I know it's been awhile since I last wrote in the blog. I know I am more than slacking, my friend. I've been replete with work, but I thought I would crank out a post or two for my mama, my sister, and like two other readers.
Ah...topic. Great. Got one.
A few weeks ago, I made a commitment to be more positive, a commitment to be more stronger in my faith. I have to say, thus far, it's worked. One, I won an all-important election to the Presidency of a esteemed organization at the law school. Two, I got a Moot Court team. Three, I was named to the Moot Court Governing Board. If I am able to finally succeed in that journal competition (I am going to give it another shot), I think I will have one heck of a resume. It's not all about the resume, but why else do we seek to do all these things? If it didn't increase job prospects--I have to exclude the Presidency because I genuinely care about the direction of my people--why in the hell would I do all these things in the first place? If not, I would just take my ass to class, read, exercise, walk around my house for no reason, and then fall asleep around 3am.
The Raul Casanova (that's my name today) has a new companion friend too. She's great. More on that later.
It is a weird coincidence that I would reconnect with my faith and then all these good things would just magically happen. I've always been near the agnostic-line for sometime. I've believed, but when struggles came, I had my doubts. I think things started going downhill when my grandma passed away in 1996. At that time, my family had been evicted, my sister had almost died (due to my 3-year brother inadvertently giving her a grape while an infant), and my father was on drugs--I mean, dude was really cracked out. My grandma would always tell me to pray, keep faith, and with patience, things would get better. We moved in with her in November 1996. She was dead in December 1996. 15 days before Christmas. Three days after Christmas, we were evicted again from my grandma's house. My sister, while she had recovered, was still struggling with properly breathing. My family had cut us off during our last few days in my grandma's house (all her bills were in my aunts' names because they helped paid them). The water was turned off. We had to use the restroom in a bucket and go dump it outside in a nearby alley. Me and my brother had to share bath water. The phone was turned off. Electricity and heat all turned off. I had to bathe in ice cold water before departing for school. My father was nowhere to be found. The more I prayed, the worst things became. I was mad, I was angry--I hated God.
But, I MADE IT (or at least, I am almost there after graduation). Through it all, I kept things in perspective. Throughout my life, I have always viewed my life as one of constant progression. I have had numerous tragedies and survived it all. I mean, grandma story aside, I was not supposed to be here at all in the first place. I was born without breathing...technically, I came out dead. I MADE IT. I've been given the gifts of perseverance, determination, and intelligence (now, this latter gift comes at varying levels depending on who you ask). The question was how was this all possible?
A few weeks ago, I talked candidly with my awesome companion friend (who is amazing when it comes to matters of faith) about how I felt about God and faith. I told her that I was angry, that I carried spite toward God. That I had my doubts that there was this mystical force in the sky. Were we simply sheep believing in delusions? To believe in God was not rational. When I did ask for help, where was this exalted God? I talked about the hurt. The lingering doubts. I thought I was forsaken. She didn't prejudge, just listened. As we finished the conversation, I asked her, "One thing, I've never asked myself was how this was all possible. Why didn't I fail?" After the phone call, I cried.
It was HOPE. It was FAITH. It just took time for me to (re)-believe in myself, do my best, and let God handle the rest. I think the last few weeks have put in all in perspective. In my darkest hour, I always had this hope that things would inevitably get better. When grandma died and all the subsequent things occurred, as mad as I was, I always had this hope that things would get better. When I started law school with high expectations and took it on the chin with law journal, I always had this hope that things would get better. A few days prior to the election and Moot Court selections, I opened up and read a few passages of the Bible. Not because of the election and Moot Court, but because I told myself that I was going to have more faith, be more positive. As I was flipping through my Bible, I paused on this passage from Deuteronomy 31:6:
"Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee."
I made my peace with God. Everything else, as you can see, is falling in line. It took a great collapse, before it became evident that it was the foundation that need to be rebuilt.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The Over Under: Old Folks And The Bar Scene.
Chilling at the bar with my best friend from the law school, his fiance, and some of other law school buddies and their fiances--I mean, I must be the only dude without a fiance at the table or in the law school for that matter--drinking my beer, I notice what is becoming increasingly commonplace: OLD ASS WOMEN IN THE BAR WITH YOUNG ASS PEOPLE. I am not talking 28, 29, I am talking more like 35, 36. 37. I am not saying that if these women have "it," they are not allowed to flaunt "it" (whatever "it" is), but I am saying once you hit 25, years become dog years. Consider the following reactions I typically have (in my mind) when I get a response from a lady about her age:
25: "Okay, so you are just getting of grad school, huh?"
