I am doing tonight what I've often done over the past four years -- skipping class to manage a crisis in some other area of my professional life, sitting in the JMLS library, alternately managing my crisis and wasting my time on the internet.

The only difference is tonight is the last time.

This was the starting point of the chapter.

Four years ago, I did something truly crazy and stupid. I decided to take a full-time job and enroll in law school as a part-time night student. What was I thinking? At that point in my life, I was barely motivated enough to drag myself to my fluffy electronic music and web journalism classes at Northwestern. I thought joiners were schmucks, and my primary extracurricular activity involved the 1800 Club and shots of whiskey.

In a few weeks, I will graduate from JMLS cum laude -- maybe even magna cum laude if things shake out right -- and still gainfully employed. I won't lie and say it was a smooth ride. It was often a downright embarassing one -- pock marked with mood swings, frantic caffeine binges, weeks where I couldn't be bothered to try, and once even getting kicked out of class (up yrs Bernabe!)

But the following things are absolutely true and cannot be taken away from me:

- I once got an A- on an exam on which all I wrote for one 20-point essay question was "I don't think he preserved the issue for appeal."
- I have built inspiring, life-affirming relationships with fellow students and several professors
- I have learned a mind-boggling volume of jargon
- I have soldiered through some of the worst hangovers known to man and called into work sick only one time (not for a hangover, but for actual sickness) in four years
- I have discovered within myself large and renewable resivoirs of energy, motivation and passion


I've always been prone to nostalgia. But tonight, even more than other times in my life, I am very sad to say this good bye.

Apparently I was on CurrentTV last night. Around 1am. I'm kind of sad that I missed it--serves me right I suppose for only checking email once a day. As the only conservative in New York was profiled for a piece on the 2008 elections. I'm fairly certain that despite Brooks's excellent interview I come across as kind of a tool. But then, I feel like a tool everytime I'm asked to refer to myself as a "Native American."

Anyway, here's the interview if you want to check it out. I've been too embarassed to watch it all the way through. Let me know if I said anything stupid.

Last Friday (April 4th) Martha invited me to the Takashi Murakami
opening at the Brooklyn Museum. Martha worked as an assistant until recently, so she wanted to show us one of the paintings she had been working on. I am making a concentrated effort to actually go out in New York and do things. You know, like a grown up.

Last time Marsha was sweet enough to invite me to a gallery opening I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt and was mortified to discover I was the most underdressed person in a room full of photographers and models. I spent nearly an hour going through my closet before deciding on a balenciaga dress (Marhsalls! Sale!) which looked great…it was only until I was on the train that I realized my boots were completely wrong—I looked dowdy and bottom heavy. I have GOT to start dressing better. I usually am so good about clothes when it comes to church. I don’t know why I fall apart ever other night.

Marsha brought Diana, and I brought my cousin Brooke. Unfortunately, this was NOT the gala where Kanye performed (Murakami directed one of his music videos and did the art work for “Graduation”). We did a brief run-through while the caterers were setting up. Murakami has been doing some hilarious anime videos, which we sat down and watched. It reminds me of the sort of Japanese cartoons I used to watch growing up—lots of seeds being planted and straw hut villages mixed with robots.

The exhibit contained one of my favorite works ever-“Sperm Lasso.” This is actually the statue that brought Murakami to my attention in the first place. I saw it in Spin when I was 16, and I was totally shocked. I thought, “Dude, this is the most obscene thing I have ever seen in my life.” And in many ways, it still is. I love it not because I think it’s a great work of art so much of the heroicism of it. The drama of the hand outstretched as if Moses is parting the Red Sea, the wide stance, the joy on the face. It seems to me to nail the sheer exuberance men—especially boys—have over ejaculations. Look! Look at me! I made this! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

After we ate plates and plates of free spring rolls and dumplings, we went to see Martha’s panel. It was an elaborate, uniform, perfect grid of green pixels, which she had to mix by hand and laboriously paint over and over until no brushstrokes were visible. Sadly that painting wasn’t in the gothamist article I linked too, but I’ll post it if I can find it. My favorite painting of the whole night was a dream of a painting called "Tan Tan Bo Puking." I love this painting in so many ways, but the most obvious being that it reminded me of a fantastical vision of America as seen by the rest of the world. Here we are, a giant, lumbering mass of flesh with a small, flacid blue penis (sadly, not visible in this picture) clutching a staff of skulls, our mouth overflowing with melted ice cream dripping out of our razor teeth, satellites flying about our head. Buy our stuff! Look at how we lumber with our razored anus to new and unsuspecting lands! Like all of Murakami's stuff it felt invigorating and dazzling, innocent and a bit too knowing.

