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the "whole30" Day 1

I've caught several glimpses of myself in the mirror lately and I have NOT, at all ,liked what I've seen. There is a baby spare tire gathering around my waist. Bags under my eyes. My muscular legs have withered. 

At 26, I should be full of energy and life. Vibrant. Instead, I am tired and grouchy all of the time. 

I'm a firm believer in karma and energy, so lately I've been pretty chill, putting out some good vibes, getting some back in return. It's definitely been working, but still, something is not right. 

I think it may be that I haven't been taking my health seriously. I haven't regularly exercised since the beginning of law school two years ago, and my diet consists of starbursts, some cookies and oddles of coffee, pastas and Chipotle. 

I used to be so fit! I was a high school cross country runner! What happened? 

I'm sure law school happened and some other things, but enough! I look and feel gross. 

Enter my roommate and the whole30 diet. Apparently, she tried it during finals last semester and lost weight. She also said she felt great, and ended up doing well on her exams. 

Sounded intriguing- so I decided to try it. 

The Whole30 is basically about eating whole, natural foods instead of things processed. 

Well, that's what they say. What I am really doing is eliminating ALL grains and ALL dairy and ALL processed/extra sugar. 

I can't even have QUINOA! 

I believe this diet will help me with some of my epic sugar cravings, my carb cravings and eating just for the hell of it. 

So today I began my journey. 

I don't like it. 

I love sugar and carbs so much. So so so much. What I love more than both of those, however, is dairy. Dairy is my best friend, it constantly makes me happy... and now I can't even have it. 

Oh well. Forge on! 

This morning (or afternoon, should I say) I made myself a nice chicken sausage and kale frittata. Side of extra kale, because green. 

Did not like. Just wanted to eat the pile of Starburst so conveniently left next to my bed. 

This is going to be a long journey, but I'm going to do it. I have trouble with commitment, with sticking through. This isn't going to only be a reconstruction of my gut, but it's also going to be me doing something I am not really good at. Following through. Committing. 

I just... I am already sick of eggs. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

survival is living

this post is mostly for myself. but you all can read it. I hope it speaks to some people who feel absolutely desolate about themselves sometimes. Just think about yourself and all of your good qualities. Acknowledge the bad. You are worthy & worth immense love, I hope. Ah-HEM.

Have you ever survived? You shove your good looks, your brains, your accolades in my face, but have.you.ever.survived? 

I mean been alone? I mean found a train in a foreign country. I mean ride in a car with complete strangers on the way to Berlin. I mean drunkenly ride your bike in the middle of the Reeperbahn, I mean live off of 30 Euro a month, sometimes. I mean worked four jobs in college. I mean counsel a rapist in his jail cell while he is standing with 40 other grown men that look like they want to eat you? 

I have. I have survived and done it well. 

I have also cheated on people and lied. I am not the world's best law student or daughter, and heavens knows not the best friend. But I have SURVIVED and LIVED. 

I have moved all of my life's possession via New York City transit. I have watched my grandmother wither away and die. I have cried in a corner while contemplating.. well, life, are ya worth it, I have lived this entire time in New York with not more than 5000 dollars to my name at any given moment, I have been lost lost lost.

I have lived. 

You think you might be better than me. With your looks. Looks wither and fade. You think you are smarter than me, but knowledge, always knowledge can be acquired. The brain is a muscle to be trained. You think you are more successful than me, but tell me, how do you define your success? Is it to make money and become a cog in a corporate machine? Or is it to be free and happy happy happy. Not superficially happy, but the deep happiness that comes often with deep sadness. Do you feel and do you live deeply? You think happiness is sleeping with multiple exotic women, always different, always changing, but happiness can be found in one person, if you look. If you want to find it. 

I have survived, and you have not. I have lived and you have not. 

I am worthy of love and attention. I am not a downer, I am not negative and not to be shoved in a dark corner because it is not always sunny in Brooklyn. 

Rather I know sadness, but great joy. I know life. 

And you, for all of your boasts, talents, and looks, cannot possibly think to take that away. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

happy [freezing] new year!

whew! it has been awhile since I've been on the Tumblr. so happy new year, happy holidays, etc. 

I am now on my LAST semester of law school! I can't believe what an incredible journey this has been for me and my classmates. I have learned an incredible amount about myself and the wide world, what I want and who I am. While I still have a long way to go- I know I am getting there, inch by inch. 

I make lose resolutions. They really have no substance nor are they ever written down. They are just there, gentle reminders that float around my head from time to time. ONE of those resolutions that I would love to stick to though, is to get back into health and fitness. My poor, neglected body is so out of shape, and at 26 I need to start really taking care of her. 