26: "How's the practice going?"
27: "So are you looking to buy a house?"
28: "You don't have a house, yet?"
29: "You aren't married? Still ain't got that house yet, huh?"
30: "Got a babysitter? Good."
31: "Um, you stay up pass 8?"
32: "Um, you stay up pass 5?"
33: "Damn, you must have had a hard time staying up...past 5."
34: "She got to have 8 kids."
35: "What is she doing here? What the f*ck I am I doing here?"
Now, let me first say that I've had my encounters with the older kind. I dated a lady who was 30 and we remain good friends. She's a freelance photographer and graduate student at OSU. When I first met her, I thought she was older, around 25 or 26. It wasn't until our first date I found out she graduated from undergrad during my sophomore of high school. But, she turned out to have a magnetic personality which ameliorated any questions I had on age. But as in most cases where there is a severe age disparity between lovers, she wanted a bit more than what I was willing to give. At the age of 30, she is looking for those things I joked about before: (A) House; (B) Kids; (C) Stability; and (D) Getting To Bed Around 8.
The second was 38 (now 39). We are actually neighbors and go out from time to time. Nothing serious at all, but we get those looks. She is noticeably older than I, but when she introduced herself to me while moving in, I thought she about 30. But, I guess after being a member of a dance troupe in Chicago and performing on Broadway, you would look miraculous at the age of 39 too. She is a Ph.D student at OSU writing her dissertation on the dance routines of Katherine Dunham. Anyway, she was not like the prior case--she is extremely free-spirited (I guess you would assume that given her background) and there's nothing serious between us. We go out get a drink and grab dinner from time to time. But, it's the looks and the suspicion that goes on that affects us when we are out in public. Many times, she's jokingly commented about the perception that she's robbing the cradle. We laugh about it. When it's us, it's funny.
BUT, when I am out with my friends in the bar or the club, I find it a bit worrisome. These older women are often at the bar, struggling to fit in, trying to talk to younger guys, going from table to table trying to find something in common with young ladies 10-15 years their junior. The essential finding is this: somewhere these older people were left behind by their generation--either they were never fully accepted or were never comfortable with getting older. However, while I think no one is afraid of getting older per se, I do think that people are afraid of growing old alone or without ever finding a niche. Truth be told, some of these older women do fit in with the younger crowd. However, for most, it is facially evident that they do not fit in, but rather, they are forcing themselves in.
These women are deserving of more. Question is, do they want it? I mean, after all, who wouldn't want a house?
25: "Okay, so you are just getting of grad school, huh?"
26: "How's the practice going?"
27: "So are you looking to buy a house?"
28: "You don't have a house, yet?"
29: "You aren't married? Still ain't got that house yet, huh?"
30: "Got a babysitter? Good."
31: "Um, you stay up pass 8?"
32: "Um, you stay up pass 5?"
33: "Damn, you must have had a hard time staying up...past 5."
34: "She got to have 8 kids."
35: "What is she doing here? What the f*ck I am I doing here?"
Now, let me first say that I've had my encounters with the older kind. I dated a lady who was 30 and we remain good friends. She's a freelance photographer and graduate student at OSU. When I first met her, I thought she was older, around 25 or 26. It wasn't until our first date I found out she graduated from undergrad during my sophomore of high school. But, she turned out to have a magnetic personality which ameliorated any questions I had on age. But as in most cases where there is a severe age disparity between lovers, she wanted a bit more than what I was willing to give. At the age of 30, she is looking for those things I joked about before: (A) House; (B) Kids; (C) Stability; and (D) Getting To Bed Around 8.
The second was 38 (now 39). We are actually neighbors and go out from time to time. Nothing serious at all, but we get those looks. She is noticeably older than I, but when she introduced herself to me while moving in, I thought she about 30. But, I guess after being a member of a dance troupe in Chicago and performing on Broadway, you would look miraculous at the age of 39 too. She is a Ph.D student at OSU writing her dissertation on the dance routines of Katherine Dunham. Anyway, she was not like the prior case--she is extremely free-spirited (I guess you would assume that given her background) and there's nothing serious between us. We go out get a drink and grab dinner from time to time. But, it's the looks and the suspicion that goes on that affects us when we are out in public. Many times, she's jokingly commented about the perception that she's robbing the cradle. We laugh about it. When it's us, it's funny.
