...that you've had after you've cried for a long time? The lingering emotional numbness, the dull stinging in the corners of your eyes from tears and wiping, the salty freshness that fills your nose and sinuses. That's what I've been experiencing all day today. Strangely, though, I haven't cried...recently. I'm blaming the it on a variety of factors, principally my allergies and inexplicable lethargy. I might be sick, but illness doesn't normally befall me.

The feeling has lent a melancholy deliberateness to everything I did today, which included a trip to WalMart for a new micro-USB cable. I was disappointed that I had to pay more than $5.00. But, I should be glad that it was only the cable and that there wasn't a problem with my phone. Since I've replaced the cable, the problem seems to have cleared up. So, there's a bright spot in my life. See, I'm not always a Negative Nelly.

Now, though, I should set myself to finishing my homework. The morning class was cancelled, so hopefully I can get some good rest. Contracts and CrimPro--I'm coming at you!

With this traditional Thanksgiving dish, I really wanted to use the ingredients to explore a fundamental question: what is the essence of casserole? What makes it work? What can casserole be?

Casserole has a longstanding tradition--as long as people have been cooking food in vessels--and just as dynamic as constant.Taking an etymological view of the term, casserole comes from the French for "sauce pan." It has included the food cooked in the vessel since the 50s. While a culinary staple in people's sustenance since the Latins settled near the Rubicon, it has grown and expanded. Importantly, the mid-nineteenth century imparted a homey character to the idea, which has been attenuated as comfort is increasingly associated with unhealthful eating. Casserole is an interesting player at the Thanksgiving feast. It's practical and obvious. But at the same time, it embodies the tension felt by every thankful diner: it looks really good, but how good is it for me?

I nailed green-bean casserole this year. My dish was honest and real. I made everything from scratch. You heard me. I fried my own onions and made my own cream of mushroom soup. There was no pretension of hominess because it had a genuine, homey quality. The soup didn't come from a can. The onions didn't come out of a bag. Rather, everything came straight from my parent's kitchen, prepared by a known, identifiable person (me). Further, there was a brutal honesty about it. Once I topped it with the fried onions, the onions cooked more in the oven. They burned. In the chemical reaction, more than sugars transformed. Any air of perfection was instantly incinerated. The gnarly onion crisps lent a raw edginess to the warm, earthiness of the cream of mushroom soup that embraced the green beans. It was a play of the hard and the soft, the soft and the squishy.

The sweet green beans, of course, are the endearing star of the plate. Heck, "it's in the name!" The sweetness anchors the dish and matches the sweetness of the holiday. But, without the other ingredients the casserole isn't. It's merely green beans. The variety of flavors create a richer experience for the palate. Without the contrast, there's no basis for comparison or appreciating the full flavor of those long, green, legumes. It's simply delightful.

What makes a dish a casserole is the interplay of various ingredients forged together in the heat of the oven. I discovered that casserole can be the most human of dishes. No individual characteristic dominates. Instead, it's about how the different parts work together in the heat of a shared, intense external force. Green bean casserole is awesome, but beyond the crisp and the squish and the crunch and savory. It's a bit into the essence of life. I'm thankful. : )

I have run out of almost all forms of soap in my apartment.

I tried to run the dishwasher, but couldn't for want of diswasher detergent. I used the last of my dish soap to clean the pot I made beans in. I'm dangerously low on shampoo. The worst part of the soaplessness is that I've run out of handsoap in my bathrom...*gasp*...

Be advised: The world WILL end if I cannot wash my hands with soap after using the bathroom or taking out the trash or doing the dishes or dusting, or just about anything when I use my hands.

They say that you never really appreciate the stuff in your life until it's gone...or at least on the verge of running out of it. My sudsy scarcity perfectly illustrates the addage. I take advantage of and abuse soap. Sometimes I use more dish detergent than necessary to clean a pot. But it's concentrated, so I can scale back. Sometimes I wash my hair twice--just because I can. Leaving it a little oily now and again is probably best for my hair anyway.

This minor, inconsequential problem is illustrative of a larger problem. I take for granted my ability to clean up my life. When life gets messy, I need "soaping" mechanisms. (Get it? "Soaping" sounds like "coping"...HAH!) I need to disinfect the situation and take the offensiveness out of it. I just need things to be better. Typically, I can effect an ameliorated, if not mitigated, situation relatively quickly. But, I'm wary of the perpetuity of that condition.