I'm running the Queens half with a friend in March and I will be following the Hal Higdon intermediate half marathon training plan. (Found here: http://www.halhigdon.com/training/51132/Half-Marathon-Intermediate-Training-Program - I think you might have to copy/ paste and I am sorry). 

So my new posts will mostly be about training and how to be healthy, body, mind and spirit. I'll try out yoga studios, spinning classes, rock climbing and anything to keep me in shape and not bored. 

In honor of my last law school semester, I will also be exploring and rating Brooklyn Heights and the surrounding area. 

So I am BACK!! 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

I went to the Arcade Fire ("Reflektors") secret show in Brooklyn. 

This was my first time seeing them live and they are Ahh-mazing. 

Best band I've seen live, hands down.

While Sufjan Stevens = #1, Arcade Fire solidified their spot as a close #2. 

This was my favorite song from the new album. Great lyrics and it rocks hard. 

Arcade Fire, absolutely worth all the hype. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

...amazing show. It only would have been better if I spotted my #1 Sufjan Stevens there. 

Reflektors @ 299 Meserole last night brought much-needed light to my dark matter. AF4EVR.

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royal robertson/26 is not 25

I spent most of last night trying to literally SQUEEZE into a pair of size two H&M pants, finally giving up when I realized that they were not, at all going to fit around my bloated middle. 

that's when I realized, of course not. No. A 26 year old who sits on her ass most of the time, who doesn't really watch her food intake and speaks nostalgically of her former days as a runner should not be able to fit into size two H&M pants.

I went to bed frustrated and woke up even more frustrated. Though I made it to the library, I am just alone in my little corner of my study room which made me all sorts of sad and lonely. And odd. People are usually turned off by me and my sadness and standoffness. 

I researched Sufjan Steven's Blog, realized he wrote most of the Age of Adz album to a misogynist, paranoid schizo named Royal Robertson and felt slightly better, in tune with Suf's oddness. 

I guess, even though I've been feeling lost/homesick/generally sad, my life is not as bad as Royal Robertson, even though he has a Wikipedia page. 

but then again, even though his wife left him and he believed in space travel, aliens, etc. At least he was able to convey his thoughts through signs at paintings. 

nothing besides Suf's general oddness, pumpkin coffee and my yoga practice is making sense lately. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

the new arcade fire song is....

ok, ignoring the bizarre nature of the video... ( giant heads really REALLY terrify me) I am actually into this song. 

I very much enjoyed The Suburbs, but listening to it reminded me of my horrid, awful ex-boyfriend, so I am thrilled to 

a. hear this new song

b. really enjoy it 

it's reminds me of 80s jamz but I think it's still original and fresh. So props, even though I do not, at all, understand the video and it may have given me nightmares last night. 

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thank you.

After a long, hot summer I had an interview with the place I want to start my actual legal career. 

After telling me that my resume was all wrong, my GPA was JUST good enough to display and correcting my assumed grammar mistakes as well as informing me that Harvard alums flock to the organization, the interviewer gave me the job and I finally got my dream internship. 

so I just wanted to thank everyone for supporting me. This internship feels like the start of a legitimate chance at a career (as the middle of my class at Brooklyn Law School, this chance is really something). I know I've been a little down and I complain, etc. but so many of my friends and family have been supportive. 

My family, as always giving me a little kick in the butt. And paying for my cell phone. And letting me stay on their insurance plan. And forgiving my 2 am calls.

My core group of law school friends that encouraged me even when they were facing their own struggles never failed to lift me up. 

My boyfriend with whom I shockingly made it through a summer associateship program, a broken computer, and late late nights with the relationship intact. 

My boyfriend's family- an amazing collection of individuals. 

My best friend from college who is an marvelous individual and is full of great advice.

My best friend from high school who is an amazing ray of sunshine. 

Puppies.

This is definitely the happiest time of my life since I moved out of my house in Columbus and my roommates burned all of my things in a bonfire of hate. Since then I have struggled, complained, and cried. I've lost friends in law school for reasons I can't articulate and I've been through my fair share of poor grades and terrible interviews- but all of you people stayed with me.

I think we tend to focus on the negative things and fail to acknowledge when positive changes and people stay in our lives. I just wanted to take the chance to recognize the positive things and people I have in my life and to tell you all how wonderful I find you.

Also I am not done crying or complaining. I still have two bar exams to sit through after all.  

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

Let's Learn.

When I first heard about Trayvon Martin's shooting I was incredibly shocked, hurt and angry. Nothing justifies such a senseless taking of a life. That child, (yes no matter how tall he was or how much he weighed or even how "menacing" he looked, he was a child) should not be dead.

