The End of an Era

This blog is now officially dead. Closed. Whatever. However, this whole blogging thing must have been good for me, because I now have a new, non-study-abroad-related blog here. It's called A Few More Words, and it's mostly me ranting. And if I ever manage to type up any more of my poems, they'll go here. But then you knew that.

JJ over and out.

Born in the USA

I've been avoiding writing this post. No, really. I have, I think partially out of a misguided belief that if I don't admit it's all over, it won't be.
I've been back over a month now, and things are still weird. English food, English customs, English dress, English attitudes, hell, even the English sense of humour, grate on me far more than they once did. Josh and I have been watching a US/UK colab for one of the games we both recently bought, and I find myself yearning towards the American voice (the accent! The jokes! The little fillers!) with a truly scary sort of desperation.
It's not that I dislike being back, or have instantly switched into 'want what can't have' mode. (Well...). It is amazing to be in the UK once more, to have proper cups of tea, to hang out all night with my closest friends (if I'm honest, I think they make the place more home-like than anything else), to walk and catch the bus and use public transport and to hear beautiful BBC English on the radio. I'm America plus in that respect; I love all accents, provided they're not my own. No, it's more that I want the best of both worlds, the cynicism and the silliness, the space and the public transport, the people, and, well, the people. I want my own little transatlantic island, damnit, and I want it to be packed with American coffee shops.

Would I do it again? Definitely. Would I recommend it? In a heartbeat. There's an awful lot of culture shock and homesickness involved in a year abroad, that I won't deny, but the rewards far outweigh the detriments. You meet amazing, varied, interesting people, and, at the risk of sounding like a very bad movie, you learn an awful lot about yourself, about your culture, and about globalism. You change. You begin to see things in very different ways.

So what of me? I won't be going for our girly reunion in Paris, because I simply can't afford it. That said, I should soon start working as a shelf stacker type grunt in Tescos (fingers crossed). This sucks. Fortunately the school will be holding a more formal reunion in London come October, and this I am determined to go to. On Thursday I will go for my first post-America, post-Laura haircut, and I'm not sure how I will survive. I've been listening to a lot of radio, and gaming a fair bit. Dying mostly, but that's besides the point. I'm keeping in touch with the UConn bunch as much as possible, and I daily miss Pu and her general wonderfulness. I textspam Vaughney whenever I get bored. In just under a month I'll be spending a week in a field at a folk festival with my Exeter bunch. I've been playing a lot of guitar in preparation. I have a bike. A real, live, rusty bike. I didn't get my internship. I'm trying to figure out what to do with my life, and how to fit America into it. I miss people, very much.
I'm happy. I'm always happy. And I'm glad I went.

Musings scribbled down on a train as I travelled South

I wondered, idly, what it was to look American: by the standards of the great mixing bowl. My mother had always said that I looked typically English with by big eyes and light brown hair- although currently bleached to a ruddish gingery frizz- but I was anything but. My genes, I knew, came from Prussia and Scotland and Ireland and Wales and maybe just a little bit of England and France. I looked Russian, and I looked German, and I bore, in my inheritance, a Jewish surname now covered up. My mother's nearest kin were either tall and thin or short and squat and my half-French (half-Irish? No one knew for sure anymore where the Devines had come from) was a true nutbrown English rose. I and my brother took after our father's side: wild hair, huge shoulders, large heads and deepset eyes- big, big, always big. A little European subrace all of our very own, big and heavy and built for the farm. He had a nose and half, though he was growing into it- our mother's length, our father's width, a hook of his own invention. My own was small and short and thick-rigged, shattered as a child and left to make a life of its own.
I had very large hands and short fingers, and a stubby thumb and my mother's curved middle fingers. Large feet and a heart face and a vaguely hour-glass like figure. I put my weight on my hipss and breasts and could eat like a horse and was in all ways large, even when underweight. And sometimes I thought I would go hunt for a man of similar genes, and sometimes I found myself leaning towards the thinner, more delicate end of the spectrum, and I supposed it was all just my body trying to make it all work out. And at the end of it I realised that I still didn't know what it was to look American, but that my body shape seemed to blend in far better in than mixing bowl than in Her Majesty's green and pleasant and slightly overweight land.

Packing: Part III

ARGH.

Does that sum it up?

We have four bags (four!), and a guitar, and I haven't finished the carry-ons yet and we leave tomorrow at 17:45.

Also, I don't want to leave, and I will miss America terribly, and the culture shock will be horrible, and blah. But mostly ARGH.

A nostalgic post

Remember when:

'Come August' meant a time still far in the distant future.

Packing was the most stressful thing ever.

Walking 45 minutes to someone's house was quite normal.

My fangirling was confined to private conversations with consenting adults.

Coffee was a treat, rather than a necessity (no, me neither).

9 months looked more like 3 years and would never be over.

The aspect of America I was most excited about was pickles.

