These are the notes I took in my phone while listening to a podcast of an immigration debate:

You've gotta give credit to the people who go out there and argue in favor of deporting undocumented immigrants; because they have to frame their arguments in such delicate terms in order to avoid sounding racist or arrogant towards poor immigrants.

A guy just said, “Allowing immigrants to enter the US at an unregulated rate could potentially cripple our public schools and healthcare system due to a sudden increase in demand.”

Translation: “Do you really want a bunch of uneducated Mexicans coming into this country and multiplying at triple the rate of whites and Asians?”

...

The first guy arguing in favor of opening up the borders was also speaking carefully when he said, “immigrants have made us a prosperous, dynamic and free country.”

Translation: “Without immigrants; many you people who consider yourselves middle class, would actually be lower class.”

...

I have never seen a Mexican American beggar.

...

Should the argument be that immigration law should somehow reflect the amount of unskilled workers we need?

...

Another delicately spoken quote from one of the panelists in favor of less stringent immigration policies, “We need to open our borders in order to encourage a circular flow. Studies have shown that 80% of Mexican immigrants returned to Mexico, but due to increased enforcement, they now chose to stay in the U.S. for the duration of their lives due to the difficulty of getting back in.”

Translation, “We don’t want a bunch of old Mexicans here. If they’re gonna be here, it might as well be while they’re young and able to work.”

...

Mexican Americans are different from most African Americans because they chose to come to here.

Mexican Americans are different from Asian Americans because they didn’t have to get on a plane to get to here.

...

Actual quote from a different guy in support of less stringent enforcement at the Mexican border – arguing that the money spent there should be spent on more pressing national security concerns:

“The terrorists came in through the front door, and meanwhile we’re sending our resources down there to catch dishwashers and roofers.”

...

Later, the same guy says this while making a similar argument:

“We’ve got terrorists enrolling in flight schools, and meanwhile the government’s using its resources to go after yardsmen and maids and janitors.”

...

Then later, one of the men in favor of strict enforcement of immigration laws argues that part of the rationale behind strict immigration law at all borders is to make sure that “critical American infrastructure remains secure.”

And then the same guy who made the “yardsmen” quote rebuts by saying, “Hey, I like McDonald’s, but it’s not a critical infrastructure that needs to be secure.”

...

My opinion is that immigrants have made this country great, and they are going to come into this country whether it is legal or not, so we might as well save our money on extreme enforcement, and document them so they can start paying taxes.

random BS, because the other post I wrote almost sounds racist so I'm gonna look at it again before I post it, even though it is ABSOLUTELY not racist

I have a pirated copy of Microsoft Word, and I feel guilty about it. But not quite guilty enough to put a check in the mail.

...

“Eachother” is not a word?

I don’t know why, but I’ve always used “eachother” as a word. But Microsoft Word’s spell checker underlines it in red. Sometimes I change it, sometimes I ignore it. But I wonder if eventually I’ll just give in and start changing it every time.

...

Something to think about if you're considering making the switch from a PC to a MAC: if you're really good with shortcuts on your PC keyboard, be prepared to part with a lot of them.

I'm not saying not to switch, but I'm just warning you to prepare for the withdrawal so it doesn’t hit you as hard as it’s hit me.

I really hit rock bottom earlier this week when Cindy suggested a faster way for me to move something around in Excel.

CINDY PARK was telling ME how to move something around in EXCEL!!

I wanted to say to her, "Bitch, I was writing macros without a mouse in standing room only Fortune 100 conference rooms back when you were going to frat parties."

"I used to tell the elderly and people with heart conditions to look away while I formatted text in Word.”

“I was making spreadsheets so fucking beautiful and symmetrical that a group of them were considered for a seasonal exhibit at the Art Institute.”

(And that last one is not far from the truth.)

(The only thing separating it from the truth is simply me approaching the Art Institute with a few of my spreadsheets seven years ago.)

(So the departure from truth does not effect the impact of the statement.)

(So just read the statement as being true.)

So anyway. Be prepared to lose a lot of that skill and have to relearn it. But don't let that stop you from switching. (So I guess I really don't have much of a point here other than to prepare you for something that you probably don't need to be prepared for.)

(So, sorry for making you read that)

…

The contract attorney lifestyle is not something I ever expected to live.

I had an “interview” with an agency yesterday that was scheduled to go from 11:00 – 11:15 at a Caribou Coffee on Michigan Avenue.

And it didn’t even last until 11:15.

It didn't even last until 11:05.

The interviewer should have just cut the pleasantries and said, "Listen, the only reason we have to meet in person is so I can check your identification and make sure you match the face so that you can't send some desperate law student in to do your job and then tax them 20% of the pay."

And I would have responded, "Trust me, I've thought about that more than you or anyone you know. And I'm not going to do it; but your checking of my ID has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm not doing it."

It goes without saying that at some point I need to develop some kind of skill that will allow me to earn a living.

Nothing I've ever said could have gone without saying more than that.

…

I’ve been eating Indian food less.

Food that is spicy going in, is also going to be a little spicy coming out.

The air in Mumbai actually smells different from the air in the US – it’s unmistakable. And I think part of it might actually have to do with people’s shit and gas.

…

I searched the web for something about the smell in Mumbai and ended up reading someone’s blog entry from last year. I was about to comment, but first clicked a link to read the blog’s latest entry and saw that it hadn’t been updated in over a year. It was kind of sad find a dead blog.

…

Snob in a Restaurant:

(After seeing 15 different entrees listed on the menu)

Me – (to the waitress) Do you have any menus with subheadings?

…

I’d love to meet a white guy with a Chinese Accent.

…

My friend’s girlfriend broke up with him at a concert because he aggressively fondled a girl while she was body-surfing.

I asked him why he did it so blatantly and he said, “I don't know man. I think I uncovered a whole new side of me.”

just some random bs

The default margins on Microsoft Word are 1.25 inches on each side.

This would have been great in school; back when we would type in 14 point Courier New font and extend the right and left margins to 1.35 inches, and instead of double spacing we’d make it 2.5x spacing, and instead of indenting our paragraphs we’d quintuple space between paragraphs.

Then we’d print out the paper and look at it and laugh and think to ourselves, “The teacher is not blind! This looks like I’m submitting 10 title pages.”

...

A friend recently told me that he saw a couple in the apartment across the street from him having sex. But he said it was weird because the man would spend two minutes setting up each position, but only operate in it for about 45 seconds before moving on to the next one.

We imagined the guy calmly giving orders, “Ok, now put your foot there. And now get your arm down here, ok, good. Now try to lift your head up just a little bit… that’s it... Ok and now just reach out and grab the frame here, ok, and now I’m gonna turn around and slide my leg through here, and ok, we’re ready to go.”

Then he slides in and starts pumping just long enough to create the friction and successfully establish the execution of the position and maybe enjoy it for a few dozen mechanical pumps before moving on to the next complicated set up.

...

Kind of a related idea that was floating in my head a few years ago -- You know how men can go into certain massage parlors and get a massage from a woman and then get jerked off at the end? Well, how about a massage parlor where a woman gives you a massage, then blindfolds you and leaves the room, and then a man comes in and jerks you off?

He’s probably better at it.

And you’re not gonna know it’s a man – that’s what the blindfold is for. And I can imagine that word of the high quality handjob will spread quickly through the massage parlor frequenting community.

And I’d be willing to bet that word travels far and fast in the massage parlor frequenting community.

Maybe farther and faster than word spreads in any other community on Earth.

...

My dad’s friend from college got out of the draft for Vietnam by telling the drafting officer, “Listen, sir, you’re gonna have a difficult time getting me out on a battlefield. And it’s gonna be a whole hell of a lot more difficult if you give me a gun.”

...

Wouldn’t it be funny if after all this, we find out that radical Islam was right.

We die, and the afterlife starts and we are face to face with Allah who sends us down to burn in hell for eternity. But before he sends us down, we’re able to catch a glimpse of those suicide bombers up in heaven lounging around drinking wine with a bunch of pulchritudinous women at 72-1 ratios.

...

Cindy and I made potato salad last weekend, and I’ll say this for people who haven’t thought much about what goes into it: it’s a shocking amount of mayonnaise and sour cream.

I’ll make it again, but I’m going to stray from the recipe.

There was probably more mayo in those three pounds of potato salad than every “non-potato salad” meal I have eaten combined in the last ten years. (and I’ve had my fair fucking share of deviled eggs, mind you)

...

I’ve realized that I am a snob in some respects when it comes to restaurants, but am the anti-snob in others. Or maybe not, I don’t know.

Snob

(in a diner)

Me – (looking at the waitress and pointing at the menu) How freshly squeezed is your orange juice?

Anti-Snob

(in a fancy steakhouse)

Waiter – In mineral water we have San Pellegrino, and in flat water we have Evian and Chicago tap.

Me – Um, I guess I’ll have the Chicago tap.

Waiter – (nods his head and writes down the order and leaves)

Me – What an asshole. I'm never coming here again. And I've got half a mind to actively badmouth this place.

Snob

(in a diner)

Me – (to the waitress as she prepares to top off my iced tea) No no no! It disrupts the ratio of sugar!

Anti-Snob –

(in a fancy steakhouse)

Me – Why does it say “market” next to the filet mignon, and yet that 24oz New York Strip will cost $79 regardless of fluctuations in the market price of beef? Don’t they come from the same animal?

Me - (without giving the waiter a chance to answer) Or when you say market, are you actually referring to the stock market? Like if the Dow is up that day you're gonna raise the price of your filet accordingly?

Me - (without giving him a chance to answer) Regardless, I'll have the biggest ribeye you've got.

Waiter - And how would you like it cooked?

Me - Pittsburgh rare.

Waiter - I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with what you mean by "Pittsburgh rare"

Me - Well, if your chef doesn't know either, then you can bring out my check, and a to-go cup for my Chicago Tap.

how about my blogging consistency of late?

I can see myself becoming a consistent blogger.

pic from a potential wedding photographer's website

Me - I don't know if I'd want to get married with the statue of a motherfucker being crucified in the background.

Cindy - (kind of laughing) He's not a motherfucker, he's Jesus Christ, son of God.

Me - Yeah, bullshit.

this is your captain speaking

It was the second night of my trip to the Connors’ family home on a lake in the Upper Peninsula. The sun was setting as a dozen family friends ate and drank at the tables set up by the water. After getting a second helping of food from inside, I stopped at the cooler on the deck to grab a beer and found myself face to face with Connors' uncle Ron – or as he prefers to be called, "Captain Ron."

(a non-blood uncle, as Connors will be quick to point out)

Captain Ron is in his late 50’s, 5'9 and tan with an average build. He has a full dark beard and pony-tail, and he tends to slightly err on the side of dressing like a biker (but not to the point where someone would see him and assume he is a biker.) It is difficult to describe Captain Ron’s personality, especially given my limited interaction with him – we had only met a couple of times before and had hardly spoken, but I felt comfortable with the conclusion that Ron was a bit different… some might even say he was a bit off.

Whenever I had been around Ron, he was usually smiling and splitting his time between paying attention to the conversation around him and staring off into space. And I can’t recall him carrying on a conversation for more than 30 seconds – even when he stood in a circle with others who were talking. He would occasionally jump into a conversation with a sentence or two, and if someone asked him a question, he would answer. Sometimes the answer was related to the question, and other times establishing the relationship between question and answer required a bit more creativity. No one seemed to know why.

And although my contact with him had always been in a social/party environment, he was never drinking in any extraordinary amounts or under the influence of any hard drugs, so although I can't attest to what the man is like on a Sunday morning, I can say that he was nothing more than a slightly buzzed whenever I’d seen him.

Whenever Connors would try to describe Captain Ron, he couldn't come up with any words; he would just laugh and look down and shake his head, and then look up at me as if he came up with something, but would just start laughing and shaking his head again and say, "I don't know man. Captain Ron is Captain Ron, that's really the only way to describe him."

It was just Ron and me standing by the cooler that evening as the fresh UP air began to cool. Earlier that weekend, Connors and I had discussed learning how to ride Harley’s, so I told Ron that I heard he was surprisingly more anal about his Harley than his wife was about her own. He looked confused for a second, but then laughed and agreed. Then we started talking. It wasn’t so much a conversation as it was simply me asking questions to get him to tell me stories.

I learned that he had been in the navy (which explained Captain Ron) and that he specialized in sending coded messages. We discussed Morse code, and then he told me about how he met his wife, and we talked about his family and the UP and his Harley.

He spoke very highly of his wife and explained how proud he was when she successfully entered local politics and cleaned out the corruption from their city government. I had heard this story about his wife from others as well, but it was nice to see Ron gush over his wife of 20 years. He looked over to the group of people by the lake – amongst whom was his wife – and said, “I’ll tell you, she’s is really a wonderful woman… just an amazing woman.”

We discussed political corruption and why we thought governments were so often manipulated, concluding that although it may seem like a conspiracy to some, it often ends up being nothing more than the actions of dishonest self-motivated individuals.

While everyone else was out by the fire near the lake, Ron and I stayed on the deck talked for about a half hour. As long as I asked questions, he was more than happy to answer, and oftentimes elaborate; and he was surprisingly coherent – at most I’d have to repeat a question. Eventually, as he become more comfortable with me, our conversation would wander into areas that I hadn’t anticipated.

I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, but we talked about a couple of conspiracy theories for a few minutes, and then Ron finally paused and looked at me and said, “But I’ll tell you what, there’s only one true conspiracy…”

I was curious. Ron had lived a long life and had been around the world and smoked his fair share of pot, so naturally, I wanted to hear what he believed to be the one true conspiracy.

“What is it Ron?”

He looked me in the eye and slowly said, “Monogamy.”

“…”

“I’ll tell you, monogamy is the one true conspiracy.”

great line from the Wall St. Journal

"Conspiracy theories always leap to the fore amid big and consequential events. They especially appeal to people who are more familiar with Hollywood's idea of how the world works than with how the world works."

Old Man

It happened in less than a minute, but has been on my mind for hours.

At 5:30 this evening I was waiting for an elevator going down. An up arrow flashed, an elevator door opened and two men finished their conversation inside. A small white-haired man stepped out and looked back into the elevator and smiled and emphatically said, Good job today Jim.