I pride myself on not hyping up murder cases or researching or  diving into them- because I see them everyday. My defendant, the victims' family, the emotions these cases are wrought with- I see it and I don't want to read some pumped up version of a case. This case is different, because it concerns an issue that I feel strongly about. 

Zimmerman is not your typical defendant. My defendants are often young, black or Hispanic and the current case is not their first time around. I have defendants who've been in the system since age 8. can you imagine. Aggravated assault at age 8.

Zimmerman, on the other hand was employed and seemed to have his shit together. He does not fit the profile of a criminal. He was serving to protect with that gun. 

The facts are splashed all over the internet and this small, insignificant Blog post will not rehash and analyze the facts of the case. 

The verdict for Zimmerman came in late yesterday night. I was at dinner with my boyfriend's family, and both sides of the case were thoroughly represented over pasta and a background of Frank Sinatra. Bets were placed on the verdict- and when it came- not guilty- I was not shocked. 

Zimmerman had a great self-defense case. We can't KNOW what happened that night because Trayvon is dead. Lack of knowledge cannot be the basis of a conviction, thank goodness. If that were the case many of MY defendants would be serving incredibly harsh and punishing terms. I think the trial was an example that- even through social pressure, the legal system works. It works because my next client who's been in the system since age 8 will have a fair trial and the reasonable doubt standard will aptly apply. Legally, the outcome of the case is exactly what I thought it should be. Legally, like it or not the man had an incredibly convincing self-defense case. 

Morally, the verdict tastes all wrong. It tastes bitter and terrible. A child is dead and no one is punished?? That seems backwards. 

The Martins can probably file a civil negligence suit. They might win and might find some justice and comfort in that. I doubt it. That family is  forever heartbroken. 

People are furious with the verdict. They call racism. They point out that it's everything wrong with the system. 

Is race a factor? Maybe- but there are more startling and stark examples of racism than this case. Look at any given statistic on New York's stop and frisk practices and you'll find blind racism. Racism is very VERY much still a problem in our society and it is something that VERY much needs addressed- I've dedicated my life to working with our troubled population to try and fight what makes most of our prison population a minority of young, black males. Racism and racial profiling are enormously sad events that still occur today. Young black men are distrustful of the cops and white people. It's true. It's awful and it's ugly. It needs to be stopped and soon. 

 While race was probably a factor here, the real heartbreaker in this case is the gun. Zimmerman should NEVER have been armed. 

Look at it this way... Zimmerman was a vigilante. There were burglaries in the neighborhood. Regardless of race I am willing to bet my precious Teddy that he would have followed, stopped and asked questions of the person. Regardless. 

Why? Because he felt empowered by his firearm. He felt, that with that firearm, the person in the hoodie, white or black or yellow or red or a happy mixture would respect his random authority. He didn't need a police uniform with a firearm. With the gun, here was justice, defined. Working all hours of the day. Zimmerman got out of the car because he was armed. 

A tussle ensued and now a child is dead. 

Without the firearm- he wouldn't have left the car. He would have used his cell phone to call the police while monitoring the hoodied figure in his car. He wouldn't have left the car because you don't just go approaching people. If the police fucked up because Zimmerman racially profiled Trayvon, then his family could have brought a 1983 suit. Trayvon would not be dead- maybe a little roughed up by the police and another example of why we need to STOP racial profiling. But Zimmerman was armed. 

Trayvon Martin. Sandy Hook Elementary. Shopping Center, Anytown USA. Columbine. 

Let's have the death of this child as another example of why we need to absolutely STOP STOP STOP arming citizens. As an example of what happens with conceal and carry laws. We have a police force. We have stun guns and mace and judo and hell, even pocketknives in a pinch. 

WE DO NOT NEED GUNS TO PROTECT OURSELVES. 

Trayvon Martin died, not because of his skin color, but because some yahoo who thought he could bring justice to the streets on his own, without proper training, without any sort mental health check had a gun. This gun was like an extra shot of testosterone. Like a beautiful woman whispering in his ear about what a big, strong protector he was. 

It breaks my heart that a child died- so let's focus on the issue. Gun violence, guns in the general society DO NOT PROTECT. How many more tragedies do we have to have before people see this? 

I hope we can learn from this- and take the opportunity to do something about it. 

** Note: I am getting a decent amount of flack about this from guns right's folks. Which is great, the internet is a great forum for debate. I posted this for two reasons: 

1. many people think this is a big racial issue. I wanted to point out there are more issues than race here. 

2. Guns are incredibly lethal. While I do recognize there is a second amendment right to bear arms, and guns have their place in sports & hobbies, I just don't know that it is right to arm lay people- this isn't the wild west.  There are many alternatives to guns- non lethal. I'm not sure why it's OK for people to romp around with guns. People have emotions. People are unstable. Not saying that ALL people are- but some. so why take the risk? 