What happens when I someday can't scrub things into a more-pleasing state? What happens when I can't actually deal with whatever wrong has happened? Will I be able to run by the analogical equivalent of HEB to get more "soap"? Will I actually be able to get through it? I hate unanswered questions. I hate even more unanswered questions that could cause a crazy catastrophe.

The answer is very likely that I need to herd my fears into a stampede and run them off the cliff of my preocuppation so that they die a quick, but terrifyingly (irony) painful death, leaving me to breathe peacefully and accept the promise that I won't face anything that can't be handled. But we all know that that's not going to happen any time soon...I am a flawed individual. Despite the guarantee, there's no promise that it won't FEEL like I can't handle it. And in the midst of cri-ZAYZY-ness, lurking perceptions can be very persuasive...even as against one's better inclinations.

*BIG SIGH* So, I guess I should go buy some soap. Too bad other problems don't have such easy solutions.

So, I made it through the weekend. I'm not saying Friday night was crazy...but, I woke up with a huge scrape on my shoulder that I can't explain; and when I went to get something out of my car, I found 1 of my slippers in the parking lot. Just 1. *sigh* Things in my life have been fairly dark lately...Anyway, it's Monday and time to get back to the ol' grind.

Note: the following story loses effect if you weren't there. I promise you, it actually was funny at the time.

After discussing how little I was recognized in my contracts class, I nailed it today, kind of. No one ever really nails being called on. But, for not having read the cases until just before class started, I discussed the concepts in both (yes, I had to do two cases) intelligently. More importantly, I executed an impressive stall tactic. The professor frequently re-phrases and clarifies the question before finally posing it to whomever got lucky that day.

Lucky me. I stood up and tried my hardest not to sound like an idiot--it was not helpful that I didn't have a brief.

After talking about the seemingly inconsistent holdings in cases about consideration, the professor asked the question, then added, "Maybe I should ask him..." "He" was a guy in the class who had previously answered questions the professor asked and then asked a question about another case. "He" responded, trying to divert attention: "Sure, ask the one who doesn't understand consideration."

To which, I responded: "Yeah...like you're the only one." It was a classic, Treyfully sarcastic comeback. The time spent laughing and recuperating ex-post risus gave me an extra minute to think about the answer to the question. The extra time didn't help. It did, however, serve to make sure that I won't be forgotten in class again. : ) The best part was that I didn't look like an idiot for not being prepared for class. It all worked out.

Small victories are still worth something, right

So...it's a new quarter and I'm still getting used to things. The weather, being unseasonably cool, didn't help in my adjusting process. I felt slightly out of whack. On Wednesday, I woke up freezing. I refuse to use the heater, which is a contributing factor; mainly, though, it was cooler than it should have been at this time of year. The deviation from expected climate lent an additional confusing air to the novelty of the new quarter.

As part of my new-quarter preparations, I always print a color-coded schedule that lists my courses and times in a color that corresponds to the color of the notebook or book I'm using for that class. I prepared this schedule with one significant error: I erroneously stated the dates of meeting for my contracts class as MTRF instead of MTWRF. So, Wednesday, relying on my schedule, I stayed in the computer lab during contracts, thinking I had an extra hour before Criminal Procedure to "review, refresh, and reprapare" as the Professor says. Consequently, I MISSED MY CONTRACTS CLASS ALTOGETHER! I felt like an idiot.

But, as chilled as the beginning of my morning, I confronted an even icier realization: I am wholly unremarkable. At least in the eyes of my classmates. I got to Crim Pro early, of course, because I effectively "skipped" contracts. But no one asked, "Hey, where were you? Is everything alright?" or even "How did you get here so fast?" Naturally, then, there was confusion when I asked to see someone's notes. "Didn't you take notes during class?" was the response. I then had to recount the confusion. At that point, I thought the professor had just randomly rescheduled for an anticipated missed class later in the quarter. Later, though, I discovered that I actually just can't read schedules.

Basically, I could fall off the face of the planet tomorrow...and no one would notice. *sigh*

I need to get some friends.

