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I last updated my web page three years ago and in that time I’ve moved out of undergraduate housing, finished my master’s, come back to Stanford to start law school, and started my first real job. Yet returning visitors need not fear; despite all of my life changes, this web page will still satify your pregnant monkey needs for years to come.
The Monkey of the Day is:
I have a real job now; I’m working at a law firm for the summer. Hopefully, they will let me work there when I graduate. I would give a link, but I fear that during the intervening three years before I update my web page again, France will have taken away our domain name. (I’m not kidding, they really are trying to do that.) Now that I have a real job, I am no longer irritated by people who ask me when I plan to get one. That particular problem vexed me for years.
Common Misunderstandings, Redux

Me with Pam and the prez

Myself, I’m 24 years old. I go to law school at Stanford University. I have finished my first year, and I have two more to go until I graduate. This means that exactly one third of my personality has been drained from my soul into a insulated, untippable coffee mug with “WestLaw” silk-screened onto the side in neat, blue letters. Law school is, in fact, taking me the same amount of time as my computer science master’s did. It is, however, much less fun. Grad school is like welfare, but with better food and less poon-tang. Law school is like Stalin’s gulag, but with more palm trees and pricier books.
I mentioned before that I’m no longer innundated by questions like “When are you going to find a real job?” “When are you going to move out of undergraduate housing?” I have a new irritation: People who wait for parking spaces to open. It’s a good thing I will never hold political office, because if I had my druthers, those inconsiderate bastards would be shot. Just this last week, I was in the Wal*Mart parking lot, behind another car. The driver of this car needed a parking space. She decided not to take the open space right in front of her, but the one two spaces ahead of her which was, of course, occupied by a car that was pulling out. By the grace of $diety, I managed to squeeze past her car into the spot she passed up. By the time I was in the store, she was still parking her car.
Contrary to rumors, and to what you might infer from my pictures page, I do not trade pictures of naked people. Honestly, I really don’t have that many. It’s simply not something I care about. If you really want to see people naked, your best bet is to go to an event where people are naked and se quita your own ropa.
Finally, I don’t speak Swedish. Really, I don’t. Many bona fide Swedish people like to try holding little conversations with me. It just doesn’t work. Actually, a few months ago I changed my Powerbook language to Swedish, so out of pure necessity I’ve learned the words for things like “window,” “computer,” “printer,” etc. But it’s simply not possible to hold a sensible conversion with just those words!
The default paper size on my Powerbook changed to A4 when I changed the language to Swedish. I finally found a place on Veterans Blvd. in Redwood City that sells decent quality A4 paper at a reasonable price: XPEDX. They’re in the yellow pages under “Paper.” Metric envelopes are a bigger challenge. There is a Japanese stationery store at the Town and Country Shopping Center which sells the cutest stationery, but no standard metric envelopes.