The idea of cooking dinner in the microwave horrified me.

My jeans were still too big. (Ouch- and I swore I wouldn't do the all American morbid obesity thing.)

I was scared about meeting new people because I didn't want to leave them. (Still painfully true.)

Travel was scary.

New York was nothing more than a movie backdrop.

Taking a cab was for RAs and the lazy.

Pepper spray and guns only existed on screen and in jokes.

A five hour flight was a big deal.

Cross-Atlantic travel was a big deal.

The library was for reference only.

Nothing could ever compare to first year / second year / last summer.

Graduating was scary.

I was convinced my options closed when I hit 23.

I couldn't make an F chord (nope, still can't).

Living with strangers scared me.

Worrying about keeping in contact with people stressed me out.

I was convinced my little brother couldn't grow up without me. (Still not entirely sure on this front.)

I was convinced I knew everything there was to know about living on my own.

I was convinced I would somehow prefer US law.

I would put the UK down at every opportunity, while defending the US tooth and nail.

I like the idea of the Constitution and the US Governmental structure.

All I had to worry about in any one day was how many skirts to pack.

I was going to have travelled the entire US by November.

I didn't really think of the Netherlands as anything other than a good example of a flexible marriage structure.

I didn't really think of Germany as anything other than 'where Cora is going.'

I was convinced I'd never see my friends from Exeter ever again ever.

I couldn't get on a plane without crying. (Still true.)

I was excited about American television. (Oh, dear.)

I didn't watch television unless DW was on.

I was going to come back with a thick US accent.

I was going to impress all the little American freshmen with my English accent (hmmm).

I was going to spend all my time outside.

Bloody scary.

Scriptwriting- a productive evil?

Emma Zunz is done. Finished. Finalised. Sent off. Many edits, spellchecks, and new characters later, I have handed in a completed 20 page play. (Single spaced, TNR, 12pt.) I actually now have two versions of the play- the stylistically correct, drama-student approved, 'audiences are idiots' version, and the over-punctuated, Borges fangirl, Professor-esque version. No prizes for guessing which one I handed in. At the end it seemed that I was walking a thin line between the demands of the drama students (bloodthirsty creatures, seriously) and the suggestions of my Borges-loving prof. I only broke down once, and that was when Borges original dialogue was struck down by the dramas for being 'too melodramatic.' Ah, well.
I don't honestly know what to do with myself now. On the one hand: woo, 2nd paper handed in and approved and out of my hair. On the other hand- Emma is my baby. The one I turn to when the Westboro Baptist Church and Southern Slave Laws are getting too much; the one I would never get bored of editing. Scriptwriting, it seems, is an addictive drug.
"So what did you do, JJ?" I hear you cry. (Nickname is laid entirely at Siobhan's doorstep, by the way. Bloody Criminal Minds.) Well, to be honest, I would hope that by now you'd know what I did. I started writing other things instead. You know, productive procrastination. Because a half-finished script with an implausible plot is going to get me so much further than a decent degree.
Right now I'm spending my leisure time on 'Stalker, a weird and wonderful concept which was developed during a late-night Facebook session in Doctor Who season. (Speaking of DW, consider this my Gaiman squeeing for the next week. OMG. OMG. OMG.) It's surprisingly fun to write, probably because it doesn't involve referencing homophobes or Nazis or ... anything. Exciting. Doing nothing for my remaining two papers, of course (I fricking hate papers. I somehow seem to think that were I back in Exeter I would concentrate better.), but there is seriously nothing more fun than writing fangirls. I think I may have found my calling. Now I simply need to get Abbi to inject 1) plot, and 2) humour.

Oh, and I short-circuited the power on our floor by trying to make coffee and cook dinner at the same time. Is this an American thing?

A listy listy list that doesn't have much to do with anything

Last night on Glee (yes, I'm sorry, stick with me, I promise it will only be for a paragraph at most), they tried to 'cure' the woman with severe OCD by attempting to force feed her unwashed fruit. While this did provide decent build-up to the Gaga cover, which was the sole reason for my watching, it also made me flinch. Just ... ouch.
Later that evening, I found myself standing in the kitchen watching my roommate tidy everything, and it got me thinking. And, as usually happens when I think, it resulted in me taking a dinner break from the final legs of my EHR paper to write a '10 random things about me only acceptable because there's some kind of context and it's not on FB' type post.

Things I'm not OCD about

- Putting everything in its place.
OK, so I like my room to be tidy, and I like my wardrobe to be organised, and I don't like clutter. (I'm pretty sure my home-home room is some kind of weird masochistic joke on my part). On the other hand, I don't usually find myself running around because someone left a pair of scissors on the counter or the lid up on the washing machine. Which I guess is good. Although I do make an exception if someone deliberately moves something out of place. That's just not funny.

