Dialogue

As February is the month in which we celebrate love (and black people), I thought I would throw in my two cents on Love, Relationships, and the Implications Thereof. I do not make a habit of blogging my personal life. I don't think anyone would really be interested and, well, some (most) of it is quite humiliating. I don't want this post to turn into something like that, but the fact of the matter is that one' s thoughts on love are necessarily born of one's own experiences. Also, I recognize that Valentine's Day is long gone, but the last week has brought this topic front and center so I consider the post timely (and I get to be self-centered on my blog). This post will take the form of the age-old rhetorical device of the Colloquy. This conversation takes place between myself and Love. Ahem.


Amy: Hello, Love. How's it going?

Love: Oh, fine. You know how it is.

Amy: Sure, sure. You got a minute? I was wanting to maybe ask you some stuff.

Love: If I had a nickel for every time I heard that...

Amy: Lots of questions lately?

Love: Well, the advent of Internet Dating has raised a lot of issues. Not that I have much to do with Dating, as a rule. Not really my scene.

Amy: Really? I thought that the whole point of dating was to, well, fall in love.

Love: And by implication this means I am not around while the dating is going on. You can't really fall in love until you stop dating.

Amy: Huh. This seems quite contrary to everything I ever learned from Meg Ryan.

Love: No way, I think they got quite close in When Harry Met Sally...

Amy: Good point, good point.

Love: Thanks.

Amy: But would you distinguish between dating on the one hand and relationships on the other?

Love: Well, I should say something here. Kind of a caveat. Kind of. Well, see, there are all kinds of different types of love, you know? There's the lusty kind that behaves rather like lighter fluid on a pile of logs. There's the soul-mate kind that always, for whatever reason, reminded me of the way certain kinds of igneous rock suffuses softer rocks and then solidifies so that you get this two-part mass that's inseparable save by...nevermind. I'm babbling. The point is that when you say "relationship" it can mean eight thousand different things, if you would permit some hyperbole.

Amy: Well, I guess what I'm getting at, and I only vaguely know myself, is, well, do we do it right? I mean, is going through a bunch of relationships really the way to find what it is we are taught to look for...lifetime committment, I guess? 'Cause some places have success with the arranged marriages, for example. Some folks write the whole thing off altogether. Who's got it right? Where do love and relationships fit in our lives? [breaks into a cold sweat]

Love: Geez, dude. Here, have some water. You need to relax. Clearly there's no answer for this. It depends on the person, it depends on the friggin' century, if you take my meaning. What I can tell you is this: you are viewing love as a destination when maybe that's not quite right.

Amy: I don't think I understand.

Love: Well, it's sort of semantics. Sort of that old cliche about how it's not the destination that matters but how you get there. I mean, look at the soul-maters for example. They find each other and they are, as it is said, in love. They didn't hit it and stop. It's more like a road or a, I don't know, canal?

Amy: Love is a canal?

Love: Nevermind. I'm just saying, you are killing yourself trying to get to the other side of something that can't be crossed. Maybe you should just drift. Loving is not like getting a Law Degree.

Amy: Gah! Don't go there.

Love: Sorry. But you get my meaning?

Amy: Yeah, I think so. Love is what happens while you are looking for perfect, or whatever.

Love: Sort of, yeah. Look, I gotta run...

Amy: Wait! I have one last question. Why, when I do a Google search for love images, do I get Kylie Monogue?

Love: She's my ambassador on Earth.

Amy: Ah.

And there you have it, Constant Readers. He's a squirrely little guy, Love. And I don't really know if I am more informed now as I was before. Any additions to the information posted here would be greatly appreciated.

(Brief Aside: I had all kinds of fancy things going on on this post but the format kept screwing up. So you'll just have to read my thoughts, Unadorned.)

