Supplemental Jurisdiction

The Old College Try

My five year college reunion is this weekend.  I'm only semi-enthused about it, though, because I'm not really going to see anyone I care to see who I haven't already seen fairly regularly over the past five years.  Even going back to campus isn't that big of a deal; my law school is pretty close to my college, so I'd often go back for certain events.  Plus I went to our homecoming equivalent this fall.  The only real advantage to going back is to hang out with my friends (which is never a bad thing, usually), and to show the people I mocked and alienated that I've matured (I haven't).  Oh, and it gives me an excuse to get crazy drunk on the college's dime again, so I guess that's ok.

To celebrate my reunion, I am listing the Top 5 Things I Miss About College:

1.  The Weekends.  Because of the language requirement, I had Friday classes until my junior year.  After that, Fridays were clear, which meant the weekend started Thursday night.  Every weekend a three-day holiday.  One of my friends was even smarter:  Through careful study of the schedule and thoughtful planning, he managed to only have classes Monday through Wednesday.  This meant he had more free days than school days.  Seriously, I've never seen someone work so hard in order to not have to work, and that quality impresses me.

2. Ridiculous Stunts.  College students do a lot of stupid things just because they can, such as during hockey games running from the rink to a local bar, drinking a pitcher of beer, and running back, all before the intermission ends.  My stunts tended to be more on the psychological side.  For example, my friends and I had this rule that if you had a beer, you should always finish it (the "No Dead Soldiers" Rule).  This was even more so for good beer.  Anyway, one night my roommate's cousin was visiting from out of town, and we were all in our room enjoying a tasty Bass Ale.  Later that night, after I stumbled home, I noticed there was an empty Bass bottle on my roommate's desk.  In my hand, I cupped a half-full can of warm Natty Light.  Not wanting to drink any more, but feeling the pressure of the Rule, I decided to shift the blame and I poured my nasty Natty Light into the bottle on my roommate's desk.  In the morning, I confronted my roommate, asking him how dare he leave a half-full bottle of Bass.  Of course my roommate denied it, and it wouldn't have really mattered if it had just stayed between the two of us because we both knew it wasn't his (although he was unaware of my framing him).  But then I took it to the next level by accusing him publicly, in front of all our friends, of leaving a Dead Soldier of Bass Ale.  I think it speaks a lot of my roommate's character that all our friends (who are under no illusion about who I am) believed me instead of him.  This went on for a couple of days before I couldn't hold it in any longer and had to reveal the depth of my deception.  I love how, in college, your life can revolve around something like this for days at a time.

3.  Road Trips.  Nothing better than grabbing some friends, jumping in the car, and driving somewhere, whether it was just down the street or going to another town.  Two particular roadtrips stand out in my mind.  The first is a trip we took to another college to watch a football game (we were pretty good that year).  We were so upset after our loss, however, that at the last second we decided to go to the big city instead of back to campus.  The only problem was one of the guys was supposed to go to a campus party with his girlfriend.  Of course, he didn't really know that at the time, but apparently it was one of those "assumed" things.  So, he calls his girlfriend from a pay phone at McDonald's and gets her answer machine, leaving the message "Yeah, so, we're all going to [the city] tonight, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  Turns out she wasn't happy about that, as my friend found out later that night.  All the way home, I tried to talk him into shooting himself in the leg and claiming we were all carjacked, but managed to escape.  He didn't take my advice.

The second is our senior week trip to South Carolina.  At the time, my car was a standard transmission, and only one other friend knew how to drive stick, but he couldn't come down with us.  So, that meant I had to drive all the way down to South Carolina (and back), with my friend Bub, who's only function was to keep me awake during the trip.  He partially succeeded.  On the way back, we were getting pretty loopy.  Having recently purchased a camouflaged trucker's hat, Bub felt the need to roll up his sleeves and show off his guns to any hot girl we passed on the interstate, making him look like a real redneck.   This continued for at least 3 states. 