- Laundry.
One of the girls tends to come around twice a month or so to use our washing machine. Watching her do her washing (that sounds a lot weirder than it actually is, honest) actually made me realise that in some respects I'm an irresponsible bastion of flexibility. I really wish I had pictures for this, because while she's all "unfold this and turn it inside out and match all my socks together and make sure everything's washing-machine safe - oops, hand-wash only, into the other pile with you!," I'm very much "put it all in! PUT EVERYTHING IN! It's probably colour-fast!"
I don't know if this is actually normality or simply some sort of weird and hampering reverse-OCD.

- Papers
Don't get me wrong, I suffer a lot of anxiety about papers, but I can't help feeling that if I were properly OCD this would be more caused by the fact that I missed my self-imposed, two-week early deadline and less by oh my god it's due in tomorrow morning and I really don't have an argument syndrome.

- Cleaning fruit and veg / Sharing food (unless someone gets saliva on it, in which case NO.)
I don't know why not. Again, possibly maladaptive, but I like to think that this is simply one of the few good by-products of my good old-fashioned mud-pie eating childhood.

- The whole fine-cleaning thing.
A bucketload of bleach and a sponge do me fine, thank you!

- Compulsive habits.
This one I'm not sure about. On the one hand, I thank the lord every day that my distinctly O-inclined personality keeps me free of numbered doorknob turns and the like. Seriously. Out of the two C is clearly the evil twin. But sometimes I imagine it would be nice to develop a permanent habit which saw me finishing my work promptly at 9, making myself a packed lunch for the day, and settling down to an early night's sleep. Although I think my cider-obsessed side might have problems with that.

Next time: last week's currently unpublished post detailing the things I can and cannot do when suffering from finalsitis. It's written by braindead!Jessie, and it makes normal(maybe)!Jessie giggle.

I may have a problem

In hindsight, reading myself to sleep with a fantasy horror book when the birds in the attic started kicking up a fuss at 3.30 am was probably a bad idea. As it happened, though, I ended up having nightmares in which a tumblr blog (oh, the spelling, it kills me) went all Ring and began driving people crazy. Then I had one of those wonderful happy dreams where all I can remember is walking away from a group of people saying 'I love these fantasies,' but which was nonetheless still the best dream I've had for ages.

The problem is that my nightmare may not be as far fetched as it undoubtedly sounds. Let me explain. There is nothing to do in Hartford. Nothing. Much as I've enjoyed this year, Hartford is and will no doubt remain, the ghost town of America. My weekend activities are limited to going to the mall, going to the park, or going to West Hartford, which is pretty much like going to the mall except outside and prettier. So, as I've alluded to before, since coming here, I have watched more TV than I ever have before in my life, save for that stint when I was 11 and off school sick for a while. I am a dedicated follower of Criminal Minds. I have seen every episode of Downton Abbey. I watched the whole of the 2009 production of Alice. I'm up-to-date with my Family Guys. I've just started Pushing Daisies. And I am slowly being transformed into a so-called 'Gleek.'

Glee is probably taking over my life. It's an odd show. I imagine that had I started watching it when it first came out in the UK I would still be a fan, but one who catches up in her spare time rather than a dedicated, on the sofa at the same time every week type of fan. It's generally decent TV, at least as far as I'm concerned. It's set in hyper-reality, it is full of pretty primary colours, it has wonderfully snarky comments, and they randomly break into song at least twice an episode. All of these things are good. However, being in Hartford with nothing to do, all these things suddenly transformed into The Best Things Ever, and I transformed into a scarily dedicated, Tuesdays-at-8 girl. It's sad, yes, but generally I've been able to cope. The problem is that the show has recently taken a break with all sorts of unresolved plot lines, and well- I have an obsessive personality. More so when writing essays, and desperately so when bored solid. Which leads me to tumblr.

Tumblr is a terrifying place. It reminds me vividly of the days when, as a 15/16 year old girl who liked Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and shinies, I joined online groups in which 'squee' and 'OMG' constituted appropriate conversation starters and making fan posters was a legitimate use of one's spare time. Tumblr, much like those groups, is also desperately shiny and, more importantly, full of people who are also struggling with Glee withdrawal symptoms. Now I think I need an intervention before it's too late, because I'm beginning to scare myself, and I'm getting online jokes which no one should ever be able to understand. I actually know what 'Klaine' means, and if that isn't a cry for help then what is? Besides, there is never any excuse for following fictional characters' Twitter feeds.

So the moral of the story is that I need to get a life, and fast. A deeper moral is that if you find yourself in a place like Hartford, for god's sakes get a car, or join a club, or something. If I had joined an aerobics class instead of discovering Glee, well, things would be very different, wouldn't they?

Normal posting returns next week.

JJ

My life as it happens

I haven't updated for a while, no. I've had quite a lot going on, in Hartford and back in the UK. To make that sentence relevant to the study abroad issue- I think one of the hardest aspects of living in another country is that when things go wrong at home you really do feel the difference. Skype is amazing, but sometimes it doesn't quite cut it.