BUT, when I am out with my friends in the bar or the club, I find it a bit worrisome. These older women are often at the bar, struggling to fit in, trying to talk to younger guys, going from table to table trying to find something in common with young ladies 10-15 years their junior. The essential finding is this: somewhere these older people were left behind by their generation--either they were never fully accepted or were never comfortable with getting older. However, while I think no one is afraid of getting older per se, I do think that people are afraid of growing old alone or without ever finding a niche. Truth be told, some of these older women do fit in with the younger crowd. However, for most, it is facially evident that they do not fit in, but rather, they are forcing themselves in.
These women are deserving of more. Question is, do they want it? I mean, after all, who wouldn't want a house?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Fevers...
First, before I start, let me get this out:
I heard she was dating a married man. Might have been awhile ago, but he was married nonetheless.
Okay, got that out the way. Well, another Valentine's Day has passed and I am single, just going day to day. I like it--the single life took awhile to get used to, but I am enjoying myself nonetheless. In fact, I didn't even notice that the holiday had passed. Instead, I was at the library getting ready for the second round of Moot Court, getting my 1L colleagues in order, researching for the judge, and discussing how fly Michelle Obama is. Ha, exciting. I know.
The problem is, I am too busy to be in a relationship. I have difficulty finding "me" things to do outside of school work (i.e., cleaning my house, fixing myself dinner, etc.). However, it does not mean that I don't miss the companionship of a woman. I miss the dreaming, the feeling that things are going to go well--the optimism of being with someone; the fact that you could possibly share your life with that person for the duration of your time on Earth. But then reality sets in...I've changed. I am a bit more cynical about the process of loving.
I many respects I've adopted the very attitude I despise. I have never understood the "I don't need a woman [or man] because I am doing my thing" attitude. That's bullshit. Instead, I have always viewed those people as having the "I am really too proud to say I need a woman [or man], but if the right one comes along, I ain't going to just say no" attitude. But given my workload, my innate ability to stress over the minor, and the fact that law school (and the folks in it) make me increasingly crabby and reclusive, should I expect a woman to be with me right now? Perhaps, the attitude of "I don't need a woman..." is the better option. But we all yearn for companionship, someone to enjoy the highs and suffer through the lows with. I think I am no exception.
In sum, it's probably best to be alone. The stress of a relationship while in law school is something I can't handle. If anything, law school has made me less sensitive, less empathic, and more of a realist. I am no longer the idealistic fantasy lover of the past. Right now, I only care about myself and my career and I think it is blatantly wrong to have someone suffer through that. However, the inevitable tension is that I would like to love again without having to go through all the stress of a functional relationship. Again, this seems more like a day-to-day situation, with no apparent resolution in sight. Alas, patience, my friend, is the operative word.
On second thought, I could just always get a dog.
I heard she was dating a married man. Might have been awhile ago, but he was married nonetheless.
Okay, got that out the way. Well, another Valentine's Day has passed and I am single, just going day to day. I like it--the single life took awhile to get used to, but I am enjoying myself nonetheless. In fact, I didn't even notice that the holiday had passed. Instead, I was at the library getting ready for the second round of Moot Court, getting my 1L colleagues in order, researching for the judge, and discussing how fly Michelle Obama is. Ha, exciting. I know.
The problem is, I am too busy to be in a relationship. I have difficulty finding "me" things to do outside of school work (i.e., cleaning my house, fixing myself dinner, etc.). However, it does not mean that I don't miss the companionship of a woman. I miss the dreaming, the feeling that things are going to go well--the optimism of being with someone; the fact that you could possibly share your life with that person for the duration of your time on Earth. But then reality sets in...I've changed. I am a bit more cynical about the process of loving.
