.-conferment for party pics. Dang. But I did end up with some great ones before the whole shindig got underway. Plus, our 7 a.m. mimosa toast on top of the parking garage was hard to beat.

8. Regalia WIN - Despite my last post, I have to say we all look pretty sharp in our robes and tams. And the hoods definitely add to our general overall scholarli-ness. Way to spring for the high-quality stuff, Wash U. If we get nothing else from our degree, we looked pretty damn sharp on the day you gave it to us.

At least we look official.

9. Diploma...WTF - So I get my diploma, get back to my seat to read over it, and realize I can't. Read it, that is. Because it's in Latin. Even the name of the school. And the name of the state. I'm pretty sure there isn't a real Latin word for Washington, much less Missouri. It looks like the fake diploma that comes with the diploma frames you find at Wal-Mart. I did get a nice, classy frame for it, with Wash U School of Law in gold on the matte, and I hope that quells any doubts people might have about the legitimacy of my degree if they see my diploma.

Washingtoniana? Missouriensi?

All in all, a memorable day. Thanks to friends and family, a great few days leading up to and following it. But mostly, I'm just glad I don't have to go to summer school.

Regalia Fail.

Graduation is in four days. Today I picked up my cap and gown, etc., cracked up with a friend who I ran into in the bookstore over the caps we have to wear, got home and got an email from the same friend suggesting that I try on my gown, because as a fellow shorty, the one I got might just be too long. So I broke into my bag of goodies:

Along with the robe, tam (because we're too cool for mortarboards) and hood, I was delighted to find a message from the Commencement Committee telling me to BYO water if I think I'll get thirsty during the four-hour ordeal, instructions for how to use my hood and how to care for my robe (otherwise that shit'll cost ya $600). I proceeded to practice looking like a grad:

The thing about robes or gowns or whatever you want to call them is that one-size-does-not-fit-all. I got the 5'2" version, which is intended for all of us vertically challenged graduates. The problem is that there is no difference between mine, my equally-short-but-30-pounds-lighter-friends and a 200 lb potbellied linebacker for the midget football league. Also, I'm never quite sure how long those things are supposed to be. At any rate, this one definitely made me look like a midget in a choir robe. I thought maybe the hat would help me look more "doctoral":

It did not. It did, however, lend itself to some stylistic interpretations that would most likely not be law-school approved:

Chef Liz! Ummm, does this mean I have to BYO snacks, too?

I must have been thinking about paying off my student loans with my non-existent income.

Then I remembered I hadn't added the tassel! That had to make it better.

Or just kinda sad and droopy.

THEN IT DAWNED ON ME! I forgot my cape.*

Am I swooping? My superhero* instincts must have taken over.

*You doubt my terminology? Just wait until you've had Commencement/Superhero Training.

Still missing something. Luckily, my graduation garb came with a coordinating Adult Hooded Poncho!

The hooded poncho helps, especially with the logo in front.

So basically, I hope it rains Friday. Otherwise I'll just look like a midget linebacker in a choir robe and funny hat.

I'll show you my Schmoo if you'll show me yours.

Apologies to anyone who was hoping for a picture of a vagina.

Excerpt of actual conversation I had with my friend Ep via Blackberry messenger today:

It started out talking about how Scott and I are trying to make a post-bar exam trip to visit Ep in Curacao, and about how Scott's fam is taking a cruise that will port there for a day in June, but how I have been dying to stay at an all-inclusive place so I could spend more than 8 hours exploring any given place.

Ep: Branson! Problem solved.

Liz: (I explained that we were thinking more Caribbean sun and snorkel, then...) Oh, don't you worry. I get to spend a week in Branson with my mom, sister and nieces this summer. It's my mom's favorite vacation destination.

Ep: (Funny story about his mom suggesting Branson as a romantic get-away spot, then...) Tell the fiddling Asian I said hello.

Liz: Branson is hard to beat for romance! And I happen to love Shoji Tabuchi.