4.  The Work.  I'll admit it, I miss some of those college classes.  One such class: A study of the science used in science fiction novels.  We're talking very basic scientific stuff here, and luckily this class still managed to count toward my science requirement.   The class work basically consisted of reading science fiction novels, and then discussing them.  During the whole semester, there was only one "set" (one of my friends refused to call it a "problem set" because it wasn't a problem), a midterm (I got 100% on it!  I hadn't gotten 100% on anything since high school), and a final paper that was your own science fiction short story.  My short story focused around an ineffectual interstellar president who resorted to heavy drinking while his Federation devolved into war.  He was not-so-loosely based on my roommate (in fact, I used his real name).  I got an A, causing me to proclaim this class the best work-to-A ratio I had ever experienced.

5.  Grain Alcohol.  My friend Bub introduced me to a tasty punch called the Strip-and-Go-Naked, but I'd like to think I perfected it.  Mainly this is because he was sensible and after the first time realized making this punch isn't such a good idea.  Not me; I made several batches of SAGN for all our parties.  In case you're wondering, the ingredients are:  Countrytime Lemonade powder, Mountain Dew, water, vodka, beer, and grain alcohol.  It packs a punch, but it is damn fine stuff.  One time after a football game, the SAGN facilitated the stealing of one of our keg taps, as we were all too drunk notice.  It also caused me to break a glass bottle in the shower stall.  Because of SAGN, my friends and I had a lot of good times; however, we can't remember many of them, also because of SAGN. 

The sad thing about grain alcohol is that once you graduate college, you can't use it anymore.  In college, grain is a method by which you up the ante, and everyone calls.  People are impressed when you tell them the punch has grain.  And at 195 proof, it is also the cheapest way to get drunk.  But after college, if you serve a grain-based punch at a party, people think you're some sort of sexual predator.  They assume you are attempting to drug them and lock them up in your basement.  So, unwillingly, I gave up grain.

Except for this one party we had in law school.  I figured "Hey, I'm in school, I can use grain again!"  But just to be on the safe side, I only bought a flask.  So, everyone's having a good time at our party, and since I hadn't used the grain yet, I decided I didn't need to.  I realized I'd finally moved beyond my love affair with grain.  But there was this girl that kept trying to get me to drink more and more, which I'm usually cool with, but it was getting kind of weird.  At one point, she told me she'd make a special cocktail if I promised to drink it.  Not wanting to be a bad host, I said sure.  After she came back with a huge plastic cup of crap, I took a sip, told her it was tasty, and then pretended to move on and mingle with some other people.  Instead, I was really making my way to the kitchen so that I could dump it out.  And that's when I noticed it---the seal on my previously unbroken flask of grain was broken and about a third of it was gone.  That crazy girl was trying to drug me up!  Turns out it is true---only sexual predators use grain after college.

Interview Skillz

Over the past several months, I've done some college admission interviews for my alma mater. Because interviewing for anything is a relatively new experience for high school students, I decided to share some of my thoughts about what makes a bad interview.

1. When I ask you how your last year of school is going, don't say "I'm coasting." Dude, I know, but we're totally fictionalizing your enthusiasm for senior year, and if you tell the truth, then I'm going to have to tell the truth. And the truth is you're boring. So if it takes lying to make yourself sound interesting, do it. After all, I've been at work for 9 hours and I'm looking for a little entertainment.

2. On the other hand, please do not go into every detail of your daily routine in school. Remember, I too went to high school (not that long ago either), where I did all the same things you did and was probably better at them than you are. I'm not saying don't tell me about an interesting experience you had in class (again, refer to point 1 on how I need to be entertained), but the set of "interesting" does not include what things your cafeteria's salad bar has on what days. Unless it is something tasty, of course.