I many respects I've adopted the very attitude I despise. I have never understood the "I don't need a woman [or man] because I am doing my thing" attitude. That's bullshit. Instead, I have always viewed those people as having the "I am really too proud to say I need a woman [or man], but if the right one comes along, I ain't going to just say no" attitude. But given my workload, my innate ability to stress over the minor, and the fact that law school (and the folks in it) make me increasingly crabby and reclusive, should I expect a woman to be with me right now? Perhaps, the attitude of "I don't need a woman..." is the better option. But we all yearn for companionship, someone to enjoy the highs and suffer through the lows with. I think I am no exception.
In sum, it's probably best to be alone. The stress of a relationship while in law school is something I can't handle. If anything, law school has made me less sensitive, less empathic, and more of a realist. I am no longer the idealistic fantasy lover of the past. Right now, I only care about myself and my career and I think it is blatantly wrong to have someone suffer through that. However, the inevitable tension is that I would like to love again without having to go through all the stress of a functional relationship. Again, this seems more like a day-to-day situation, with no apparent resolution in sight. Alas, patience, my friend, is the operative word.
On second thought, I could just always get a dog.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Uninvited Invited Guest...
Disclaimer: Gay people are cool. I am not a homophobe.
A couple of things I've noticed that are particular to my law school. One, including myself, there are about four straight single Black males at the law school (this is excluding my one engaged Black friend--regardless of my last post, this guy is really cool). Two, I am nothing special. What I mean by the latter is that I am a straight heterosexual Black male. To give an example of what I mean, consider the following narrative:
Friday, Jan. 4th, 8:17p:
I got to find some clean drawers. I am going out tonight. The next semester starts in three days, so I am going to have fun. I had my clothes already picked out, ironed, and ready to go. I was fresh and clean, had that 1930s Old Spice thing going on. TONIGHT WAS THE NIGHT. I was on the prowl. Smelling like a grandfather, with a fresh fit, not to mention the fact that I am in law school--I was going to get some new women friends tonight. The law school bit doesn't work all the time--I know. You don't have to remind me. But, I was feeling confident, I looked good, and I was going to put what game I had to use. My goal, four numbers.
8:48p:
The phone rings. Drawers on, I answered. "Hello, good night." (the Caribbean coming out).
My friend, "You ready?"
"Yeah, almost. Where are we meeting? The law school?"
Friend, "Yeah."
"Who is all going out tonight?"
"Me, you, R, A, D, M, T, J, and some other people."
"Word? It's going to be a large contingent of Black folk then. C is going too."
"Cool. Um..."
"What's up?"
"Yeah, I got to tell you this."
"What?"
"Well, we're going to D's place first."
"For what? D's my girl and all but I thought we were going straight to the Arena District?"
"Nope, we got an announcement."
"This ain't middle school...is there something going on?"
"Well, you T's friend Y?"
"Yeah, I know who that is. Why, what's up?"
"Well, he's coming out."
"Okay, so he's going with us tonight too? That's cool."
"That's not what I mean."
"Okay, what do you mean 'coming out'?"
"You know. Coming out."
9:01p:
I hang up the phone. "WHAT THE F*@K??!!"
9:38p, D's place:
I ain't gay. T, and I guess now, Y, the only gay dudes here. Everyone else is straight. Man, they got chicken, ribs, alcohol, cookies, snack cakes, and the like. Man, when they going to start having free food for me just off GP? Y, gets up. He gives some little speech. Sounds like an after-school special. Then, just like that, he's gay. I don't know what to think. Um, let me get some of this chicken and potato salad.
3:37a, White Castle:
I'm sober, I think. 3 phone numbers. She was alright. What happened tonight? Was it that serious?
-----------------------
Was it that serious? I had never experienced anything like before. I had just attended an actual coming out party. Well, I don't consider myself a homophobe, I was actually uncomfortable. I was not the exception. Every other single Black male (in total, 5 out of about 13 people total) there seemed to be caught off guard. Confused. This wasn't our celebration.
The bigger question for me was, what was the point? If Y was gay, he was gay and that was it. I appreciated the free food. You know I am always down for the free lunch. Was the ABC after-school speech needed? No. The pre-celebration? No. It was simple to me: Y has his own life, he can do what he wants. But my female friends had to go out of their way to let Y know that it was fine to be gay. Funny thing to me was that it was always okay and I am straight. The excessive celebration was what turned me off.