It's very windy today and the sky's overcast. The clouds are racing away at incredible speeds, but I still can't see the sky. It reminds me of a song by La quinta estacion. (If click the link, be patient: the music picks up a little bit after the introductions with the horns.) In that song, there's a line that goes: "Las nubes se  van pero el sol no regresa," which means that "the clouds go away, but the sun doesn't come back." Sometimes life moves past, but there's still no relief.

Today, I started a new quarter. My books aren't in. I need to buy a course supplement, but I can't use a card or cash...only check or money order. BOO! I've been frantically trying to get everything together...and stressing out. A friend offered to buy two supplements and I would give him the cash difference. I went to the local, free ATM to withdraw the cash. But, it didn't work...to go to another ATM would have created about a $2.00 charge. The cost of the money order was less than that, so I opted just to get the money order and get the book myself. I sent mi amigo a text message, telling him I wouldn't need his check apprising hime of the, thanking him just the same.

I hurried to the post office to get the $13.00 money order (I don't have checks because I'm younger than $40.00) so I could get back to school in time to buy the supplement before everyone left at 5:00, which I did. I raced up the stairs, despite the pain in my right knee, to get the supplement. I got there in time, I got the little sheet to fill out and saw that the supplement costs $16.00! My $13.00 money order didn't cover it. UGH! So, tomorrow, I'm going to have to get to the post office to buy a $3.00 money order, race back to the school to buy the supplement and do the reading assignment before class starts.

On top of that, I got online to make sure that the ATM transaction didn't go through. When lo and behold, I discovered that the ATM CHARGED ME A FEE! Fortunately, when  I called the bank, they refunded it...but still. Why tell people the ATM is free if you're going to charge and then uncharge them? It's a waste of the legitimate fees you charge.

Alas, c'est la vie. When one problem gets cleared up, another one starts. I got through finals and decluttered my brain, but now I'm left high and dry by the service industry. *sigh* Oh...and now, it's started raining...

Yesterday, I went to the campus bookstore to sell back my ridiculously large property book. The thing has 1150 letter-sized pages with 12-point font. There are very few pictures. It's massive. A lot of other students had their book split and collated so that they didn't have to carry it around all the time. I didn't. Instead, I covered it and decided that being able to sell it back to the bookstore would be worth it. I even refrained from highlighting it and only used pencil, think that would help maximize the resale value.

It didn't.

Yesterday morning, I took the book of its shelf and peeled off the cover. It left a filmy residue, which I wiped off. Because of the stick-on cover though, the soft-bound cover of the book was still in great shape. The black background was still glossy. I put the book and my backpack in the car and left for school.

I went to my torts review session and then to the bookstore. I was excited. I thought I would get back at least $40.00 and then I would roll part of the proceeds into Chik-fil-A afterward. But my hopes were dashed when the snarky people behind the textbook counter at the bookstore refused it.

The guy who helped me seemed nice enough. He noted that there were a lot of pencil markings in the book and then asked the other employee behind the counter store what she thought. She looked at the book and said, "No...it's dirty." The first dude then told me that they wouldn't buy it back. To which I replied with slight indignation, "because it's dirty?" The lady said, "Yeah...plus there's hair in it."

There was no hair in it. I almost got all crazy on that lady and told her that if there was hair in it that it came from the disheveled mess she was trying to keep down in a pony tail at the back of her unfortunate physiognomy. However, I politely took back the book and decided that I would just try to clean it up and bring it back again. I'll make a few erasures, maybe buff a few places....I don't know. But I do know that I'm going to keep trying to return the book until they take it back...I demand to be PAID IN FULL.

This entry could also be called "All About 'Toes".

I'm having to study for upcoming torts exam. It's not exciting. However, I've decided to be a rebel and take off my shoes in the library! It..feels...so...liberating, and a little dirty. While school is a pretty clean place, there's something about losing that layer of rubber protection between your body and the grungy carpet below (no raffish jokes, please...this is a classy site).

The shoes I decided to wear today, while generally awesome, are unusually restrictive on my foot-terminal phalanges. Plus, the left one hits the knuckle on that big toe in a way that makes it hurt for a while even after I quit said footwear. Now, however, my toes--or piggies, if you willl--are free to wiggle as they please, all the way home if they so chose. But don't worry, my socks, are offering the necessary, digital protection. But that's not the beginning of my rebellious streak.