Chagrin

Okay, in several different ways over the past few weeks it has been brought to my attention that those folks to whom I apply for jobs will be googling me to see just who it is they might hire. This is troublesome to me for many reasons. My first response was a cheeky post right where this one now sits in which I googled myself and provided these potential employees with an efficient listing of the results complete with capsule summaries of my own design. Gardner informed me that it sounded defensive. Having gone back and read it again, I tend to agree with him. But I'm at a loss. I'm not interested in deleting my blog and yet I could see where many of the posts might sound unprofessional. But should that be a problem? It's a personal blog, which is, by definition, unprofessional. There are pictures of me in party situations on my Myspace page, which are, of course, also unprofessional. I would be more than happy to replace them with pictures of me at church, but I feel that would be rather dishonest. Another option is to take them away and replace them with nothing. And that's likely what I'll end up doing. Because while I know I won't chug beers in the workplace, I guess there's no way for people who've never met me to know that.

What is the future of all of this? If a future employer had thumbed through my yearbook and read all the dirty things the girls at my high school wrote, or thumbed through the yearbooks of others and read all the salacious things I wrote for them, the result would have been the same. They would have seen an unprofessional side of me that they would not want clients to see. The thing is, future employers would not thumb through a yearbook. They would not call my friends to see if I drink at parties. They would not read my journal to find out what I really thought about the movie I saw yesterday. They would, if these were the only methods of finding out "who I am," hire me based on my professional qualifications and let the chips fall where they may. The difference is, of course, that the information to be found on the internet is, presumably, information that I have taken out of the forum of the diary and yearbook and placed in the public sphere. So do I "deserve it" then? Have I absolutely jeopardized any chance I have of being hired because there's a picture of me with a High Life on Myspace? Is this fair? I believe that eventually web presences will not be such a big deal. Maybe it's a generational thing. Once people who grew up with chat windows and reality television are in charge, the blurred line between private and public won't matter as much. Maybe.

The bottom line is that there's nothing I can do about it. I'm going to try to go through and fix things so that I don't get passed over because of something offensive on Myspace. This post may make potential employers believe that I am defensive and difficult, but aren't those good traits for lawyers? What this post doesn't tell you is my huge sense of job loyalty and my desire to learn from people who know more than me. But that's the problem with these web presences, isn't it? It only tells you some of the story. Which is also true for resumes. Everything is tailored to present a certain image, and not a bit of it is the true, real thing. What can you learn about someone from a one-page synopsis of the most formative years of her life? What can you learn about someone from the rambly rantings on her blog? What does that picture of me with the High Life really say? I would argue that it says nothing. And then I would get the rejection letter.

I'm Boooooorrrrriiiiiinnnnngggggggg

Okay. One million years after I said I would post all the time for the benefit of the one reader that remains, here I am to tell you that I'm boring. How did I come to this conclusion? Besides the obvious yawn-factor of my general witty party banter, there is the unimpeachable evidence provided by my Search Bar History. That's right folks. The self-same tool that many wives have used to catch their hubbies in the act of cybercheating can be used to empirically identify the degree to which my boringness extends. Allow a brief survey. (This is in lieu of working on my paper for Sexual Orientation and the Law class. 30 pages in a month?! I laugh in the face of pressure.)

1. Cute Overload

Each day (sometimes multiple times a day) I peruse the offerings of this entertaining and witty site in order to add some luster to the general banality of my weekdays (and, okay, my weekends too). For example, a trip to Cute Overload can provide both this:

and this:

So see? Something for everyone. But what does it say about me that I spend so much otherwise quality time staring at these pictures? My theory is that it's one step closer to realizing my true destiny. I am staring down the barrel at being a woman, alone except for her cat, thinking of her glory days in law school (ugh...my glory days were spent in law school), and doing things like emailing "This adooorrrable thing I saw on Cute Overload" to her unsuspecting (or all-too-suspicious) contact list. And.That's.It. Job will include phoning people for surveys. I will never leave the house. Yep. That's my future.