Which gets me here. First, in the law school, there has always been this push to make homosexuality mainstream. Of course, this is also the general push abroad. However, sitting in D's place, eating my beef rib, listening to Y's speech, I thought wasn't this whole coronation ceremony antithetical to homosexuality's pursuit of mainstream acceptance? It became readily apparent that Y was basking in the fact that he had the floor. The fact that he could tell the world that he was GAY. He was in fact, basking in the fact that he was different--that he was outside the mainstream. In his eyes, he was special.
To me, he wasn't. He was just a guy that liked guys. Before all this, when the group had previously got together, me and Y had talked football, predicted the college bowl game winners, burped and farted at inappropriate times, talked about women we (women that I wanted, I guess now) wanted--you know, man stuff. You know, if he had said informally that he was gay, I don't think I would have had much of a reaction. My reaction would have been: "Word?" Sip of the beer.
The point is this, if you want your sexuality to be mainstream, you have to act mainstream. That means doing what you feel without fear of repercussion. To be honest, everything is not going to readily accepted. For example, if Y talked to me about his men friends (i.e., sexual escapades), I'd tell him straight up that I didn't want to hear it. But, simply because I don't want to hear about his adventures does not make me a homophobe. It makes me normal. I don't tell everyone about my sexual relations with my women friends--well, I don't get too explicit, so why should he?
Believe it or not, with mainstream acceptance, comes an inherent set of restrictions. This is the TENSION--it's mainstream acceptance v. special status. The special status, comes with this supposed protection from criticism. Well, like I said, it supposed. I think the principled stand for Y would have been this: Let's go out and fun, by the way, I'm gay. It sounds relatively simple. I realize that it's not. But I felt Y's coronation ceremony was contrary to its purpose. Y simply forgot the increasing number of people, who say with sincerity that it's okay to be who you are. It's okay to be homosexual. In fact, believe it or not, I say it's normal.
Having said all this, it does not mean that one has to put aside their identity. What it does mean though is that you don't have to wear it on your sleeve. My experience is of particular relevance. I am a Black male in law school. It's a special status because there are so few of us. But, I think people look past it for the most part (exception: when we get the BIG firm jobs that the white folk wanted, but more on that later). But, it doesn't mean I don't get reminded from time to time or day to day. I feel the repercussions that result from my racial identity. It shapes my paradigm of the world. It's who I am and it's not going to change. I just don't wake up every morning with the intent of letting everyone know that I am a Black male in law school. In fact, I joke about it.
I don't think that many homosexuals wake up with the intent of telling the world each day who they are either. They probably just go about living without the need for special recognition. To them, it's normal.
Funny thing is, I feel the same way.
(Note: This has no bearing on the fact that I still strongly believe that sexual orientation should been included in anti-discrimination laws, that the Equal Protection and Due Process Clauses of the Fourteenth Amendment should be read to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation. It also has no bearing on my support that gay marriage should be allowed and adoption by gays should be protected).
A couple of things I've noticed that are particular to my law school. One, including myself, there are about four straight single Black males at the law school (this is excluding my one engaged Black friend--regardless of my last post, this guy is really cool). Two, I am nothing special. What I mean by the latter is that I am a straight heterosexual Black male. To give an example of what I mean, consider the following narrative:
Friday, Jan. 4th, 8:17p:
I got to find some clean drawers. I am going out tonight. The next semester starts in three days, so I am going to have fun. I had my clothes already picked out, ironed, and ready to go. I was fresh and clean, had that 1930s Old Spice thing going on. TONIGHT WAS THE NIGHT. I was on the prowl. Smelling like a grandfather, with a fresh fit, not to mention the fact that I am in law school--I was going to get some new women friends tonight. The law school bit doesn't work all the time--I know. You don't have to remind me. But, I was feeling confident, I looked good, and I was going to put what game I had to use. My goal, four numbers.
8:48p:
The phone rings. Drawers on, I answered. "Hello, good night." (the Caribbean coming out).
My friend, "You ready?"
"Yeah, almost. Where are we meeting? The law school?"
Friend, "Yeah."
"Who is all going out tonight?"
"Me, you, R, A, D, M, T, J, and some other people."
"Word? It's going to be a large contingent of Black folk then. C is going too."
"Cool. Um..."
"What's up?"
"Yeah, I got to tell you this."
"What?"
"Well, we're going to D's place first."
"For what? D's my girl and all but I thought we were going straight to the Arena District?"
"Nope, we got an announcement."