Which brings me onto my next point, which is general marvelling at technology. My friend Dale, champion of all things shiny and technological, has a 'magic' phone, which allows him to use Skype / Google Voice etc, which means that we actually can have proper phone-to-phone conversations over the internet. If you're thinking about studying abroad, get yourself a friend with one of these! Hell, get yourself one!

As for my life: I don't like papers, I don't like editing, I do like talking to people and going out for breakfast, and preparing for Spring Fling (in two weeks, and yes, I'm wearing 5 inch heels), and cheering on the UConn Huskies (the varsity basketball team) in tomorrow's "March Madness" final, and sitting in the sun.

Oh, and I also very much like Law School sponsored trips to Washington DC. I've always had a soft spot for DC and Virginia (that's what spending the formative years of your childhood there will do), and it was fantastic to go back and see the place through adult eyes. Plus, a $300 / night hotel room is always welcome in my books! We did very much, and we took many pictures, and we saw very many examples of cherry blossom, and I'm now very much of the opinion that Justice Scalia bears a passing resemblance to Jabba the Hut.
I also got to see some very dear friends of the family while I was there, which was amazing, and made me feel very nostalgic, and I got to ride the AmTrak home, which was an experience and a half. That is:
Experience : Meeting a couple at the Harper's Ferry stop who had hiked the Appalachian trail over 4 days and got engaged just above the Harper's Ferry church.
And a half: Waiting for 45 minutes to cross a bridge in NY because "the President was flying over in his helicopter."

Here's a picture:



















In other news, I have a house for next year, with a big yellow room and a boat in the back garden which I'm very happy about. And I'm debating, in the spirit of using my 'Bizarre' tag to its fullest extent, of uploading my 'Things I love / Things I hate' list which I drew up following a very odd conversation with Siobhan. Oh, and I've written a few more poems for my other blog.

JJ

Country Roads...

Just a quick note to say that I am currently in Virginia, having toured DC, and will be updating Wednesday if all goes to plan.

Smiley faces all around!

This is why I used to lock my brother in the shed

I was busy working on the climactic scene of my Emma Zunz script, and, wanting a break, I went onto Facebook. Big mistake. What did I find but that my brother, one Joshua Carter-Syme, had, in a fit of productive procrastination, posted this. I repost it in its original form so that yes, you can see that he is indeed the brains of the family.

Well, this is a note, that is to say, a piece of writing/other form of information recording, which is recorded to avoid decay. Enjoy.

Comparatively speaking, when I was younger I was smarter. I was better at philosophizing, much better with logic, and my skin was a little paler. I've noticed that this is a continuous process, and it annoys me. Although I'm still constantly absorbing information, becoming more intelligent, the process is slowing down, and in just a few years, it could very well go into reverse. As it is, I used to learn a small amount faster than others, which somewhat made up for my lack of knowledge and common sense. Right now, my intelligence is increasing rather slower than that of those around me, even if it is technically still increasing. How to say this, its acceleration is decreasing. I can only imagine what I'll be like after a decade, since I expect it to hit and go beneath zero at around the nineteen-twenty year mark. If it hits zero and stops, then I'll be a being with no capacity for new knowledge, a pointless shell, and a waste of space. If it goes beneath zero, becoming negative, then I will ultimately end up with a mental capacity equivalent to that of someone in a PVS. That's not really something I want, for reasons which should be obvious. It is partially because of this that I will eventually be campaigning for the rights to assisted suicide and euthanasia...Because they're still not legal!

If the right to life is a basic right, given to all members of the human species merely for being a part of said species, then it follows logically that the right to death is its inseparable counterpart. Why is it that human life is considered sacred, and always prolonged, even against the wishes of the individual? Isn't the reason abortion is mostly legal these days that people have a right to control what goes on in their bodies, even to the extent of ending a potential human life? Hasn't anyone ever heard the phrase "Quality over quantity"? There is no reason to follow the religious consensus on this matter, yet I believe that a great deal of the anti-euthanasia, anti-suicide support comes from organizations such as the Roman Catholic Church, of which a vast number of people are adherents. Are we to simply let the subjective belief in a logically contradictory and immoral deity stand in the way of reason, and freedom? Mankind has fought against oppression before, and no matter how long it takes, eventually the tyrants are toppled, and peace reigns for a short while. but this may be the hardest battle in our entire history, and whomsoever wins, we lose.

The question is, which of us will lose, and which of us actually should lose?

