Boom! I finally mastered making empanadas!

Empanadas are little meat pies that are traditionally fried. They originated in Northern Spain and Portugal and get their name from their breaded exterior. The word "pan" (which is "bread" in Spanish) is right in the middle of the word. They consist of a filling, which can be just about anything really, wrapped up in dough. Then the whole delicious bundle is fried or baked and served...and then promptly gobbled BECAUSE THEY'RE DELICIOUS.

I made a chicken and vegetable filling (chicken quarters, enchilada sauce, celery, carrots, garlic, green pepper, sriracha sauce, black olives, green onions, all slow cooked together--so good!) last night and finished putting it in the dough this morning. In the past, I tried to be cool and make my own dough or pie crust, but the results were never delicious. This time, though, I flattened flaky biscuits and used that as the filling's vessel. It's a perfect idea!

While I didn't actually make one, I made a nacho snack with the leftover filling. That was really good, so I don't see how the actual empanadas can be bad. I made a bunch and froze them so I'll have them once school starts up again. Add beans and rice and I'll have a Spanish or Argentinian meal in a flash.

I'm super excited that it all worked out!

Thursday, my parents picked me up on their way to my grandfather's home. I found out Wednesday that my grandfather's brother, my mom's uncle, had passed away at the age of 86. I loaded my stuff into the car and we were on our way to rural South Texas to meet my grandfather and then go to the little town where my mom's Uncle Jimmy lived.

The funeral was kind of sad, but not that sweet, normal, I'm-grieving kind of sad. The pastor at the funeral clearly didn't know Uncle Jimmy and didn't practice reading the names of the survivors. I guess the "good" news was that Aunt Margaret, Uncle Jimmy's wife can't hear anything anymore and so she might not have noticed. I know it's common among old people to think that a pastor/minister has to deliver the eulogy at a funeral. I think it's always preferable to have someone who knows the decedent present the eulogy. But...I'm not one to stand in the way of what Aunt Margaret wants.

While the funeral was not the highlight, seeing a lot of my older relatives was really cool. My mom's Aunt Carletta, for example, is the cutest lady in the world. And it's great to see my grandfather--sometimes harsh and austere but always witty--slightly uncomfortable because he knows his older sisters know every stupid thing he has ever done. That was classic. Being in a room full of witty elders with something approaching a collective memory is the jam.

Basically, every member of my mom's side of the family since about 1905 grew up in the same area, and so they all know the same people and places. My grandfather, mom, and sister all graduated from the same high school, which creates a cool sense of heritage. We moved away from the area when I was four, but I still have some lingering memories of the the 'Bluff, many of which involve Aunt Margaret watching my younger brothers and me while Dad and Uncle Jimmy mowed the lot across the street which Mom's aunts inherited.

Isn't family awesome?

All in all, it seemed like a good trip. Even though I had to sleep on an air mattress for two nights, I'm glad I went.

I got sick yesterday. It was the first time in like ten years that I've actually been so ill that I didn't feel like a functional human. Normally, my immune system is strong enough to fight back pathogenic invaders. Saturday night, though, a series of unusual events led me to being immuno-compromised and having an awful Sunday.

Basically, people tricked me into drinking. Some guys came over and we had "lunchboxes." Then, they wanted to go to a bar, and  I went even though I probably should have just gone to bed. One of the guys in the group had been sick the previous couple days. I mistakenly used a straw after he did. I think it was a fatal error.

I vomitted more this weekend than I have in the past fifteen years. Yesterday morning I was nauseated and felt like my head was spinning. I got really hot and then really cold. Every time I moved, I got motion sickness. And I was simply exhausted--walking the ten feet from my bed to the bathroom fatigued me. About 5:00 I needed to eat something, but I knew I couldn't make anything, so I went to Whataburger. I had to take a nap afterward...and it ended up being an unfortuante culinary choice under the circumstances.

My illness did make me think of my sister who is currently preggers. I wonder how often she has to go through mornings like that...Today, though, I feel much better (although, my stomach is having bouts of rebellion). My worst nightmare was that I'd be down for a couple days. With finals approaching, I don't think I could've made it.

The lines have been drawn, arms taken, and strategies prepped.

Negotiations began civilly enough. The energy-conscious closed their vents in a hope to re-route cool-air flow across the frontier. However, these efforts did not satisfy. As the temperature rose, tensions escalated. A string of 100-degree days proved to be the breaking point. Each side began covert, thermostat-adjusting missions. The energy-conscious attempted to raise the ambient setting with 78-degree tactic. The comfort-minded retaliated with 70-degree offensive.

War broke out.