"This ain't middle school...is there something going on?"
"Well, you T's friend Y?"
"Yeah, I know who that is. Why, what's up?"
"Well, he's coming out."
"Okay, so he's going with us tonight too? That's cool."
"That's not what I mean."
"Okay, what do you mean 'coming out'?"
"You know. Coming out."
9:01p:
I hang up the phone. "WHAT THE F*@K??!!"
9:38p, D's place:
I ain't gay. T, and I guess now, Y, the only gay dudes here. Everyone else is straight. Man, they got chicken, ribs, alcohol, cookies, snack cakes, and the like. Man, when they going to start having free food for me just off GP? Y, gets up. He gives some little speech. Sounds like an after-school special. Then, just like that, he's gay. I don't know what to think. Um, let me get some of this chicken and potato salad.
3:37a, White Castle:
I'm sober, I think. 3 phone numbers. She was alright. What happened tonight? Was it that serious?
-----------------------
Was it that serious? I had never experienced anything like before. I had just attended an actual coming out party. Well, I don't consider myself a homophobe, I was actually uncomfortable. I was not the exception. Every other single Black male (in total, 5 out of about 13 people total) there seemed to be caught off guard. Confused. This wasn't our celebration.
The bigger question for me was, what was the point? If Y was gay, he was gay and that was it. I appreciated the free food. You know I am always down for the free lunch. Was the ABC after-school speech needed? No. The pre-celebration? No. It was simple to me: Y has his own life, he can do what he wants. But my female friends had to go out of their way to let Y know that it was fine to be gay. Funny thing to me was that it was always okay and I am straight. The excessive celebration was what turned me off.
Which gets me here. First, in the law school, there has always been this push to make homosexuality mainstream. Of course, this is also the general push abroad. However, sitting in D's place, eating my beef rib, listening to Y's speech, I thought wasn't this whole coronation ceremony antithetical to homosexuality's pursuit of mainstream acceptance? It became readily apparent that Y was basking in the fact that he had the floor. The fact that he could tell the world that he was GAY. He was in fact, basking in the fact that he was different--that he was outside the mainstream. In his eyes, he was special.
To me, he wasn't. He was just a guy that liked guys. Before all this, when the group had previously got together, me and Y had talked football, predicted the college bowl game winners, burped and farted at inappropriate times, talked about women we (women that I wanted, I guess now) wanted--you know, man stuff. You know, if he had said informally that he was gay, I don't think I would have had much of a reaction. My reaction would have been: "Word?" Sip of the beer.
The point is this, if you want your sexuality to be mainstream, you have to act mainstream. That means doing what you feel without fear of repercussion. To be honest, everything is not going to readily accepted. For example, if Y talked to me about his men friends (i.e., sexual escapades), I'd tell him straight up that I didn't want to hear it. But, simply because I don't want to hear about his adventures does not make me a homophobe. It makes me normal. I don't tell everyone about my sexual relations with my women friends--well, I don't get too explicit, so why should he?
Believe it or not, with mainstream acceptance, comes an inherent set of restrictions. This is the TENSION--it's mainstream acceptance v. special status. The special status, comes with this supposed protection from criticism. Well, like I said, it supposed. I think the principled stand for Y would have been this: Let's go out and fun, by the way, I'm gay. It sounds relatively simple. I realize that it's not. But I felt Y's coronation ceremony was contrary to its purpose. Y simply forgot the increasing number of people, who say with sincerity that it's okay to be who you are. It's okay to be homosexual. In fact, believe it or not, I say it's normal.
Having said all this, it does not mean that one has to put aside their identity. What it does mean though is that you don't have to wear it on your sleeve. My experience is of particular relevance. I am a Black male in law school. It's a special status because there are so few of us. But, I think people look past it for the most part (exception: when we get the BIG firm jobs that the white folk wanted, but more on that later). But, it doesn't mean I don't get reminded from time to time or day to day. I feel the repercussions that result from my racial identity. It shapes my paradigm of the world. It's who I am and it's not going to change. I just don't wake up every morning with the intent of letting everyone know that I am a Black male in law school. In fact, I joke about it.
I don't think that many homosexuals wake up with the intent of telling the world each day who they are either. They probably just go about living without the need for special recognition. To them, it's normal.
Funny thing is, I feel the same way.