3. For those arguing you protect your home with a gun, That's great. Not saying you shouldn't keep your guns at home if that's what makes you safe. My father keeps one and my ex-Marine grandfather keeps about 10 of them.  But a gun in the home is not the same as a gun on the streets. 

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sophomoric.

I learned the word "sophomoric" my sophomore year of high school, when, by the demands of my parents, I was put into an advanced English class. It means immature, basically. I thought it was funny because I was learning about Oedipus Rex poking his eyes out and felt incredibly mature to handle something so scandalous. Incestuous too. I was all grown up (I still slept with three stuff manatees, a teddy bear and a baby blanket). 

Facebook, the ultimate "my life is fucking awesomer than yours" website brings that word to my mind again. I am 26 years old, I live in Brooklyn, New York, I go to law school, and I defend heroin addicts and murderers everyday fo free (literally, this is my life). I drink a lot but not college amounts and I only sleep with one Teddy Bear and one boyfriend (no baby blanket only because I lost it). I've seen people vomit and pee and strip in the subway. Actual poverty and mile high wealth are my daily. 

Grown up. Are you kidding? Hell yes. 

Back to Facebook. I look at it on my way to and from Paterson, NJ (where I work- dangerous as HELL might I add) and I see things. I see college roommates with multiple children. I see at least half of my high school class married away. The other day I saw that this girl, two years younger than I am, posted a status about her home owning. 

I am $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ dollars in debt and I might never own anything of value except a computer and (hopefully) a Burberry trenchcoat. HOMEOWNER? tiny faces, tiny hands of first, second and third babies plastered all over, pictures of old, frozen first year anniversary cakes (tastes just as good as our wedding day!) plastered all over my once interesting newsfeed.

Perhaps I am sophomoric. Perhaps my big, sophisticated life in NYC is fooling only me. Perhaps everyone with the home and the questions posed about teething are worthy of reading Oedipus Rex and I am left stuck in minors English.

so what is it? AM I sophomoric?

In some respects, yes. I cannot fathom having a baby or a home or anything that could possibly depend on me other than my bonsai tree. I shared an apartment with my boyfriend for three months and was so thankful it was not long term. (I love him- but I love him when we are  separate a couple of nights even more). Nothing should depend on me except my clients and family and friends. I cannot. 

In other ways, no. I recognize that I want a family and the kind of family I want. I am still growing as a person and  I don't really know all who I am so how can I expect to have a husband, house or kids? Maybe immature underdeveloped in some ways. No house. No kids. No future ring or engagement announcement on the horizon.

I'm OK. I might be.. let's say SEMI sophomoric, but I know once I have those things I'll have exactly what I want. because I'll know who I am and I'll have independence and a career. 

I know there are so many like me out there who occasionally feel a bit.. stunted. sophomoric. lost. 

are you having fun? are you doing something that makes you happy? some goals? some cash? 

Yes.

Then don't worry about all of the homeowners and mothers. We're having more fun anyways. Even if we are sophomoric. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

adoptive couple v. baby girl

As I delve deeper into my studies of law, I find myself really nerding out. highly anticipating the decisions of the Supreme Court regarding affirmative action, DOMA, Voting Rights and other issues. I read (and understand) the actual opinions. I understand the cases which are important to my criminal clients and those which are important to the social climate of America. It's exciting. 

This morning I hoped for a DOMA ruling (which did not occur) but I came across another case decided by the Supreme Court today. Adoptive Couple v. Baby Girl. 

In sum, a father with Cherokee blood impregnated a white mother. After this, he wanted nothing to do with the baby and via text message, relinquished his rights to the child. The mother then gave the child up for adoption.  Which is fine- except the baby had Cherokee blood and the Indian Child Welfare act applied. The father sued for custody of the child and won- until this case made its way to the Supreme Court.

The Indian Child Welfare Act, enacted in the late 1970s, was a response to the alarming rate at which the government removed Indian children from their homes- and moved them to non-Indian white families. The ICWA heightened the standards by which the government could remove a child from its family. There is also a provision that requires the government to make an effort to find another Indian family for the child to stay with, instead of transporting them immediately to a white family. 

The Court determined that although the Indian Child Welfare Act promoted Indian children stay with Indian families- and heightened the standards by which a child could be removed from the family, it did not protect the rights of a parent who NEVER had custody of the child- like the father in the instant dispute. 

Besides the dry, legal dispute, I felt a gut response to this case. "Baby girl" is much better off with her adoptive parents. 

I never knew my biological grandfather on my mother's side. Rumor has it that he was American Indian. Rumor also has it that he was not a kind man in any capacity. We have no idea where he is, where he could be or if he is alive or dead. He so scared my grandmother, that, on her death bed she still wouldn't revel his identity to my mother. 