The white-haired man was short, thin and hunched forward. He wore a dark coat over a dark suit and carried a black leather bag. He wore thick glasses with black frames and spoke with a raspy voice.

And I admired him.

Here was a man who could have been retired – any attorney his age working for Jenner & Block and telling someone else that they did a good job, certainly had enough money to retire to any place on earth. Yet here was this old man, returning to his office and feeling good about whatever it was he had done that day.

A great deal of older attorneys chose to work rather than retire. Either they love their work, or it’s simply all they know. Or a combination of both.

The white haired man noticed me waiting by the elevators with my coat on and mistook me for a Jenner & Block associate, he smiled and asked, Taking a half day today?

We both laughed.

A down arrow flashed and an elevator door opened and I got on. The white haired attorney’s smile faded to a smirk, and before he began to walk back to his office, he shook his head and said, Jenner, it takes it all out of you.

conversation

Honey, I've got good news and bad news..

Hmm, ok, bad news first. Wait, no, gimme the good news first.

Ok... well, remember the audition I had last Thursday?

Oh, yeah, for the "Handsome Older Man" part... So you got it?!?

Yeah. I got it... oh I got the part alright...

So what's the bad news?

Well, the bad news is that you're looking at the new poster boy for Depends Diapers.

Oh, honey that's o...

(cuts her off) That's ok? Is that what you're gonna say? That's ok?

Honey, it's a job, it's a paying job, so it's ok. You're working, and that's what's important.

No... It's not ok! It is not fucking ok.

Oh honey, you said that a lot of people auditioned for that job. And you were the one who got it, so trust me, it is ok. Maybe this can lead to some other modeling work for you.

No, No no no no no... Trust me, it is not ok. And I haven't even told you the worst part...

(she walks over and rubs his back) What is it honey?

So after the photo shoot, this little chicken-shit director comes up and tells me that Terry O'Quinn is gonna be in town next week and he's teaching a 3-day workshop on how play a dead guy in a casket. And he's charging $350 per session or $1,000 for all three, and this fucker suggested I sign up for it.

Oh, Terry's gonna be in town?

(imitating her high voice) "Oh, Terry's gonna be in town?" What are you gonna do, give that asshole a call? He never calls us!

Oh honey, you know he moved to Hawaii once he got the role on Lost. It'd be nice to see him again.

Terry O'Quinn... (stops and shakes his head) Man, I remember when that cocksucker was my understudy in A Mid Summer Night's Dream in '78. And then I did Hamlet in '81, and that asshole didn't even get on the bill.

Yes, I remember.

I was going out there every night, working my fucking ass off, and he was running around drinking cheap beer, banging strippers and doing extra work on TV a few days a month. What an asshole.

(rolls her eyes because she's heard the story over 100 times) Well you know what it's like in this business...

Yeah, I know what it's like in this fucking business. Oh, trust me, I know what it's fucking like in this goddamn business when a piece of shit no talent motherfucker like Terry O'Quinn can trip and fall into a roll on Lost, and five years later that asshole can fly into LA for a week and run a three day seminar on how to play a fucking CORPSE, and can ask for a thousand fucking dollars a head for it...

So, did you sign up for it?

Of course I fucking signed up for it. I got the three day package.

Oh, well that's good honey.

Yeah, the director told me if I can break into that game, I might be able to get myself two or three credited gigs a year... just playing a dead grandfathers, or a random body in a funeral home scene... that sort of thing.

There you go honey....

(imitates her high voice) "There you go honey..." (he raises his fists and slams them down onto the kitchen counter with force, rattling the plates and glasses) FUCK!!

Honey...

Terry Fucking O'Quinn is laying on a goddamn beach in Maui, counting his fucking money, and I'm over here in this god-forsaken Lawndale apartment, arguing with the fucking Whirlpool repairman about the $10 I want him to take off our bill for the five minutes he spent taking a shit on the job!

Honey, stop...

That cocksucking motherfucker's got ten goddamn acres of beachfront property, and I was on the phone today talking to a guy about renting an apartment in Watts because we'd be closer to Hollywood for my potential dead guy auditions.

Honey, it's ok..

(slows down his speech) And you know what that motherfucker -- that goddamn slumlord -- told me?

...

He said we'd probably be priced out of Watts, but that he had a couple of one bedrooms in West Compton for me to look at.

...

Like I'm going to move my fucking ass to West fucking Compton to shave 15 minutes off a drive I'm probably going to make five times a year?

I'm gonna call Terry, maybe we can all go out to dinner.

You think I give a flying fuck about having dinner with Terry O'Quinn? That sack of shit... I was doing summer stock with Allen Arkin while that asshole was banging Angela Lansbury every afternoon in her Murder She Wrote trailer.

Come on honey, what's done is done. You know Terry would probably like to see you too...

(whispering) I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen to me good...

What?

(thinking about what he wants to say) ...

What is it honey?

(still whispering) I don't have all of the answers ok. (laughs to himself and takes a deep breath and then brings his voice back up to normal) Trust me, I don't have all of the answers in this life, ok, obviously. And...

...

You know what, grab me a beer, will ya?

Sure honey. (walks over to the fridge and looks in) Oh I need to go to the store, we finished the beer when my brother was here on Friday.

Well then pour me a fucking shot of tequila.

We finished the tequila that night too.

Well, what the fuck do we have?

Well, nothing, I'll run to the store right now and I'll be back in a half hour.

You're telling me we don't have a single goddamn bottle in there?

Well, we've got that Triple Sec but...

(cuts her off) Fuck it, pour me a goddamn glass of Triple Sec!

Honey, you're supposed to mix that...

Are you fucking telling me what to drink and what not to drink? Huh? I know what you're supposed to do with it, but I want to drink the goddamn shit, now.

(she hesitates)

(he brushes past her and walks to the liquor shelf and violently grabs the bottle) Fuck it, if you want something done right... (he pours himself a tall glass of triple sec, then drops in a couple of ice cubes and chugs half the glass in his first sip)

(he spits it out immediately, and then vomits the rest into the sink)

FUCK! (he picks up the glass again and tries to drink what is left but gags on it again and spits it all up)

(she stands there watching him in horror)

(he looks up at her) What happened?!?! I thought you were going to the fucking store!

(she shakes her head and walks towards where she left her keys)

Fuck it, I'll go myself.

No! No! I'll go, I don't want you driving.

Well, then hurry the fuck up! It's wednesday, I got yoga at 6:00!!

My Music

I wrote and recorded part of a song last Thursday, and I was happy with it. I'm starting to think that I should maybe concentrate a little more on my music.

I've already thought of a band name: Aardvarked

the album review I would mention on my cover would say,

"If he's singing out of tune, then we need to rethink the concept of tune."

I HATE these short posts, but I just want to say this...

Black and white pictures are a cop-out.

Picture

I took this picture of the guy sitting next to me while taking a dump at the office.

I've thought seriously about approaching the law firm's management and asking if they'd like to use it in their marketing materials.

"Committed to Client Service."

or

"Don't assume he's taking a dump, he could just as easily be masturbating."

quick line

I was reading the latest post on my friend Ben's blog (see the blogroll on the right), and he wrote a philosophical little piece, and I liked my comment so much that I've gotta post it on here too.

"There is a logical explanation for everything... except for the existence of logic itself."

(Me, a minute ago)

tweet like post

I'm helping Cindy look for a wedding planner... and if I'm not done soon, I will hang myself, and then Cindy will be looking for a funeral planner.

And I'm going to want black chair covers at my funeral, and a full bar, and passed out appetizers, and a nice platinum-lined oak casket (with a name like "The Ambassador") (I've always thought that would make a great name for a casket)

And I definitely don't want my funeral in a place that holds other funerals at the same time. No "funeral mill" for me. I want my carcass to be the only one in the building. That's all I ask.

And I want to be buried naked. I want to go out the way I came in.

And I want a lot of flowers. Enough flowers so I can smell them all the way from Hell.

short

The only thing that I hate, is to hate.

You know it's time to tighten our borders when...

I call my bank and have to press "2" to hear the menu options in English.

I hate bugs

I hate bugs. I really do.

To the point where I actually wanted to torture a bug yesterday.

And I stand behind my reasons -- one of which was deterrence.

I actually talked to Cindy last night about torturing a bug.

And trust me, the conversation was much more than just, "I want to torture a bug."

Poem (flashback)

If a picture is worth a thousand words,

then one of my short poems is worth a thousand pictures.

And my prose?

Don't even get me started on my prose...

Let me just put it this way brother:

My prose can make grown men cry, and babies stop crying.

A man once compared me to Shakespeare,

and you know what I said to him?

I said, "My mother used to read me Shakespeare when I was a toddler. And you know what I said to her? I said, 'Mom, enough of this kiddie stuff. Read me my first edition of "Goodbye, Columbus"... or is Roth's prose too fucking beautiful and delicate for you to handle at this hour?'"

quote

NPR recently hosted a debate on steroid use in sports.

The following quote is taken from that debate:

"To say that we should reduce drugs in sport -- or eliminate them -- because they increase performance is simply like saying we should eliminate alcohol from parties because it increases sociability."

Julian Savulescu

The Pitchfork Music Festival

The Pitchfork Music Festival:

More Tweets from more iPhones per square mile than any other place on Earth.

poem

(I started this one last year when I took that poetry seminar, and it kind of just came together today.)

1.

Where what I see comes to rest,

at the edge of the lake,

against what I think I see

and, up on the bank, who I am

maintains an uneasy truce

with who I fear I am,

while in the cabin’s shade the gap between

the words I said

and those I remember saying

is just wide enough to contain

the remains that remain

of what I assumed I knew.

2.

Out in the canoe, the person I thought you were

gingerly trades spots

with the person you are

and what I believe I believe

sits uncomfortably next to

what I believe.

When I promised I will always give you

what I want you to want,

you heard, or desired to hear,

something else. You see

I've porked a lot of women

in my days, and only called you

with a drunken desire

to plunge my face, into

the depths of those big 'ole sloppies.

(ok, that was actually copied from a poem by Troy Jollimore called At Lake Scugog. But it was funny to switch out the last two paragraphs)

conversation I had on the phone today

(the names have been changed)

Person - (picks up the phone) Hello, legal specialists.

Me - Hi, Bob Ratchford please.

Person - May I ask who's calling?

Me - Sure.

Person - ...

Me - ...

Person - Who is calling?

Me - That's none of your business. Put Ratchford on the phone please.

4th

A lot of people do a lot of different things to celebrate the 4th of July.

But all I need is a chair, a bottle of wild turkey, and maybe a glass.

Food for thought

What do crops that naturally grow in an area, tell us about the people who inhabit that area?

Think about it...

(or don't think about it)

cell phone pictures

The NY Times asked readers to submit their cell phone pictures and put up a gallery of their favorites on their website today.

I didn't submit anything, but here's a cool one.

(I trying uploading this pic ~10 times to get the right size, but I can't, try to clicking on it to make it bigger so you can see more of the reflections, )

Words that have never been uttered...

"I'm really glad I had that Chinese food for lunch today."

MJ

When I was a kid I really liked the Guns n'Roses album, "Appetite for Destruction." So naturally, I was excited to read Slash's autobiography, "Slash." (If you want to read a review of it in the New York Review of Books, here's a link. The review is called "Appetite for Deconstruction"*)

Anyway, the headlines about Michael Jackson's death remind me of something I read in Slash's book because they suggest that Jackson may have been using the prescription drug Oxycontin.

A large part of Slash's book was devoted to his drug abuse. Heroin was his drug of choice, and he battled addiction several times. Once, during a period when he was "clean" -- which for Slash, meant he was simply a full fledged alcoholic and recreational cocaine user -- he described a trip to Vegas during which he witnessed a man crushing a pill and snorting it from a bathroom sink. The man recognized Slash and offered him one; Slash gladly accepted, and was surprised to learn that the pills were obtained legally. A few moments later, Slash began to feel the buzz and thought to himself, "Wow, they've legalized Heroin."

Later, he asked the man about the drug, and was told it was a prescription drug called Oxycontin. It wasn't long before Slash was addicted.

If you told someone you were taking heroin, there's a good chance they'd freak out. But if you told that same person you were taking Oxycontin, the reaction may not be as severe. Perhaps it should be.

*just kidding about "Appetite for Deconstruction

conversation

This is pretty close to a transcript of a phone conversation I had last week. It might be slightly off because I'm going from memory, but it is very close (and I have changed names and omitted numbers)

Rep - Thank you for calling AT&T, my name is Maria, may I please have your 10 digit phone number?

Me - Sure, it's ___-___-____

Rep - And can I have the last four digits of your social security number?

Me - ____

Rep - And your billing zip code?

Me - _____

Rep - Thank you Mr. Irani, how can I assist you today?

Me - I just got my bill and I noticed that it's $10 more than usual. I didn't go over my minutes and I have unlimited texts, so I'm just wondering why it's more this month?

Rep - Ok Mr. Irani, do you mind holding for a moment while I pull up your account?

Me - No problem.

(on hold for a minute)

Rep - Mr. Irani?

Me - Yes?

Rep - Thank you for holding. It looks like you no longer get the 22% discount on your text messaging, so the extra $10 on the bill is the discount added back plus tax.

Me - Why don't I get the discount anymore?

Rep - That discount no longer applies to text messaging.

Me - But when I signed the contract for this plan, the sales rep told me the discount would apply for everything (including text messaging), plus, i've been getting that discount for years.

Rep - I'm sorry you were told that, but the discount doesn't apply to text messaging, so the system has automatically removed it.

Me - Ok, but since it was included in terms of my contract, shouldn't I get the discount until the contract expires?

Rep - Hmm, I don't think I can do that, because it was system generated.

Me - Can you transfer me to someone who can?

Rep - Sure, I can transfer you to an escalation specialist. Do you mind holding?

Me - No problem.

Rep - Ok, I'm going to place you on hold while I get an escalation specialist.

Me - Ok.

(on hold for a minute)

Rep - Sorry about the wait, I'm trying to get an escalation specialist on the line for you, can you continue to hold?

Me - Sure

(on hold for a minute)

Rep - Hello, Mr. Irani? I've got an escalation specialist here for you.

Me - Ok, thanks for your help.

Rep - No problem, thank you for choosing AT&T.

Me - Hello?

Esc - Hello Mr. Irani, my name is Joan, how can I assist you today?