Ep: (Clearly amazed that I knew not just of whom he spoke, but that I also knew the star performer's name.) You always have to one up! I saw the man for something like my eighth birthday. OU lost to Miami. I cried.

Liz: I'm glad someone else has childhood Branson memories. I, unfortunately, have teenage Branson memories too.

Ep: Yikes. Shepherd of the hills, bitches!

Liz: Been there. Oh yeah. Fire in the hole!

Ep: Hell yes!

(Sorry if you don't get the references to Branson's awesomeness. Just know that you're missing out. And that Fire in the Hole is a roller coaster with drunk singing miners pillaging a town that used to make me cry. It's like Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World, only Ozark-style. Oh YEEEAHH.)

Ep: Going back as an adult...if I prayed, you'd be thought of.

Liz: (Brief exposition on the romance that could be had over fried chicken at the Dolly's Dixie Stampede, then...)

Ep: HO-LY hell! You're way too dangerous not to stay aligned with. What recall!!

Liz: Well, it's not often I realize a friend has the same fondness for Branson that I do. (I fill Ep in on the post-finals-pre-graduation trip to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, complete with a stop at the original Dixie Stampede, that I'm taking with friends.)

Ep: (Suitably impressed.) Get. The. Fuck. Out.

Liz: Why Dollywood, you ask. It's got Dolly, roller coasters, friend food and presumably lots of mountain people.

Ep: Did you ever make it to Dogpatch U.S.A?

Liz: Yes. (As if he needed to ask.) I LOVED that big white thing! I also saw the Rainbow Brite Show at Dogpatch. Do you know, that big white blob that danced around there? I forget what he was called, but I definitely have a stuffed one of him here at my parents' house.

Ep: Been googlin' like mad since first mention...

Liz: My mom tried to get rid of it once and I 'bout had to cut a bitch. I was all "NOOO! I love (insert-name-of-big-white-blob-from-Dogpatch-USA)!!!"

Ep: The schmoo?...Yeah! The Schmoo!

Liz: YES! I kept thinking Moo, but I knew that was wrong. SCHMOO! (If you knew the Schmoo, you'd understand why this excitement is completely appropriate.) I'm sad that if I have kids, they will never meet the real Schmoo.

Ep: He lives in our hearts.

Then I sent Ep this picture:

Schmoo makes my heart happy.

Liz: I found him! In the top of a closet! I sent you a picture of my Schmoo! I feel like you are my long-lost childhood doppelganger. All this time I had no idea we had so many shared experiences. (Notice the irrational excitement. Irrational because now, in my calm state, I realize that there are hundreds of thousands of children who experienced the wonders of Branson AND Dogpatch U.S.A. But irrational excitement is what happens when you find your Schmoo.)

Ep: Whoa! He's glorious! (Yes. Yes he is.)

Liz: Also, if one didn't know what a Schmoo is, one might think it's a dirty thing to send a picture of.

Ep: Hahahaha. It's still porn to me.

Liz: I think I will dedicate my next blog post to Schmoo.

And here we are. I figure I might as well keep going with the childhood throwback thing. Plus, I really like saying Schmoo! I actually say it out loud every time I type it. Good thing no one was around this morning, or for the last half-hour...

My Skipper was a soap star, how 'bout yours?

Today, on Sirius 90s on 9 (my new absolute favorite radio station, shout-out and thanks to my dad, who will hopefully never read this blog, for getting me 6 more months of listening pleasure) I heard that controversial hit from 1997, Aqua's "Barbie Girl." Every time I hear that song, which has been about twice in the last 6 months thanks to the aforementioned 90s on 9, I go back to a simpler time. Not junior high, because let's be honest, those three years were a bitch. No, I'm talking way back. Back to when I actually played with Barbies, Kens and Skippers.

