Fine Dining

Internet friends, sometimes we do things where we look back and think to ourselves, "what the hell was I thinking." I daresay I had one of those moments today. A few months ago, I agreed with a friend from law school that to celebrate our graduation, we would have lunch at the KFC buffet. Why? I have no idea. Today though, I ate my words... and then some.

Now, just for the record, I haven't been to KFC in years - I'd say at least six. So, I don't want any misimpressions created that I make it a habit of dining with the Colonel. That would be a falsity. In fact, I think I made a vow not to return to KFC six years ago, when I nearly slipped and fell on the layer of grease that coated the entire floor of the restaurant. But, a pact is a pact, and I committed myself to this, so I went today. Loyalty is the most important thing.

I think there are two things that any novice must know about the KFC buffet.

1 - You get your hand stamped with a tiny Colonel Sanders

2 - There is an entire tray of fried gizzards

There you go folks. Let your imagination run wild. And by run wild, I mean stuff your face with instant mashed potatoes, gelatinous gravy, plastic-textured mac and cheese, and buckets upon buckets of fried chicken, such that neither your imagination nor your body can run for days. And how could I forget the biscuits and "buttery spread." Oh my, the buttery spread...

Needless to say, I am in a poor state of body at the moment. Three styrofoam plates will do that to a man. In my defence, one of those plates contained applesauce.

The thing was, despite the strange desire to vomit, I think the two of us walked out of that restaurant healthier than any other patrons. That's because the KFC buffet is perhaps the greatest venue for suburban people watching known to man. And fortunately for you, readers, I had a perfect vantage point to see everyone in the restaurant.

Perhaps it is best to start with the observation that very rarely do you see so many single men eating plate upon plate of fried chicken by themselves. In fairness, they may all have had very fulfilling personal lives with lovely women (or men) whom they went home to. However, at KFC, they were alone. Therefore, for ease of storytelling and hilarity, they were single. Then again, I was there with another guy, who I picked up at his apartment, so for all intents and purposes, we were on a man-date. Anyway, moving on.

There were a surprising number of Single Men who came to the KFC buffet on their lunch break, quickly loosening their ties and rolling their sleeves as they heaped chicken upon chicken upon biscuit upon their sagging styrofoam plates. You could always spot them on account of their chicken guts spilling over the top of their pleated khaki pants. The white collar Single Men were very impressive to me, as I can't imagine going back into an office after eating my weight in fried chicken. It's difficult enough sitting alone in a dark basement... my life is almost as awesome.

Anyway, there were a couple of lovely ladies also enjoying a plate or two of chicken, as well as a group of Asian college students who were seemingly having a competition over who could eat the most. The guy sitting directly behind us was a painter, and he took much joy in tearing through a number of chicken breasts - at first with a fork, then he decided to just go for the gold and use his fingers.

However, the piécè de résistance was Single Man with the t-shirt tucked into the jeans and the bluetooth in his ear. This titan of the KFC buffet was a fellow who immediately grabbed two (2) buffet plates, and loaded one up with chicken, and the other up with mac and cheese, potatoes, and corn. He then proceeded to squeeze (yes, this happened because I watched him do it) ten (10) packets of hot sauce onto the concoction, before stirring it all up with a plastic spork. He then proceeded to tear each chicken breast apart (by hand), and use the chicken as a utensil to eat the plate of shit he had just created. Simply incredible - a veritable fast food artist.

I'm certain there's some deep truth to all of this, something that I'm missing. I suppose the folks depicted in my story would take offence to being characterized the way they are - they would probably rightly conclude that they are being judged on a completely arbitrary and capricious occurrence. After all, maybe this was their first time to the KFC buffet in six years too. Any other potential blogger would have looked at me, stuffing my face with mounds of chicken, and come to a similar conclusion: that I led a sad existence. Undoubtedly though, and this is something to be admired, the people who have the bravery, nay courage, to eat at the KFC buffet are people who either have an abiding sense of self worth, or they are very good at faking it. Because you cannot have any shame to eat there.