Me - Hi Joan, I got my phone bill today, and it's $10 more than usual, so I called to see if it was an error, and the customer service rep explained that it's because you no longer apply my discount towards text messaging, so I just want to get that fixed.

Esc - Yes, that's correct, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but we no longer offer that discount for text messaging services, it is only for the calling plan.

Me - Right, I understand. But when I signed up for the plan, your salesman told me that it would apply, so I bought two phones and signed a two year contract.

Esc - And I'm sorry for your inconvenience Mr. Irani, but that discount is not applicable to text messaging.

Me - I know, but I've been getting that discount for years, and more importantly, it was included in the terms of my contract. So I guess I just want you to give me what we agreed to. And then once my two years are up, you can get rid of the discount.

Esc - I'm sorry for the invonvinience but that was a system generated removal of your discount, so there is nothing that I can do to fix it.

Me - What do you mean?

Esc - Again, I apologize for the invonvineince, but our system automatically removed the discount, so I can't go back in and give it to you.

Me - Ok, first of all, you don't have to keep apologizing for the inconvenience. And second, we signed a contract, so I'm just asking you to honor the terms. You wouldn't let me out of my terms, would you? If I started paying $10 less every month, you'd probably ask that I pay the full amount since it's what we agreed to in the contract?

Esc - Yes Mr. Irani, but this is different, this was a system generated removal, so I'm afraid there's nothing I can do.

Me - ... what difference does that make? If I told you I was going to start paying $10 less per month because I ran my bill payments though an automated computer system that no longer allowed me to pay the full amount, would that make it ok?

Esc - No Mr. Irani, this is different because we no longer offer that discount for text messaging services.

Me - Ok, let's say you were looking to rent an apartment, and the leasing agent say to you, "We normally charge $1,000/month, but I'll rent you this unit for $900/month if you sign a two-year lease." So you sign the lease and pay $900/month for the first six months, but then you get a letter saying that you owe $1,000/month because the $100 discount no longer applies. Wouldn't you be upset about that? Wouldn't you want the building to honor the terms of your lease?

Esc - No Mr. Irani, that is different, this was automatic system generated change becauase your discount no longer applies, so I'm afraid there's nothing we can do to change that.

Me - So you're telling me that even though we have a contract saying how much I should pay per month for phone service, you can increase that rate in the middle of the contract because your billing system does so automatically? And, you're saying that the system is automated to the extent that absolutely no one can go in and change it manually?

Esc - yes Mr. Irani. That is correct.

Me - ...

Esc - Is there anything else I can do for you today?

Me - yeah, can you at least apologize for the inconvenience?

There are times when I think I might need a haircut

This, however, was not one of those times.*

*taken 6/14/09

the dilemma

Not sure if you've heard about or read The Omnivore's Dilemma; the ideas have been around for a long time, but this book has really brought it into the mainstream (and it'll probably be summed up to some degree by this film.)

The book is split into three parts, the first part speaks out against the practices of industrial agriculture, and the second preaches the benefits of smaller low impact local farming. One major difference between industrial and local agriculture is their source of energy: industrial farming relies heavily on fossil fuel based fertilizers, whereas low impact farming relies on the sun. (Sustainability and nutritional value are two key advantages of using the sun. Yield is the key advantage of using fossil fuels.) The third part of the book goes into how to hunt/gather your own food (I wouldn't blame you for skimming this section)

The author (Michael Pollen) was speaking at a local public library a couple of weeks ago on a Monday at 6pm. I was going to try to get there around 5:45 to make sure I got a seat, but then I saw that his presentation was going to be in the library's auditorium, so I took my time getting there. When I got to the library at 5:55, there was a line of at least 100 people waiting outside. I asked a library employee when they would start letting people in, and she responded by saying that the auditorium was already full, and the people in line were just hoping that someone would come out so they could take their spot.

(needless to say, I didn't get in line)

I recommend the book. It may not change your eating habits right away, but it'll change they way you look at food.

and for an example of the omnivore's dilemma...

On the left, natural maple syrup taken from a tree that got its energy from the sun. Versus a syrup made from corn extracts that got its energy from a fossil fuel based fertilizer.

Note the price difference... there's your dilemma.

the liberal media

We were discussing the idea of a "liberal media" today

I've heard that term used, but never really understood its implications. Do people actually believe in a conspiracy within the mainstream media? Do people think that major media outlets are financed by the democratic party to advance the liberal agenda?

I do think the media tends to be liberal in many instances, however that is only because those who chose to enter the field of journalism will naturally tend to agree with socially liberal viewpoints. Someone who has made the commitment to become a journalist probably believes in the free flow of information, and is opposed to government censorship. How do you think that same person would feel about giving the government the right to decide what a woman can and can't do with her body?

funny

This site really cracked me up. 

Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

today

This article tells the story of a man who is losing his battle with credit. I used to think that the only people who fell into these holes were those who didn't understand finance. But this guy is an economics writer from the New York Times, and he's telling us the story of how it happened to him!

Unbelievable!

It's one thing if he couldn't afford to make mortgage payments because he lost job, but this guy just got himself into a mortgage he couldn't afford in the first place! He never lost his job. Unbelievably irresponsible.

JUST BUY THE SMALLER HOUSE!!

quick question

I've seen a lot cars with a lot of borderline useless features, so why have I yet to see a u-turn signal?

conversation I had with Cindy the other day

Cindy:  "How do these jeans look?"

Me:  "They make you look fat."

Cindy: "..."

Me:  "Turn around..."

Cindy:  (turns around)

Me: "Oh yeah, they really do. Don't get those."

Cindy:  "..."

Me:  "Seriously, don't get those."

conversation I had today with a friend

"How many nights per week do you eat steak?"

"For dinner?"

"Yeah."

"... Seven."

iPhone Commercial

Cindy and I have iPhones, so after watching a commercial that demonstrated a few of the phone's many applications that ended by saying, "There's an app for just about anything", we couldn't help but wonder:

Is there an app for better phone reception?

How about longer battery life?

and if so, where do I find them?

three of these bullshit posts in a row

I don't like these blog entries, I'm not even sure that they're better than nothing. But here's another one on some things from today

There are a lot of blogs and message boards popping up out there for the disgruntled young attorney, one of my co-workers loves them, he reads me his favorite stuff at work. The issue people are having with law school these days can be boiled down to this: schools GREATLY exaggerate their post graduate employment statistics in order to lure potential students to take out six figure loans for tuition. (They criminally exaggerate the statistics. It really should be criminal. We should be writing our congressmen, because what they do with those employment statistics is nothing short of fraud.) And tuition has SKYROCKETED in the last decade. So now a lot of recent law school grads are out there with six figure student loan debt, and no job. And the worst part is that student loans can't be discharged via bankruptcy... so if I had $150,000 in student loan debt, I would probably move to Toronto, or maybe Mumbai.

I used to hear people say that there are too many lawyers in America, and after becoming one, I realize that those people are right. Society NEEDS lawyers. Just not as many as it has produced; and certainly not lawyers out there trying to make as much money as they think they are supposed to make.

(Fortunately, I am not in the position I just described... I loved law school, have mid-five figure debt, and did not expect a job upon graduation; I just wanted the time off from work)

...

I didn't even read this article about legalizing marijuana, but I saw it today after logging out from my e-mail. I'm in favor of legalizing it, but I think its sale should be tightly governed. It's not for everyone, but if it is marketed like Budweiser or Miller Lite, it is going to forced down the throat of every kid in America. I just think that marijuana is the type of thing where people should be allowed to make up their own minds about it. You almost want to cap the amount of profit a company can make from it to deter the modern day large scale American entrepreneur from marketing it. Don't make it about the money. (or else I'd just prefer it remain illegal)

quick

How many times a week does God eat Chipotle?

..

This site is cool, it shows how many sugar is in a lot of the food we eat. I guess it doesn't mean that much to me since I don't know how unhealthy sugar actually is... but still interesting. I probably wouldn't sit down and eat a dozen sugar cubes, but I've eaten many a bag of Skittles.

..

I read this column about the new A-Rod biography today and had this question: When someone writes a negative book about a celebrity and cites a bunch of "unnamed sources", are we to assume that those particular stories are fictitious? Maybe the writer is just trying to cash in, so she writes a book that is 90% honest, but makes up a few headline worthy stories to get her book mentioned in the press. It's not like people are going to return the book in five years after finding out the stories were false.

link dump

I surf the web at work, so here are some thoughts from today (I'll try to keep them short):

- Better Trades - I came across a "Better Trades" infomercial Saturday morning, and wished it was illegal. They teach people how to make money in stock market. The informercial is full of satisfied client testimonials, "I made $110,000 my first month", "I made $22,000 my first week", and even "I made $11,000 my first hour." I hate everything about this. I am a puritan when it comes to capital markets. Better Trades probably just teaches people how to take advantage of market inefficiencies to make quick money. But as recent events have shown: THERE IS NO WAY TO ELIMINATE RISK. There is risk attached to that dollar bill in your wallet.

- Gladwell essay - I like the way Malcolm Gladwell weaves anecdotes into his theories, and I enjoyed reading this little essay today... a couple of thoughts on it: 1) I wanted to write a blog entry a couple of years ago comparing George Washington's surprise attack on Christmas of 1776, to a modern day terrorist act. I liked the idea, but writing it didn't sound like fun at all; but Gladwell kind of addresses that stuff here. And 2) When I read essays like this, I rarely check the authenticity of their examples. But in this one, Gladwell used an example that I knew to be an exaggeration -- when he made it seem like Rick Pitino used the full court press to win at Kentucky without great players; it wasn't the crux of his argument at all, he should have just left out that entire section, but it makes me wonder about the use of anecdotal evidence in essays like this (in general.) 

- Retirement of David Souter - I'd like to read more about him, seems like a very interesting character

here it comes...

Ok, so it's been a while. I've started writing something longer. It started out as just notes in my phone, then worked it's way up to a journal, and now I kind of liked the idea of making it more formal, so it's been fun, but the story itself is not quite over, so I can' post it until it's done.

Ok, so it feels good to let my fans know that I still sit down and type once in a while. It's hard though. It takes time. But that's more of an excuse. The real reason is that I easily get addicted to video games, and right now I'm addicted to Age of Empires III.

On that note, I wouldn't object to a week or two off. (Maybe after the weather warms up.) But I guess this isn't exactly the type of economy into which one wishes to find themselves unemployed. And that's a problem with contract attorney work: after every project ends, you don't know when - and if - the next project will come. I've probably got to get out of this game at some point.

Although, for a lot of people, this would appear be a good time to be unemployed, because you've probably got some unemployed friends to hang out with. (and the potential problem with that - for the entire economy - is that if a bunch of unemployed people begin to appreciate the joys of unemployment, they may be more reluctant to go back into the workforce when duty eventually calls.)

That realization brings to light how much I miss being in school. Having friends around all time was nice. I don't see friends nearly as often when I'm working. Maybe one night a week, and some on the weekends. And it's not like I had any money in school. We were all living on very little money, and it was great anyway.

Takes on current events:

I love how that little North Korean leader has got the world all worked up about launching his missile. He is really mortgaging the future of his bloodline. His grandchildren could be fucked... to the point where they could possibly end up as slaves. That's how much he's gambled. But who knows, maybe he's the one telling the truth, and we're all brainwashed the way we think his people are brainwashed.

On all this tax stuff: Here's an excerpt today from John Kass that I liked:

All American elections should be held on Tax Day.

Under my plan, there would be no federal withholding taxes from paychecks. That sleazy political trick is only about numbing us to the extent of the federal tax bite. Under my plan, such tricks would be relics of the partisan past.

Instead, every American would pay a quarterly tax. We'd write our national and local tax checks to the government on Election Day, April 15.

And only after writing the checks could we vote.

Clearly, politicians would hate my idea, since voters would be angry.

But we wouldn't be arguing about "tea parties," would we? We might not even need them any longer.

Can you imagine!

I remember talking to these guys from Denmark at our training center at Andersen and they said that their government paid for their college and health insurance, (and I don't remember what else.) But their taxes were much higher: ~60%. When I asked them how they felt about it, they all seemed fine with it. No passion on the subject either way. (Kind of like the way I am about taxes.) We were fine, and didn't have anything to be pissed off about.

I got a personal injury case and referred it to a friend who does that stuff. Psychologically, it's an interesting racket. The issue is trying to decide whether I'd be content spending a majority of my waking hours - and freshest hours - doing something I consider "a racket".

(a saving grace of personal injury law would be the knowledge that you truly cannot put a value on pain and suffering)

I feel alone when trying to explain my bewilderment at the amounts of themselves people put into their careers.... which I guess would be great if they liked their work.

The idea of having kids kind of scares me too, because unlike a job, you can't just quit on your kids. (assuming that you share mankind's expressed moral viewpoints.)

So that's my big issue right now as far as where to go with my life....

(this has turned into a very narcissistic post)

How much responsibility do I want to take on at 30? and then how much responsibility to I want to take on ever?

Can I leave any out?

Kids are the biggest, then career, then being a homeowner. I don't want to be a homeowner anytime soon. Maybe a condo owner. But that's still a financial responsibility that I'm nowhere near ready to take on.

Dirk is still blogging, but barely. Hang on Dirk.

Dirk, how about this, for every word you write, I'll write one. Ok. Deal?

a bit much

Cindy and I are renting a car this weekend. 

First of all, it is very difficult to rent a car without a credit card. Last time I tried, I was turned down by four companies; the fifth - and last one at the airport - accepted my debit card.

Second, I made a reservation on Avis's website, and shortly after, received a confirmation e-mail giving me a breakdown of the cost. Here it is:

$53.02 - Base Rate - 1 day, 20 hours

$0.67 per day - Energy Recovery fee

2% - Pennsylvania Passenger Car Rental Tax

2% - Philadelphia Car Rental Tax

$2 per day - if rental less than 30 days OR 3% if rental is 30 days or more

11.11% - Concession Recovery Fee

7% - Tax

$18.03 - Taxes and Surcharges Subtotal

$71.05 - Total  

I'm being taxed over 35% to rent a car?

Am I stating the extremely obvious when I say that maybe it's time for the car rental industry to find some new lobbyists?

A Love Story

I’m not sure how to sugar coat this, so I’ll just put it right out there: I have diarrhea. At this moment, as I type this, I am fairly certain that the next dump I take will more closely resemble something meant to come out of my penis rather than my asshole.