I could never picture this man, a vast shadow towering over my family- until I read Sherman Alexie's book "Flight." The book contains a description of the main character's father- a broken, drunken Indian on the street vomiting blood and slurring his words- demanding respect. This is the first time I pictured this man- like it or not- my "real" grandfather. I immediately felt shame- coming from descendants like that- would I ever get ahead? I started to blame my temper, my self control problems and every other little thing on this man. This is a part of my family and my history that I don't think about- the fact that my grandfather might have been an absolutely terrible, smelly, despondent person. 

Which brings me back to "Baby Girl." Who knows what kind of life she might have endured with a father like that? As American Indians, the preservation of culture is extremely important, however there is a delicate balance between cultural preservation and the well-being of its people. Though it is important for Indians to remain together- it is not often the best option for children. I think the Supreme Court recognized both problems today- and addressed them. 

Hopefully, Baby Girl's adoptive parents let her know about her roots and encourage her to explore her culture. Maybe she will visit her father, her reservation, her people. 

If not, I am at least, assured that her future is brighter with this family than with her father. American Indian heritage is not a get out of jail free card for parents. It should encourage parents to clean up, to get their act together- for the sake of their children and cultural preservation. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

why I want to be a public defender, why it's hard.

why it's hard: 

Last night my boyfriend came home from his first day at one of the biggest law firms in the country- Skadden Arps. 

They fed him breakfast and lunch. He was flashing around his new blackberry babbling about a blackberry comeback. Today he is going to lunch (out, of course- fancy probably) with his partner and associate. He won't pay anything. He's getting paid more in a week than I will make this entire summer. 

His work ID card also operates as a MOMA pass. 

(He also worked very hard and deserves this & more)

My office doesn't have a scanner. Not one scanner for a whole office full of public defenders. 

I will need to pay for lunch breakfast and dinner and an additional 300 dollars a month for public transit to get to my job. 

I actually don't really get paid- I just have a grant and no, my parents are not supplementing my income in any way. And no I do not have a trust fund and yes, I would like to get paid. 

When I came to law school... everyone- family, friends, strangers on the bus that asked what I did for a living... literally EVERYONE thought

a. I was guaranteed a job out of school

AND 

b. I would be rolling in money. 

Unfortunately for them, I have been quietly drawn to public service. I don't exactly broadcast in and I am not yet the CHAMPION OF RIGHTS that some of my classmates are... but I am quietly drawn to the work and the people. 

There is something seriously wrong with our prison system and the way we treat young and first time offenders- and it's something that I would like to fix. But quietly. Methodically. Reasonably. 

I am in between people like my boyfriend (who, if I made him sound like a jackass is actually incredibly down-to-earth and wonderful) and people that bleed the cause of public interest- and look down at those that might want to be a part of the action but are not as... vocal about it. 

It's something I struggle with everyday. 

And if you don't think a public interest person gets jealous at all of the perks of a corporate attorney- the meals and the trips and the strip clubs (actually, ew no, not that) and the free shit- you're wrong. At least, at my end as a real human being and not a robot. 

But at the end of the day, I chose this road. I could have worked for a judge or a mid-sized firm or anything else that paid actual money and had easier, friendlier clients- but I.chose.not.to.

And it wasn't a choice I made at age 2- to help the common good- it was a choice that took 26 years, two VERY trying semesters of law school and a slew of internships to make. 

But now that I made it- I have to deal with the fact that I will never be rich. I will always be slightly indignent that my office doesn't have a scanner and the attorneys at Cravath or Skadden or wherever probably have personal chefs and free massages around ever corner- and my clients cannot afford bus fare. 

There is always that sense of indignation. 

But a balance has to be struck. 

Because everyday that Luke comes home- I SEE the other side. I see him forego plans with my friends and I for welcome parties, dinners, weekends with co-workers. I would probably do the same. 

But no one picked this road for me. No one picked the road of sullen clients, little to no sleep on little to no money, cheap suits, cheap coffee hours upon hours of work with no overtime. 

I.picked.it. 

and with great thought and care. 

why I want to do it anyways: 

because at the end of the day, when I win a case or keep someone out of jail- when I fight for what should be done- I will feel all the better.

I remember reading about a case with my classmates in the New York Times. About a criminal- famous- acquitted of all charges. 

I'll never forget what one of my classmates said "that's strange that a shitty public defender could pull that off."

There is a girl in my class that is one of the most brilliant students at the law school in the moment- and she will do some sort of public service job. 

I am sure this kid would never call her a shitty public defender.

