Differences

Tonight, as I sipped and ate dinner downtown with two attorneys (former students of mine) who do not mind being blogged about, habits and all, it struck me how different the world of the law prof is (the average one, or at least me, I am not intending to generalize, so do not tell me that this is not your experience) from that of, say, the social science prof with respect to our conversations with students (for the most part, I know that there are exceptions, do not write and note for me the exceptions, yes yes, you are unique, I am not writing about you, only about me). In graduate school, the profs are fixtures for an extended period of time in the life and professional development of the grad student (six years? more?). As students slowly progress toward faculty status, the divisional lines starts to blur. And in anticipation of that, they actually blur quite early. Students wont admit this – they tend to distinguish between THEM and us (remember, I was once one of you, I speak from experience) – but all this is a pretence, because in reality, grades and letters of recommendation notwithstanding, boundaries are not clearly defined, in the domain of social interaction, between THEM and us.

In Law School, they are. I have to say this: no matter how stern my demeanor on the first day of class, the law student will quickly figure out (google and find the blog, for one thing) that I am one of the more approachable law profs around. Some call me “Nina” from day one (you could not do that to everyone). I understand. I like the prof title, but I shrug with indifference at those who choose to bypass it. Yet, in spite of thes degrees of informality, I know better. For example, bonded as I am to my small classes (we tell stories on break, we comment on each other’s eating habits – yes you, I am talking about the macaroni pizza you munch on each Wednesday, which makes us jealous and wistful), we would not, I don't think, go out to karaoke together. Somehow doing this with law students seems wrong (even though I did, smoke my one and only cigarette in the last 25 years with you guys out on the balcony this fall).

BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT

… then comes graduation. And my wonderful students become lawyers. And they write to me and call me and we have dinners and drinks and they report on the professional shenanigans out there and most of all (and this is so different from grad students), so many of them stay in town. I watch them surpass me in their ability to quickly provide a service and I AM SO PROUD! I ask them questions and even though they are half my age (just about, really!), they are my friends, suddenly, unequivocally.

God, I love my job.

holly, nina, sara -- lawyers in pink and black 

Teaching on a roll

Sometimes I come into class and I have my materials set before me and my lecture notes and texts marked with post-its. My seating chart is ready, my first page of notes is underlined properly, drawing attention to the important points that need to be emphasized before the day is done. And then a student offers an interesting (and provocative) observation and the notes suddenly seem redundant, unimportant, because the burning issue has just been framed in exactly the way you want it to be framed and the discussion takes off. And it is a worthwhile discussion because there are strong arguments to be made on both sides and suddenly I hear students making them. And they continue to make them after class.

Today was such a day.

Blogger dinner: tying up loose ends

[Posts below explain cast of bloggers]

It wasn’t billed as a karaoke night, but if you put Brito and Freese in the same room for more than five minutes, one of them will mention singing. And the other will surely oblige.

Oscar and I complained bitterly about the absence of cool music, but in the end we could not resist a moment on stage. Oscar even played the guitar (though he could have been playing row row row your boat continuously and no one would have noticed; occasionally when someone would look up, he’d mumble something about the guitar being grossly out of tune). Bozzo’s humming turned into out-loud singing. The “I’m going to go along with the whole odd lot of you” moment belonged to Althouse, who tried hard to Get Stuff Done in spite of the noise (I cannot call all that we belted into the mike singing). Oh, and a door prize to Brito who enticed me to dance along in the moments when I wasn’t the back-up girl to their music. Ooooo, weee, dooo dah DAH!

Thank you, Brito, for the dinner. It was a supremely wonderful meal. Each work day should end like this.

Yummy chicken with tomatoes, olives, ricotta... and she only had two hours to cook dinner for us 

How many bottles of wine on the wall, how many bottles of wine... 

Eyes closed, mikes held tight, melodies bursting forth with passion and...nerve. 

Blogger dinner, continued

Why am I not a fastidious simul-blogger? Why have I not risen to the challenge? Because I think these fellow bloggers are all wonderful nuts – like the type you purchase in a specialty store for no good reason, except that they are a pleasure in life.

Brito is singing right now. Oscar is trying to appear at ease. Althouse is sweating her MSNBC post. Freese is absolutely relaxed – this is his forté after all. Bozzo is cool and willing to hum along. Me, I am just loving the relaxededness of it all. I can't quite follow the lyrics about it being hot in here and taking off all your clothes, but maybe it's just my age. Oh oh, Freese is picking up the mike. So far it is absolutely for visual effect only. The two of them look ...cool. Now Freese is complaining that HIS MIKE DOESNT WORK (and yet he claims that he can PROJECT). Yes, assuredly he can. Yes. He can. Oh my. He can. Brito keeps repeating "..so hot.. take my clothes off.." but she doesn't mean it.

The water. It's all in the Madison water.

