"Huh."

There are times in life when you observe or reflect on something and the only real response you can come up with is, "Huh." That's not, "Huh?" (like you're just confused or need to have the statement repeated into your good ear) or, "Huh!" (like you've just lifted something really heavy or mastered the crane kick from The Karate Kid). It's the "Huh" you give when you're thinking something along the lines of, "I feel like I can understand this if I thought about it a bit more, but it's so out there and unimportant that I'm not even gonna bother." You guys know what I'm talking about.

Exhibit A: There are lots of different restaurants and eateries in a city as big and diverse as L.A. Most of them are dedicated to a certain cuisine, e.g. Italian, which would typically mean you'd get pastas and pizzas and things like that.

With that in mind, if I told you that a certain restaurant served four items, and said that the first two of those items were burritos and tacos, what would be your guess as to what the third and fourth items were?



If you said teriyaki and char-broiled burgers, you're absolutely correct! Ladies and gentlemen, one of the staples of any cool CV 9th grader's lunches: Senior Nacho!

Exhibit B: I think the importance of a clever store name is wildly underrated. For example, there's a running shoe store in Pasadena called A Snail's Pace that is awesome for two reasons: 1) they watch you walk/run in the store and recommend shoes based on what type of feet you have and runner you are; and 2) it's called A Snail's Pace so you don't feel intimidated when you shop there. Imagine if it were called Olympic Sprinters and Lightning Bolts 'R' Us. Would you go there? Seriously?

But if the opposite end of the Clever Name spectrum is a something like Olympic Sprinters and Lightning Bolts 'R' Us, something in the middle - in between great name and awful name - would be a name that is so vague, mundane, or uninspired that you know the owners probably spent tons of time trying to think of a clever name before deciding, "Screw it. Let's just go back to that first thing that popped into our heads when we started brainstorming and call it that."



I mean, I guess they sell things made out of wood, so it's pretty descriptive. But still. Huh.

Exhibit C: Many of you who are reading this know that I will be starting law school this fall. I am going to take a few moments here to talk about one part of the application process. From the moment more than one school accepts you - if you are so fortunate - two things commence: 1) a decision-making process that ultimately falls on the shoulders of the applicant; and 2) a competition between the schools to see who can woo the greatest number of their admitted students. The whole process is only slightly more sophisticated than the mating rituals you see on the Discovery Channel, where the male peacocks puff out their feathers to attract mates and inevitably, the best females go to the peacocks rocking the brightest colors. I guess in this analogy I'd be the female peacock. Whatever.

But of all the factors I considered when making a decision on which school to attend - employment opportunities, prestige, location, faculty, etc. - you know what I didn't expect to be very high on my list? Whether a school remembered to send me a card on Valentine's Day.



Of course, as soon as I got this from Northwestern I started to look less favorably on the schools that didn't send me one. I felt forgotten. Unloved, even. And I wanted to feel loved.

(Quick side note: I have nothing but the utmost respect for Northwestern University Law School. It is a great school in a great city. I thank them for admitting me and would have been happy to attend. If anyone from NU is reading this, please don't hate me and/or bar me from any future endeavors.)

Exhibit D: I sat down for a meal with Innae sometime around Valentine's Day at a pizza place in Delaware. On the tables were paper placemants with scrambled words on them. Also on the placemats were hearts, red lettering, and a big "Happy Valentine's Day" written across the top. And yet I somehow still managed to start unscrambling the words without realizing that all the words were Valentine's Day themed.



I don't think Cupid particularly likes skis or grins.