I had probably around 12 Barbies, but only 2 Skippers and 2 Kens. Every Barbie needed a Ken, which meant that each Ken had to do sextuple duty. When I busted out all my Barbie loot, I was very careful to maintain completely separate story lines for each Barbie/Ken pairing. I'd like to say my young mind was subconsciously thinking metaphysical thoughts and I saw every Barbie as an extension of all the others but it probably had more to do with my early affinity for following daytime TV. At any rate, even though my Kens had to fill the role of boyfriend/husband for multiple Barbies, there was never any jealousy amongst the bevy of buxom blondes. Ken was never seen as so much as a two-timer, much less a six-timer. It was like they all knew they were just actors on the stage of my imagination.

Now, I firmly believe that the story line I am about to relate came about as a direct result of watching too many soap operas with my Nana. I spent all day every Monday-Friday with her until I started kindergarten, and then I spent the summer weekdays with her. My Nana was my absolute favorite person in the world. She taught me lots of things, like if you make your oatmeal with milk and loads of sugar, it's actually quite delicious. She also introduced me to soap operas. Every day, from noon to 3, we watched "our shows": Days of Our Lives (going strong since 1965), Another World and Santa Barbara. Oh, the drama! The love affairs! The scandal! The cat fights! The people dying horrible, fiery deaths and then mysteriously reappearing years later! The way women always went to bed and woke up with alarmingly perfect hair and make-up!

(I admit, somewhat shamefully, that I occasionally still tune in to Days of Our Lives just to see if my favorite Salem-ites are still alive, whether they have some sort of soap opera amnesia and whether their unrequited love has been requited. Also, I love trying to figure out if Sami Brady is in good-girl or bad-girl phase.)

Anywhooo, my most memorable (i.e. the one that horrified my mother and so I actually remember it) Barbie saga involved a love triangle between Barbie, Ken and Skipper. Now, I always assumed Barbie and Ken were in their mid-to-late twenties. I didn't really think about Skipper's age, I just knew she was slightly younger than Barbie based on the fact that she was shorter and had smaller boobs. I would like to stress that I did not grasp that Skipper was apparently intended to be between the ages of 13 and 15. Anyway, everybody knows Barbie and Ken are a supercouple, just like Bo and Hope. Anyone who knows their daytime soaps knows that a couple doesn't achieve supercouple status without their share of strife and scandal. So I created a little real-life (and by that I mean entirely soap-opera-based) drama for Barbie and Ken. Enter Skipper.

Apparently Barbie, with all her blonde, big-boobed, tiny-waisted bombshellness, wasn't enough for Ken. In his defense, I've always thought Barbie must be a lot to handle. I mean, who looks that good all the time, no matter how you butcher her hair or mis-match her outfits. Keeping that perfect tan and always being bikini ready must take a lot of effort, so I'm gonna go ahead and say Barbie's high maintenance. Plus, imagine how hard Ken must have to work to afford not just all the dream homes and cars, but the education for Barbie's many job changes over the years. She's as schizophrenic when it comes to her career as I am.

Point is, I guess Ken needed a break from all that hotness and all that hot pink. To tell the truth, I never really thought about Ken's motivation until just now, I just knew Barbie and Ken were epic, and since most of my knowledge of love and marriage was, at this point, informed by the aforementioned, I knew Dance Club Barbie and Animal Lovin' Ken needed some daytime-style drama if their relationship was going to survive. Skipper was the obvious choice. Cute, bubbly, and slightly more au naturale than her big sister, she was a refreshing change. (Of course, if I had realized at the time she was jail-bait it would have been even more awesome...) Too bad for Ken and Skipper, my 8-year-old self didn't know about contraception. That's right folks, my Beach Blast Skipper got knocked up. Luckily for Skipper, her clothes weren't as tight-fitting as Barbie's, so no one noticed the baby bump (cleverly crafted from bits of torn Kleenex) for a while.

To my way of thinking, the only thing more scandalous than a Ken-and-Skipper-love-child was five love-children. Luckily, I also happened to be the proud owner of Quints, the cute little set of quintuplets that pre-dated, or perhaps foreshadowed, America's obsession with multiple births and unreasonable numbers of children. I guess since Barbie didn't want to sacrifice her 36-18-33 figure or her constantly morphing professional life to have kids, Ken figured that when he got the chance to spread his seed he better do it up right. At any rate, soon Skipper's bump grew to mammouth proportions. Eventually, my poor mom noticed.

