Dear Mom,
My back kinda hurts from the sucky chairs at school. My stomach kinda hurts from the sucky lunch I had at an editorial meeting. My liver kinda hurts from all the beer I drank last night.
So there was a show: Ladybug Transistor and Living Better Electrically. I can do that on a Sunday night. But I really can’t. After the bartender made up a shot for me & J—”pink death”—and LBE did their Bowie impression for about an hour, I wanted to pass out.
I had a better time writing haikus for J, just to make her laugh. We ended up getting a little drunk and walked out right before the LT started playing—which is fine, because I’m so old everything’s too loud anyways.
Last night I ended up having to plow though a stack of Supreme Court cases yesterday to check the quotes in my Note—thrilling. While I was supposed to give it to a 2L to do it, I just don’t trust them. This was before heading back out to Bikini Ranch to finish up moving KC, then nailing down a mariachi band to play her upcoming wedding (no dj can beat the mariachi!).
This morning was great soft scrambled eggs and buttery grits and fluffy biscuits at the University Club, watching the storms bang into Jackson at seven thirty in the morning. Of course I was sitting next to the professor I owe a paper to—on Dworkinian concepts of jurisprudence as they relate to Mississippi intestate law, through the cases dealing with Robert Johnson. Yeah, I picked the topic, of course. Who else wants to mix notions of legal pragmatism with Delta blues lyrics, complete with two-hundred footnotes?
My pal JR gave me a watch of his I’d long admired; problem being, I don’t wear watches (I do have a Swatch with a dead battery you might see on occasion) (and this even blinks, though you can turn it off). Just gave it to me, Elvis-style, which is the way to do it.
Now I’m going to Office Depot before heading to Cherokee for Bar Review (our bi-weekly Law Review mixer). Thrills a minute, I tell you.
xo,
gorjus
you made the stuff that was GOOD sound bad!
Hey, Gorjus.
I can hardly believe that you once worked in the Afican salt mines.
Mixers, Sunday night shots at Martins, giving GORDON beer on a Monday? Are you some sort of law-school fraternity robot? I think the church sign may be on to something.
gorjus, I know you must be bitter that as a man of the law, you were not asked to perform KC’s ceremony. I can now put that holier-than-thou attitude to good use in my newest incarnation, Reverend Smartass. Thanks for finding the mariachi people—are they the same ones who played at that dumb restaurant at the mall, the one who had the Jeremy Brown lookalike?