I do not hate religion. I believe it was necessary for our survival, and may well be what supposedly separates us from the other animals. But its time has passed. It is now, like our bodily response to stress, not simply useless, but unhelpful. The only difference is that religion is self aware, and acts more like a virus than the simple cause-and-effect system of the human body. It realizes that it exists, ignores the fact that it naturally ends up killing its host organism (in this case, humanity), and rapidly multiplies, aiming for total control. Oh, the analogy is flawed, but ultimately I see very, very little difference, and it serves as well as any. Regardless, organized religion now holds us back, condemning freedom of speech, of sexuality, even of thought. We must place it behind us, and move on into the open pastures of logic and reason, which will surely welcome us with open arms, metaphorically speaking. There, we can simply be, not worrying about sin or redemption, no longer plagued by contradiction and close-mindedness, free at last.

The Netherlands have shown that euthanasia need not lead to a "slippery slope" effect, and surely legalizing assisted suicide and euthanasia is better than the alternative? Currently, if I want to have a lethal drug administered by a professional, I have to travel to America, locate a state which still allows the death penalty, and go on a killing spree.

This obviously causes far more harm than it needs to, and even simple suicide is still problematic. Not only do you have to acquire all the tools and such in secret, which is irritating, but the process isn't even very hard...just tedious. More importantly, once the deed has been done, there is the shock and horror of the family and friends, and often an investigation, complications with wills and deeds and insurance, and all sorts of other irritations, many of which cost the government themselves not a little, and the taxpayer a great deal indeed. Then the family must live with the guilt and sadness of your death. There is nothing here to consider worthwhile, and yet hundreds are forced to it because of the current prohibition of assisted suicide, and the implied illegality of even wanting to die. Hating your entire life does not make you insane, in need of psychological help, nor is death such a bad thing. If you have nothing to live for, you should be allowed to die, plain and simple. If you are capable of rational function, you should be allowed freedom.

Why not just legalize the bloody thing and have done with it?

Until the inevitable response, I rest my case.

Ah, New England

[I want to describe to you the dramatic changing of the seasons here in Hartford, as well as my new, spring-influenced walk to school. To do so, never having learned my lesson when it comes to experimental blog posts, I would like to practice my screenplay writing skills. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is what I am learning here- this and origami and the ability to objectively analyse slave laws.]

Scene:

A cool March morning. The sky is pale blue with a few pink-tinged clouds. The sun has just risen. Camera focuses, a la sitcom shot, on the green 'WHITNEY' sign before panning down a long residential street, lined with large, timbered, New England-style houses.

Camera stops by a short flight of white timber stairs leading to a glass door. The door opens and JESS appears. She is much thinner and prettier than the original, and her legs meet approved movie-star proportions. She is dressed in ballet flats, bright purple tights, a denim skirt, blue t-shirt, and purple cardigan. Over her shoulder is a large green school bag. Today is heavy books day, despite JESS's best attempts to leave her folders at home.

She rummages fruitlessly through the mailbox. She knows the mail won't arrive for another 3 hours, but she remains an eternal optimist. Giving up, she heads down the street. Camera follows at a wide-angle, focusing on the house still carrying its huge, light-up, 'Merry Christmas' placard, the row of dustbins placed in the middle of the pavement, and next door's brand new BBQ.

At the traffic lights JESS turns left and heads east. She is singing along to some Beatles song to which she knows only a third of the words. The houses here are more expensive, and the gardens are bigger. Although there are not yet any flowers, the birds are singing loudly. There are few cars and no other pedestrians. In the distance we see the looming grey figure of the Law School library, backed by a pink cloudbank. The grass varies from dead yellow to deep green, and is still spotted with occasional piles of snow. JESS walks past one garden which is only just beginning to thaw, despite the warmth of the day.

Reaching the end of the street, JESS cuts across the swathe of grass behind the Law library. Suddenly, and without warning, it begins raining heavily.

JESS: Son of a -

Cut scene

Oh, and another postscript

Did I mention it was getting warmer? Or that almost all the snow has melted? Or that I bought new hats? Or that I'm going to New York (baby) tomorrow?
No?
How horribly remiss of me. Here is a picture of the crew of the Good Ship Folk Soc looking particularly ... glowy to make up for it.

As a postscript- this is what happens when you pretend to be 'Katie West' and don't tell the Folkies you're coming.

Today, I will sound like a frog

Right, so why haven't I updated? I'm tempted to list a number of excuses, but it's mainly because I'm lazy. There, that's sorted.

What have I done recently?

Eaten a lot of chicken noodle soup. It seems to be my new thing.

Completed a mid-term on Handyside vs UK and the margin of appreciation. In a very short period of time..

Spectacularly failed to pick a paper topic for Freedom of Speech. Unless "something to do with manipulation and truth in media and the First Amendment and maybe looking at Fox" counts as a topic.

Been fluy. Hence the title. I met Siobhan for lunch the other day and the first thing she said was "wow! Your voice sounds really nice!" Which I think was meant to be a compliment.

Turned old. Or 22, whichever you prefer. Jaapi is older though- he turned 25 the Wednesday before last. In honour of which, the lovely Hartford crew put together a cake and vodka party, with mini chicken cordon bleu, and tzatziki, and chocolate brownies topped with cheesecake. It was wonderful.