My laughter after rereading that last paragraph caught Cindy’s attention, so I explained that I was considering writing about diarrhea. She focused her attention back on her computer and gently shook her head.

I asked if she’d like me to read the paragraph out loud, but she just shook her head again and softly said, “Mm, mm.”

I asked what she thought about my “Shit” post from a couple of years ago, but she said she didn’t remember it. (It was a philosophical piece.) I pressed her, and she finally gave in, “I kind of remember it…”

“So what did you think?”

No answer. (She was watching something on youtube, and using it as an excuse to avoid my question.)

“Were you taken aback by it?”

“Huh?”

“Come on… Were you taken aback by it at all?”

“… um, I don’t remember.”

I kept pressing her. “Is there a difference between writing about regular shit, and writing about diarrhea?”

She finally leaned back in her chair and gave me her full attention, “I’m trying to do something here…” She bluffed, fleetingly, as if some youtube skit was going to keep me from getting my answers.

“Come on, I really want to know, is there a line crossed when I get on the subject of diarrhea?”

She was silent, and once again looked back at her computer. A few seconds later she said, “You know that when I type ‘notes prudent man’ into google, your blog is the third hit?”

Ah, she still cares.

I leaned over and looked at her screen and watched for a few moments as she scrolled down in search of the shit post. A few seconds later she was laughing.

“Ok, so what do you think?”

“Oh, wait, I haven’t found it yet.” (She was reading the “Millis” post.)

A few seconds later, she was laughing again.

“Which part?” I asked.

As she laughed at me, she said, “The spicy chicken… You go on so many tangents!”

I let her get back to her reading so I could get my answers. Ten minutes later, I asked again, “So what do you think?”

“Umm, I didn’t read it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t read it?”

“I looked at it.”

“And?”

Finally she conceded, “Shit enthusiasts, will probably appreciate it.”

“But diarrhea is something that everyone gets. Everyone has experienced helplessness at some point. And if they haven’t, the certainly will.”

“But people might not want to read about it, and be reminded of it.”

Fair enough.

Today is a Saturday in late February, it is 1pm… but before I continue, let me catch you up on today’s events as they relate to this story: After waking up around 9, I walked to the toilet, took off my pants, and experienced a short bout of diarrhea. I was hoping that the plain white rice I ate last night – along with a few bites of Cindy’s heavily seasoned rice – would give me my first solid dump in 24 hours. I was disappointed by the diarrhea, but not surprised, as I suspected it would be another day or so before I returned to regularity.

Shortly after, I was sipping from an 8oz bottle of an apple-flavored Pedialyte, which is an electrolyte drink marketed to parents as something to rehydrate their very young children after diarrhea. My doctor (Web MD) recommended electrolyte drinks for diarrhea, and went a step further to specifically recommend Pedialyte over Gatorade because Pedialyte has less sugar; remembering this, Cindy picked up a 4-pack last night.

Pedialyte tastes like apple juice, but comes in a small plastic bottle with an extremely small hole at the top – presumably to prevent babies from choking on large sips. It was kind of funny to be a grown man sitting around and drinking out of a baby bottle, especially since I had to suck on that thing pretty hard to get any kind of satisfying sip, but it was also evident that the control I had over my digestive system more closely resembled that of a baby than a grown man.

After the Pedialyte, I continued to disobey my mom’s instructions – which were to eat absolutely nothing (all day) except for water, 7-up, and maybe a slice of dry toast – and had a few bites of buttered toast and poached egg. An hour later, I was sitting on the toilet, mesmerized by how quickly my body could transform such a pleasant little meal into a such dark and wretched liquid.

But I have been improving. Today has been much better than yesterday. Yesterday I went in to work after being unable to hold down any food the day before. So not only was I physically drained (and starving), but it was inevitable that I would try to eat something and end up having diarrhea at work (in a public bathroom, potentially overheard, and smelled by co-workers.)

I worked all morning without eating, but was eventually overcome by hunger and weakness, so finally – hoping to keep things simple – I walked across the street to get a ½ soup / ½ salad combo. It seemed like a prudent idea on the way over, but I extinguished any faint hope my stomach may have had of surviving the meal by ordering a tomato basil soup and caesar salad. (In my defense, the salad options were extremely limited. I would have been satisfied with a pile of lettuce and spinach, but the soup was my fault, they had chicken noodle.) I went back to the office and slowly ate at my desk, not expecting the worst, but expecting something pretty bad.

An hour later, I began to feel rumbling in my stomach, and to make matters worse, the male co-worker with whom I share an office had just left the room.

The problem with diarrhea – other than the dehydration, weakness, nausea, and generally messy and unsatisfying shits – is the suddenness with which it arrives. In a matter of seconds, my stomach went from being completely calm, to telling me that if I didn’t get myself to a toilet – or at least a private room – in the next minute, there was a very strong likelihood that my co-workers were about to learn some of life’s most horrible truths.

Enough time had passed to make it clear that my co-worker was not just taking a leak, nonetheless, I clung to hope and held on for another agonizing minute until my stomach finally reached the point of no return. I stood up and quickly moved towards the bathroom. Best case: he was in the hallway making a personal phone call. Worst case: he was in the bathroom taking a dump, and was about experience sensations that would forever change his view of me.

As I entered the code to the bathroom door, I said aloud, “I hope you’re not in there, brother.”

I opened and immediately noticed him relaxing to a mid-afternoon dump. And to make matters worse – for him – he was seated on the first toilet; meaning I was going to have to sit right next to him. (The bathroom has three toilets, the first two are standard toilets, and the third is a special “handicapped accessible toilet” which offers more room, at the cost of a higher seat.) Surprisingly, there are some non-handicapped men out there who – under the guidance of very poorly constructed rationale – actually prefer the third toilet; so at the very least, he could have been one of them, allowing me to take the first toilet and give him a small buffer zone.

There are very few sets of circumstances that would lead me to use the third toilet, and this was certainly not one of them. (On a regular day, even if the first two toilets were both taken, I would simply step out and politely wait for one of the men to finish.) I quickly sat on the second toilet – less than two feet from my co-worker, separated only by a half-inch plastic barrier that left plenty of room to see each other’s feet – and let the fireworks begin.

I enjoy a shit at work every day. I don’t want to bore you with all of my motives, but here’s one related to this story: I find that my shits sound a lot –– I’m not sure how I want to put this –– more serene than that of most men in workplace. I’d guess that 75% of the time I overhear a shit in the office bathroom, the results are violent: lots of farting and splashing, and rolling out twenty squares of toilet paper per wipe. Hearing those men suffer makes me feel better about the integrity my own dumps. (In the other shitters’ defense: the violent shits may come from a sample of emergencies, since a lot of men probably prefer shitting in their own bathroom.)

But yesterday, my co-worker was in for a shock, because the moment my ass-cheeks touched that ill-fated toilet seat, it must have sounded to him like I had poured a glass of water into the toilet. The unsettling noises were accompanied by a vile stench I will describe only by saying that I am amazed at the ability of the human body to house and successfully insulate such an absolutely sickening odor. By some miracle of nature, that filth was calmly resting inside of my body – inches from my asshole – just minutes earlier, yet not a person in the room could smell a thing. But as it sat there in that toilet water, it left a stench with the strength to kill a small-to-medium sized insect.

My co-worker had already begun to wipe before I could stand up and flush away the mess as a courtesy. He was up so quickly that I decided not to flush.

I returned to my desk a few minutes later and resumed my work, careful not to make eye contact with the co-worker who was now intimately familiar with extent of my ailment. A few minutes later, I felt the rumble again. Another problem with diarrhea: you’re never quite sure when it has all come out.

I hurried to the bathroom again, where this time, a man was using the handicapped accessible toilet, blissfully unaware of the wrath of nature to which he would soon become an unwilling witness. I quickly entered the first stall, tore down my pants and sat down. The poor man must have thought that either I had diarrhea, or I had just lit a few m-80’s and then poured a half pitcher of water into the toilet (and then set off an extremely concentrated and high powered stink bomb.)

I took out my phone and began playing a video game; deciding that it would be wise to remain on the toilet for a little while longer rather than risk going back to my seat only to make another frenzied rush to the toilet (or, maybe just finally shitting myself once and for all.) A minute later, a second – and larger – wave came on, and I listened as the man in the handicapped toilet frantically removed toilet paper and wiped his ass, desperately trying to escape the scene as quickly as possible. (I have done the same in his situation, although never from the high handicapped toilet.)

A third – and mercifully smaller – wave came on shortly after. I waited for a fourth, but it never came.

Well, it is deceptive to say that it “never” came, because it did come; albeit a few minutes after I returned to my desk. Lesson learned: tomato basil soup and caesar salad is not an ideal choice for lunch when you have diarrhea. (In my defense, I went very easy on the dressing, and did my best to avoid the cheese; although I enjoyed every single bite of that fucking soup.) Nonetheless, I was content because other than some stomach discomfort and general weakness from not properly digesting food in two days (and my asshole was a bit sore), I felt ok. I finished the work-day, rode the train and walked three blocks to my apartment without incident.

I sat on my couch and snacked on a handful of saltine crackers, which quickly found themselves in the toilet (in a brown and milky form), however, the dump contained much less liquid than the Amazonian waterfalls I had unleashed in the office, so maybe I was on the road to recovery.

Cindy arrived home from work shortly after, carrying a 6-pack of Gatorade and 4-pack of Pedialyte. We ate rice, hung out for a couple of hours, and eventually went to bed.

So now, here I am working on my second Pedialyte and writing the last few pages. I let Cindy read it (her favorite part was how I had covertly transcribed our conversation.) She laughed, “I had a feeling you were taking that down!”

She read the rest of it with less commentary than she’s had for anything I’ve ever written. In fact, the only questions she asked were: 1) Who was the co-worker? (the Korean guy I’ve told her about), 2) Why won’t you sit on the handicapped toilet? (because it’s too high), and 3) Was it really necessary to write “brown and milky”? (Nothing is really necessary.) I attribute her lack of commentary to the fact that we live together in harmony, yet I was essentially giving her no choice but to read a graphic account of my recent diarrhea sessions.

She asked what I wanted to eat, and offered to prepare anything my heart desired. My initial suggestion was plain white rice, perhaps seasoned with just a pinch of soy sauce. But to keep a potentially long story short, it has been about half an hour since that conversation, and as I type this, she is standing over three lit stoves, preparing a batch of “Roasted Chicken with Risotto and Caramelized Onions.” I probably shouldn’t have let this happen.

I guess if I’m going to have diarrhea, I might as well enjoy the food on its way in. (My mom is going to flip out if she ever reads this)

Ok, I’ve explained what happened on Friday, and what’s going on today, but I should probably also explain Wednesday night and Thursday.

Wednesday was a normal workday from which I came home and ate some frozen precooked breaded-chicken (seasoned with tabasco and ranch; a meal I’ve had at least 100 times). Shortly after, I felt a bit gassy, so I sat on the toilet and took a very rare “post-sunset” dump. After the dump, I went to a bar to meet up with some friends. I told one of my friends about the dump (in part to explain why I was late, but also because he believes in keeping open lines of communication in regards to unusual dumps.) Like a true shit enthusiast, he echoed my sentiment, “Yeah, man, that is kind of weird.”

I had a few beers and a shot of tequila in the course of a few hours. So nothing crazy, but I was buzzed and ready for bed.

I woke up at 5am feeling the urge to pee, but as I walked to the bathroom I realized that I was also feeling somewhat nauseous. I peed, then crouched down and vomited. It was painless, but somewhat disconcerting because of the late evening dump plus the fact that I hadn’t had too much to drink. I tried to put it behind me and went back to bed.

(Quick tangent: I have friends who recently told me that they pee in their tub in the middle of the night to avoid turning on a bathroom light. Is that a widely accepted practice that I have been missing my entire life? Or is it as gross as it sounds?)

I woke up an hour later shivering and feeling even more nauseous. I went to the bathroom and vomited again. I was furious. For the next five hours, I shuffled between the couch and the bathroom emptying my stomach in any way possible. This type of sickness has occurred ~six times in my 30 years (all after the age of 20). And I was most concerned because one of those six times happened just one month ago (without any alcohol involved.)

After six hours of extreme nausea, weakness and rediscovering religion, my stomach finally settled and I spent the rest of the day on the couch drinking 7-Up and watching movies. Cindy poured me a bowl of chicken noodle soup that night, and I poured it out of my asshole shortly before going to bed.

…

My mom just called and reminded me not to eat anything except for 7-up and plain toast. I acknowledged her warning, but told her that Cindy was making rice and I was considering having some. (This was an extremely stretched truth. There is rice in risotto, so Cindy was technically making rice… and a bunch of other stuff… ok, it was a lie.) I actually had to leave the kitchen so my mom wouldn’t hear the loud sizzling of onions and whatever else Cindy had going.

…

I was nervous about the meal. Not only was it Cindy’s first attempt at risotto, but given the variety of ingredients involved, only the Lord himself – or maybe an actual live doctor – could foresee how my stomach would react. I put my fears behind me, enjoyed a bowl, and eventually went to bed that night with a full stomach.

The next morning (aka this morning) I awoke feeling anxious. It was the moment of truth. I calmly walked into the bathroom, took off my pants and sat down. And this time, I didn’t bring my phone. No more games. This was going to be about me and my stomach (and my ass.)

I sensed the motion almost instantly, it felt like it was going to be solid. I began having visions of eating Harold’s Chicken Shack on Monday (or maybe Tuesday), thank you God! Next I felt the familiar sensation of a solid turd passing gently through my anus and into the water with a small splash, not enough to where the water speckled my ass (beggars can’t be choosers) but it felt great anyway… I was back!!

I called my mom and shared the good news, maintaining that I had only eaten plain rice the night before. She instructed me to stay light again for the rest of the day, and if I felt hungry, to maybe consider trying scrambled eggs.

(I’m always amused by my mom’s medical advice, because although she’s not a doctor, she advises with such authority that it’s hard to believe she could ever be wrong. I grew up thinking that 7-Up was the actual cure for ANY stomach ailment. I still believe it.)

I ate an egg and toast in the morning, and had the leftover risotto in the afternoon. I even ate a few pieces of chocolate/peanut-butter popcorn as a dessert.