2. Netflix

Movies at the click of a mouse! They deliver right to your door! It's a sign of the advancement of our culture! But let's review what Netflix means for me. A) I never have to interact with people at the movie store again. B) I rent primarily television programs. These two things together add up, once again, to me never ever ever leaving the house. I don't have to go to the video store. And television shows come with between two and six episodes on a disc. Hours on the couch, lost in an ecstasy of escapist bliss, hastening the day when I will do the aforemetioned telephone surveys and email the cute pictures. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? I already email the cute pictures. Damn.

3. Slashdot

This one might actually hold a glimmer of hope. Sort of. In a roundabout way. This mecca of all things geek appears on the history bar because I went there in an effort to bond with the Athens boy who made a brief appearance in my last post. He hasn't yet been scared away by my crazy. But, the thing is, I'm attempting bonding through A) a website that B) I don't understand. Boring.

4. The Bar

And not the fun kind of bar either. This is the kind of bar where they make you disclose all the deepest darkest secrets of your past and pay dearly for the privilege. This is the bar where they make you disapper into a vortex of civil procedure rules and tort remedies and Fourteenth Amendment rights for approximately two months because three years of law school isn't apparently enough of a sacrifice for the Beast God of Law. This is the kind of bar you live and breathe. And I bow down before it in supplication, unworthy and brainwashed.

5. LexisNexis

Really is not surprising that people don't talk to me at the parties. Legal research anyone? I'm currently spending a lot of my time at this site because of the paper I mentioned for Sexual Orientation and the Law class. Hold on to your hats, folks. I'm writing about how anti-gay laws are illegally based on status. Because in this country of ours, you aren't supposed to punish based on status, you are supposed to punish based on conduct. But now that sodomy can't (theoretically) be made illegal anymore, there's no conduct on which to base the pernicious anti-gay laws (read: anti-marriage constitutional amendments, military policy, adoption laws, etc.). It's still being fleshed out, but that's the gist. Eh? Anybody for a Debbie Downer? Because these days, that's me. Bo-ring.

What would make me more exciting? How do I grab life by the, ahem, hair and shake it until it bends to my will? Well, my options seem to be: quit law school, quit law school, quit law school. Which I guess I won't do, considering my proximity to the proverbial light at the end of the vaginal metaphor. So, woot on that score. But, geez, I'm one round of exams and 13 class credits away from disappearing for another two months into the aforementioned Bar Vortex. And I don't have a job yet.

I did finish the New York Times crossword puzzle this weekend. That's something.

Something boring.

Bad Things Happen in...

I will now recount, for your viewing pleasure, the crappy things that have happened to me since last we spoke. Maybe, at the end, if necessary to elevate the tone to a pitch which doesn't induce self-mutilation by secret cutting, I'll recount some good stuff too.

1. Consumer Debt

So, Georgia Power steals. I say this to save you, Constant Reader, from a fate similar to mine. $95 dollars they charge when things happen that aren't your fault. Actually, we can blame the Republicans. See, if the Republicans hadn't raped our environment, I wouldn't have felt compelled to take a non-paying internship over the summer in order to rehabilitate it. And if I hadn't taken the non-paying internship, then theoretically I would've gotten some kind of paying gig. If that had happened, the check I wrote to Georgia Power at the end of the summer wouldn't have bounced and Georgia Power wouldn't currently be stealing my money. And, oh, it is stealing. They are taking money in exchange for nothing and quite against my will. But not to worry! They say I can have it back if I don't suck for 12 straight months. No one can go 12 months without sucking. It's written into our genetic code. Bye bye $95.

2. The Man

It costs more to run a stop sign in Athens-Clarke County than it does to go 25 mph over the speed limit in Murray County (specifically, Chatsworth). Not only that, you can pay the tickets from the backwoods online but not the tickets from the City Which Shelters Georgia's Flagship Institution.

3. Heartache
Since I don't so much want this to turn into one of those kinds of blogs in which people I don't know can read my innermost personal thoughts and feelings, I won't go into too much detail here. Suffice it to say that you can't ever really know someone. I gave him my heart and he gave me a pen. Whatever. Florida can have him. I am both a rock and an island. Besides there's a new boy around Athens I have my eye on. Onward and upward.

There you have it.

