Moving Time

Yesterday in class, someone announced that one of our (Mormon) classmates needed help moving.  The classmate needed help moving beyond just the fact that he was moving, so I felt moved to help him move.*  I showed up this morning at his apartment, and I was only a little surprised to see that I was the only non-Mormon around.  What did surprise me, however, was that every single Mormon currently enjoying PC was there.

Spending five hours with these guys provided an interesting comparison to the Baptists I grew up around.  First (and maybe just because I was there), they didn't complain.  They rolled their sleeves up, picked up stuff, and took it to (and from) the U-Haul truck.  Second, although Mormons have a pretty strict behavioral code, they didn't act as if they can't do those things; they acted as if they don't do those things.  Finally, while these guys clearly know each other, I don't see them hanging out with each other all over the law school.  I mean to say that they're not a tight social clique.  They weren't helping him move because that's what friends do for each other; they were helping him move because that's what families do for each other.  That sounds cheesy, but they interacted more like cousins than like a tight social clique.

Regardless of whatever doctrinal disagreements we may have, I'd say that Mormons are way ahead of Baptists in the family-of-God department.

 

 

*Every once in a while it's good to have a sentence that is the model of clarity.

Delinquo Ergo Sum

Getting wait-listed by Duke Law sits somewhere on the shortlist of most satisfying events in my life.  Granted, at the time, I was pretty upset about it.  But now that I'm wiser and older, I appreciate it because it's one of the few times in life where I've clearly reached beyond than my grasp.  I tried to do something and failed.

Today, I tried to do something and failed.  Miserably.  I examined my first witnesses on direct and cross examination.  What should have been twelve minutes of glory turned into 45 minutes of apologizing.  I tried to (illegally, it turns out) mark up exhibits after I'd admitted them; I asked open-ended questions during cross-examination; and I even lost my credibility by letting my cross-witness get me mixed up on the facts.  Incidentally, I successfully excluded my opponent's exhibit on hearsay grounds, but that's like celebrating a third place finish because you weren't in fourth.  Either way, you don't make the playoffs.

The taste of failure is . . . bitter and nasty and disgusting and nauseous.  And I can't wait to take another bite.  It reminds me of something my junior history teacher used to say:

I love cold, drizzly rain.  It soaks through to your bones and you can't ever seem to get warm or dry again.  But at least you know you're alive.

I didn't really have any doubts before, but now I know for sure.  I am alive.

Why Everyone Should Work at Subway

According to the brilliant Douglas Adams:

There is an art to the business of making sandwiches which it is given to few ever to find the time to explore in depth. It is a simple task, but the opportunities for satisfaction are many and profound.

As a sandwich artist, I can affirm what Mr. Adams tells us.

Running to Stand Still

As I learn to read my homework ever faster (and more effectively of course), I stop to ponder important questions:

Is increasing your productivity increasing your happiness? If you’re getting more done, but not making more time for the things you want to do, something is wrong. The point of getting things done is not to have more time to get things done. It’s to have more time for the things you truly enjoy.

But sometimes you don't have a choice.  Sometimes you are just getting things done to have more time to get things done.  It's that second group of things that you want to get done so you can do what makes you happy.

Race for Second Continues

There are some things that I love about the Rangers pitching rotation.  Among them, that we get really excited whenever a guy throws a shutout.  I mean really excited.  I'm still savoring Matt Harrison's shutout of the A's last Friday.*  And just in case you didn't think he's the real thing, Yahoo! informs me that his 8 wins tie a rookie left-handed record.

Take that "Dice-K."

 

*Of course, it doesn't hurt that I didn't find out about the shutout until this morning . . . I barely have time these days to kiss my wife, much less keep up with the Rangers.  But I'm keeping my eyes on February . . . !

Because there's always next year

And hope springs eternal:

[On Wednesday,] Brandon McCarthy picks up his first win in 13 months. If he keeps this pace, his next win comes in... say it with me, Rangers fans... October 2009! (I guess that could mean Arizona Fall League.)

I'm saying it with you!!

Law School Odyssey

Week 2 begins today. Last week was one of the longest weeks of my life. Each day, I got up at around 5 o'clock, got to school by 7, and didn't leave until almost 4. Then I came home and read until dinner, usually around 7:30. I'd pick up reading again around 8 o'clock and usually read until nearly midnight or (at least once) 1 o'clock. Then I'd get up a few hours later and start it again. Enough about that. I have big plans this week to not spend quite that much time reading.

In other exciting news, I just finished reading Arthur C. Clarke's 2010: Odyssey Two.

It didn't pack the all-out weirdness of 2001: A Space Odyssey, but it might have been just as thought-provoking. The story suggests that maybe we're an experiment being performed by extremely powerful---but not yet omnipotent---beings. That got me thinking: what if all this is just an experiment? Maybe God is busy crafting creatures and species all over the Universe and trying to cultivate love or something like that. In the vein of Douglas Adams, the whole Universe might just be a big ol' psych experiment conducted by mice. "You know, Joe, we had interesting results back in 2005 when we hit New Orleans with two hurricanes. Let's see what happens when we throw another one at'm in the midst of their rebuilding efforts . . . !"

Yesterday, I began the third book in the Space Odyssey saga, the incomparably named 2061.