A few hours later, I set off on a short drive to pick up Cindy from the hair salon. Six blocks into the drive, I felt a little pinch of gas. I carefully began to let out a fart, but felt something else scooting down the anal cavity. Fortunately – being the skilled shitsman that I am – I was able to pinch my sphincter in time stop anything from slipping out.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!” I shouted.

The small fart I let out smelled like diarrhea, and I questioned my ability to hold in the rest. I didn’t know what to do. I was driving south on Halsted, just past Webster (a narrow two-way street, lined with cars parked on both sides, in a congested area filled with small clothing shops). Where was I gonna go? The last time I had to take a leak in this part of town I walked into a tapas restaurant, and they let me use their bathroom – but I was on foot then. This time I had to find a place to put the car. And I couldn’t exactly double park out there during Sunday afternoon traffic. And who’s to say the hostess would even let me use the bathroom after seeing me sprint into the restaurant.

“SHIT!” I shouted.

The hair saloon was ~12 blocks away, and since I was beginning to adjust to the discomfort, I decided I would try and make it there. I removed my seatbelt and called Cindy.

“Hey, is there a public bathroom in there?

“I think so. Are you ok?”

“Um, not really, no. I’ll be there in a sec, I might have to use that bathroom.”

The call was made more to prepare Cindy for my panic-stricken state than to find out whether a bathroom was actually available in the salon (I assumed there was.) I sped east on North Avenue. When I arrived, Cindy came out quickly and got in the car.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“You know what, I think I can make it home, I’ll take Lakeshore, it’ll be fast.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

My stomach hadn’t rumbled much since Halsted, so I decided to risk the drive home rather than leaving the car double-parked on North Avenue while I went into a small hair salon that Cindy just tried out for the first time and attempted to gain access to their private bathroom for the purposes of an intense diarrhea session by insisting that my girlfriend had just spent good money there. I didn’t feel great about the decision, but I felt pretty good about the decision. I sped east on North and approached Lakeshore without incident, but that abruptly changed as I drove over a series of potholes that awakened the sleeping devil in my stomach. In a matter of seconds I went from being happy about my decision, to worrying about how much it was going to cost to replace the car seat.

For the first time in my life, I had reached the point of realizing that it actually might happen. I really might shit myself. And not just that, but I was going to diarrhea all over myself with the woman I love sitting in the passenger seat (of her car.) As I flew north on Lakeshore, I debated whether to simply get out after the exit and take the shit outside. We kept a few napkins in the car, so at least that way I could save the car seat and save myself the trouble of having to shop for a new pair of jeans. (I wear an odd size that is difficult to find even online.) The downside to that plan however was that I would have to take an incredibly messy shit, outside, on a 20 degree day, in front of A LOT of traffic, with a horrified Cindy looking on.

The plan was scrapped, but I decided that traffic laws would no longer be obeyed. I wasn’t going to drive dangerously, but if I came upon a red light that could be safely run, it would be run; and if another driver even considered giving me the right of way, I was taking it. If a police officer tried to pull me over, I wasn’t going to stop; I would continue driving home, park in our spot, go upstairs, take the dump, and let Cindy explain the situation. And if the officer tried to restrain me, I was prepared to say to him, “Officer, if you don’t let me go up to my bathroom right now, I can promise you that it’ll be a decision you will never forget.”

Cindy gave me a worried look and stroked my arm, “Are you ok?”

I took off my hat, and unzipped my jacket. “I don’t know... This might be it. This really might happen.”

I considered asking her to climb into the back seat as a precaution.

I got off Lakeshore and drove quickly along the side streets. My aggressive driving gave me some degree of sympathy towards all of those aggressive drivers I see in the city, whose driving always makes me wonder, “Why are you in such a hurry? What’s the worst that can happen if you reach your destination a couple of minutes late?” Well, maybe those people were moments away from shitting themselves in front of the women they loved and were just trying to find a friendly toilet as quickly as possible.

As I approached Diversey, Cindy suggested, “Maybe you should go to the Panera or the Chipotle on Diversey.” But I was already crossing the Diversey and there was no turning back, so I dejectedly said to her, “No, it’s too late.”

(Later that night, she told me that when I said “it’s too late”, she took it to mean that it was too late because I had just shit myself, and so there was no longer any need for a toilet. She just sat there quietly in passenger seat thinking I had just shit myself.)

I made it home, pulled into our parking spot and carefully ran up the stairs and into our apartment. I kicked off my shoes, threw my jacket on the floor, emptied my pockets and hurried into the bathroom. I removed a pant leg and threw my ass towards the toilet as the dam blew.

(I had an ending to this before, but something about it isn't right, so I'm going to change it)

Cool Picture from Election Night

(you'll be able to see this better if you click on the picture)

I went to a bar across the street from Grant Park on election night (Obama held his victory rally in the park). This picture was taken from inside the bar. The right, you can see that the lights on the AON building have been arranged to spell "USA". 

At the top left hand corner of the picture, there is TV showing election coverage. Look at the top right hand side of the TV screen.

(I know it's hard to tell because my old camera phone didn't take very clear pictures, but it's a shot from Grant Park and you can see the "USA" on the AON building.)

Poem

Little did I know of the exhilaration to come as I carefully readied myself over the horseshoe 

beneath which waited the modern marvel.

I was reminded of a night two score and nine dumps ago when I sat against a Giant Sequoia with the company of the stars and The Plot Against America and felt the triumph of birth and the pain of death together in a single moment.

c2k, A.D.

poem

I once flew upon the wings of an eagle 

and thought to myself: this would be much faster and certainly more comfortable in a first class cabin.

But alas it was too late, 

I was stuck upon that godforsaken eagle, and I couldn't tell that dumb fucking animal how to get a motherfucker to Milwaukee so I can pick up a warm Journal Sentinel and figure out what the fuck is going on in this goddamn world.

(ctk, A.D.)

thanks

I received the Strunk and White writing guide in the mail today. I mention that because I didn't order it. So if you ordered it for me, and you're reading this... thanks.

As a reward, here's another poem:

What's your favorite season?

Wait, let me guess: Fall.

Yeah... 

well, mine is summer.

Poetry

Ok, people have wanted to hear my poetry, so here is just a little warmup, just some fluff for you to enjoy before I get to the serious stuff:

You are familiar with the color of roses,

and certainly that of violets.

So I will not denigrate my feelings,

by making a superfluous analogy that could never begin to illustrate the eroticism I feel, towards you.

ctk, 12/08, USA

healthcare

Here is a very sensible - and short - blog entry from the Wall Street Journal (actually, here's the full text, still very short). It basically argues that a potential answer to the U.S. healthcare problem would be to give people access to universal primary care.

Stop the snowball before it gets too big. I wonder how much money would be saved if everyone had access to free checkups by primary care physicians?

For example: My dad was not a healthy eater, and heart attacks run in his family. However, he had health insurance and therefore access to primary care physicians. So when he went for his regular checkups, his doctor would monitor his cholesterol and blood pressure and whatever else; and give advice based on what he saw. And my dad would listen to the advice. Today, my dad is 68 and in relatively good health. But what if he didn't have his regular checkups? What does it cost to have a heart attack in America these days? $50,000? $100,000? Dirk cut his hand on a window and it cost him a few thousand dollars. (Dirk, how much did it end up costing you?)

How many hour long check ups can one get for $50,000?

 

Which leads to the second point they make: because of income disparity, doctors have more incentive to become surgeons or specialists or anything but primary care physicians. You can make more money curing a serious problem than you can preventing it from happening in the first place.

I see this same issue in the legal field. Lawyers have more incentive to fight than they do to settle. I've seen it firsthand, and I've seen it too many times. Doctors and lawyers should be in their professions to help people; not to tax them. 

Election Wisdom

It's not about influencing the people who vote.

It's about influencing the people who count the votes.

so.....

I'm thinking about writing some poetry. I signed up for this two month writing group at a library near my place, and almost everyone in it (out of 15 people) writes poetry. Fuck it. you know...

here's a question

Why hasn't some rich person built his/her house - or vacation home - to look exactly like the White House?

(front)

(back)

It's either going to be funny or patriotic, or both. 

This morning, Barack Obama announced that Joe Biden will be his running mate. So my question is this: look at the three women in the race, and tell me if they're sitting around in McCain's campaign headquarters right now and talking about the obvious...

Michelle Obama

Jill Biden

Cindy McCain

(they've gotta find a guy with a pretty decent looking wife)

Overrated?

I was already getting tired of hearing about Michael Phelps when I picked up a Redeye the other day and saw a picture of Phelps on the cover with the caption, "GREATEST OLYMPIAN EVER."

I think my headline would have been, "ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!"

He's not even the fastest swimmer in the world. He is simply the fastest swimmer in certain -slower- strokes. Who cares if he's the fastest butterfly stroke swimmer in the world? or the fastest backstroker? or the fastest in all four strokes combined?

Carl Lewis never got to pad his medal count by winning an extra gold in the backwards 100 meter dash. Can anyone name the fastest side-shuffler in the world?

I can't either.

So why do we give a shit about the fastest butterfly stroker in the world?

Ok, I'll regress: the strokes are all different, they probably use a different muscles or something,,, blah blah blah,,, ok. But do we have to put the fastest swimmer up on a pedestal? I'd rather be the fastest runner.

For you conspiracy theorists out there: Does it have anything to do with the fact that the fastest swimmers are always white? And the fastest runners are never white?

I'd advise against wasting your time on this

A few months ago, Tony told me that he had started applying to business schools. Since he did not have a preference towards any particular school, I advised him to select the one least likely to place him in a corporate job. He asked why, and I couldn't quite explain, (I still can't) but I told him I'd try to write about it the next day. Here’s a start (it started out as a “start”, but four hours later it became a long mess, and I couldn’t get myself to proofread it, so this italic text in parentheses at the end of a paragraph is my commentary while proofreading.)

A rep from a legal temp agency called me last winter to ask if I was available to review documents for Sears. The project would last four to eight weeks – not exciting work, but the pay was decent, so at least it provided that much needed guise of applying myself. Unfortunately, like almost every corporate office, Sears was located in the suburbs, and I was dreading the commute before even hanging up the phone.

To reach Sears' headquarters by 8:30, I would have to leave my apartment by 7:00 (at the absolute latest.) First of all, no person should have to wake up while it’s still dark outside. It’s just not natural. And I’m one of those guys who can be away from work for six months, but as soon as the alarm sounds on the first day back, I’m longing for a chance to sleep in; angrily telling myself, "think about how terrible you feel right now and make sure you FULLY APPRECIATE the days, weeks, months, or years in the future when you're not working!" (and I've found that all of this preaching to myself has actually worked)

Unfortunately, my first day at Sears coincided with the first big snow storm of the year. I didn’t have insurance –health or car– so driving half asleep through gridlock traffic in a blizzard didn’t seem like a great idea, especially since public transportation was available. (Unreasonable, but available.) The public transportation route takes two hours each way, not including the time waiting outside for the bus in the morning. (The trip involved taking a bus, to a train, to another bus.) I ended up meeting several people at Sears who had been making the same commute for years, people who said things like, “I wake up every morning at 5:15, I’m outside waiting for the bus by 5:45, and that’ll usually get me to work by 8."

“But the worst part is getting home.”

I scraped the snow and ice from the car as the sun came up. I must admit, as underemployed as I had been for the past year, simply being awake at 7am felt like an accomplishment. (For the month prior to Sears, I had been waking up around 10:00 am. I had intentions of waking up earlier, however Cindy’s snoozing screws up my sleep pattern. Every morning would start like this: her radio alarm goes off, I wake up, Cindy does not. The radio alarm continues to go off; I lie awake, Cindy sleeps. ~One minute later, her cell phone alarm goes off. The cell phone alarm is very loud, loud enough to wake her up, and strategically placed on the other side of the room so that she will have to get up in order to turn it off. She is awakened by the cell phone alarm, and presses “snooze” on the radio (which is right next to the bed.) Unfortunately (for me), Cindy knows that the cell phone alarm will only ring for ~45 seconds, so rather than getting up to turn it off, she simply powers through it. The cell phone finally stops, and I begin to fall back to sleep. The snooze period will end and the radio alarm will go off again, and I awaken again while Cindy sleeps. The cell phone goes off, Cindy snoozes the radio, repeat cycle. Occasionally, she’ll put a hand over my ear; which is not effective, although I love the gesture.)

It took just over an hour and a half to drive the 30 miles to Hoffman Estates. Sears's Corporate Campus sits on a plot of land that appears to be larger than the entire Chicago loop. For a couple of days I actually believed there was not a single spot within the five connected office buildings from which a naked eye could see anything other than Sears property. (I was wrong, but the idea was not a stretch)

(Random advice: if you drive to work, never buy a house located east of your office. You don’t want to be driving into that sun both ways.)

I parked in one of several lots and walked a quarter mile to the main entrance. Building security required that all Sears employees wear ID badges, however, since it takes time to make the official ID badges, contractors (like myself) start out with a temporary ID. The temporary ID is simply a sticker that cannot be used to swipe in and open locked doors (like the door to get to the elevators.) Also, whenever I passed by a security guard, I was asked,

“Where is your ID badge?”

“I don’t have one yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a contractor, today is my first day.”

“Contractors get ID badges too”

“Apparently not on the first day.”

“Well, when you get your ID badge, make sure you’re wearing it at all times.”

I didn’t understand why it was considered imperative to wear my official ID badge at all times Why would anyone ever want to break into that giant corporate compound? (to get a sneak peek at earnings?) (to steal office supplies?)

I asked a friend at Sears about their omnipresent security, and she explained her belief that several security guards were freshly flunked from the Police Academy and were simply hungry for power; she was certain that they took pleasure from harassing innocent Sears employees. (She also said that most people at Sears could probably tell me about at least two security guards whom they actively disliked.)

Another friend at Sears believed that their heightened security was due to their CEO’s fear of being kidnapped. (In 2003, he was kidnapped at gunpoint from his office in Connecticut, and allegedly talked his way out of it.) I don’t buy that (I don’t not buy that he talked his way out of a kidnapping. I don’t buy that he’s worried about it happening again.) He’s hardly ever in the Hoffman Estates office, and when he is, a large security team accompanies him at all times. And the compound is so enormous that even if a group of men armed with guns and scooters walked in through the front door, spoke to an employee at the front desk, and received honest help, they’d be hard pressed to find the CEO’s office in less than 20 minutes.