3. Please wear pants to the interview. Or, if you don't, please have the courtesy to put on some underwear. Jeebus.

4. Do not shuffle the papers on my desk without asking, just so you can lean in and act interested in what I'm saying. When you moved that stack of papers out of your way, you probably just cost someone a million dollars or caused an innocent man to rot in jail. We'll never know now, will we? Plus, there is no need to show me your interest; I already know that what I say to you is interesting, so your visual clues mean nothing to me. And I'm not really looking at you anyway because the sight of a pimply-faced nerd makes me slightly nauseated.

5. When I ask you the question "Why do you want to go to [this particular] college?" do not say, "I don't know, why don't you tell me?" Contrary to popular belief, this is not really a two-way interview. This is about me sitting in judgment of you, like God sits in judgment of us all. And I am like Old Testament God, all wrathful and vengeful. This is why you'll notice I am constantly speaking to you from behind a burning bush. (Please note: I am not saying I am God. If you haven't figured out similes by now, you probably should rethink your application to college.)

Follow these simple rules, and you should be ok in your interview. Good luck!

Complete Disclosure: None of the incidents listed above actually occurred in my interviews. They were all good kids.

Fed. R. Evid. 801(d)(2)

The only time I've thrown up due to alcohol was when I was sophomore in college. One night, my friend Gene and I went to a bar known to serve minors, and partook of several pitchers of sangria. We then, unwisely, followed it up with several pitchers of Guinness. At some point, although I was still walking, and apparently talking, I actually lost consciousness. I don't remember anything. The next day a friend said he saw us at a local pizza joint, where I was proped up against the wall. My roommate, Mark, witnessed my return home, and was quite displeased with my subsequent behavior, which involved me falling on his floor, attempting to steal his beer, and then biting his ankle because it was the only thing left for me to do.

Mark then dragged me to my room, just to get rid of me, at which time I started singing "Old MacDonald's Farm." Of course he thinks I'm a country bumpkin (I am), and decides to exact his revenge at the same time. He dials Gene's number (who at this point in time is passed out in his room) with the intent of getting me to sing. Unfortunately he gets the answering machine. The result is the audio clip before you.

It's a celebration, bitches!

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Newman.

It is a known fact among my friends that I hold a grudge, often long after it is reasonable to do so.  For example, I'm still pissed that I got yelled at in kindergarten by my teacher for not coloring an igloo picture with white crayon; I just outlined the damn thing in black.  It was on white paper lady!  Jeebus, even as a 5 year old I knew it was a waste of my time to color something white that was already on white paper.  White crayon is stupid anyway:  When you do use it on a colored background, you can see through it still. 

Yeah, so that was only like 22 years ago, and obviously I'm still pissed off about it.  Then today I read this in The Onion, and another grudge comes to the forefront again:

LOS ANGELES—In an impassioned 1,900-word open letter published in Monday's Washington Post, actor-director Sean Penn urged the unknown person who registered the e-mail address SeanPenn@gmail.com to "come forward immediately, rather than wallowing in the shame and ignominy of fraud."

I don't know about your college, but mine gives out forwarding email address to soon-to-be alumni so that they always have a way to contact each other, or something.  Anyway, the spring of my senior year, I go to sign up for my God-given forwarding address using my last name as the user name, only to have my first choice rejected. 

"That's odd," I think to myself.  My last name is not particularly common; no one else in the university had it.  Not that it was that big of a deal; I ended up just using first.lastname.  Less cool, but whatever.

So a couple of months later, I come to meet the jackass who took my email address.  Not only was he in my class, but we do not share last names.

"Dude, what the hell?" I asked.

"What?" was his stupefying response.

Turns out, this guy created a user name that included his first name followed by the first letter of his last name.  This, unfortunately, created a user name the same as my last name.  For example, if my last name were "Newman," and his name was "Newma Nichols," you see the problem.  Holy shit, what am I rambling about? 

Anyway, I asked this guy why he stole my name, and he said that his last name was too hard to spell.

"Dude," I explained, "your family built an entire building on campus.  The name is scrawled across it in big letters."

His last name is spelled phonetically.  Five years later, he's still using my rightful email address and I'm still pissed.  Fo' reals.