To be a public defender is to forgo prestige, perks, to sometimes be thought of as a "shitty" lawyer because public defenders offices don't often look at grades, to deal with clients who think they know more than you do- because one time their friend Bugsy got in trouble and he got only probation and that's what your client thinks he should get and you are a shitty attorney if you don't get it for him. 

But still, I want to do it. 

because it means something because I am doing something that I believe in, because I will NEVER be bored. 

So, yes. The fancy perks bring a sort of anger and jealousy. 

But those things will soon subside because I chose to do this type of work... and it's the best type of work I can think of doing. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

truth. 

  When it comes to matters of love, it’s often platonic devotion that proves the most intimate and carries the most weight in one’s life. It’s the love stories of friendship, the decades-spanning, unbreakable connection to someone that stays around as lovers come and go. Yes, romantic love is an all-encompassing illness of the heart, but without a best friend to guide you, life becomes less tolerable. Cinema has long been awash in tales of romantic love, of course, but it’s rare to see a tale of love between two female best friends, especially one that genuinely shows what it is like to have that kind of soul mate, without whom everything else would be askew. 

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there is nothing wrong with the Midwest.

Last night I went to a concert. One of the bandmates was a friend of my boyfriend. They were friends through law school and so my boyfriend had never met his friend's bandmates or fiance. 

When the fiance was introduced to us- I thought she was a very petite and pretty Indian girl. As the friend was a good looking dude, this seemed like a good match for him and I thought nothing of the match after our introduction. 

I wasn't expecting that" said my boyfriend. Though it wasn't a thought that initially came into my head- I knew exactly what he was talking about. 

"What- that the fiance is Indian?"I asked. He replied in the affirmative and went on to say that his friend was from a small town in Indiana- and though we were currently in Brooklyn- my boyfriend thought his friend's Midwestern roots would lead him to someone less exotic... less brown... more... white. 

"That's why we leave"I said in response. 

People in the city mistake the mass exodus of certain types of young people from the Midwest as something inherently wrong with the Midwest. That it's just cows cows cows... pigs. That people are judgmental and there is nothing in our cities for us to love or stay for. For example, my home state of Ohio is called a "brain drain"- meaning that the young and educated leave for cities such as Chicago or New York. 

There is nothing wrong with the Midwest. There is plenty of opportunity where I went to college- and even some opportunity in my hometown of Canton. In fact, looking back and forward, it might have been easier for me to get a job in Columbus than it will be for me to secure something here in New York. 

Nor is it that there is "nothing" there for me in the Midwest- my entire family is there, my favorite bars, best friends, the best ice cream in the world, connections in the legal world. If I had stayed in Ohio I would have been perfectly fine. I would have been a lawyer I would have had a nice apartment and I would have been a career woman. 

So- I'd like to set the record straight- there is NOTHING wrong with the Midwest. Plenty of young people live there and plenty of people are out there doing great and wonderful things that will change the world. 

It's not the Midwest- devoid of opportunity yet full of agriculture- it's me. It's my boyfriend's friend. Somewhere, we were outcasts, maybe. Somewhere, we realized that we... didn't fit in. We might have had some friends, some opportunity... but something was really missing for us. 

It's not a fault of the Midwest- it's a fault of the wandering and curious spirit. It's a fault of not really fitting in or wanting to explore cultures and ideas that aren't accepted or were thought of as strange. It's my fault. 

Most of the people I went to high school or college with- in fact the most popular kids with the most friends- still live happily in Ohio. 

It's just those that felt a little different or had ideas not easily expressed in such a setting- we had to go. 

And it wasn't that we didn't like our hometown- it just wasn't for us. And we knew it... and we're happier in the city where we can experience new people and cultures- Indian culture, Black culture, Hispanic culture, Jewish culture. 

So we could marry into those cultures if we wanted to. 

I wish everyone would stop calling the Midwest a shithole or reason that because I LEFT it- it must be the shithole they imagined. 

It's not. At all. 

It's just not for some people with expansive ideas or different minds or ideas that expand outside of it. 

It's still a great place to live. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

the dying culture.

My people are the Kiowa people. 

I'm sure you've never heard of us. 

There are roughly 9,000-12,000 Kiowa left in the world.

Yes, the world. 

We invented the papoose and used to inhabit what is now Arizona and much of the West, but now we have one reservation tucked away in a shitty part of Oklahoma. The reason there are so few of us is that many of us were killed in a general racially driven greedy holocaust called "Manifest Destiny."  On that reservation, there is no access to the basics. Child abuse is rampant. Most don't know how to read. Many are drug dealers, creeping in secret garages to produce giant vats of meth. Poverty, drugs and abuse run rampant on our reservation and most reservations in the country. 

There may be one or two Kiowa lawyers, but there are not many. Perhaps one or two doctors. There are no Kiowas in government positions. 

