"If I quoted all the lines off the top of my head, would you believe I fully understand all these things I've read?"

I was proposed to on the way to the subway this morning. Because I was listening to my mp3 player, it took me a few steps beyond the guy pushing the cart laden with boxes to realize what he said. What he said was this: "Hey, baby, will you marry me?" And then: "Geeze" when I continued past him with no comment (because I hadn't understood what he said and acted like a frigid jerk by seeming to ignore him all together).

It's been a weird few days. Both Saturday and Sunday nights I had disturbing cab rides home from work. On Saturday night, the driver decided it was a good idea to go through the East Village. For those of you unfamiliar with the East Village on Saturday nights, picture trying maneuver a tank through a herd of cows, with about half as much subtlety and dexterity; the ride took twice as long as it should have. The next night, my driver got fed up with the traffic and told me I should get out and take the subway. Being a bit too easy-going for my own good, I complied, got out, and walked in the direction where he insisted I could find the L train. I knew there was no L stop nearby, but the JMZ train also has a stop near my apartment, so I got on the rickety old train (discovering that the traffic jam was being caused by a broken-down bus that blocked much of the approach to the Williamsburg Bridge) and then made the ten-minute trek through the less-familiar and less-direct part of town--not my smartest moment. And to think, I got home only half an hour after the start of the Superbowl. (Yay, Pats!) Grrr . . .

I had my first post-graduation film class on Sunday as well. I found that I really missed the classroom setting and decided to take a few classes through the NYU continuing education department/school. This was a huge mistake. "I am an intellectual snob," she says, as she asks her co-worker to pick up a copy of US Weekly for her when he goes downstairs, noting her own hypocrisy. I was spoiled in college. Despite feeling in over my head at many times and just generally a lot "stupider" than most of my classmates, I should nonetheless have appreciated the challenge of keeping up with people who were quick on their feet and with their tongues and who had a great knowledge base from which to draw. The class that I attended on Sunday is the first of two I am taking and is called something to the effect of "How to Watch Movies Like a Critic." After two semesters with J.D., I realized that I needed to break free from the idea that everything in a film could be "an allegory for the studio system," right, Catherine? Although, that phrase does provide some good buzzwords certain to impress--well, certain to impress J.D., at least. So, the idea of a class that re-taught me to look at film from a different angle would be interesting. Too bad the class turned out to be "how to write a review." The "professor" is a critic for Premiere Magazine, and most of the students are in their mid- to late-fifties and really like the sound of their own voices. The teacher is good, but the subject material falls into the "no duh" column for me, as do most of the comments from the peanut gallery. Needless to say, I wasn't that upset that our class didn't go for the full three hours and that I paid money for time that wasn't used. Now I'm supposed to write a six-hundred-word (everyone gasped and groaned about six hundred words, another clue that I was in the wrong room) review of either The Aviator or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for next Sunday. I'm considering writing a highly inflamatory review just to see what happens, to spice things up a bit.

It wasn't all bad, though. I learned a few things, the two primary ones being that the opening of Blue Velvet is quite striking (and I think the director of Lantana was influenced by it) but I really don't enjoy much of Lynch's films and that I can't use my wireless internet connection where my class is because you need a Stern (NYU business school) ID to log onto it. Darn.

Next Sunday is the last class, and my other film class starts up Saturday, February 26. I'm really looking forward to this one because it should (being the operative word here) consist of film screenings and Q&As with people involved with the production--basically like a film-festival panel. Yay!

I'm also taking my first LSAT practice exam on Saturday (after a night of glassblowing with Sarah at the local studio) because I've just hit the panic button about law school, and I need to see just how much my recent studying has helped or hurt.

And Mike pointed out in an e-mail that I mentioned in passing that my trip to Italy was called off. My mom's ankle and knee still hurt too much to go on the trip; she can't stand for more than half an hour at a time. Lucky for us, we purchased trip insurance, so we can recoup most of the money lost by cancelling. We're going to set the moola aside, though, and try to go some other time. Because of this cancellation, however, I get to attend a two-day paralegal seminar and I'll be taking a full two weeks off (from June 6 to June 17) to take the LSATs, go to Bonnaroo, and ferry it out to the Vineyard or roadtrip to Vermont for a few days with the mom.

Currently excited about: Lifehouse / Howie Day concert tonight (post's title comes from Lifehouse's "Trying") and Chrissi's concert tomorrow night