(Note: This has no bearing on the fact that I still strongly believe that sexual orientation should been included in anti-discrimination laws, that the Equal Protection and Due Process Clauses of the Fourteenth Amendment should be read to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation. It also has no bearing on my support that gay marriage should be allowed and adoption by gays should be protected).
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Law School: The Dominance of Individuality, Cash, and Networks (The First In The Law School Series)
A couple of days ago, I was walking to grab lunch with a friend--or something like that--this is law school, friendship does not exist, it's more like "what the hell can you do for me so I can get a job"-ship. The funny thing is, I find this attitude more prevalent amongst Black folk at the law school than any other group of people. It's all new to me. Though I had some issues with some folk at my undergrad, I can say this: they were SINCERE. I can't say that about the group at OSU. The rumors, gossip, and sniping that goes on in the law school is amazing. Perhaps, I was naive about what I was getting into when I decided to apply to law school--perhaps, my expectations were too high. I thought I would meet amazing and focused people. I haven't. What I have experienced is HIGH SCHOOL all over again.
At the root of all this, is the DOLLAR. Not only do you HAVE bills, but you HAVE loans. You WILL have a car payment (at least, a bus pass, which still costs money). You WILL have a mortgage or rent. Thus, you NEED to have the means to pay all that stuff off. Reality breeds competition. No one wants to be the one to spend nearly $100,000 for an education that leads to nothing but defaults and bad credit (that's assuming that you aren't already there). With all that glaring each law school grad in face and coming closer each passing day, there is more imperative to foster false friendships and take advantage of relationships that can lead you to opportunity. The code name for this in law school is NETWORKING. Though you hear it in undergrad, it becomes common jargon in law school and commonplace at these things called "mixers". In fact, there are things called "NETWORKING MIXERS" (as you can probably tell, I've never been a fan of "networking," I don't believe in it). Sometimes, to get that spot in the summer class (I mean, summer associate class at a law firm) or to network your way into a corner office (someday), will come at the expense of "friendship."
Jealousy becomes common. I have a BIG firm job forthcoming in the summer. I don't tell anyone about it in the law school. I don't brag. But, I can't count the number of times that a fellow Black student has said, albeit sarcastically, "With your big firm job...", "Since you got that big firm job and all..." I don't get it. What happen to just being happy when someone was able to do well? There is a noticeable absence of communal uplift--you know, the feeling that when one of us succeeds, all of us succeeds? If the roles were reversed and I found myself heading to government (which was my original plan), public interest, or a smaller firm, or even jobless, I would be happy for a person that is able to break into those upper echelon larger firms--of course, if that was their goal.
But what more can I say? It's easy to be idealistic when you've got what you want and what everyone (well, mostly everyone) else wishes they had. Community is dead. This is professional school. No one wants to be a broke professional. Unfortunately, it's a reality I find myself accepting more and more each day.
Idealistic? Yeah, I am. Just whenever it suits me. Law school has taught me well.
At the root of all this, is the DOLLAR. Not only do you HAVE bills, but you HAVE loans. You WILL have a car payment (at least, a bus pass, which still costs money). You WILL have a mortgage or rent. Thus, you NEED to have the means to pay all that stuff off. Reality breeds competition. No one wants to be the one to spend nearly $100,000 for an education that leads to nothing but defaults and bad credit (that's assuming that you aren't already there). With all that glaring each law school grad in face and coming closer each passing day, there is more imperative to foster false friendships and take advantage of relationships that can lead you to opportunity. The code name for this in law school is NETWORKING. Though you hear it in undergrad, it becomes common jargon in law school and commonplace at these things called "mixers". In fact, there are things called "NETWORKING MIXERS" (as you can probably tell, I've never been a fan of "networking," I don't believe in it). Sometimes, to get that spot in the summer class (I mean, summer associate class at a law firm) or to network your way into a corner office (someday), will come at the expense of "friendship."
Jealousy becomes common. I have a BIG firm job forthcoming in the summer. I don't tell anyone about it in the law school. I don't brag. But, I can't count the number of times that a fellow Black student has said, albeit sarcastically, "With your big firm job...", "Since you got that big firm job and all..." I don't get it. What happen to just being happy when someone was able to do well? There is a noticeable absence of communal uplift--you know, the feeling that when one of us succeeds, all of us succeeds? If the roles were reversed and I found myself heading to government (which was my original plan), public interest, or a smaller firm, or even jobless, I would be happy for a person that is able to break into those upper echelon larger firms--of course, if that was their goal.