The damage is extensive. This "cold war" has caused stubbed toes from sneaking into the living at room under the cover of darkness to adjust the thermostat. Various climate maneuvers have instigated the cold-shoulder treatment. Hours of plotting the next move have come at the expense of study time. The cost of battle is high, but the taste of victory is sweet.

In this war, the issue of whether cooler heads will prevail is yet to be decided. It will depend on what the electric bill says this month.

AUX ARMES!

In a previous post, I talked about a memo I had to write and how glad I was that it was done...now I wish I had a time machine.

Basically, I didn't do as well as I thought I had because I missed a fairly significant part of the assignment. When I found out about the bad grade, I got super upset. It basically ruined my whole weekend...and I'm still mad at me. This was the class I thought where I would really excel and leave everyone else miles behind...that's not the case. In fact, I'm struggling just to keep up. It sucks.

The biggest problem is that the reality turned out very different from my expectations. I've performed poorly before; but in those situations, I typically had some foreknowledge of the result. This time, though, the memo snuck up stealthily behind me like a ninja and attacked me with its blazing nunchucks. Brutal.

So, I'm having to go through my strange, depressive-mood activities: listening to my angsty Shakira songs (there are plenty, btw), making food and not eating it, wondering if I have the abilities to achieve what I want in life, thinking about growing a proper emover, et cetera.

On the plus side, it's kicked my studying habits into high gear. I'm almost done with all my homework, I shouldn't really have much to do until Tuesday night, which will be nice...but if I can't write a good memo, what's the point?

Excuse me, my emo is showing.

My memo was due today. I made it out to be a much bigger monster than it actually was...that's my super power. I have an uncanny ability to make things seem worse than they are. Anyway, I had been brooding and stressing and worrying and tweaking and stressing and primping and wordsmithing and obsessing and stressing until I finally got it done. There's a lot riding on this grade. There's a re-write to do later, which score, I'm sure, will depend on how well I did on the original. There was good reason to worry.

At about 11:00, though, I finally "finished," and handed it in. But the uneasiness in my stomach didn't go away. Maybe it was the brusk manner that the professor took the memo...or maybe that he had already started grading them when I came in and saw red ink on the pages. I had expected a tremendous sense of relief that didn't come.

Then I went to the bathroom. It turns out that it wasn't neves at all! I was experiencing excessive gastro-intestinal pressure from all the beans I've been eating lately.

Relief is nice. I'm a fan.

I tried to take a shower this morning. I turned on the water...but no water came up.

I have to write a memo and I really don't want to. It shouldn't be that hard...I just have to do it.

I haven't showered since Sunday morning...gross.

I ate too many beans yesterday...they're really nice on the tongue, but mean on the ol' bowels.

I invented this plan to cook three times a week and eat leftovers and sandwiches in the gaps between home-cooked meals. But...I'm not used to cooking for less than 6 people, and even with my roommate, the meals are lasting for four days. I'm worried my food will go bad before I can cook it. That seems like a waste.

I really need a shower.

I bought a pair of pants online a few days ago. They're supposed to arrive today! I hope they fit.

UGH! I have to back to school later. Now, though, it's time for a nap.

In the last blog in this series, I talked about my challenge of understanding who I am here at law school in light of my past experiences at school and the necessity of personal integration. I looked at the tension that I feel arising from unending exposure to social situations and how it complicates my process of self-understanding.

While I'm essentially anti-social, I understand the importance of getting along with others. In our society's web of interrelations, it's impossible to do well without forming and maintaining connections with other people. Many people find their jobs through networking. Word-of-mouth publicity is still the best form of advertisement. And people relax most by enjoying the company of a few, cherished others. It's necessary to make human connections. Still, negotiating the gnarled network of fjords and channels that are people's relationships and expectations baffles me.

I feel like people behave too unpredictably. They obscure their real objectives and hide their thoughts (both of which inhibit actual communication and undermine the whole process). Some people pretend that "chilling" and "hanging out" is an end in itself, but I don't buy it. There are too many opportunities that derive from those informal gatherings to treat them so casually. But given their importance, one can't dismiss them summarily either. So often, I feel disposed to participate in gatherings but conflicted with the underlying pretensions. This conflict and people's inherent unpredictability creates stress. I try to avoid stress when I can.

Lately, though, I've been trying to shove down my anti-social self and "play nice" with the rest of the group. Consequently, I'm standing precariously on relationships constructed out of flimsy pretensions. And those won't last, will they? If it that is the case, then I'm still just as closed off as before, but not conforming my behavior to that reality. Better said: I'm surrounded by people but still just as lonely. That seems like a lot of illusion and wasted effort...

