A group of us taped this back in June, and it was held until tonight. If you look close, you can see me! I'm next to Wynonna, or however you spell it. More pics to come!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The Michigan Review's effect on my job search
So I was interviewing with three magistrate judges this morning in downtown DC, and one of them asked me about my 60 Minutes experience. That led to my mentioning that I was editor of the Michigan Review, which we liked to think of as a "journal" because in contrast to the Michigan Daily which you could read in the 10 minutes between class, you actually had to sit down and think about Review articles. This prompted one of the judges to ask, somewhat suspiciously, "Is that anything like the Dartmouth Review?" Uh oh. "We're in the same network," I said, "but it's not like the Dartmouth Review."
She explained to the other judges, "When I went to Dartmouth, the Dartmouth Review was like this extreme right-wing newspaper."
I quickly went into Damage Control mode. The Michigan Review was a thoughtful paper, I told them all. I explained that I consider myself fairly moderate -- "I'm a registered Independent!" -- but that Ann Arbor is like Berkeley, and the entire spectrum shifts to the left, so that all of a sudden I'm "right wing." I got yet more mileage out of the Ward Connerly speech from 9.5 years ago, explaining that Review types just wanted to have an actual dialogue, but BAMN ("the coalition to defend affirmative action by any means necessary," I said, to groans) kept shouting him down and wouldn't let him speak. I told them how I was drawn to the Review because it was a thoughtful group of people who examined all sides logically.
After about 5 minutes, having gotten way off the initial point, I said, "So, in conclusion, the Michigan Review is not like the Dartmouth Review."
Thank God she didn't go to Cornell! (When I was in college, The Cornell Review was known as the most outrageous right-wing paper in the network.)
She explained to the other judges, "When I went to Dartmouth, the Dartmouth Review was like this extreme right-wing newspaper."
I quickly went into Damage Control mode. The Michigan Review was a thoughtful paper, I told them all. I explained that I consider myself fairly moderate -- "I'm a registered Independent!" -- but that Ann Arbor is like Berkeley, and the entire spectrum shifts to the left, so that all of a sudden I'm "right wing." I got yet more mileage out of the Ward Connerly speech from 9.5 years ago, explaining that Review types just wanted to have an actual dialogue, but BAMN ("the coalition to defend affirmative action by any means necessary," I said, to groans) kept shouting him down and wouldn't let him speak. I told them how I was drawn to the Review because it was a thoughtful group of people who examined all sides logically.
After about 5 minutes, having gotten way off the initial point, I said, "So, in conclusion, the Michigan Review is not like the Dartmouth Review."
Thank God she didn't go to Cornell! (When I was in college, The Cornell Review was known as the most outrageous right-wing paper in the network.)
Friday, December 7, 2007
The Deadening of One's Soul: an Epiphany
I wanted to document review until 9 pm tonight but I simply cannot work anymore. My brain is completely fried. This is without a doubt the most mind-numbing work I have ever done in my life (and that includes the data entry I did for my uncle when I was 12). I cannot describe how tedious and boring this is. It literally deadens my soul.
I am a creative person. I like to write, to sing. To think. I loved the first year of law school because it presented me with an entirely new way of thinking about the world. It took philosophy -- a subject I had enjoyed in college but found to have no practical effects -- and applied it to the world. Criminal law taught me about theories of punishment. Contract law taught me how to analyze the agreements people make with each other. Torts showed me the system that we as a society use to determine who is responsible when one person accidentally causes another to be injured.
And I loved communications law because it pitted the law -- a slow moving beast -- against technology, which literally moves at the speed of light.
Document review is the antithesis of what I am interested in. It is legal purgatory, a job doled out to those who didn't get an offer from their summer firms. It pays well but I want to drown myself in my water bottle every day.
I'm going to keep looking for communications law jobs, but I am also going to expand my search to clerkships for any level judge, and also criminal defense and prosecution. And I am going to continue to submit freelance ideas, and work on honing my fiction writing, and take voice lessons and audition for the opera chorus.
All I know for sure right now is that I don't see how I can keep doing this job through the end of January. I have to do something else, anything else.
I don't care if it pays half as much.
No reward is worth this.
I am a creative person. I like to write, to sing. To think. I loved the first year of law school because it presented me with an entirely new way of thinking about the world. It took philosophy -- a subject I had enjoyed in college but found to have no practical effects -- and applied it to the world. Criminal law taught me about theories of punishment. Contract law taught me how to analyze the agreements people make with each other. Torts showed me the system that we as a society use to determine who is responsible when one person accidentally causes another to be injured.