I am one Kiowa in New York City. There may be two or three others. Most likely not. My mother came from the West, which is why I made it here in the first place. 

No one cares about the Kiowa in New York.

There is no Kiowa Bar Association.

There is no Kiowa appreciation month. 

There is no scholarship dedicated to the Kiowa.

I predict the Kiowa culture will die with my grandchildren. The whole beautiful, colorful culture will soon die. There will be nothing left of the Kiowa people except for the relics in museums, The Washington Red Skins and that absurd Chief Wahoo, amongst other things. 

There is not really even a cohesive group of Native American people together in the city because most of them are languishing in poverty back on the reservation. 

There is a Violence Against Women Act- passed by Congress which protects all classes of women- including immigrant women- from violence- and gives them a fresh start. 

Native American women were not considered or included in this act. 

Most people are in a culture but they are not proud  of their culture. Why? Most cultures- Irish, Chinese, Italian and Black are incredibly well-respected. There are people in positions of power in all of those cultures and the cultures will be preserved for the children included in them. 

I'm not saying this to point fingers and judge people- I'm saying this to remind people to appreciate and respect their cultures and how far they have come. Their ancestors. 

Don't disrespect the culture by continual complaints and dissatisfaction. Your culture is not to blame for your failings and the failings of others. 

I see people around the city and the world complain about who they are and how they are treated, wishing they were different in some manner. 

But why? Wouldn't it be best to accept your culture- and not only accept and love your culture but SHARE it with other cultures? Isn't the whole point of a different culture to be proud of it, to use it to your advantage and to help others within the culture? Aren't you proud of how much support you have within the community- and isn't it pointless to complain? 

At the same time isn't it also important to share your culture so people can better understand it? To not complain but to educate? 

People want to know about colorful and powerful cultures. To complain about a person not understanding your culture without first explaining it and helping them to understand it is not a failing of the culture or of the person who is culturally ignorant. It is YOUR failing. 

I have tried to share with people, the Kiowa culture. No one cares about it or tries to understand it. I don't have a giant, proud support group that I can be a part of. Yes, sometimes I complain, but you would to if you people were continuously forgotten and insulted. If you were the only Kiowa to back... yourself up in an argument. 

Most cultures are luckily accepted and loved. It makes me ill to see people complain about their culture, or worse about people not understanding their culture. 

Because you have the means and the numbers to educate people. To really help people UNDERSTAND. 

Some people don't have that. 

As we become a more mixed world, we can't continuously complain and isolate ourselves within a culture. We have to be open and proud to be a part of one. To share with people our culture. To not blame things on our culture, but to welcome challenges. 

Kiowas are not outspoken and we are insular- all things that lead to disinterest and and the death of a beautiful culture. 

So, just next time you feel like complaining or hating the way you look or feel because you are part of a certain group... remember how far you've come and how proud you should be of your culture.

Stop complaining, start educating. 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

finally gooping.

there is a detox that I have been wanting to try- "goop" detox.

I never had a blender for soups and smoothies, and I never had enough money to purchase all of the required greens. 

However, I have both now, so I'm finally going to do it through this week.

The reason is two fold- 

1. I gained a bunch of weight through a combo of no gym, lots of food and a new anti-depressant where I literally put on about 10 pounds in two weeks- I would like to start losing that weight. 

2. I've been taking anti-depressants since the very beginning of high school. I am now going to put myself into once a week therapy sessions to get to the root of my problems- not just cover them up with pills. I feel like a detox is a great way to start to clear out 10+ years of disgusting mind altering medicine and the cobwebs and film they've left in my mind. 

http://www.goop.com/journal/make/15/detox

The detox is at this website and after A TON of research it seems 

a. super healthy AND 

b. the most doable for me. 

c. This is the week that my skinny ass eatanythingIwant boyfriend is going to be out of town, so I figure it's going to be easier to stick to when he's not around nibbling on every little thing. 

I'll be babbling about it on tumblr for people curious in such things and curious about the effects of a detox. This is the reason for more posts than usual. 

Today, I am going to kind of pig out, since you know, detox. 

:) 

[essenjuradenken-blog-blog]

typewrite illiterate.

as I choose to share my thoughts on tumblr I am not going to run through the gambit of shit I have been going through the past fews weeks.

Suffice it to say all of that shit led up to this monumental occasion in  which I exhibited the least flattering behavior possible.

Three things.

1. I cannot use a typewriter. It's not that it's the keys or the way it functions, it's the alignment. I cannot get a piece of paper straight into the typewriter. I used to DREAD pulling out the type writer at my old officer (where, after 2 years I assumed a position of respect I was allowed to take an ENTIRE DAY to type up answers to interrogatories) and never dreamed I would use one again. Mostly, because I cannot functionally use one. 