A huge part of me wants to relate to others better...especially since one of my huge spiritual hurdles right now is my longstanding refusal to obey God's instruction to trust others. But, relating is hard. It's even harder since every attempt I've made to be honest and tell others what I'm thinking has resulted in me feeling more isolated (and jaded). People are lame...they make me feel bad.  But I need to live with them...so I need to feel bad? Ugh...my usual brain is working again.

At this point, I have to wrestle with whether to be true to myself and severely restrict interaction or to give into the social pressure, pretending that what results is of lasting value...unless you think there's another option that I'm just not seeing?

...she moves her body like a cyclone...

As you know, Wednesday was the first day of the 2011 hurricane season (hence the Baby Bash reference). During my yearly observance of the occasion, I made my own version of the New Orlean's own beverage called a hurricane. Basically, the cocktail requires rum, something fruity, and something citrusy. I made mine with a lemon-flavored rum, Fresca, and fruit punch drink mix. I thought it was a winning combination.

However, my roommate didn't think that the beginning of hurricane season was a cause worth celebrating, so I ended up with a lot left over. I made three tonight. And I think it's the first time that I've ever had a buzz. Unfortunately, I"ve not handled it very well...instead of going out and socializing, I spent my time reading the Federal Reserve's beige book reports. While they're very informative and useful, reading them is not typical weekend-drinking behavior. I feel a little--and only a little--like I'm missing something.

I'm a lame-o--just in case you haven't figured it out yet from my observing the beginning of hurricane season.

The buzz has been an interesting experience for me. It's like an entire part of my brain just disengaged. Ordinarily, I keep six to eight metaphorical "pots" on my mental "back burner." They sit there and stew and I need to stir them occasionally to make sure that everything is still good. Halfway into the second hurricane, though, I felt that entire part shut down. It was like I just turned off that part of the stove, thinking "Meh...who cares...nothing can burn if the power is off, right?"

I'm generally opposed to not fully using one's mental capacities. In a strange way, though, I felt more alert and involved in what was happening right in front of me. Frequently when I watch TV, something on the show will spark a thought that'll take me ten minutes to chase and evaluate. But that didn't happen as the hurricanes began to churn the waters of my physiology.

At the risk of sounding like a pompous smart-ass, I wondered if that what it's like to be a "normal" person: not being able to actively pursue multiple trains of thought at once and being able to keep random ideas separate. It's kind of nice not being able to focus on the little stuff or thinking about how it should all fit together..After all, it's the little stuff that'll make one crazy.

Of course the real problem is whether drinking anti-socially makes me an alcoholic? In any case, alcohol does make me sleepy, I've discovered, and I need to go to bed now. I've got a bunch of homework to do in the morning.

School started like three weeks ago...and I do not know the person who's been showing up to class under my name in that time. He seems confident, moderately outgoing, and has an easy-going attitude. Most people like him. It sounds great, right? The problem is that he's not me. UGH!

I am withdrawn and tightly wound. I stay home and watch the Weather Channel or National Geographic or something equally nerdy. I don't go to bars and make pointless conversation. However, this unfamiliar doppleganger who stole my name does. And I can't figure out when he showed up or what to do to restore my "me"ness to myself.

Maybe it's the product of some sort of weird personality crash and recombination. When I was in school--Kindergarten until I got my bachelor's degree--I lived two lives. At school and all related events I was "Michael." At home and church I was "Trey." Each name had its own temperament and a unique personality. "Michael" was studious, friendly, and awkward; "Trey" was critical, discerning, and secretive.  Now, I'm in a school setting--typically Michael's turf--but I've introduced myself as Trey. After 15 years of being able to float between two, distinct personae, I have to learn what it means to be a whole, integrated person (again?). It would be hard enough to do in isolation, but being constantly surrounded by others really complicates the process.

The social aspect poses a conflict because I'm not a social person. I generally prefer to be by myself. Groups are complicated beyond the sum of their parts and unstable--there are too many variables--and I don't do well in that environment. I relax by taking random drives or cleaning something or watching TV, none of which is a social activity. I study best when I can tune out distractions and just focus--again, not a social activity.  However, these law students want to go out together every weekend (often, several times a weekend) and expect conversational joviality before class starts. Those aren't activities that are

Restating the problem: I'm trying to synthesize an integrated personality that's uniquely and wholly me from two generally anti-social personalities and doing so in a perpetually social setting. A social aspect is an essential tool in everyone's tool box, but developing it right now and for me seems a little like trying to run before I can walk. Or, it's a characteristic that can potentially undermine how I'm used to identifying myself.