And I loved communications law because it pitted the law -- a slow moving beast -- against technology, which literally moves at the speed of light.
Document review is the antithesis of what I am interested in. It is legal purgatory, a job doled out to those who didn't get an offer from their summer firms. It pays well but I want to drown myself in my water bottle every day.
I'm going to keep looking for communications law jobs, but I am also going to expand my search to clerkships for any level judge, and also criminal defense and prosecution. And I am going to continue to submit freelance ideas, and work on honing my fiction writing, and take voice lessons and audition for the opera chorus.
All I know for sure right now is that I don't see how I can keep doing this job through the end of January. I have to do something else, anything else.
I don't care if it pays half as much.
No reward is worth this.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Why I Hate Traveling
Most girls I know LOVE to travel. My sister hops around the world with abandon, working multiple jobs to be able to afford such adventures, and sometimes taking a job in her destination city of choice. It seems every girl on match.com absolutely loves traveling, so much so that they list it along with shopping as their favorite things to do.
I can't stand traveling.
This Thanksgiving our family decided to meet up in Vegas for shows, gambling and turkey day buffet debauchery. A wonderful reprieve from document reviewing. My flight was supposed to leave Reagan National at 11:45 am, I'd get a connecting flight in Minneapolis at 3, and I'd arrive in Vegas at 4:30 Vegas-time.
Notice I said "supposed to."
So, the first leg of my flight -- the one heading to a connecting flight in Minneapolis -- was delayed by two hours because of storms in Memphis, which delayed the plane's arrival in DC.
Once I finally got on the plane, there were two young toddlers in the row right behind me. THEY WERE ALREADY CRYING, and we hadn't even gotten into the air yet. Once in the airn, the one directly behind my head was screaming and screeching and crying for easily two-thirds of the journey. It was at least two years old and really should have known better.
The second leg was supposed to be quite grand. I had checked in the previous night via the Internet, and secured a wonderful exit row seat right in front of the large entrance area to the plane. I would have had five feet of legroom and gotten to watch as everybody shuffled onto the plane. The last time I had that seat, a couple years ago, I ended up flirting with a very cute brunette when she engaged me in a playful discussion about the Cinnabon I was making love to. Alas, I did not capitalize on her IOIs. Now armed with Mystery's glorious tips, I was looking forward to picking a target and trying my luck.
But it was not to be! Because the first flight was delayed, I missed my exit row flirting seat that would have gotten me to Vegas by 4:30, and had to be crammed into *fucking 12-E* -- the middle seat in between a guy and an upper-middle-aged woman who smelled strongly of adult diapers. Adding insult to injury, our plane was delayed on the tarmac for half an hour because, in the words of the pilot, "the de-icing platform is just a mess." He told us we'd be hear for another 30 minutes to an hour. Hearing that, the biatch in front of me decided to break all protocol and recline her goddamn seat back! I wanted to shout, "You have to keep your seat back and tray table up until the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign!" But since I was illegally using a communications device to text message people and inform them of my plight, I decided not to call the kettle African American.
Long story short, I got up early for nothing, wasted several hours wandering about two airports, and didn't get in to Vegas until after 7 -- missing the Cirque du Soleil show for which I had a non-refundable ticket.
I enjoy exploring strange new worlds. I like seeking out new life and new civilizations. I am a fan of boldly going where no Matt has gone before. But until The Powers That Be invent and commercialize transporter technology and/or warp speed, I'm staying at home on my couch and exploring strange new worlds the way God intended: by watching DVR'd Star Trek episodes.
I can't stand traveling.
This Thanksgiving our family decided to meet up in Vegas for shows, gambling and turkey day buffet debauchery. A wonderful reprieve from document reviewing. My flight was supposed to leave Reagan National at 11:45 am, I'd get a connecting flight in Minneapolis at 3, and I'd arrive in Vegas at 4:30 Vegas-time.
Notice I said "supposed to."
So, the first leg of my flight -- the one heading to a connecting flight in Minneapolis -- was delayed by two hours because of storms in Memphis, which delayed the plane's arrival in DC.
Once I finally got on the plane, there were two young toddlers in the row right behind me. THEY WERE ALREADY CRYING, and we hadn't even gotten into the air yet. Once in the airn, the one directly behind my head was screaming and screeching and crying for easily two-thirds of the journey. It was at least two years old and really should have known better.
The second leg was supposed to be quite grand. I had checked in the previous night via the Internet, and secured a wonderful exit row seat right in front of the large entrance area to the plane. I would have had five feet of legroom and gotten to watch as everybody shuffled onto the plane. The last time I had that seat, a couple years ago, I ended up flirting with a very cute brunette when she engaged me in a playful discussion about the Cinnabon I was making love to. Alas, I did not capitalize on her IOIs. Now armed with Mystery's glorious tips, I was looking forward to picking a target and trying my luck.
