Week in Review

Monday-Thursday: LSAT prep consumed my life. It's extraordinarily tedious and sucks the living-soul out of you--somewhat like the demontors in Harry Potter. [Speaking of which, did you hear one of the actors set to play a Ravenclaw character was stabbed to death in an English brawl? Weird.] For those of you uninformed about the festive Law School Admissions Test, it's composed of logical reasoning, logic games, and reading comprehension. Here's a tidbit for your hungry minds:

Logical Reasoning -- "The graphical illustrations mathematics teachers use enable students to learn geometry more easily by providing them with an intuitive understanding of geometric concepts, which makes it easier to acquire the ability to manipulate symbols for the purpose of calculation. Illustrating algebraic concepts graphically would be equally effective pedagogically, even though the deepest mathematical understanding is abstract, not imagistic.


The statements above provide some support for each of the following except: (A) Pictorial understanding is not the final stage of mathematical understanding, (B) People who are very good at manipulating symbols do not necessarily have any mathematical understanding, (C) Illustrating geometric concepts graphically is an effective teaching method, (D) Acquiring the ability to manipulate symbols is part of the process of learning geometry, (E) There are strategies that can be effectively employed in the teaching both of algebra and of geometry."*

So yeah, I'm having much fun with that five or six hours a day. I know I should prep more, but one's mind can only take so much in a day.

Friday: PARTY. It was a reunion of sorts and represented the ultimate fusion of east meets west. My apartment was inundated with old friends and new ones, composed of budding investment bankers and accountants, seasoned political aides and journalists, future lawyers and titans of industry. Luckily, my refrigerator remained in good condition and my mattress vomit-free.

Sorry, no pictures from the party -- I've learned from a friend (two times) that party + new camera = no camera.

OH YEAH. TRACY. You left your burrito in my fridge the next morning.

But I got hungry and ate it that afternoon.


Disgusting? Or delicious? I don't see why they are mutually exclusive.

Saturday: Ahris came over and made her delicious home-made balls of meat: ground beef, cheese, and select herbs rolled into one scrumptious, delectable, juicy meatball...

...washed down with an ice-cold Corona.


Sunday: I had to go to Jersey to take care of things at home. On the train ride there, I could see why people call NJ the armpit of America. All the places people see, by train at least, are the worst neighborhoods that Jersey has to offer. Newark, Elizabeth, Woodbridge, Perth Amboy -- these are places you may not want to settle.

But not all of Jersey is like that! I promise. Closer to the shore and away from the factories are million-dollar mansions that would make any O.C. developer proud. But despite all the mockery and ridicule heaped onto NJ, it is who I am. Though I may even, albeit with much caution and straggling, begin to call myself a New Yorker, New Jersey is in my blood, the place of my birth and my raising. I am a New Jerseyan at heart.


* The answer is (B).
**Shoutout to Samo Mak who is giving us unlimited roof access to her new place! It looks amazaingggg.
http://www.districtny.com/

MSG (not that one)

So I graduated. On a sunny May afternoon, Madison Square Garden was transformed into an elaborate theater, housing thousands of NYU graduates clad in violet drapey robes and black square hats.

[An aside—Jenn and I were talking, trying to figure out where the customary graduate attire originated. We imagined a cabal of men, rubbing their hands, smirking, coming up with ideas to humiliate us one last time. And for some reason, I imagine them with a 1940’s Humphrey Bogart* American accent tinged with the immediacy of a mad scientist: “Yes, yes, we’ll make them wear robes that are magnificently large! And for their hats, why, let’s make them square! And we’ll hang tassels upon their heads!”]

With parents in the stands and graduates on the court, we took our seats. There was a marching band (in kilts!), the requisite purple and ivory confetti, glowing family members, and a large, long, stage. But unlike the graduations you may see on television, (that is, where they call the individual’s name from a list, the individual walks up smiling, shakes a man’s hand, and receives his diploma, thereby pumping his fists repeatedly into the air), this graduation ran a bit different. Because of the sheer size of the graduating class and the inability of NYU to effectively organize such a large conglomerate, there was no list of graduates and there were no diplomas handed out. Instead, it worked like this: (1) We would randomly file in a line at the steps of the stage (2) We would have our names written on an index card (3) We would give it to a “reader” who would read our names aloud, and (4) We would walk across the stage to shake John Sexton’s hand. It was impersonal to say the least. I should also note that the “reader” read our names in a spit-fire fashion, literally cramming five names into seven seconds of speech. I will hereby demonstrate it with text:

“kathryhallstephenhopkinsrogerchaokatiechiousjuliegoodnessericgomez.”

Yeah, it was like that.

And while I waited in line for my name to be read, I realized that this ceremony was just that—a ceremony. It had and has no inherent value of transformation nor does it signal to my employers any advancements of achievement (I still had finals the next day). No, this graduation was merely a play, a farce that played itself out on this magnificent stage in this resplendent theater; it was all a mere show for family and friends.

For me, real realization came when talking to a friend whom I hardly ever see anymore. I enlisted her help in brainstorming a name for this blog, and a sudden realization dawned on me after a discussion of fondue and blog titles:

mistertofuman: help me come up with a name
a pinch of sugar: mistertofuman.blogspot.com
mistertofuman: hahahah
mistertofuman: that's so lame
a pinch of sugar: creative, yea?
mistertofuman: i'm A PROFESSIONAL NOW.
a pinch of sugar: that's right
pinch of sugar: you have a degree
mistertofuman: something less retarded
mistertofuman: whoa
mistertofuman: i do.

mistertofuman: that's so weird.

I have a degree? In Economics and History? But that implies…that I’m an adult! This notion scared me and I quickly absolved it with a series of inane talk:

mistertofuman: i just farted
a pinch of sugar: lol
a pinch of sugar: that's gross

The point of this blog: I guess technically, by the standards of society and under the guise of New York State law, I am now an adult. This is a painful realization that I’m constantly fighting, perhaps taking form by extending my academic career with law school. (But no, really, I have a huge passion for law I’ll expound on later.)

**Special props to Alice for the graduation card/gift, my h-bunches for coming to the boring inductions, award ceremonies, and graduation, and of course, my family. Your presence means the world.

*It is true that I have never seen a film with Humphrey Bogart, but for some reason I have his voice set in my head.