I was a pretty quiet kid, content to hole up in my room for hours on end reading books or acting out my elaborate doll-dramas. Mom would occasionally come upstairs just to check on me, as she did on this occasion. I can't recall the exact details of my mom's discovering the sordid details of my active imagination, but I imagine that she had to have heard a bit of my improvised character dialogue as she walked up the stairs and down the hall, which may have gone something like this:

Barbie: I can't believe you would cheat on me! And with my little sister!

Ken: I'm so sorry, Barbie, I love you, really I do. But it just happened.

Skipper: But Ken! I'm pregnant with your children! You said you loved ME!

Ken: Sorry babe. Barbie's the love of my life. I just bought her a hot pink Corvette convertible to prove it to her.

Barbie: Oh, Ken! I love hot pink Corvette convertibles! Let's go for a ride down to my 50's-style drive-in!

Skipper: But what am I supposed to do? I'm having five babies! And they're all yours!

Ken: Don't worry babe, I'll pay child support.

(Barbie and Ken ride off in hot pink Corvette convertible, heading to the drive-in then back to their dream house. Meanwhile, Skipper is left all alone in Barbie's (pink) RV where she has been living for the last few months.)

Cue real-life mom: (worriedly) Honey, what are you doing?

Young Liz: (innocently) Playing with my Barbies.

Mom: What have your Barbies been up to lately?

Liz: (matter-of-factly) Ken had an affair with Skipper. But it's ok, Barbie forgave him because he bought her a Corvette.

Mom: (cautiously) Well, that's good, I guess. But what's under Skipper's dress?

Liz: Kleenex. I had to make her pregnant because she's accidentally going to have five of Ken's babies.

Mom: Elizabeth, why is Skipper going to have Ken's babies?

Liz: Because she had an affair with Ken.

Mom: But why did they have an affair?

Liz: Because Skipper liked Ken, even though he likes Barbie. Then Ken and Barbie had a fight and Ken thought he might like Skipper better. But then she got pregnant and he decided he really liked Barbie after all.

Mom: (clearly concerned about the fact that this all makes so much sense to her daughter) How on earth did you come up with that?

Liz: (patiently explaining to mother who clearly has no idea about the ways of the world) It happens all the time on mine and Nana's shows. Except sometimes on those people have affairs because they think their wife is dead when she's really not.

Like I said, I can't recall the exact conversation my mom and I had, but subsequent discussions (when I was old enough to actually properly discuss such themes) reveal that my mom was confused/concerned/horrified over Skipper's pregnant state and my thinking it was weird that she didn't understand that stuff like that just happens. I think at this point my mom tried pretty hard to convince me to forego this storyline and have some of my Barbies go on a camping trip with the Kens and a non-pregnant Skipper. Of course, I would have had none of that because I had big plans for Skipper and those quints. Also, I figured at the very least, Skipper could convince Barbie to have pity on her/not want Skipper to tell the whole town that Ken was her baby-daddy and give her the fold-and-go cottage, and maybe the RV for keeps. After all, Skipper would need something a lot bigger than a hot pink Corvette convertible to haul all of Ken's babies around...

Liz's Top 10 Tips for Surviving Law School

Let me start off by saying that if you aren't currently a law student, I have ONE tip for you: Don't do it. That's all. You'll thank me later, when you still have youthful optimism, faith in humanity and confidence in your own intelligence and competency. (You'll really thank me when you realize you've saved three years and $150k.)

For you suckers who have already made the mistake of signing on to finance the hallowed halls where the goal is to kill your dreams and eat your soul, here is a guide for coming out with a little bit of your "-ness" still intact.

1. Don't take a class that doesn't have outlines from past years available online. Even if you're a crazy-outlining-fool, these things can get you through on-call days with at least a little dignity intact. And if you hate outlining, there's really no need to reinvent the wheel.