Let them eat blogs

I know I have new readers who are possibly unfamiliar with the idea of a blogger dinner. Then there are those living far away who have read accounts in the past and have wondered what substance ran through the water pipes of the city to make us act in this rather bizarre way.

It’s simple, really. A year ago, a handful of blogging law and soc profs came together, perhaps to counter aspersions that blogging promotes solitude. Faces and personalities were matched with blog pages (you’d be surprised at how much the blogging persona may not fully represent the wonderful complexity of any given blogger). Eventually we moved from restaurants to a home setting and the inevitable happened. Someone brought their computer. So did the others. Simul-blogging the dinner itself was born (where all participants write about the event simultaneously, as it is unfolding).

Now, thus far I have always hosted the at-home blogger dinners. Therefore, I have never participated in simul-blogging. I have been too busy filling plates to ever bring a computer into my kitchen. Perhaps as a result of my abstinence, some pretty shady-shifty aspersion were cast, as I endured the jokes of those who knew that retaliation was not about to take place.

Tonight I have my moment. The blogger dinner has moved to Brito’s. I am simul-blogging alright. In attendance: Althouse, Bozzo, Brito, Freese, and a newcomer – Oscar. I’m sharpening my fingers in anticipation. No more “Camic is burning the crostini!” or “Camic has turned up the heat to a hellish 130 degrees!” None of that. Sweet, sweet revenge, about to happen. Tonight.

Putting the good spin on being back home, at work, in the middle of a cold spell

Things that Madison has that Californians can only dream about:

* Clear skies and sunshine in February, strong enough to melt 12% of the snow that accumulated in my driveway during my California absence (thank you, neighbor, for clearing my sidewalk and sparing me the ticket that the snow cops hand out at this time of the year);

I’ll add to the list as soon as another idea strikes me.

In the meantime, the wet hills and fields of flowers in the Wine Country left an indelible mark on me. And the people: northern Californians mix and match in ways that are refreshing! Age-wise, politics-wise, otherwise – the groups that I hung out with were at ease in these various configurations. And the honest teasing about differences was completely enlivening.

Wait, I’m straying into California-adoration. I’m in Madison now. It’s good to be home. Yeah, it’s good to immerse myself in work, to catch myself (how pathetic) rereading my own posts about California ramblings.

And it’s great to hear from Mary, issuing an invitation for the next trek out west. There’s Anderson Valley to visit, the North Beach to walk through, a spa morning at Cinta, a MoMA afternoon... she writes.

I wonder if my Berkeley mother needs another visit from me. I’m sure she does. Take heed, all you adult readers with aging parents! Ocean is going on record in its support and encouragement of intergenerational family visists. How lucky that for once, for once, someone in my family has kindly chosen a place to live that is intensely exciting to explore.

A Romantic Comedy

Some people (me for example) like watching romantic comedies. I frequently hear this: when I go to a movie, I like to forget about the reality waiting for me back home. I want to be happy along with the couple on the screen.

It struck me that increasingly, this blog is turning into one romantic comedy. Like the movie form, it is not especially funny, but it stumbles along hoping to entertain – myself if not the reader.

Anyone who knows me, knows also that this has been a rather tough winter for me. I’ve a lot going on at work and just about at every front and I find most of it very trying and unamusing. Ocean goes through phases and it has definitely hit a level of inconsequentiality that is astonishing to a reader who may have logged on prior to the elections, for example.

This morning, at the Denver airport, I wrote tentatively a post on a more serious topic – having to do with the EU. I used to love writing about things having to do with the EU. Not anymore. I read my own post and deleted it. It struck me as wrong for the here and now.

I know there is a danger: one of these days I will slide into writing about something so trivial that it may as well appear as a blank page on the computer screen: it will say absolutely nothing.

For now, I am running with my own inclination. Martinis, truck stops, hair color, barnyard manure if I come across any that strikes me as amusing. Nothing serious. Not this month or next, for sure.

P.S. to the kind reader (click onto his cool new blog here) who suggested that perhaps I should have purchased the whoopass t-shirt (see last night’s post here) and worn it to class this week, let me assure you, the students may have laughed, but some of my senior colleagues would not have been amused.

Where I announced to a full flight of people that I add color to my hair

Though we are a noisy nation (no problem picking out Americans abroad – they talk ten notches louder than everyone else; it is a vast country that we inhabit and we have trained ourselves to shout in order to be heard from Maine to California), on planes, people for the most part tend to be quiet.

They were quiet when we were settling into our seats. And very quiet when I took out my cell for a quick call to my man Jason who was to work on my hair this afternoon were it not for my complicated layovers and missed return connections. And they were super quiet when I said to the Salon receptionist: what do you mean you cannot find Jason?? I need to beg him on my knees to take me this week. I cannot stand the color of my hair another minute! He’ll do this for me, I know he will! Please go find him!