Got red highlights in my hair- now I'm much more brunette, and it's all wonderfully exciting!

Still working on and over-excited by my final for Law and Literature- a script adaptation of Emma Zunz. It's only a few scenes in at the moment, but I'm enjoying it.

Oh, I was elected Vice-President of Folk Society to my friend Hannah's President, which is wonderfully exciting- and a little scary when I look at the amount of work involved.

And, of course, I went back to the UK to attend IVFDF (the Inter-Varsity Folk Dance Festival) last weekend- which is probably where I picked up this bug - and surprised everyone, from my mum and my brother to pretty much the entirety of Folk Society.
It was an incredible weekend. I barely slept, I didn't really stop dancing, I met some lovely people, and I got to see both my family and the folkies again, which was more than worth it. When on Sunday afternoon I found myself lying on the floor with two other friends just laughing I knew I was home.

And I'm househunting. And it's difficult. And I might be living with a friend of my friend Abbi's, provided he doesn't come away from the last essay I sent him thinking I'm a freak. We shall see.

And I'm trying to improve my French. This is about as hopeless as the househunting, but I live in eternal optimism.

JJ out.

Humourous apology for late posting

There is now more stuff here. And will hopefully be able to provide a full and comprehensive 'law school is fun, I have a fulfilling social life' status sometime tomorrow.

Here's a picture of the law bear, because it makes me giggle:

And another thing

I've been told that this makes about as much sense as my 'We the wheelbarrows' post. From which I can gather that a) I have a warped sense of humour, and b) I should stay away from SoC pieces unless I'm prepared to write a detailed explanatory note.

More cheating

Again, this isn't a real blog post, but in terms of reflecting what I've been doing in class I think it's quite a good example. The novel in question is Camus's The Fall, which I've just finished reading.

Oh, yeah, and it's here, on my other blog. The one that doesn't get updated much.

"We the wheelbarrows."

This post is going firmly under 'bizarre,' as it's a SoC piece cataloging some of the more bizarre aspects of American Law School. No disrespect meant to any of my professors, obviously- this is more of a sideways look at some of the issues thrown up by the Socratic method. The title is a quotation from a speech by Douglas arguing that slavery was unconstitutional. I think it may be this semester's Carbolic Smoke Ball Co.

So we're talking about Glee. OK, I'm sure that's relevant- social change or something - the New York mob? Right. How did we get there? Yes, I think we should shoot 9 out of every ten admissions to the court- are we still on Spencer? Oh, yes, we are. I didn't realise the court was actually in charge of preventing deserters in France - Carolinian seccession would obviously lead to nuking Connecticut. "OK, so you like, go to the court, right, and you, like, need a lawyer" - are we still on Spencer? OK, yes we are- I'm so confused... oh, we're back onto crime bosses now- what is it with New England states? "Guilty of lots of murders," right then.... "Where's Whitey" sounds like a horribly racist game. The courts enforcing their own judgments? Why do I now have a picture of machine-toting judges? You know what, I'm not going to take Philosophy of Law next year ... We're not on Spencer anymore?
OK, new case, Bankovic, jurisdiction - what does the weather report look like? Is that a trick question? No one really wants to answer - no, it's not a hospital. "Killing people is morally wrong," excellent ... is that a legal justification? How do you justify wars anyway? Isn't that the whole point? - OK, swimming through NATO countries, still not on jurisdiction. "Recky-Vick," sounds like a boxer - when did we get on to jailing Belguim? Where would they keep that prison? "Was it legal to hurt these people?" Probably not- oh, we're still on jurisdiction. Siobhan could definitely pass as an English actress- she has the face for it- but why would anyone holiday in Hartford?
"There are no perfect countries," still on Bancovic, I wish I could remember how the Commission decided that it was extra-territorial - oh, wow, quick move to Gaima, now I have a picture of Belgium and the Netherlands pushing this poor guy back and forth across the border- at least the Commission took care of him. I wonder whatever happened to the poor guy? How do you end up without an identifiable originating country? And why did they think that the Netherlands was an ideal place to deport him to? Why not France?
Inexplicable? Yes, I think so...

Words. Words. Words.

This week, in order to be generally difficult, I've decided to post my Freedom of Speech reflection on legal reasoning. If you want to see the assignment title you can click here , but I heartily recommend against it- what I produced has very little to do with enchantment or social change. And yes, I am grossly misusing Shakespeare in my title.

I studied law for 2 years before coming to UConn, and never once did anyone ever think to ask what the law was or why we had it, and certainly not what principle lay at the core of legal reasoning. The questions were laughable- no one, I think, assumed that there was somehow a higher power, an omnipotent, intangible Justification of Law. The law was the law, and it existed because Parliament said so, and we were only interested in learning its rules, its application, and, sometimes, its potential for change. If you really wanted a deeper understanding, you took a theoretical class, marked yourself out as a future research student, and, ultimately, learned that the law is nothing more than rules upon rules, coloured by the moral leanings of distant judges. Things are so much simpler in a Monarchy.