While we were wandering around, we hear this rush of movement, and turn around to see Murakami followed by this huge entourage. Apparently he has a huge reality show in Japan. He was brushing past us when he saw Marsha, stopped, and came over to say hello. We all bowed like idiots, and Marsha recovered nicely and managed to say things about honor and thank you while Brooke, Diana, and I stared at the cameramen, sound guys, and assistants with clipboards and headsets. Then just as fast the cloud of motion whirred past, and we were left with the sunny after glow of celebrity recognition.

Since Murakami had designed a line of Louis Vuitton luggage and bags, they had opened a fully functional Louis Vuitton store in the middle of the exhibit. The bagds were simply darling—I wished I had a few thousand lying around for ridiculously adorable purses I don’t need.

We ran into some friends of Marsha’s, some old classmates of Brooke, and spent the rest of the night dancing in the lobby of the museum to eighties classics and Kanye West. Marsha is really a fantastic girl to spend time with—as is Diana, for that matter.

Then this Saturday, my friend Nina from Rutgers asked if I wanted to party with her and some Greek friends. The friends fagged out, so Nina and I decided to go clubbing solo. We went to Park on 17th and 10 ave, which wasn’t really our scene. The crowd was older, either too well dressed or too casual, and it was more lounge than club. Still, we went up to the top deck and managed to dance for about half an hour to some pretty bad DJ mixes (house music with the odd dance remix of hip hop classics thrown in). When some creepy 50 something doctor started getting his freak on with Nina, we bailed.

However, on the way out, I managed to make eye contact with this guy at a bar. He was completely my type—messy dark hair, dark jacket, open white shirt, a bit of stubble. He was like, model hot, and completely out of my league, but seeing as I looked really, really good (I can do this, occasionally) and we were on our way out, I gave him a really intense look. Then I pass him on the way out the door, and look at him again, and I’ll be damned if he did not f--- me with his eyes. I kid you not. I do not know how men are capable of a look like that. It was so completely predatory, yet respectful, yet intense, that had I not been a Mormon, I would have taken him back to my apartment. That isn’t an exaggeration either—I have never wanted to jump on anyone like I wanted to jump on this guy. We stared at each other for a good 10 seconds until I was pushed out the door. “Oh my gosh, Mary, that guy was giving you a serious look!” Nina squealed.
“So he was checking me out? It wasn’t in my head?”
“No, girl, he had it for you. Want to go back?”
But no, I didn’t go back. I am a good girl. So instead, Nina and I went for grilled cheese at a diner nearby. But man, did it feel good. To get a look like that, from a guy like that—it was just what I needed. If I guy that looked like that wanted to me—me, of all people. I don’t know. Maybe there’s hope for me after all.

Laks and I (aka Rod Blagojevich & the ChiCAgirls) played at the RedLine Tap's open mic night last night. It was so nice and fun. The whole thing just melted my heart -- the super supportive MC, the acoustic pop songs about heartbreak on the shores of Lake Michigan, the performers -- old and young, professional and amateurish, spotlight loving and shy. It rocked. I want to go back every Thursday night for the rest of my life.

I am becoming increasingly excited about the prospect of my life after law school. Here are just a few things I'm going to do with my time:

- redesign the CM
- buy & build a domain to house my multiple personalities
- study Spanish seriously
- join (or start?) a book club
- paint our bedroom w/ Mark

Before moving on to all of this, I want to celebrate my law school graduation, my greatest achievement to date, in a fittingly dignified manner: with a keg party on Saturday, May 24. You should all come.

I really want these. Am I crazy?

College basketball kidnapped my boyfriend. One of Mark's KU roommates made this. I have no words.

Here are some links to stuff:

Funny legal news: Woody Allen sues American Apparel ha!

Someone has stolen my identity: check out my wacky alterego

P'fork interviewed the musician I most frequently and ardently try to rip off: nina!