And they continued to be quiet as I said, while getting up to disembark, right into my reconnected cell: well if you cannot find him go search for Robyn, his assistant. You do not understand, this is a color emergency!

Everyone heard, everyone smiled with understanding (after all, they had full view of my head of hair). But I had to do it anyway. I was past being embarrassed. I needed action.

[BTW, have I said this before? 70% of women past 40 color their hair and 17% of men do. Just keep that in mind as you next scan the heads of people in an audience or an airplane.]

Denver Airport: I used to laugh at people like me

There was a time when passengers, overloaded with carryons, brought out a little secret smirk in me. I would embark smugly on a nine-hour flight with a novel in hand and a dainty purse swinging from the shoulder and that would be it. Crazy people, those who think they need every piece of entertainment on board, or who load themselves down with souvenirs and travel purchases. Plain nutty.

That was then. This trip is reason enough to feel regret at my past smugness. I am loaded down by projects I want to work on but don’t have time for back home. I am burdened by a computer that was purchased when lightweight was not an option. Burnt by too many instances of lost luggage, I have all important items stuffed into the computer bag. My handbag has life’s essentials, which, as of this morning, appear to include a lifetime supply of tictacs and my growing collection of coffee cards. And on this leg of the journey, I also have a little crate of wine purchased in Sonoma and Napa. Oh, and the gorgeous pear apple vinegar from Sebastiani.

The United cart, the one that transports elderly and disabled travelers, stopped and asked if I would like assistance. I accepted. During the ride I made all sorts of promises to myself about dainty purses and novels for the future. The very distant future.

In Aurora, Colorado: good morning! breakfast is now being served

A treat from United (the airline that is making this little Colorado getaway possible, as explained in the post below): I have two breakfast options: a full, warm breakfast at the Crystal Inn, or the use of a $4 coupon for breakfast anywhere at the airport.

Which would you choose?

True, the Crystal Inn breakfast has its advantages: the shuttle bus driver could not praise it enough: and they give you warmed up sausage patties or bacon with your cereal and toast! But then, this was the same guy who highly recommended the frozen sandwiches at the truck stop, easily reheated at the communal Crystal Inn microwave.

But a $4 coupon? A latte alone is $3.65. What a snob, you’re thinking, she has to have a latte while the rest of America struggles with watery coffee. And there’s your answer: the rest of America struggles with watery coffee. Go ahead and struggle. I prefer to shock myself into existence in the early hours of a day.

The decision is made: I’m heading for the airport.

In Aurora, Colorado: what can I say about a late night dinner of iceberg lettuce and BBQ sauce “purchased” at a truck stop?

This post is dedicated to Mary in SF, to an old man staying in a trailer at a truck stop in Colorado, and to United Airlines, the best care in the air (but not on the ground).

Say what? Are you home or not?
Not.

What happened??
Long story. Bottom line – the cheese made me do it.
A nice morning. Mary and I went grocery shopping outside Palo Alto. She swore I could fit in a half bottle of Murphy-Goode Reserve Fumé into my suitcase. We eat California rolls for lunch at her place. So California! She takes me to the Oakland airport. A hug and I am on my way.

Oops – a two hour delay in departure to Denver. United rep asks: would you like to chance it? The Madison-bound flight may be late as well. I know better. The Madison connection is never late when I need it to be late and always late when I need it to be on time. Besides, I have this aritisanal Monterey Jack cheese that Mary thought I should take back home. Eh, just assume that I cannot make the connection and put me up in Denver. Ship my suitcase there as well – it’s got a cheese that requires refrigeration. And after all, YOU, my dear United, are paying (the cause of the delay: the crew did not toddle in on time on the arriving flight).

Yay! You got a free overnight in Denver and probably a yummy meal too?
Correction: I got an overnight at the Crystal Inn at Aurora, Colorado, which is as good as it sounds. Meaning – it’s in the middle of nowhere.

…And the meal?
Yes, the meal. I got a $9 coupon from United to buy myself a dinner at the adjacent truck stop. This in itself deserved a glass of wine or at least a beer to make it all go down, don’t you think?

So you had your beer or wine.
It was a close one. I asked at the lovely Crystal Inn (where you can book a Romantic Getaway Package for two…DON’T!) if a glass of wine was within reach. Answer: no. Okay, I have my own supplies. Many a passenger on the delayed Oakland flight coveted my box of wines picked up at Sonoma and Napa. Do you have a corkscrew? No, but maybe you can purchase one at the truck stop, where you can also pick up $9 worth of free dinner, courtesy of United.

There you go! A solution, right at hand!
Not really. At the truck stop shop they had the following items available for purchase:

a little gift for your beloved? 

A fashionable t-shirt maybe? 

a gift for your loved one back home.. 

But no corkscrew.

So no wine for you?
Not the end of the story. Remember, there’s still the part about the guy in the trailer.

Oh boy…
I was deliberating between these mouth-watering options:

each one looks yummier than the next!