To hold up my end of the bargain, some good stuff is as follows: Rival won Sectionals; I'm getting back my security deposit from last year's apartment; I threw a party with Anna that rawked and at which I learned to play Quarters; I'm finally watching the second season of Lost (NO SPOILERS); aforementioned new Athens boy.

I'm confident that my bout of bad luck here endeth.

On and Off: The Wagon

So. I spent August engaged in something of a personal challenge (well, personal to me and my friend KQ). This pursuit was something of a social experiment, something of a personal health thing, something of a just-to-make-sure-I'm-not-a-complete-lush thing. That's right, my friends. I didn't drink a drop of Pappy's Cough Syrup during the month of August. Alcohol-free. Dry as a bone. Chuck-E-Cheese, 24-7. It was easier and harder than I thought it would be. Easier because it turns out I'm not a raging alcoholic and I didn't, in fact, really go through withdrawal. Harder because I really really like drinking beer while I watch t.v. Next time, I'm making a loophole.

What did I learn? Let's list it all in list form. Some of it is surprising and some of it is emphatically not.

1. Alcohol makes you drunker than you are when you're sober.
2. Being drunk makes you do ill-advised things.
3. Being sober makes you do fewer ill-advised things.
4. Ergo, life is simpler when you don't drink. BUT
5. People are funnier when they are drunk.
6. Therefore, you are funnier when you are drunk.
7. Ergo, you are less of a hit at parties when you are sober. UNLESS
8. There is four-square. In which case, you can be just as much of a hit sober as you would be otherwise. NOTE
9. You will still like all of your friends when the Month O' Sobriety ends. FURTHERMORE
10. All of your friends will like you back. LASTLY
11. You sleep better when you don't drink. I feel like a million bucks!

Not drinking's OK. Q.E.D.

Now. I intend to fall headfirst off the wagon. As such, there will be boatraces and parties and bar hopping and other things of that ilk that make my mama proud (hi Mom!). Who wants to go to happy hour?

The Descent

Hi All! Wanted to re-establish my blogging presence not with yet another pathetic apology/promise to blog more often. Instead, I am informing you all of a movie you simply must see if you a) like scary things b) have claustrophobia and c) enjoy the social advancement of women. Or, really, if you have any combination of the above qualities. I saw this movie yesterday with my buddy Chris Hassiotis and I must say I was very pleasantly surprised. And terrified. And squirmily-uncomfortable. I am sure we are all aware/tired of the useless women that appear in most horror movies. Not since Laurie Strode has there been a heroine worth seeing in a horror movie (with the possible exception of Sydney in Scream). Not so any longer! Gone are the days of the vapid, busty, expansively expendible girlfriend types. No more squeaky, useless screaming or gratuitous nude scenes (tho I will say I don't understand why one particular character in this movie had to be wearing a push up sports bra, but whatever). The women in this film (and this film is peopled entirely with women) are badasses---rockclimbing, white water rafting, spelunking their way to an entirely fulfilling horror flick. Despite it being all estrogen all the time, there is no lack of gore or expendible characters or stunning feats of kick-the-monster's-ass. Best part? The action takes place in our own Appelachian back yard. I can't say enough about this movie. There's even a small amount of sympathy elicited for the monsters themselves, in the best "they can't help the way they are" kind of way. Love this movie. Love you people.

Let's hear it for being back!

O'er Amber Waves of Grain

So. First of all, I was in attendance at the Braves game on Wednesday, at which the Cardinals flew into the window, as it were. 14-4. I'm just saying. I will, of course, be taking full credit for this turn of events. Everyone got a hit. Everyone played well. And it just provides a bit of justification for my very deep-seeded belief that the Braves' post-All Star Break performance will knock the socks off the Naysayers. Mets? Poop.