Maybe Sears just wants their employees to feel as if they are working someplace important, a place where people would want to break in. (this is my actual belief)

Back to my first morning.... after getting a temporary ID, I took a seat on a long couch in the extremely spacious and high ceilinged lobby while waiting for the Sears rep to arrive. The campus is huge. (I can’t emphasize this enough) It is made up of at least five connected six-story office buildings, with a large atrium running through the middle. At least 30 other people waited in the lobby with me, most of them had a couch seat, and I guessed that at least 10 of the 30 were attorneys like me. As I looked around the lobby, I noticed one man in particular. He was probably 45 years old (but one of those guys who you find out is 45 and are surprised he’s not 57.) He was balding, but his graying hair was long in the back (not quite shoulder length, but long enough for a hair connoisseur like myself to take notice.) He was 5’8 and slightly overweight. He had a thick gray mustache and was dressed in a beat up white dress shirt, bolo tie, very clean relaxed-fit black wrangler jeans (that he was successfully passing off as slacks), black boots (that he was successfully passing off as dress shoes) and a silver belt buckle in the shape of a human skull wearing a cowboy hat. And I’m not talking about a flat rectangular buckle with a skull engraved on it, I’m talking about a skull that was actually sculpted out of silver with notches on each side to hold a belt. He looked like some sort of suburban biker/cowboy hybrid. I looked at him and thought to myself, “Please don’t be an attorney, please don’t be an attorney. Please don’t be a fucking attorney.”

(I tried to get a picture with my camera-phone, but he turned to his right just as I was snapping it.)

In general, document review work is not overly challenging. Much of it is looking for handfuls of needles in barnfuls of haystacks, so although the work is absolutely necessary to corporate litigation, it is often tedious. And law firms are better than corporations at matching up attorneys with more attorney-appropriate work. The project for a law firm on which I spent much of 2007 had its moments of difficulty, and certainly required attorneys. However, when corporations hire us directly, it wouldn’t surprise me if their instructions included "to wear clothes you don’t mind getting dirty."

The Sears rep finally arrived and the cowboy joined me to meet him. He was an attorney. (Now don't get me wrong, I don't hold myself in a particularly high regard. I know full well that I'm just an extremely spoiled and lazy guy whose rare moments of brain power usage are spent reassuring myself that brain power need not be used.) But still... seeing a guy dressed like a 1980’s biker on his first job interview, and knowing that he was my peer was not a comforting feeling. I’m not a snob. I am a snob, but, man… all I could think to myself was that he must have lost a bet. He must have lost a bet twenty years ago, and he was still honoring it. (and so I actually respected him for it)

My sister works for a large corporation as a proposal writer. She’s not thrilled about it, but it’s a paycheck until she decides what to do with her time. She’s always telling me about the cheesy things that happen in her office: corporate mascots running around the lunchroom; cheesy inspirational music played on random days; generic business themed clip art that genuinely gets her boss excited; the Virtual Take Your Pet to Work Day "where associates are invited to wear animal ears, tails, t-shirts, fuzzy slippers and other apparel to show their support for their favorite pet and/or breed." (that quote is taken directly from their company e-mail.) There’s no shortage of corporate culture at Sears either. I’m not sure what corporate culture even means. Maybe an oxymoron

(Ok, I don't want this story to sound like I am anti-corporation. I am not at all. As I type this on a Dell computer, use a Microsoft mouse and wear Nike shorts; I am not a hypocrite. Corporations are not bad; they can be very good. Corporations serve a purpose in society… using economies of scale to get products to large group of people at a lower cost and blah blah blah you know the rest. And I also have a couple of friends who are content with their corporate jobs.)

Back to my first day… the Sears rep greeted us briefly and took us upstairs. When I stepped out of the elevator, I immediately noticed the bulletin board facing me. Tacked to the bulletin board was a large sign that listed upcoming sales, a smaller one listing annual holidays, and a third with the heading “Famous Birthdays!!”

The “Famous Birthdays!!” sign was printed in color on a sheet of white paper, and then pasted onto a larger sheet of red construction paper to give it a framed effect. It had two columns, the first listed all 31 days in December, and the second showed a corresponding birthday – a famous person’s birthday. Like Brad Pitt or Alyssa Milano. There must have been at least 300 people working on that floor, and I couldn’t find their birthdays listed anywhere. Yet for some reason, Sears thought it better to hang a sign listing the birthdays of famous actors.

“Oh, wow, I was born on the same day as James Caan. And say what you want, but I loved what he did in Eraser.”

This made more sense after I noticed the fake flowers all over the floor, and the $.10 charge for a cup of water, and the posters on the wall promoting the “Sears Holiday Friends and Family Event” that was actually just a weekend when employees and their friends can apply their 10% discounts towards Sears or K-Mart sale merchandise (in addition to the regularly priced merchandise to which their discounts are normally only applicable.)

I followed the attorney in charge – past one city block of cubicles – and entered our office. Imagine a rectangle, 15 X 25, short side at the top, with a door to the hallway at the top right corner. Computers lined the walls of the room (seats facing out), all the way to the door on both sides. There was also a door in the back, but we were told it would be locked so that we couldn’t go back there and sleep during office hours. (so you get an idea of the respect they had for us)

I quickly sat in one of the two seats flanking the door – assuming that a seat by the door would guarantee me the freshest air, and would cause the least amount of commotion whenever I stepped out.

Big mistake. The biker/cowboy/attorney sat down to my right, directly across from the space for the door. (it was not a mistake because the Cowboy sat there, it was a mistake because I was hoping that no on would take that seat.) Computers were lined up along the entire perimeter right up to the door. I was facing the top of the rectangle, and he was facing the right. We had a door in the corner between us, and it was a reasonably tight fit to get through. After two people walked in and out of the room, we realized that every time someone walked through that door, we were going to have to scoot forward to allow the person to squeeze past us. The cowboy was agitated.

“Oh, this is bullshit” he said.

At first I was amused, but that quickly subsided after realizing that every time someone squeezed by, there was a 50% chance that his/her thinly covered asshole would pass dangerously close to my face. I was going to be smelling people’s assholes all day. All week. All month.

I quickly looked around the room, but all of the other seats were taken. I explained my realization to the biker.

“Goddamnit” he said.

I couldn’t help but like him. (I hated liking people on these jobs because it makes me dislike the job less, but it’s happened on every one.)

The attorney in charge gave us each a binder containing the complaint, answer and other case materials. 30 seconds after we had all started reading, the biker pulled out a big set of 1980’s-looking headphones, plugged them into his computer, logged onto a baseball talk-radio website and listened as he read.

I finished reading the materials, but our login identification for the document review software had yet to arrive so I re-read everything, but still no login ID’s. Since we had nothing to do, they decided to give us a quick overview of the computer system, but even after that was over, they still didn’t have our login ID’s ready. It was almost 11:30, so the attorney in charge suggested we take an early lunch.

(There were two attorneys in charge and both seemed to be good guys. Both began working as contract attorneys for Sears a few years ago and were eventually promoted to being in charge of these types of projects. The main guy in charge had a dry sense of humor that I like because when he delivers a joke, he knows that there is a strong likelihood that not many people will find it funny, so he ends the joke in an unsure (and higher) tone of voice that says, “you can laugh at that if you want, but if not, it’s ok, because I wasn’t expecting much. The jokes are more to keep my spirits up through all of this” (and I respect that kind of humor). Along the same lines, his voice sometimes goes up in pitch at the end of his sentences – kind of like the Band Camp girl in American Pie – when he explains things. (And Hansen, he’s really into indicator statistics.) The second in command attorney seems like an interesting guy, I haven’t had much interaction with him, but I’ve heard others speak highly of him. He’s 6’4, ~275 lbs, and has hair like Robert Smith from the Cure (but not as long on the sides.) My friend on the project says, “he’s a good guy, but I just don’t get what he’s doing with that hair. We’re attorney’s for God’s sake! I mean, have some sense of…. something!”

Anyway, they finally told us to go to lunch, so I took the elevator down to the concourse level. When I stepped out into a small lobby-like area, I noticed a large flat screen TV showing a Sears commercial. I was the opposite of being in a hurry, so I decided to stick around and watch TV.

My phone vibrated. It was receiving the voicemails left for me that morning. Not only was cell phone reception nearly impossible in building, but just in case, there was a “no talking on your cell phone” policy. After listening to a couple of “what the hell is wrong with your bullshit phone?” messages, I turned my attention back to the TV. Still a Sears commercial. After the commercial ended, a different Sears commercial began. And after that, another Sears commercial. And after that, another one. And after that, it went back to the first one.

My favorite one told the story of a white suburban family surprising their father on Christmas morning with a set of brand new Sears power tools. The payoff came when they finally got Dad out in front of the garage, eagerly awaiting his present. After a brief pause, the garage door opened, slowly revealing the new tools as father began to stubbornly fight off tears upon realizing what his family had done for him. He tried to gather his strength and thank them, but he was so choked up that all he could do was simply shake his already lowered head and raise his hand as a gesture of thanks to his loving family as he broke down.

The other Sears employees in the lobby watching the commercial were crying as if they were me after watching “Rudy” for the second time. (just kidding, no one in the lobby was crying)

The walk to the cafeteria took me through an elevated hallway connecting two of the buildings, and then through the floor of the atrium. Total distance: ~three city blocks. The center of the atrium was set up to function as a Sears retail store, so employees were busy shopping away. Since Sears only gives employees 10% off regularly priced merchandise, it seemed highly unlikely that employees would spend their weekends rushing out to Sears retail stores in order to take advantage of their valuable discount. So it certainly makes business sense for Sears to set up shop along the only path to the cafeteria.

It was early December, so several Sears/Christmas themed displays were set up in the building (especially in the atrium.) for example:

How is snow ever going to get on the actual toaster oven?

Or the riding lawnmower?

The cafeteria had seating for over 1,000 people and several cuisine options. Lots of Indians work for Sears, so the cafeteria served Indian food at least three times a week. (that was my favorite part about working at Sears.) They also served sushi on Fridays, and it’s actually not too bad. Imagine the worst restaurant sushi you’ve ever had. It’s probably a little worse than that. But it’s still sushi. And it’s only rolls, so it’s not like you’re tasting bad fish. The problem is that the selection was limited, and this is how a shrimp tempura roll looks….

Look at the extra rice rolled in at the top and on the left. Although it was is better than other cafeteria shrimp tempura I’ve had.

Like this one. Shouldn't they be required to call that a cucumber roll? Legislation needs to be passed governing sushi roll naming. And it seems like cafeterias always have large quantities of tuna, salmon, eel, and shrimp tempura (for whatever that's worth.) Look at all of that god-forsaken cucumber!!

One of the highlights of lunch was overhearing a job interview for a cafeteria position during which the interviewer asked, “You don’t have any warrants or anything do you?”

After lunch I went back up to the office, but our login ID’s had yet to arrive, so I gave myself a tour of the building. I went downstairs and saw the auto center, fitness center, wellness center, optical center, pharmacy, sandwich shop, coffee shop, and I don’t remember what else. People could live in this compound.

One last thing: near the elevator – not far from the TV that only showed Sears commercials – there was a sign that read, “Sears employees receive a 10% discount on our CEO’s favorite books.” Below the sign was a display case containing six rows of books. The CEO’s favorite books.

I was very curious to see his favorite books. The books I had been reading of late were coming from the most random recommendations, so I figured I'd probably buy at least one. I walked towards the case and saw that it held ~25 different titles. I was eager to see his favorite books; it was the most excitement I had felt all day. Before looking at them, I stopped to think about the possibilities. Would there be any discernable pattern to his favorite books? Any particular authors? Was it going to be a bunch of highbrow literature? Maybe some of that old Russian stuff I’ve never read… Any love stories? Any good war stories? (I can imagine a CEO enjoying a well-researched war story.) Would I see "Lord of the Flies" in there and begin to question his taste? (sorry, I just don't understand how anyone can read Lord of the Flies for pleasure) Any collections of short stories? Any newer books? (I conservatively set the over/under for Salman Rushdie titles on the list at .5.) What biographies and autobiographies did he like? (My guesses were Churchill, Lincoln or Friedman.) And fuck it, did he have the stones to put some pure philosophy in there?

As I approached the display case and began examining the titles, I realized that finding a pattern would be much easier than I could have ever imagined. All 25 books had one thing in common. All 25 books could be classified under the category of “business-themed self-help.”

Competing on Analytics: The New Science of Winning. The Ultimate Question: Driving Good Profits and True Growth. Green to Gold: How Smart Companies Use Environmental Strategy to Innovate, Create Value, and Build Competitive Advantage. There may have been one biography in there (on someone like Jack Welch, or maybe the CEO himself.)

I’m certainly not trying to say that I'm above reading a good self-help book. (I listened to "The Secret" one day at work, and didn’t completely dislike it.) But how do I even choose between “Marketing Metrics” and “The Inside Advantage”? (I'd need a self-help book to help me chose a self-help book)

Most people who walk past that display are probably just assholes like me, who don’t have any delusions of climbing the corporate ladder and someday becoming Fortune 500 CEO. What's wrong with encouraging your employees to enjoy books?

(And congratulations to those of you who took the “under” on the Salman Rushdie line, in retrospect, I was naive to set it.)

My self-guided tour ended after the book display. When I returned to the office, everyone had been given their login passwords and had begun working. I was ready to roll.

The work was relatively straightforward, no surprises, nothing to report. I decided to stay at the office until 8:00 and wait out the traffic. (If I had left at 6, it would have taken two hours to get home in that weather, but since I left at 8 it only took 45 minutes.) The campus had several parking lots, and two garages. It was nice to see that my car was among the last in the lot, although it was buried in snow. After cleaning it off, I made a mental note to park in the garage the next day.

I left my apartment at 7:00 the next morning and made it to the office again by 8:30. I was excited about getting my car into the garage only to find that it was already full. I left the garage and parked outside. There were spots available on the roof, but those were probably the worst spots on the entire compound given how windy it gets and the amount of snow I’d have to clean off at night, so I drove back down and parked in a lot outside.

