I'm getting soft in my old age.

It's sad, really. I didn't drink this past weekend, at all. For no reason other than I was in Texas over thanksgiving with no one else I knew around. Since when was that ever a problem? In response to the startling revelation that I'm losing my edge, I offer a little inventory of myself at the fresh age of 23 (yes, 23 fucking years old).
Where I am: Austin, TX, in Three Oaks, living next to a middle aged gay man that already has Christmas Lights up on his windows, and some artsy kid named Sam (or steve, some S name I didn't particularly listen to) who has head-shaped sculptures up in his windows, while a black cat lives on our balcony (Christmas Lights man feeds it on a regular basis, Goddammit).
Why I'm here: well that's the $130,000 question, isn't it? Law school seems to be the answer most satisfactory to the parents and other family members (at least it makes them stop asking questions, perhaps it just confuses them). But more believably, Texas had the coolest admissions envelope of any Law School not located in the top 10 most dangerous cities in America (fuck you WashU). Also, I really needed an excuse to go on that first plane flight. And an added side benefit is the acceptable wearing of another of the world's strangest collegiate colors.
What I'm doing: Well Law School, obviously. I mean, really, what else is there to do in a town with 50,000 college students and a university labeled the #1 party school by the Princeton Review? Ok, I admit sometimes I do have time to watch an occasional movie or group dinner, but Drinking? Me? Come on, you know how I focus.
How much am I in Debt: More than the average American spends on their first house. Seriously.
Who I hang out with: Some of the most insanely random people this side of Chapel Hill. Notable Characters: a South Carolinian, which forces me to constantly curtail my bashing of the Palmetto state; A kid from Notre Dame who actually has the logo Tattooed on his back; A kid from Atlanta who has reaffirmed my faith in the power-hour; some girl from Oklahoma who majored in Piano (Seriously, Piano at OU. Just let that one marinate); and a young man from San Antonio who makes me feel secure in my own mental illness (this means he's of a comparable caliber of crazy; yay alliteration!).
How I feel about Texans: If you counter their bullshit with even greater amounts of bullshit, it shocks them. All you have to do is point out that you live in a place where snow happens (this doesn't work on the ones that go Skiing in Colorado), BBQ is made out of pork, leaves change colors (besides just brown), and people can cross state lines in less than 5 hours of driving (I guess the whole going to Mexico point applies here, but really, I've never met anyone from anywhere close, or that ever wants to go). Other than that, they're a fine bunch.
Impressions: It still makes me laugh when they try to figure out what a real North Carolina license looks like (oh shit, did I just admit drinking?), and the massive amount of holograms reflecting across our ID doesn't help the process (First in Flight, bitches!). And I miss Hardee's (although What-a-Burger is a surprisingly decent substitute). But this Alamo Drafthouse movie theater is probably the greatest idea for entertainment in the history of the world. Seriously, a movie theater that serves tons of alcohol and has waiters that come around even during the movie? Pure Brilliance.

Friday Blues

For perhaps the entirety of my educational career, I have held one holy policy above all others. One day was sacred, untouched by the blasphemy of studious activity. So friends, it is with a heavy heart that I report the failure of my own principles. It is technically a Friday at this moment, and before me sits a Contracts book. Fucking Law School. But fear not, for there is a silver lining to this gloomy cloud of despair. Diet Coke now comes in 24-packs (it's about fucking time), I have an entire carton of cheddar goldfish, and it's been almost an entire week without a cigarette. Obviously, procrastination output has not been sacrificed; I think I'm ready for the Law School shit to go down.

Killing Time

There is a scene in Memento where Leonard wakes up, comes back, returns to consciousness while running in a trailer park. His first question, "Ok, what am I doing?" He sees another man running near him. "I'm chasing this guy" he says; then the guy fires a shot at him. "Nope. He's chasing me." Memento is a post-modernist film, questioning the foundations of our concepts of knowledge, how we form it, recall it, interpret it. Or at least that's what my film criticism professor told us in his pre-recorded lecture I listened to on my way to class one day in Engl 41. For me, this scene reminds me of my life right now. I feel like I woke up running one day in Austin, in Law School, with no clear friends and no clear enemies. You never really know until they start shooting. Not to belittle the people I know here; plenty have been nice, some seem like people I'll be friends with for quite some time. But the feeling that I just fell asleep in mill creek G9 keeps haunting me; I'm in a new state, a new school, a whole new time zone. How did this happen exactly? Like Leonard, I'm not sure. Where am I going? Are these people my friends? Better yet, why am I running? We don't act based on large philosophies, on world-views, personal beliefs; we RE-act, to a stimulus, and in that action, we define exactly just who it is we are. Maybe that's the point prof. taylor wanted to get across; even if Leonard knew the score, he would act the same with a gun in his face. Who cares about all the rest, it's the action that matters.