This Rogue’s Town . . .

. . . just finished burning all 40 hours worth of PMBR lectures onto my iPod . . .

. . . (cough) FREAK (cough, cough) LOSER (cough) . . .

. . . what was that now?

Three days into PMBR already.  I must say it’s been pretty surreal rushing head-first into bar review like this, but I feel like I can manage these next two months all the same.  I guess I just never fully appreciated how much of my law school-related angst (as always, pronounced "AHNGST" for added affect) was tied to that god-awful commute.  Three straight years of station stops at Secaucus, Newark Penn Station, Newark International Airport, North Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Linden, Metropark, Metuchen, Rahway, Edison, New Brunswick, Princeton Junction . . . AND . . . Trenton.  Change at Trenton for SEPTA Service, change at Newark for the Raritan Valley Line.  Morning upon morning of Broad Street, Watssessing Avenue, Brick Church, Orange, South Orange, Maplewood, Millburn, Short Hills, Summit, Chatham, Madison, Convent Station, Morristown, Morris Plains, Denville . . . AND Dover.  Change at Dover for Lake Hopatcong, Netcong, Mt. Olive, and Hackettstown.  Could practically see clear down the coast from within my Bombardier: Avenel, Woodbridge, the Amboys, Aberdeen-Matawan, Hazlet, Middletown, Red Bank, Little Silver, Monmouth Park depending on the season, Long Branch, Elberon, Allenhurst, Asbury Park, Bradley Beach, Belmar, Spring Lake, Manasquan, Point Pleasant, Bayhead.  Nearly ever last inch of that State: that tiny, inconsequential, mildly redolent, ultimately well-intention little clot bereft of even its own airwaves, traversed in my head, almost every single day for three years.  I never did see "Rent", I never intend to.  Who needs to measure in love what you can easily mete out in station stops?

It’s done . . . hasn’t settled in yet, but it’s so totally done.  At least the part about going to Newark every single day.  We’ll see how I fare these next two months as I lock horns with the NY and NJ bars.  grrr . . . . or, whatever it is rams say to one another whilst locking horns. . . they’re kinda like goats, no? "Baaahhh" don’t sound quite so vicious, but no matter . . .

. . . And speaking of coffee, have you seen the new Maxwell House commercial with the firefighters spoofing "Our House" by Madness? I mean, it’s purposefully lame enough to almost be tolerable, but Madness had been one of the few remaining holdouts from my 80’s rotation to resist the clutches of commercialization. Sigh . . . it was only a matter of time, i guess.  And to think, I was just about to upload "Cardiac Arrest" onto the iPod. 

. . . and then there was earlier this evening.  After closing down the Law Library last night (with completed Islamic Jurisprudence takehome and a half-eaten Toblerone courtesy of my new stalker to show for my efforts), I got home and clocked in maybe four hours of sleep.  I’ve been a mess today, and having to treck back to Jersey to turn in the exam certainly didn’t help matters.  Neither did the 30 laps in the pool.  Or the measly box of sushi I ate afterwards.  Basically, the entire ordinary course of being Hani these days is just one giant hazard zone, particularly where proper sleep and nutrition are concerned.  So around 2:00pm, I made it home and squeezed in a couple of hours worth of ciesta before heading to Libation.  This, of course, made be even more groggy and it was off to Dunkin Donuts for my pre-Friday shift salvation.  After ordering my medium hazlenut (cream, two sugars), the Carribean lady behind the counter asked me (in all seriousness):

"Sweetie, are you sure you don’t want a shot of expresso (sic)? You like you could use it . . . "

that bad, eh?

. . . or not.  This really creepy 40-something woman who’s been giving me eyes these past few days at NYU Law finally approached me yesterday.  It started off pretty simple, along the lines of "I always see you here. You’re always working".  And, of course, I had to open my mouth and so something terribly effervescent and, before I know it, I start talking at length about the sociology of the legal profession.  This point, I realized, was largely lost on her because, as it so happens, she’s a paralegal student and not in law school.  Of course, that gave us someting else in common . . . except for the part about working as a paralegal for two years with no formal training.  I’m sure that really went over well, not that I was even trying.  In any event, she concluded by saying "You seem so interesting" and came back a half hour later to give me a Toblerone . . .

A toblerone, people. A TOBLERONE! Twizzlers, now that I could understand as being fairly innocuous but Toblerone . . . you’re crossing the line from mere passing fancy to ogling obsession.  Not the first time, of course, but after three years of camping out at this library *THIS* is the attention I’m able to net? So sad, I’m gonna crawl into a corner and much on my Toblerone in solitaire now.