And yet, I think that if you question any lawyer for long enough, and get past the parroting of rules and doctrines and principles, you will ultimately end up in a situation in which they try to explain that at some level law isn’t so much about ‘this rule says that A is wrong’ as ‘we know that A is wrong.’ All lawyers- and, for that matter, laypersons- want there to be some deep-seated meaning behind what we do, some justification for making judgments the way we do. We hope that through legal discussion , through the adversarial system, through dissents and concurrences and law reform and picketing, we can finally uncover just why A is wrong, and follow that shining star to a brighter and better world.

And yet, as we have seen, people don’t change their minds easily, and, more often than not, this fiery exchange of ideas takes place almost exclusively in the lawyer’s head, or within the pages of an obscure journal. Never where we would like it to be, outside in the open, where it can influence the collective mind of ‘the People,’ and lead to true democratic change. When these debates do come to the public’s attention, they are inevitably reduced to the level of short, cant banners, to all-caps YouTube comments, to easy-to-remember slogans. Discussion and debate are thrown out of the window- and it is questionable just how much they would help, even in an ideal world. I know that my views on DOMA and the same-sex marriage issue are right, and while I’ll happily debate them until the sun goes down with anyone foolish enough to volunteer, I also know that I will not change my mind easily. Given that human nature is what it is, and that there are many, many more versions of myself out there on both sides of the debate, the entire operation is rendered worthless.

And so sometimes the law is changed, not through the collective voice of we the People, but according to the personal beliefs of 9- or, more realistically, 5- members of the Supreme Court, through the use of highly persuasive, beautifully drafted, and above all, logical judgments, none of which can withstand a thorough philosophical investigation into its reasoning. Which, it seems, is why we don’t look: it is very scary- close to anarchy- to be reminded that the law is nothing more than words, interpreted by morals.

Bringing you the news as it happens.

This guy has been hanging outside my bedroom window for over a week now, and has been christened 'the baby glacier' in some of my letters home. As I type, however, the entire house is shaking, as my landlord, sat on the roof with some sort of pick, attempts to dislodge the mega-icicle. I'm guessing because tomorrow it's predicted to get above zero for the first time in a long while, and even in these sub-zero temperatures Pu very narrowly avoided icicle-related death.

I must say, though, that the glacicle (or, as Jaap called it, the "ice stalactite;" how he knows stalactite and not icicle is beyond me) will be missed- it's been fun to get up every morning and check on its progress. I always knew that when it was bigger, it would take me three times as long to get on to campus. Rip, glac.

In other news, I almost, almost, actually-put-them-in-the-bin almost, threw away my collection of guitar music. And no, I don't know how. And yes, I am a moron.

About snow.

So yes, this is a delayed blog post. And yes, it is snowing. The two are only connected in that I spent most of yesterday feeling rather ill, and am blaming it on the extraordinary amounts of snow currently abounding Hartford. And when I say extraordinary, I mean up to 3 feet's worth.

It's no secret that I love the snow. Last Friday's trip to the park found me literally up to my neck in the stuff when I decided to make a snow angel and sank through the layers like a stone. Even after being back for over 3 weeks, I still run my hands through the piles lining the sidewalk, and make snow balls and minuscule snowmen, and write little messages for those who might follow me. My walk to school is simply breathtaking, through streets of big, old, distinctly American houses, covered in snow and fringed with icicles.
There are downsides, of course, the main one being the freezing. Noon today got up to 1C, the highest temperature we've had in a long time. As I write, it's approximately -8C outside, and that is comparatively quite warm. This freezing has meant that the piles lining the sidewalk are now very clearly composed of layers of ice, snow, more ice, and snow again. Hence why the pictures of the park trip are mostly of me on my knees: when there's an inch of ice underneath 5 inches of snow, which is itself covering another 2 foot of snow, walking becomes surprisingly difficult. Which is fine when you're out to play in the park, but less fun when walking to school. Even less fun were the few days when the temperature stayed stubbernly around -10C, and no one cleared the sidewalks: Pu and I made a video of our desperate attempts to get from the Law School, to the pharmacy, and back to our house. This normal 20 minute trip took us over an hour.

Yet I still love the snow: an obvious give-away of the fact that I don't have to shovel my own driveway yet. There's this little stretch on my walk to school where the world seems to change to black and white- even when the sky is clear. The trees are striking contrasts of black and white, with the snow collected on their dark limbs or in clumps in the higher branches of the pines. The houses look like they've stepped out of It's a Wonderful Life, and the Law School in the distance is grey. Other than that, the world is a great expanse of white, reaching up to the sky. There's a washed out traffic sign of some description there, which works to reinforce the illusion. At night, the Law Campus looks like Narnia, especially with its penchant for Victorian-style street lamps and high, gothic windows. The light really does shine out yellow, especially when it snows, and the whole place looks nothing more than the painted backdrop for some fantastical romance movie. Maybe that's why I love the snow so much: it really does transport you into another world.