Second of all, at said Braves game, the Powers That Be at the Ted decided to put on the fireworks display that got rained out on Tuesday, the Birthday of Our Nation (I won't be a dork and tell you all that really the Birthday of Our Nation is 02 July...crap). The display was replete with patriotic songs, including my favorite, "I'm Proud to Be an American," which inevitably reminds me of the laser show at Stone Mountain which I attended with my mother and brother and some elementary school chums during the same trip in which I saw the New Kids On the Block live and in concert at Bobby Dodd Stadium. Yes, folks. The rumors are true. I am a gigantic dork. Anyway, back to the point. The fireworks actually managed to bring the patriot out in me. Patriot Amy is always hanging out just beneath my anti-Bush bluster, constantly doing things like saying, "The jury system is great!" and "Long live captialism!" Patriot Amy, on the occasion of the God Bless America Turner Field Fireworks Extravaganza, bent my ear and reminded me that, though I do tend to do things like "go off on Bush" and "bemoan the current situation in Iraq" and "roll my eyes at the people who don't want homosexuals to marry" and "key SUVs" (okay that last one is a lie), I am damn happy to live in a country where my very life's pursuit can be so antithetical to the pursuits of the Ruling Administration and not get me lynched. I am damn happy to be a woman and still be able to go to school and wear pants. I am damn happy that, gosh darnit, if I wanted to be President I could run. I am damn happy that if I get raped, I won't have to committ suicide so my family can regain their honor. I am damn happy we have laws protecting our National Parks (for as long as they may last) and I am damn happy that I've gotten to see some of those parks and that if I want to go back, alls I gotsta do is get in the car (which I am allowed to drive) and go.

Finally, I am damn happy that a horse just ran by my building on Peachtree Street. God Bless America.

Yes. I am alive.

I do hope that there are still people in the world who read this. Who have not yet given up on me. Who understand that a girl just trying to make in the world must have blog-free days in which to do that. Who may have been told that I'm living a wireless-free life w/ Mr. Baccarini (he says hi back Hilary!). I'm amped to have discovered the Universal Joint in Decatur, where I can enjoy a nice Stella Artois and some wireless and blog to my little heart's content.

So. What to fill you in on? I work. I play ultimate.

Oh, I know. Treachery! Everyone loves a good tale of treachery. I have defected from IP and and now a more-or-less proud member of Rival. I say "more-or-less" because it has been a painful decision-making process wherein I basically had to decide between making others happy and making myself happy. In the end I chose me. Which is long-run good but short-run very very bad. Because no one gets it. And because I feel like crap. And because I got an email from a former teammate which said only "Amy way to suck." Sigh. So this is good news and bad news. I'm really excited about Rival but I'm going to miss IP very much. I'll keep you posted on the developments.

That was mediocre news. What else?

Smallville? I watched eight hours of it on Sunday. I miss not having seen Angel. This "Superman" doesn't begin to compare. Really. Where can this go? (This is "irony." I'm well aware that Superman could kick Angel's ass and that he's quite the franchise. Actually, now that I think about it, that could be an interesting Rivalry. Superman v. Angel. The last one was Pirates v. Ninjas. I think Pirates. Arrrr.)

Hmmm. What else...

Braves? 15.5 games back. Smoltz has hinted at trade. Nope. Don't want to talk about that.

Instead of all of the above, I'll leave you with an adorable picture and we'll call it a day. I will try not to go 22 days w/o posting from now on, especially now that I've found internet.

Okay. Edit that. As I am too sleepy to figure out why pictures aren't posting. I leave you with the following quote:

"This is me. I am a lawyer. Lawyers are important. They go to important offices and do important things. Color my underpants important."
--The Coloring Book for Lawyers

Back in the Saddle

Okay. It's been a shockingly long time since I posted anything of merit. I don't know if I am going to remedy that situation now or not, but for kicks (and to give those of you who are still checking something to read) I will provide a summary of what I have been up to since last we spoke.

1. Finals
I placed my nose on the grindstone (brief aside: that phrase comes from the old practice of smelling ground grain to discover if it had gone bad) and made it through the end of the semester. Two take-home exams, one regular exam, and a policy analysis later, I am officially no longer a 2L. Whether I become a 3L depends, of course, on the outcome of aforementioned Tests of Merit and Aptitude. So far, mediocre but no failing. Keep your fingers crossed.