I walked in through the front door but didn't feel like waiting in line for ten minutes to get another temporary ID, so I followed a woman through the door and into the elevator. I could have had guns my bag and no one would have known. I could have had grenades. I could have had a fucking flamethrower in my bag. Meanwhile there were a dozen people standing in line waiting to show a government ID.

Our office was only half full, many of the attorneys had decided not to brave the snow. The cowboy was among the missing. I put on my headphones and went to work. When internet access is limited – such as it is at Sears – headphones to the contract attorney become like hands to the surgeon.

Like crack to the addict.

Like a warm asshole to a prisoner serving a life sentence.

Most contract attorneys are very easily distracted (which is why we are contract attorneys as opposed to full time big-law associates.) I have found that having a distraction like the internet, or music, or even a book, actually helps me to review documents more efficiently. Having one set distraction actually helps me focus (I am not even going to try to explain that)

I typically enjoy taking a big heavy dump first thing in the morning, but on this job, I decided to save it for the office. I’d rather spend those 5 minutes on the clock.

Upon returning to an empty office after a somewhat adventurous dump, I was told to go down to the ID office and get my official ID badge. After waiting in line for a half hour, my picture was taken and the badge was presented to me.

“Ok, here is your ID badge, but it has not been activated yet, so DO NOT try to use it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t swipe it, and don’t show it to a security guard.”

“Ok, when will it be activated?”

“Probably some time tomorrow.”

(at least she was being honest)

Day 3. I didn't expect to get a parking spot in the garage, but tried anyway and ended up on the roof. I walked into the building with a friend who started at Sears the week before (Sean.) Parking on the roof meant entering through a different door, and a different set of security measures. This time we had to swipe our ID’s just to get into the building, so we slowed down and followed someone in. After getting into the building, we encountered another ID swiping station behind which sat a 70 year-old woman dressed like a security guard.

The woman was talking to someone at the desk, so I suggested walking by without swiping our IDs. But it was too late, Sean swiped his ID, and it didn't work. Something lit up on the woman’s computer screen. She asked him to stop and show his building ID.

Sean emphatically said no, “If I give you my ID, you’re going to take it away, and it’s going to be a pain in the ass for me to get it back.”

I was confused, why would she take it away? And regardless, why was he refusing to give it to her? What good could come from that?

He continued, “Call room 6383, someone will come down and sign us in.”

She called our room, but there was no answer.

She asked for his ID again. He refused again, but had now become visibly agitated. “I’m not going to give it to you, you’re just going to take it. Will you call the room again?”

At this point she was angry too, but she called again anyway, and this time there was an answer. Thankfully, someone said they’d come down and sign us in. (I pondered whether to bill Sears for my time during this delay.)

Ten minutes later, one of the attorneys from my room arrived to sign us in. The woman told him to swipe his ID. He did, and it worked, so the woman handed us a sign in sheet and said to us, “I’m going to have to see your ID’s or else you’re not getting in.”

I handed her mine… And Sean, finally, very reluctantly, handed over his.

She picked up the phone and made a call. She read our names and ID numbers, “Ok,,,, ok,,,, ok,,,, ok.” Then she hung up.

She turned to me and handed me my ID, “This one hasn’t been activated yet, do you have your temporary ID?”

I quickly searched my bag and found the temporary ID. I held it up for her, and she said, “Ok, you can go in.”

Then she turned to Sean, “But I’m going to have to take your ID.”

“You see!! You see!!! That’s why I didn’t want to give it to you in the first place!!!” He was furious.

He looked at me and continued, “See, I knew this shit was going to happen!” I was laughing too hard to ask for an explanation as he held out his ID for her to take.

She took his ID, and then let him in!

There is no free coffee at Sears. If I want to drink coffee I have to go downstairs to their Starbucks-like café, and pay Starbucks-like prices for a cup. I’m not a coffee drinker, but on projects that require me to work longer than an eight-hour shifts, I’ll drink a cup late in the afternoon just to warm up and break up the day. I am not sure whether it has any physical effect, but I’m kind of addicted to it. Not the drink itself, but getting up, preparing a cup, bringing it back to my desk, switching up my music, and drinking the warm coffee. (I never bought coffee at Sears)

Coffee is weird. I saw a sign in a coffee shop that read, “A day without coffee, is like a day without coffee.” (It might as well have said, “Fuck you. (And you'll still be back here to tomorrow.”)

Day three came and went. The most amusing part of the day that I can remember was probably when the cowboy was trying to check his e-mail.

Sears blocks certain web sites, and for some reason, the cowboy’s e-mail site was blocked. He told me that it required a dial-up connection. (I didn’t want to ask why. I had my doubts that he even knew why. And I can’t imagine that it actually required a dial-up connection.) When he tried to log into the site, his browser went to the standard Sears “website blocking” page, informing him that the website he was trying to reach had been blocked; however if he was using the site for business purposes, he may submit an appeal for the site to be unblocked (which can be done online through the Sears intranet.)

He was agitated. He called over the attorney in charge and showed him the blocked page. “What is this? I’m just trying to check my e-mail, and it says the website is blocked!”

He read part of the message on the screen out loud to the attorney, “ ‘Is this being used for business purposes?’ ” Then he answered, “Yeah. But it’s none of their business.”

The attorney was confused, “Really? I can check my e-mail just fine. What service do you use?”

“X-Net.” (I can’t remember if that was the name, but it was something like that)

“Hmm, I’ve never heard of it.”

“I’ve been using this service for a long time.”

“I don’t know what to tell you…”

“Should I file the appeal?”

I felt that it was finally time for me to interject, “I think you should appeal, and I’d anchor it with the “it’s business, but none of their business” rhetoric.”

The attorney in charge hesitantly jumped in, “Um, I probably wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The cowboy got in his parting shot, “that’s bullshit.”

I was parked on the roof, so I had to scrape the ice from the car while fighting a powerful icy wind. I spent five minutes removing just enough ice so that it was reasonably safe to drive, and then drove down to the garage exit. The exit was blocked by a small barrier – similar to those encountered at tollbooths – so I had to swipe my ID to get out. This was the moment of truth, the woman at the ID office told me that my ID would work “probably sometime tomorrow” and it was now late tomorrow, so I rolled down my window, put my half frozen hand out into the frigid air, lined up my ID, and swiped. A small red light flashed. And that was the only god-forsaken thing that happened. (and he really has, God has forsaken that red light. When we swipe our ID’s and the barrier doesn’t go up, we get the point.) (and I know that the light signals that there is a malfunction with the card, and not the machine itself, but still, to a man as cold as I was at the time, it was annoying)

I swiped again, nothing. There was a button to press for help, so I pressed it a couple of times before a tired voice came over the intercom.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I can’t get out, my ID isn’t working.”

“Are you sure? Try it again.”

“Ok.”

I swiped again, and got the red light again. “It still doesn’t work.”

“Ok, hang on a sec.”

The barrier went up, and I left.

If someone was trying to escape from the Sears parking garage with such purpose that Sears security was actually trying to keep him in the garage (a thief for example), wouldn't he just drive his car through the thin barrier? (he could probably kick it down if he didn’t want to scratch his car)

The only people slowed down by that barrier were assholes like me, who don't want to break any rules.

The next day I got to the office at 9 and absent-mindedly swiped my ID at the front door. It didn't work.

“How long have you had this ID card?” asked the security guard.

“About a day and a half, it didn’t work last night either. And you know what? Now that I think about it, I have never actually swiped it successfully.”

He typed a few things into his computer, and after reading the results on his screen, he looked up at me and said, “I’m going to have to take it away.”

“And now I get a temporary ID sticker?”

“That’s correct.”

He handed me a temporary ID, I thanked him, then followed a woman through the doors and into the elevator.

Less than five minutes after I sat down, the attorney in charge walked in and said, “I heard you got your ID taken today.”

“Really, you’ve already heard? Do I really even need that thing?”

“Yeah, or else the security guards are going to harass you.”

Early that afternoon, the attorney in charge received a phone-call from the ID office informing him that my ID was ready to be picked up. The attorney who is second in command entered the room and volunteered to take me downstairs to get my ID, but the attorney in charge countered, “No, I’ll take him down, don’t worry about it.”

Second in command didn’t give up, “No it’s cool, you relax, I’ll do it.”

“Well, let me do it because they called me, so maybe they want me to go.”

“Nah, they probably just had your phone number, I can take him, I know a shortcut to get down there.”

“Seriously, they called me, I’ll take him.”

I tried saying something like, “Anyone have a coin?” but no one was amused, if anything, it made the situation even more tense.

The phone started ringing again. But the attorney in charge wasn’t ready to give up his opportunity to walk me down to the ID office, so he looked over to the contract attorney sitting nearest to the phone and asked, “Can you answer that?”

The contract attorney answered, then turned back to the attorney in charge and said, “It’s for you.”

Desperate, the attorney in charge fired his last bullet, “Who is it?”

The contract attorney said a name, and the attorney in charge realized that he had to take it. The second in command attorney knew the name as well. He smiled and quickly said, “Ok, I’ll take Cyrus down.”

The walk to the ID office lived up to the expectations. It took almost ten minutes to get there. (I chug glasses of water in the office because it gives me a more legitimate reason to get up and walk 30 feet to the bathroom; so I can imagine the desire for a free 10-minute walk.) (when I say “legitimate” in the preceeding paragraph I mean, “I know it’s not ‘legitimate’, but it gives it a slightly greater sense of legitimacy than simply walking to the bathroom and standing over a urinal without peeing.”) (say what you want, but it does.)

The ID office was enormous, but we stopped at the first cubicle. A nice woman gave me my ID and assured me that it would work.

As soon as we returned from the ID office, the attorney in charge told everyone that there had been a computer system error with the documents, so whenever we were finished with our current batch, we should all go home (it takes two hours tops to finish one of these batches.) He said that he would contact us later in the week for an update on when we would be back to work.

One of the contract attorneys asked if he could leave his notes at his computer, and the attorney in charge quickly responded, “I wouldn’t leave anything behind here if I were you.”

I haven’t heard from him since.

So what am I trying to say? I’m not saying that all corporate jobs are bad – because I have friends who are content with theirs. Maybe I'm just trying to say that working on a corporate campus isn't for me. And perhaps it isn't for a guy like Tony either.

It's been a while, version 2

Man, I told myself that I'd post something tonight, I don't care what. And I'm not gonna proofread it.

The 3-piece chicken strip meal at Popeye's sells for $5.59. The 5-piece chicken strip meal sells for $5.99. I found this to be somewhat disconcerting as I prepared to order lunch today. Almost twice as much chicken, for only 5% more?

What does that say about the chicken?

Note to Popeye's corporate: Even if you can do it. Don't do it.

I ended up going with the 3-piece meal.


(Note to readers: I don't treat myself to Popeye's very often, I'm in a regular rotation of Jimmy John's, Chipotle, Corner Bakery and Potbelly) (Although, I HATE Jimmy John's hot peppers. I HATE them. Surprisingly, a couple of cashiers informed me that compliments on their hot peppers outnumber the complaints. But I think that's because people don't have the stones to complain.)


Is anyone reading this addicted to coffee?

Is anyone reading this?


Co-workers look at me with wonder when they realize that I don't drink coffee. Out of eight people, I am the only one who doesn't drink multiple cups per day.

What is necessary to qualify something as "addictive"? People freely admit that coffee is addictive. Cigarettes are addictive. Gambling? Sex? What about money?

Merriam Webster defines "addict" as "to devote or surrender (oneself) to something habitually or obsessively"


Man, is this the bullshit that comes out of me at midnight on a Monday? I need to figure out a way to write stuff at work.


In re; my hair. It's good. I'll look for a picture, but a picture may not do it justice.

the vision

I told Dirk I'd write a blog entry today. But I also feel kind of lazy; kind of watching a little TV. I can multi-task

Did you know that Drew Carey hosts The Price is Right? Don't get me wrong, I'm not the guy who used to watch The Price is Right just for Bob Barker, I'm not exactly sure why I watched (that's a whole other universe to explore), but it seems strange without him. The show hasn't changed much since the 80's. The format is the same, the set is the same, the announcer sounds the same, the games are very similar, and that weird 70's style - do you call it jazz? - theme music is the same. Barker's Beauties are still beauties (too healthy to be supermodels, but not healthy enough to be in butt-centric porn.) One difference I notice is that contestant pools seem almost a bit more organized... larger groups, matching t-shirts, etc.

And Drew Carey couldn't be less interested as a host. It's as if the show's producers instructed him to not be bigger than the show.

And the showcases are not as valuable as I expected. The first: a one year supply of chocolate, a laptop computer and a trailer (like an R.V., except you have to pull it behind your truck.) What if your truck doesn't have a hitch? What if you don't have a truck?

The second showcase: one year of maid service, a living room furniture set (I don't like the look of the set at all. When they announced it, I was excited to see the quality of furniture being given away in 2008, but the curtains came up and unveiled a mediocre looking set), and the last prize is a hot tub. What happens if you live in an apartment? Or a townhouse? Does a "Price is Right" hot tub show up in the LA edition of craigslist every week?

Are contestants given an option to take the cash equivalent of their prizes? In this episode, a 40 year old woman weighing at least ~200 lbs, won a pair of off-road motorcycles. But she was happy anyway. She was giddy just to be on that stage. The the curtain could have risen to reveal two logs of un-petrified dog shit and her mood wouldn't have dampened. When she finally realized she was looking at two off-road motorcycles, her smile didn't fade. She just said, "I have two kids."

"How old are your kids?" Carey obligatorily asked.

"19 and 23."

It looked like Carey wanted say, "Take the cash equivalent, trust me."


And did you know that this guy is the host of Family Feud? He is a true enigma. He really is. He was strangely funny on Seinfeld, but after watching him on The Feud, it might be safe to say that he wasn't acting on Seinfeld. (either that or the Family Feud people have instructed him to stay in character)

also, you know how the winning family sends two members to play a final round for $10,000? The first family representative just went up there and scored 182 points! (you need 200 total to win) But second guy couldn't get the final 18! The #1 answers were all fairly obvious for the first guy, so inevitably the second guy guessed all of the same ones. For example: the first clue, "Name a topic of conversation that would bore a girl on a date." The second guy confidentially answers, "Sports." BUZZZZ, the first guy already guessed "Sports", try again. So he panics and says, "Weights.")