But it was not to be! Because the first flight was delayed, I missed my exit row flirting seat that would have gotten me to Vegas by 4:30, and had to be crammed into *fucking 12-E* -- the middle seat in between a guy and an upper-middle-aged woman who smelled strongly of adult diapers. Adding insult to injury, our plane was delayed on the tarmac for half an hour because, in the words of the pilot, "the de-icing platform is just a mess." He told us we'd be hear for another 30 minutes to an hour. Hearing that, the biatch in front of me decided to break all protocol and recline her goddamn seat back! I wanted to shout, "You have to keep your seat back and tray table up until the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign!" But since I was illegally using a communications device to text message people and inform them of my plight, I decided not to call the kettle African American.
Long story short, I got up early for nothing, wasted several hours wandering about two airports, and didn't get in to Vegas until after 7 -- missing the Cirque du Soleil show for which I had a non-refundable ticket.
I enjoy exploring strange new worlds. I like seeking out new life and new civilizations. I am a fan of boldly going where no Matt has gone before. But until The Powers That Be invent and commercialize transporter technology and/or warp speed, I'm staying at home on my couch and exploring strange new worlds the way God intended: by watching DVR'd Star Trek episodes.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Apologies and Old Thoughts
I want to take this opportunity to apologize to all of my regular visitors for failing to update my Web site as much as I ought to. You see, I m a busy man. Every now and then I come up with a fantastic idea for the blog, but by the time I have an opportunity to write about it, it is several days or weeks later and my enthusiasm has waned. For instance, two weeks ago I was going to write a very detailed entry about my hour and a half adventure collecting free burritos all over the city. In 2006, I was only able to get two free burritos, but this year, using my Segway, I was able to make it to four Chipotles in the course of just 90 minutes. The power of free food compelled me. It was glorious!
Around the same time, someone asked me to tell her what my first impression of her was when I first met her. No one had ever asked me that before, and so I never realized how personal a question that really is. If you think about it, a first impression is either negative, positive, or neutral. Either way, someone's feelings could be stepped on. If my first impression was that this woman was ugly and annoying, what would be the purpose of telling her that? If my first impression was that she barely registered in my mind, then she would assume she was boring and forgettable. If my first impression was very positive - like, oh my God, she is so beautiful! - then I am simply setting myself up for some sort of embarrassment. Or rejection, as she makes a scared face and mumbles something about "Creeepy."
But I told her what my first impression was, which was that she was pretty and skinny and, once I started talking to her, she seemed nice enough. She was pleased with my first reaction. I asked her what hers was of me. She told me, "I thought you had really red hair. You reminded me of my father, who also has red hair. When you spoke, I got the impression that you were very intelligent. "
Huh. Maybe we should start telling others our first impressions more often!
Anyway, that is what I was going to write about. Unfortunately, I was too busy or lazy to put my ideas into words. Fortunately, my voice recognition software is playing along nicely tonight, and it isn't taking that long to get my thoughts onto the screen.
But I can tell you right now what the next long entry will be: Matt's 500-Mile Segway Report! Get the popcorn: this one will be entertaining.
Around the same time, someone asked me to tell her what my first impression of her was when I first met her. No one had ever asked me that before, and so I never realized how personal a question that really is. If you think about it, a first impression is either negative, positive, or neutral. Either way, someone's feelings could be stepped on. If my first impression was that this woman was ugly and annoying, what would be the purpose of telling her that? If my first impression was that she barely registered in my mind, then she would assume she was boring and forgettable. If my first impression was very positive - like, oh my God, she is so beautiful! - then I am simply setting myself up for some sort of embarrassment. Or rejection, as she makes a scared face and mumbles something about "Creeepy."
But I told her what my first impression was, which was that she was pretty and skinny and, once I started talking to her, she seemed nice enough. She was pleased with my first reaction. I asked her what hers was of me. She told me, "I thought you had really red hair. You reminded me of my father, who also has red hair. When you spoke, I got the impression that you were very intelligent. "
Huh. Maybe we should start telling others our first impressions more often!
Anyway, that is what I was going to write about. Unfortunately, I was too busy or lazy to put my ideas into words. Fortunately, my voice recognition software is playing along nicely tonight, and it isn't taking that long to get my thoughts onto the screen.
But I can tell you right now what the next long entry will be: Matt's 500-Mile Segway Report! Get the popcorn: this one will be entertaining.
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