JJ

This is the land of the ice and snow. But mostly ice. Lots of ice.

A short-, and picture-less- update this week, because yours truly is in the library computer lab, on someone else's profile, trying to kill time until class at 15.30. Yours truly has also just received an email containing the assignment for the 15.30 class, and is somewhat annoyed.

First in the order of business- Wednesday may become the new blog day, depending on how the new timetable works out. Tuesday is now dissected by a 2hr Law and Literature seminar, which makes it less appealing...

Anyways, here is the summary of the last week, in nice, easy on the eye bullet points:

- I returned to Hartford, without problem, and it is snowy! Pictures will follow, trust me.

- The return to Hartford heralded saying goodbye to old friends (Annemeike, Els, and Nico are missed already), which was hard, but also saying HALO to 4 new students. Welcome to the family, Svenja, Audrey, Sjamira, and Carolin- they fit in already, and it is definitely fun to play to big sister.

- The return has also found myself and Pu in our brand new apartment. Fantastic just about sums it up. I've not been here a week, and I've already started baking. Plus, there are little things- like being able to make coffee in the morning and prepare my own lunch...

- I have a raft of new courses, and am apparently doing nothing except HR this term: 2 First Amendment course, a Slavery course, and the ECHR according to America. I am actually looking forward to it- Freedom of Speech was fantastic. I was in the line up to also take the LGT clinic, but I ultimately chose against it- it's not wholly relevant to my dissertation project, it will take over 16 hours of my time a week, and I can't afford the travel expenses.

- Grades from last semester are coming in. Enough said.

- I'm still feeling disorganised, but am trying to self-medicate with calendars and diaries...

- There are birthdays all over the place- and we Hartford girls throw a mean surprise party!

- And for my closing point: weird point of law for the week was my ECHR book talking at length about Jefferson and the Founding Fathers. As you do....

JJ

Imagine this is a blog post.

Jessica and Joshua present : I will make you gullible : 6 easy steps for complete freedom from material evils.

1. Transfer all of your property into our names. Our legal team will help to dissolve any connection between you and this property, thereby freeing you of the lingering chains of materialism

2. Quit your job. Jobs, by their nature, bring in money, and money leads to materialism.

3. Cut ties with all family members. This is a simple preventative step to stop misguided relations attempting to come to your aid and tainting you with wealth.

4. Distance yourself from any remaining friends. HANDY HINT- insulting their taste, spouse, or personal appearance helps to break the ice when first starting out.

5. Transfer all your remaining wealth into our personal account, set up especially to protect you from temptation. This penultimate step is the hardest, but once completed will leave you feeling lighter than air, and finally free from material hardships.

6. Remember this helpful exercise to keep you on track. For at least ten minutes a day, find a quiet corner of the park and there stand on one leg, beat yourself over the head with this book, and chant: "I do not need material assets. Material assets kick puppies," until your confidence is reaffirmed. If, due to a build up of negative energy, this does not work, find a heavier book until it does.

Redundant phrasing is redundant

Past two posts have both had interesting phrasing issues. Resolved now, but it will be interesting to see whether this continues past the season of overeating and OD-ing on caffeine. Speaking of which, here's a picture.


Worth a thousand words, right?

Things that are different.

- People walk on the other side here. And drive on the other side. Every now and then, when driving through residential streets, I'll freak out when a car comes down on the left side of the road. And I go the wrong way when trying to avoid fellow pedestrians.

- The small coin is worth 5 again. And the one that looks like a quarter isn't. And pound coins are heavy.

- People look at you funny if you tell them to have a nice day in the supermarket.

- There are things to do within walking / busing distance. Shame I've now got this appalling Glee addiction going on.

- Things are more expensive, and there is a significant dearth of giant pretzels when I go shopping.

- The food is heavier, and fattier. But still yummy.

- If I put 'OMG TEA' here, will it make sense?

- People don't like it when you tell them all about the law of lex loci and the ECHR's equivalent, and the similarities and differences between the two, and the verdict of Perry, and why you don't like Scallia, and Israel's constitution. Apparently these aren't normal-people conversation topics. Hence more fuel to my 'segregating lawyers is wrong' fire.

- There is a distinct difference in attitudes. The British are more humour-driven, they do moan more, and they are a lot more uptight. I tried to start up a conversation with the check-out girl in Waterstones, and got a funny look for my troubles.

- The coffee is stronger. Much stronger. I'm trying to avoid it.

- The cheese is better.

- I hate to say it, but it is wetter here.

- I'm texting a lot more since I've been back. Which is difficult, because my UK phone has a subtly different layout to my US one, and I've been deleting texts like crazy...

JJ