2.  I have had some terrifying bosses. Two of my old bosses (who I love dearly, I do) used to throw rage fits all of the time, yell at me, yell at the other attorneys, throw things and sprinkle their personal affairs into the mix, which led only to more rage. The only time I cried in these surroundings  is when I thought I didn't get into law school/wasn't moving to New York whenI had planned to move there. 

3. I feel sorry for myself. Sometimes a lot sometimes a little. But I do. and when a lot, it's extreme. Like, that Moby song plays in my head and I imagine puppies dying and look at children on the street "that I will never have" and just generally make a more miserable spectacle than was initially necessary. 

Today, after a VERY emotional episode of House of Cards mind you, I had to use the type writer. Only I couldn't. I just could not. I cannot align things. I refuse usually to admit defeat and I always want to try, try again, but I cannot. My life saying is, "Impossible is nothing... besides typewriting." Honestly. I should have said something to my boss but I was afraid. She's so nice and thinks I am so capable and it turns out I can't even type. It's like you're race car driver and you know all the complicated turns and twists but you can't drive down a steep hill or something. Bad analogy? Maybe. 

I just sat at my desk. Tears were brewing as the blue court paper surrounded me. I ran out of paper. 

I sat at my computer and diddled. She came in, after rushing around by herself expecting her competent LEGAL intern (LEGAL mind you, just saying not TYPIST, not 60 years old typewriter capable intern) to have the shit done.

"There's no way I can turn this into the court." 

Oh. Lovely. My first thought was the group of paper was too thick and she should have bound them together  to look professional like you are really supposed to do. It's federal court. in New York. 

My second thought was, oh fuck. Then I, without warning, without heed, starting crying. She looked and me and we both panicked. 

I SHOULD have excused myself, gone to the bathroom and washed up. I SHOULD have told her before she assigned me that I would do any bitch work she liked- except typewriting. 

I didn't though- and she left for court and I cried and cried and cried withl two goddamn things to type out on my desk still.

She wasn't letting me off that easy. 

I wrote her a note of apology, telling her that I was sorry and hopefully she is human and forgives me. 

Then I cried because she is chairperson of all of this shit in Brooklyn and I cried in front of her and how can I handle a capital murder trial if I cannot handle a fucking typewriter. Really!

Then I got outside, where the weather was rainy and I cried again thinking of dead puppies, Moby and children. Then I cried at my desk until I exhausted myself, fell asleep and woke up needing a shower. 

While I was facing this Everest struggle with the typewriter, I spoke to certain people. One told me to stop bitching and that I should quit law school if I didn't want to be an attorney, one disappeared and one, (the best obviously) told me to grown up and figure out why people do not like me. 

oh, and to adjust my meds. 

oh, and that she loves me. 

A couple of meager tears leaked out. 

People don't really like me. I am standoffish and then I try so hard that people can sense I am trying and then no one likes the girl who is trying so hard. 

I should grow up and stop thinking about dead puppies, children and Moby. 

I should like, get a hobby to take my rage and sadness out on because if I don't I will honestly throw that typewriter out of the window and really get fired.

I SHOULD do those things.

BUT just because I cried and, my ability to not use a fucking typewriter made me upset at my ability to be a law student and person in general, does not mean I do not want to be an attorney. 

Just because people get down, doesn't mean they don't want what they've always wanted. 

People... when they fail at something so simple, like typewriting get upset and when people have been shit on for the past couple weeks, it makes MORE sense that they don't feel smart and capable- it's just you know, they want to try capital murder cases and they are crying about a goddamn typewriter and how awkward the whole thing was. 

Sometimes people DO bitch about their lives with no legitimate cause. It is, super annoying. 

I listen to people, but it annoys me because they are beautiful and smart as fuck and what the fuck. 

But sometimes typewriters get to people who are beautiful and smart and generally interesting- it just happens. They are the worst of machines. 

And so,even though I am standoffish, even though I cut my friends off sometimes when they are telling me about their problems because they are better than me and I don't want to hear their first class woes- today taught me a lesson. 

People- just because they appear all together on the outside, or they are certain things that society envies- doesn't make them any less vulnerable from the devastating hurt that  typewriters are capable of enacting. Maybe their dog died, they suffered a break up, they are thinking about the infinite black hole of death, they are going to miss out on the big game because of an injury, they are on meds. 

You don't know. I think as humans, we all need to stop and think before we disregard people's problems as mere bitching. 

Maybe they just need a little help. 

I guess that's what I learned to do today. Because I needed a little help and I got what was coming for me from all of those days of disregarding peoples' complaints. 

I'll try and listen better.