But what more can I say? It's easy to be idealistic when you've got what you want and what everyone (well, mostly everyone) else wishes they had. Community is dead. This is professional school. No one wants to be a broke professional. Unfortunately, it's a reality I find myself accepting more and more each day.
Idealistic? Yeah, I am. Just whenever it suits me. Law school has taught me well.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Barack Wins!!!!!
Barack Wins South Carolina!!!! Not much more to say about that...well, until I get this Brief and the Judge's Order and Memorandum out the way. Stay tuned!!!! You can catch more about Barack's victory, the primaries in general, even those old crusty White things called Republicans on the left in the news bar (though I have to say, Mitt Romney is quite the old crusty white fox, I bet he was a playa back in his day--because as a Mormon you could do stuff like that). A Obama-Romney electoral campaign would have all the ladies drooling.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Unexplainable Disappearance of Quarter Juices
When I was a youngster, I would often visit my mother's family in Indiana for the summer. Often, the highlight of one of those hot summer days was one of those little juices that came in a bottle that resembled a burrow. You know, the ones that had the aluminum cover over the top that felt like steel. Those things were impossible to get open. My older cousins, who were a lot stronger than I, were able to pop those suckers with their thumb. I, often a brittle, yet adventurous child, was unable to pop those foil tops with my thumb. So, my great-uncle, who seemingly had an infinite supply of those things, would often give me a quarter to tear my juice open with. Then, he would let me keep the quarter to buy candy at the corner store. So, there I would be in my uncle's backyard, playing with my cousins with my teeth, tongue, and lips stained with a heavenly mixture of sugar, water, and red.
My uncle died three years ago. As a general rule, I don't do funerals. Never have and I probably never will. Never the sympathetic type. Too much crying earlier in life leads to a dry eye as you get older. I tried to attend my uncle's funeral at the behest of my mother. The funny thing is as I was about to enter the church, someone noticed I had split my pants. I guess it was God's way of confirming that I can't do funerals. Anyway, before leaving Indiana and driving back home, I decided to stop by the corner store where I often spent my uncle's quarter. Walking around in split pants, I found the quarter juice, the burrow of sugar, water, and red. I bought one, it cost me one quarter. I sat in my car, popped my quarter juice with a quarter of my own. I sipped it. Thought about my uncle. Thought about getting older. It was the last quarter juice I ever had.
Things have changed. I am 23, quickly closing in on 24. Most of my cousins and I have either gone off to jail, college, and the like. Most of my cousins have started families and now give their children "juice boxes". They ain't the same. With the arrival of a new generation and a quickly maturing one, it seems quarter juices are no longer around. Now, you have Capri Suns, Kool-Aid sippers, juice boxes, and juices pouches and all that. Since the day of my uncle's funeral, I have yet to find a quarter juice, the harbinger of my childhood. Maybe, I've outgrown them once and for all.
My uncle died three years ago. As a general rule, I don't do funerals. Never have and I probably never will. Never the sympathetic type. Too much crying earlier in life leads to a dry eye as you get older. I tried to attend my uncle's funeral at the behest of my mother. The funny thing is as I was about to enter the church, someone noticed I had split my pants. I guess it was God's way of confirming that I can't do funerals. Anyway, before leaving Indiana and driving back home, I decided to stop by the corner store where I often spent my uncle's quarter. Walking around in split pants, I found the quarter juice, the burrow of sugar, water, and red. I bought one, it cost me one quarter. I sat in my car, popped my quarter juice with a quarter of my own. I sipped it. Thought about my uncle. Thought about getting older. It was the last quarter juice I ever had.
Things have changed. I am 23, quickly closing in on 24. Most of my cousins and I have either gone off to jail, college, and the like. Most of my cousins have started families and now give their children "juice boxes". They ain't the same. With the arrival of a new generation and a quickly maturing one, it seems quarter juices are no longer around. Now, you have Capri Suns, Kool-Aid sippers, juice boxes, and juices pouches and all that. Since the day of my uncle's funeral, I have yet to find a quarter juice, the harbinger of my childhood. Maybe, I've outgrown them once and for all.
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