Earlier today, I was making potato pancakes to go with my cabbage rolls. (The cabbage rolls were the best I think I've ever made, by the way.) To so requires frying the grated potato bits into little cakey/griddley patties. Even though I wasn't actually burning anything, my smoke detector kept going off. It was annoying. Even though it was fairly late in the morning, I felt that it might be waking people up next door. While effective, flapping the dish towel in front of the smoke detector was a tiring task and distracted me from potato cakes. I searched the smoke detector to find the battery to remove it...to no avail. Eventually, I just threw my dish towel over it, which seemed to solve the problem.

All in all, I guess it's a good thing I don't live on an airplane.

In other news, I'm thinking about getting/re-activating my facebook profile in a week or so. When I do that and I leave the "Publish this entry to your Facebook profile" box checked, what happens?

Last night I retreated into my apartment in order to prepare the "study den," which basically just means cleaning my apartment.

With finals looming, it's important that I have a place retreat and study. So, last night, after sweeping, I recovered a bench. It looks really good. There was a brown strip running through the new material that matched the wood tone perfectly. The best part was that I already had the fabric so it was essentially a free project.

To complete the study den, I just need to:
1. Recover the dining chairs so that the fabrics coordinate. Right now they're all brown and boring. BOO!
2. Make pillow covers with leftover fabric. I'm pretty much a genius with iron-on adhesive.
3. Get dish towels and a trash can.

Sometimes I think that I'm too domestic and that I'm destined for nothing more than being a stay-at-home dad. The prospect doesn't upset me, but it does make me feel like I won't be able to inspire anyone. But then, I realize that I just need a place to call home that actually feels like a home.

For one reason, there are very few places where I "belong"--either actual spaces or among other people. Consequently, I have to create a space where I am welcomed. In order to relax, I can't be worried about who's around or what they're thinking...or whether my existence is bothersome (it has happened before...thanks, padres).

Secondly, I'm a control freak. I need to exercise dominion and control over my domicile. When things are chaotic or beyond my ability to tame them, I freak out. But, a well-thought-out arrangement of furniture puts my mind at ease. When everything else in life seems out of control (like my understanding of contract formation), then at least I can look around and have a moment where I appreciate my surroundings. That's helpful.

Plus, now I have a rat. I need things to be clean so he can't find food and stay around...and that rat tore the upholstery on one of the chairs....and then if you change one chair you have to change them all.  If you let a rat eat your chair, right?

What weird study habits do you have?

So, I had another memo due today. But it's done and it feels pretty good. The last memo is the last big thing that was due this quarter. Now it's just a matter of keeping up with homework and outlines before finals.

In the meantime, it'll just be me hanging out in my apartment all by myself. Since the move, it seems that the sight of me irritates my former roommate. So, I feel the need to avoid places where he might be, which is most places I am. I traverse through the corridors of school in stealth. I avoid bars on the weekend. I think he thinks I'm a psycho--which is probably true. *sigh* Being crazy is disadvantageous...

Or else I'm projecting...emotions are weird. I hate them.

In other news, there's a mouse living in my apartment. I named it, but I'm also plotting its demise. That's typical of me...endearing the harm in my life to myself. Acting affectionately while cruelly plannint to exorcise the influence in my life...maybe I really am crazy. Or just conflicted by the fact that the mouse poses a health hazard (I need to get rid of it) and also by the fact that he's the only company I have.

Anyway, I named him "Owl" because he was eating the pumpkin I carved last week. I carved a tree into the fleshy part of the pumpkin so that candle inside would glow softly through the pumpkin...but then, along came the mouse and chewed threw the thin part, right along the trunk. He left a hole that looked like one that an owl would leave, hence the name.

He poops in the kitchen. I don't like that. Not only is unsanitary, but it's also just rude. You don't sneak your way into someone's house and then copulate on the kitchen rug. C'est impoli. He also makes a mess with my trash. He chews holes in the bag and makes little litter piles throughout the house. That's also impolite.

I'm over Owl. I hope he dies.