2. Myspace
Long ago in the salad days of the World Wide Web I scoffed at the notion that surfing the 'net could prove addictive. I mean, how long could a person possibly stare at what amounts to a wide and constantly changing light bulb? Well, Friends, I now have egg on my face. Myspace is a monkey on my back. Everything takes a back burner to it. Packing, FAFSA, exams, hygiene--everything. At the same time I wish to encourage you all to join it (must have more friends!) and loudly warn you to run in the other direction. And you should totally go to my page and hear my song. It rox! (www.myspace.com/amysalley)

3. BtVS.5
I actively dislike Dawn. Glory is a fantastic villain. Poor Riley. Tara and Willow make me cry. Xander becomes hot. Anya is hilarious in her capitalist phase. "The Body" is one of the most fantastic pieces of television ever. Bye Bye Buff...okay done.

4. Keith Richards
I have been giving Mr. Richards a run for his money in the party area. To say good bye to Athens, you must say good bye in a language it understands. Booze. Athens only speaks Booze. But I am not ashamed because soon I will be more-or-less joining the work force and my Keith Richards days are, therefore, numbered. I SWEAR I CAN QUIT ANY TIME I WANT. Moving on...

5. Atlanta
I will become a temporary Atlanta resident in T-minus five days. My home will be with Mr. Michael Baccarini in lovely Decatur (not pictured above) where hopefully he will whip my butt into shape and I will spend many pleasant hours of quality time with his DirecTV. Wednesday marks the first official day of my internship with the Georgia Center for Law in the Public Interest. Wish me luck! In addition to the foregoing, Atlanta Summer League begins in the none-to-distant future. Oh yes folks, me and Team ___ will take the AFDC by storm! I'm a 6! That's two better than last year! Woo!

And that pretty much sums it up. This weekend will find me at the Memorial Day Hat Tournament in Savannah, which all but marked the beginning of this here blog last year. We've laughed. We've cried. We've been extremely bored. In any event, many thanks to those of you who have stuck by me through the good and the bad. To mark the occasion, I have begun finalizing what I hope will prove to be the most amazing Epitome of Female Beauty Contest ever! Stay tuned, folks!

On that note, I am out. Must finally admit to myself that I won't be living in this apartment too much longer (bye crappy neighbors!) and pack stuff. Sigh. Packing's the worst.

Bone-In-Chicken

Long ago I posted about my time at Poultry Days with Peep Show. Well, Constant Reader, it's a new dawn, as they say. Behold: the bio of our new team, Bone-In-Chicken.

It all began one night in the Appalachian backwater of Athens, Ga. Could the Atlantic Coast support yet another dominant co-ed team? Slowly it occurred to us that, of course, once our team hit the pitch there would really only be the one dominant team. We owed it to the world to show that Internet Porn was a legitimate lifestyle choice. There were some obstacles, of course. The draw to Open and Women’s is strong among us. There was the pesky matter of Russell’s Reputation. But eventually general consensus was that All Else Pales in Comparison to Porn. And, true to our most optimistic of expectations, domination was had by all. From Shawn Adams to Regionals and many points in between, IP showed what quality ultimate could look like, pulling out winning records at every tournament we attended. And it’s no wonder, given the wealth of talent. Young though we may be, you know what they say about old dogs. And boy do we have some tricks up our sleeves. The Good Old Fashioned Pull Play. The Football Play. F and U. C and S. Sending Salley deep. Clutch lay-out Ds and an unstoppably inspirational captain. From the wasteland of anonymity to second place at Sectionals and fourth place at Regionals, IP is on its way to becoming a household name. From all points across the land, at first indistinct but growing stronger, comes the chant: “Porn! Porn! Porn! Porn!” We are aiming at Natties next year and for years after. We will keep this Region on its toes. And in the air. And on the ground. And eating our dust. Dominate, indeed.

I'm totally amped.

P.S. That bio? I wrote that. [insert smug look here]