2. Don't eat the NASCAR burger out of the vending machine. Or if you really must, say, for a challenge created to make the last semester more interesting, don't examine it too closely.

They don't look like this when they come out of the vending machine...

3. Make the effort to find good friends. You will need them to bitch with, to laugh with, to cry with, to find amazing excuses not to study with. You'll probably have to look hard as most of the folks who will stand out in most classes will be either still-in-college-mode-too-cool-for-school types or else pretentious douchebag types. But when you find them, whether it's early or late in the game, it will be well worth your while. They are the only people who will truly understand the 3 years of pain.

4. If there happens to be a British professor, take their class. It's totally worth it to hear them say things like "states can't go around cutting people's bollocks off just because they've been naughty." It will take you from this:

to this:

5. Don't expect the career services office to be much help in your job search. Unless you're gunning for BigLaw and are near the top of your class, they likely won't know what to do with you.

6. Every once in a while, venture across campus to the world of the undergrads. It's refreshing to see what you were like not so many years ago...just try not to get depressed when you realize you'll never be that carefree again.

7. Don't be a douchebag. Or a gunner. Or a think-you-know-it-all-prick who prefaces words with "pseudo-" or "quasi-" or who uses big words that don't really make your point any more clear. Everyone gets that you're smart. We're all smart. We're just not all assholes.

Special tips for spring semester, 3L year:

8. Try really hard to take as many pass/fail classes this semester as possible. By this time no one cares enough to actually put forth the time or effort to compete with the asshole 2Ls.

9. Don't take a class with an attendance policy this semester. Again, you won't care, and as spring looms on the horizon, you'll want to be out in the sunshine, i.e., not in class surrounded by asshole 2Ls.

10. Plan a kick-ass post-finals trip with some of those friends you've made. Preferably to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, with a stop in Nashville and then dinner at Dolly's Dixie Stampede, but really, anywhere will work. You'll deserve it by this time.

So I'm in debt up to the eyeballs of a much taller person and I have no job prospects -- I'm going to the Dixie Stampede, bitches. So, so worth it.

I hope these tips help anyone who happens to stumble upon them. Friends, feel free to leave your nuggets of wisdom in the comments. Together, maybe we can help those who have already fallen prey to dreams of making the world a better place or promises of 6-figure salaries come out on the other side not much worse for the wear.

Speed-Networking, CSO's answer to the Great Recession?

Here at WULAW, today is Solo, Small and Midsize Firm Day, brought to you by your helpless helpful CSO office. It promises "one-to-one time with no less than 10 attorneys." It includes a fifty-minute speed networking session, followed by a half-hour reception.

Now, I don't want to be Debbie Downer, but really? Speed-networking? I mean, I guess the CSO gets an A for effort, and maybe I'm just jaded, but I don't really see many meaningful connections coming out of 5-minute chat sessions with alumni who have likely been somehow guilted talked into sharing their nuggets of wisdom and encouragement to ten downtrodden law students apiece.

It's a great idea, in theory. But I never saw a list of the attorneys who would be here. I assume they're mostly from St. Louis firms, which is great. Except a lot of us 3Ls will be out of student loan money soon, so if we want to stick around here to take advantage of all our new connections, we will need jobs. I doubt many of these fine folks are handing those out at Solo, Small and Midsize Firm Day.

Of course, I'm being selfish here, we 3Ls aren't the only ones in need of jobs, plenty of 1Ls and 2Ls are still floundering around, hoping for bite at a summer job. And to be fair, we seem to have been officially dubbed "The Lost Year" in the legal job market. So, go, you young, fresh-faced young ones, with the glimmer of landing a six-figure salary still in your eye. Speed-network. Speed-network until you can't remember another name and until you have run out of
resumés. Godspeed.

And CSO, don't worry about us 3Ls. We will find jobs. We may not make enough to pay our student loans, or even our rent, but we will find ways to fill our time, whether we be deferred or utterly jobless. I hear Chipotle is hiring.