I feel ashamed though. I thought I was stronger, but the KFC buffet put me in my place. I think I'll have a pear for dinner.

J.D.

I am, among other things, a Juris Doctor...



With high honours...



And good friends...



A beautiful, smart girlfriend...



A silly wizard robe in the rain...





And even more good friends.

Mission Accomplished

Folks, it has been a splendid few days since, at approximately 4:20 PM on Thursday afternoon, the 12th of May, I turned in my International Civil Litigation exam, and walked out of Hamline University School of Law a newly liberated man. That was it - the end, the finale, donzos, no more, nada. The End of Law School.

I go to sleep without the Hague Evidence Convention haunting my dreams, my mornings have been spent lazily sipping coffee, rather than hurriedly reading 20 pages of corporate finance text. And on this, a beautiful Minnesota Sunday, instead of trying to critique a mediation, I went for a bike ride. Perhaps it was the wind at my back, but I flew southward on Highway 3 toward Farmington as if I were being pulled by thoroughbreds. I'd like to believe it was just a function of a satisfied mind - well, and legs already battle honed this season (see post before last).

And I do have a satisfied mind, as Johnny Cash so aptly put it. When I was having lunch/drinking delicious beer with a fellow liberated lawyer on Friday, we both looked back on our law school careers with relative contentment. Oh sure, I could have done some things better - I could have stayed as far away from modern real estate as humanly possibly - but overall, I have few complaints. I had the opportunity to spend a month in London at the beginning of school, and at the end, after excrutiating yet rewarding hours spent researching, drafting, and arguing, I was sent to represent Hamline in Hong Kong.

In retrospect, that was the best thing. Unfortunately, Hamline is not Harvard, and it never will be. We suffer from an undeserved reputation at home, and employers look unimpressed at our accomplishments. But having the opportunity to go to a foreign place, and along with my teammate, create that impression anew, that was incredibly satisfying. It was humbling to think that Hamline, and the group of alumni who care so passionately about this moot, put their faith in us to represent well. And we did.

I'm not disillusioned so much to assume that life is easy-peasy from here on out. I, for better or for worse, chose a profession that is long on working late and short on healthy work-life balance. I think I've done alright so far though, and think I will in the future too.

But anyway, another chapter ends, another beings. I have a lot to learn, but I've learned a lot. I'm still trying to decide whether I'm prickish enough to refer to myself as "Dr. Nyquist" - probably not, but I'd imagine it will come out as an argument trump card/drunken statement. In any event, it'll be nice to walk across the stage on Friday in the silly hat and maroon robes, and see what comes next. The last few years, maddening as they have sometimes been, have been a good start.

Libraries

One of the lamer things I've probably done this calendar year, is participate in a tour of Luther College for my good friend's then girlfriend/now fiance last summer. When the highlight of the tour is showing her where we all used to sit in the library when writing our senior papers, you start to realize how less than scintillating it really was.

I'm sure other similarly lame things were pointed out - the practice room I spent hours in trying to figure out the mysteries of the low brass embouchure (kiss your hand? WTF?), where I took the LSAT, the parking lot turned bike rodeo facility, etc. Like all things though, it seems like it is the mundane, the repetitious, that becomes important. I always get the strangest flashbacks from England; they always involve me on a bus to the Notts city centre, or something similarly routine. However, when one spends three hours in a parking lot on a summer day teaching a 21 year old physics student how to ride a bike, I suppose that tends to be remembered.

The only reason this all comes to mind, is that I'm sitting in the Hamline law library, and quite like Preus in Decorah, sitting in a very particular spot. Two years ago at this time, I was very likely sitting in this same spot hyperventilating over a contracts exam. Now, the end is near. There's no more hyperventilation - I don't know what I would characterize it as. Certainly a tinge of apathy, but I'm generally not apathetic. More like, "come on, let's get done, but holy shit what happens now?"

You know, it will be fine, everything will be fine. As I sit in this godforsaken library for yet another hour though, I am positive that five years down the road, I'll slip into a daydream filled with dancing copies of casebooks, coffee, and bowtied professors...

It's really amazing that law students escape these three years with any friends.