Confidence snowballs.
Back to the Stanford grad party did have a hip hop DJ, but it couldn’t avoid being a kids’ birthday party with fruit by the foot and cookies and beer and bad bubbly pear cider. It was probably better for all parties involved that it got rained out. We dodged into Ana’s abode and talked about confederate flags and violence until 3 am.
Which was probably excellent sleep/wake training for my police ride-along. I got paired up with a cop named Calvin, and it was a pretty speedy five hour shadow in the middle of the night. Between pulling over Hispanics because they’re brown, pawing at Aztec tattoos, and shooting the shit with his fellow officers (one graduated from Stanford Business School a few years ago?), Calvin just spun us around downtown San Jose in the wee hours. I probably should have brought my Eskimo vest, so I just paced a little while the 16-year-old got Mirandized and cited for being in the park after dusk. He was the only who asked who I was, so bonus points to Andres. I missed out on the hookers in the paddy wagon, but I did catch the suicide attempt from the 18th story of a 16th story building. You figure that one out.
First IM dodgeball match-up was last Sunday: First Year Law Students v. The Cruisers. We outnumbered them 12 to 5. Of course it had to be the law kids who set up all the rules, changed them when necessary, and added new ones as we went along. We tied.
Ginseng (Korean place on Castro) was probably the best meal I’ve had in a month. Why am I such a sucker for panchan? Little dishes really get me excited. And pork belly lubricates the birth canal. Polished off the night at the 750 with a Turkish counter to the Armenian genocide.
And now I’m sickish. Looks like the B412 is taking flight without me.
Which was probably excellent sleep/wake training for my police ride-along. I got paired up with a cop named Calvin, and it was a pretty speedy five hour shadow in the middle of the night. Between pulling over Hispanics because they’re brown, pawing at Aztec tattoos, and shooting the shit with his fellow officers (one graduated from Stanford Business School a few years ago?), Calvin just spun us around downtown San Jose in the wee hours. I probably should have brought my Eskimo vest, so I just paced a little while the 16-year-old got Mirandized and cited for being in the park after dusk. He was the only who asked who I was, so bonus points to Andres. I missed out on the hookers in the paddy wagon, but I did catch the suicide attempt from the 18th story of a 16th story building. You figure that one out.
First IM dodgeball match-up was last Sunday: First Year Law Students v. The Cruisers. We outnumbered them 12 to 5. Of course it had to be the law kids who set up all the rules, changed them when necessary, and added new ones as we went along. We tied.
Ginseng (Korean place on Castro) was probably the best meal I’ve had in a month. Why am I such a sucker for panchan? Little dishes really get me excited. And pork belly lubricates the birth canal. Polished off the night at the 750 with a Turkish counter to the Armenian genocide.
And now I’m sickish. Looks like the B412 is taking flight without me.