(the rest of his answers were so bad that when it came time to tally his score, I was looking back at his responses and thinking, "hmm, maybe he can squeeze out a good chunk of those 18 points with 'Weights.'")


Commercials during the day all seem to fall into four genres. Drugs, personal injury law, vocational schools and things that might be illegal in 10 years.


Lots of "Judge" shows. I watched the first 30 seconds of a show called, Judge Joe Brown. To introduce the program, they showed a clip of the Plaintiff saying, "My mother wrecked my car when she was drunk and all she can say is 'Oh Well.'"

And during Judge Joe Brown, there was a message at the bottom of the screen instructing me to stay tuned for "Judge Mathis" coming up next. I flipped the channel. (Because I don't think it's real. If I thought it was real, I'd probably tune in every day. I'd probably tape it. I'd probably find myself in the studio audience one or twice a year.)  (for all you real MF's out there) (and for the realest of real)


Maury Povich was on. This episode featured a husband and wife having marital troubles. When I started watching, Maury was solemnly preparing to read the results of a lie detector test that would reveal whether the husband was in love with his wife's mother.

Maury should be the poster child for Ambien. I flipped the channel.


The guy who used to work security on Jerry Springer's show has his own show.

THE GUY WHO USED TO WORK SECURITY ON JERRY SPRINGER'S SHOW HAS HIS OWN SHOW.

He really does. And it's not like it's a fighting show or something, it appears to be a talk show. The commercials show him conversing with his guests, the conversation slowly devolves and eventually reaches a point where he angrily confront a guest and kicks him off the set.

(it kind of reminds me of the old Hulk Hogan wrestling routine, where he'd get beaten down for a while, but everyone knows that he'll eventually go into his crazy routine where he becomes impervious to pain and throws the opponent into the ropes and gives them the boot in the face then finishes him off with a leg drop.) (I truly believe that was the model for this show)


Anyone seen a show called "Cheaters"? (I know Hambone has.) The premise: if you suspect your significant other of infidelity, call this show, and they''ll send "licensed investigators" to spy on them. If caught, you'll confront the cheater in the act.

The show begins with the host, Joey Greco, giving a short speech about the virtues of fidelity. Greco is great, possibly a genius. Just look at the facial expressions on his webpage. Cheaters holds itself out to be a serious show, but the Greco is so over the top, so unbelievably self-righteous that it truly makes you wonder. (I think that is part of Greco's genius)

This belief is furthered when they introduce today's guest - a man who suspects his wife of cheating - by saying, "Meet ____, a computer engineer who worries that his wife has found satisfaction from different hardware."

The remote control breathes a sigh of relief, realizing it won't be touched for the next half hour.

The victim is a ~25 year old man, who has been spending most of his weeks out of town searching for a job. He lives with his wife, mother and stepfather; and suspects his wife (unemployed) of cheating. I can't remember where this takes place, it appears to be a small, semi-southern, semi-urban area. It is definitely not a small town, but not quite a big city either. The victim and his wife have slight southern accents. We aren't given any insights into personality (unless you're a body language expert or something)

The victim is a decent looking guy. I'd guess girls might think he's cute rather than hot. He's somewhat skinny, decent head of hair (dirty blond, three inches long), honest white American features, average dresser. A guy you'd bring home, even though meeting him wouldn't necessarily make you wanna write home.

The wife apparently didn't sign the waiver to be on TV, because her face is blurred out. But we can see her body, and it's not too bad. She certainly wouldn't hear any complaints if she lost 15 or 20, but nothing is necessarily necessary.

(my recap sounds very superficial, and it is, but they're not giving me anything in terms of personality)

(and ok, fuck it, she could easily lose 10 lbs... easily) 

The first break in the investigation comes on the second afternoon when cameras follow the wife to an office building. The picture is not clear, but we can see her enter the building, then exit a short while later alongside a mustachioed man with hard-to-miss mullet. He's wearing a white dress shirt, chinos and tie; everything fits terribly. They get into his early 90's Ford Taurus and drive to a bar. Nothing physical happens, although the man moves very close to her while talking.

Eventually they drive back to the office. She gets in her car and drives home. He follows, as do the investigators. Hidden cameras have been set up in the house, but the lovebirds go into an unmonitored room. Commercial break.

I get up to grab some food, and come back in time to catch a commercial for the Hoveround Personal Mobility Vehicle. (So actually, the "drug" genre of daytime commercials can be expanded to the "commercials targeted to the elderly.") I like this commercial's style because they assure the audience that, 1) you might need this even if you think you don't, so check out our pamphlet,, and 2) it's probably covered under your insurance (so even if you don't like it, it's free, so getting it is not going to hurt you)


Back to the show. On day seven, the victim is in Seattle looking for a job and calls home. His wife answers. (We can see her because the house is wired with hidden cameras.) After a night of drinking, she is watching TV with the step father but claims to be alone. During the call, the step father walks over and leans on top of her -- he almost just lays on top of her. We are now told that the mulleted man from Day 2 is the stepfather. When she hangs up the phone, the step father picks her up and carries her into the bedroom.

This evidence is enough for Cheaters investigators. They call in our victim and show him the video tape. As soon as he sees the first blurry clip of his wife walking out to the car with the poorly dressed man, he turns away and says, "Jesus, that's my f*@#ing step dad!"

Before cutting to commercial, there is a preview for the next scene: it is a shot of our victim barging into the house and attacking the step dad without saying a word.

I decide to stick around for the commercials. The first one advertises a service that provides, "Cash for Gold." They'll send you a postage paid envelope, you send them your gold, and they'll send you a check.

It's that easy. All shipping is pre-paid... A testimonial, "I sent in my old gold and I got a check the next week" (she laughs)

Another testimonial, a girl talking on her cell phone, "I'm going on vacation next week, and all I had to do was send in my old gold." 

They make one last pitch, "we'll even pay the shipping." the commercial ends. 

A diabetes drug commercial comes on, so I get up to refill my water. (If you ever want to feel great about your life, watch some daytime tv. CPark and I have this same theory about Local News. Most people probably come home from a day of work, turn on the local news, hear about people dying, houses burning down, car accidents and you feel better about your own shitty day. "I hate my job, but at least my house didn't burn down like this poor guy." It's to the point where we're honestly starting to wonder if that is the true purpose (at least the first 20 minutes of it))


The show returns to show Greco, the victim and the camera crew caravaning to the house. Greco calls his investigator on the scene and confirms the location of the two suspects. He then explains the situation. (essentially, "they're at your house, we're going to surprise them")

Soon, our victim is flanked by Greco and over a dozen crew members as he walks towards his house. Greco deadpans, "Ok, everyone stay close together, no one split up." At least three people in the camera crew are carrying store bought home video cameras that fit in the palm of a hand.

The step father lounges on a Lay-Z-Boy watching TV when the victim walks in through the back door and attacks. He dives at his stepfather and takes him down. He is able to land a couple of glancing blows before the step father gets up, forcefully throws him to the ground and yells in a heavily accented and terrifyingly deep voice, "YOU CRAZY? WHAT IN THE HELL YOU TRYIN TO DO BOY?"

Greco explains the situation. As the victim once again lunges for his step father, his mother attacks his wife. The stepfather effortlessly tosses the victim to the ground and shouts in his frighteningly deep voice, "Boy I ain't never laid a hand on you when you were a kid, but if you come at me one more time I'm gonna whoop your ass!"

Before cutting to a commercial, they show a preview for the next scene. The two are standing outside, squaring up to fight; as the victim commences his attack, the commercial begins.


"Are you receiving monthly settlement checks that just aren't enough to cover your immediate needs? Call Peachtree Settlement Funding now and transform some or all of your settlement payments into cash, today! You see, at Peachtree, money does grow on trees."

While trying to make myself remember the name "Peachtree", I missed the testimonial.

They should just come out and say, "Listen, we're not gonna give you what it's worth, but we can give you something now. And isn't that what you really want? You'll find a way to pay your rent in five years,, don't you want that Flat-Screen TV today?" (they also do lottery winnings, life insurance and other annuities)

I go downstairs and check the mail.


When the show resumes, our combatants are face-to-face in the backyard, with two feet separating them. They sink into their fighting stances. It is dark outside and a light rain is coming down. They size each other up, the victim is still in shock over what's happened, "How can you do this to me? Huh? I can't believe you f@*king did this!!"

Before he attacks, the stepdad makes one final - and surprisingly borderline reasonable - argument. He throws his arms into the air, points towards the sky and the city, and shouts, "Hey, it might as well be me, because if it wasn't me, she would have been banging some guy off the streets."

Again, almost a good argument, except for the fact that by having sex with his step son's wife, he is also cheating on his step son's mother. The victim thinks over the argument in his head, then responds by attacking. Both men fall to the grass. The stepdad quickly takes the advantage and slowly stands up. The "Cheaters" security guards pretend to try to break up the fight, but keep a safe distance from the combatants. The victim jumps up and attacks again, but is immediately thrown to the ground. He picks himself up and tries one more time only to find himself laying on the grass even faster than the last time. This time he stays down, crawls over to his stepdad, grabs a hold of his leg and wrestles him down. The victim actually gets on top for a few seconds before the stepdad regains the advantage and has him pinned.

Finally, the Cheaters bodyguards step in and separate the two. After bodyguards release them, the stepdad has hardly taken a second to survey himself before screaming in anger, "GODDAMN! THIS IS A GOOD SHIRT!!" (referring to his black dress shirt that has been soiled in the action)

(The stepdad is so poorly groomed that his "good shirt" comment is nothing less than bizarre. Although in his defense, he's had a haircut since the original blurry footage)

The victim runs inside where his mother continues to berate the crying wife. The wife turns her attention to the victim and desperately apologizes, insisting he doesn't understand. The victim --probably not in the most conciliatory of moods at the time, because not only has his stepfather been sleeping with his wife, but he has pretty much just kicked his ass-- slightly regains his composure and shouts, "WHAT ABOUT THIS DO I NOT UNDERSTAND??"

The mother hurries to the backyard door and yells at the stepdad to leave. He climbs into his car and speeds off.

Meanwhile, back inside, the victim rhetorically asks his wife whether she knows what makes him the most upset. When she can only apologize again, he tells her that he had originally come home bearing good news: he got the job in Seattle.

She makes one final plea, "Lets just go to Seattle and start over. We can start over."

"Start over?" He scathingly replies, "Start over? Get out of here."

At first she appears to think he is speaking figuratively, and doesn't move. He clarifies, "Get OUT of here!" and actually starts to push her out of the house.

She leaves, still crying.

In the end, the victim says he has to do some thinking in the days ahead. He doesn't explicitly rule out the possibility of getting back together with his wife, but I suppose that'd be a strange hurdle to clear.

(man, this blog has really devolved.)

title change 2.0

Ok, that last post doesn't really make much sense (especially given the new title, "Sexual. A Blog.")

I'm changing the title again.

change

I'm changing the title. I don't know why I'm doing it, but I'm doing it. I don't get a chance to think about the title much because when I first bookmarked this blog, it was entitled, "I hope I can change this title later." The title has since changed, yet the name of the bookmark remains.

The new title is right. For now.

It's the appropriate title for today, for tomorrow, for yesteryear. For nether.

A lot of people will come up to you and say, "Fuck you."

"No." you'll reply.

the framers

The Supreme Court listened to a gun control argument for the first time in over 70 years when a District of Columbia resident recently argued that the City's handgun ban violates the Second Amendment, which says:

"A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed."

Those who believe that all citizens have the right to own a gun argue that the Second Amendment guarantees such a right. Those who believe otherwise argue that the Second Amendment does not provide an absolute right; they believe it is archaic, and was simply meant to clarify another section of the Constitution that presumably gave Congress the power to disarm State militias -- which was very important in the 18th Century because State militias made up a significant portion of the US military.

You can read the entire oral argument here, although I certainly understand if 100 pages of transcribed arguing is not your idea of leisure reading. (I actually kind of enjoyed it.)


The job of the Court is to determine whether the D.C. handgun ban violates the Second Amendment. But after reading the argument, what seemed odd was that more than half of the time was spent comparing 1780 to the present. A great deal of time was spent haggling over the meaning of the "well regulated militia" language. Is it a limiting clause? Does the comma bifurcate the Amendment? Or is it simply there to remind people of one of the many purposes of the amendment? Or perhaps the language was added to honor the militia (an argument that the attorney representing the gun lobby ACTUALLY MADE on page 57.)

This eventually led to a very strange line of reasoning. At one point the attorney arguing on behalf of the gun lobby argued, "the handgun ban serves to weaken America's military preparedness." Then, ~100 words later, he argued that machine guns should be banned because "it's not an arm of the type that people might be expected to possess commonly in ordinary use."

(It didn't make sense to me either)

To resolve his apparent contradiction, he went on to argue that the framers intended for civilians --if needed for militia duties-- to "bring arms supplied by themselves of the kind in common use at the time." He continued, "So at the present time, if people do not have, or are not recognized by any court to have, a common application for, say, a machine gun or a rocket launcher" their Second Amendment rights do not apply.

In the 1700's, he concedes, "the civilian arms were pretty much the sort that were used in the military."

So his argument was that if the U.S. is invaded by a foreign army, or maybe a bloody coup, civilians are expected to defend themselves with arms of common civilian use (or those suitable for military use in the 1700's.)

Ok, so let's get this straight: if ordinary citizens are forced to take arms and fight against an army presumably strong enough to defeat the entire United States Military -- and its full arsenal of machine guns, tanks, artillery, fighter jets, bombers and weapons of mass destruction -- they are expected to take up the defense with handguns and rifles?

What are we going to do with handguns? Melt them down and make machine guns?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a strict anti-gun person. I don't have a strong opinion on the subject either way. But some of these arguments are actually being made in front of the Supreme Court of the United States!! 

I understand the general argument of the gun lobby. I really do. If criminals and local police officers are carrying guns, the average citizen should have the right to own one as well.


The Supreme Court's role is to determine whether laws are in accordance with the Constitution. However, the Constitution is vague. It is not an actual body of law as much as it is simply a framework. Yet even today, in 2008, several Supreme Court Justices insist that their judicial philosophy is based on trying to determine the intent of the Framers. "How would the framers of the Constitution feel about this gun law?"

This was the prevalent theme for the first two thirds of the handgun argument.

How ridiculous did it get? Amongst other things, the argument touched on points such as politics between the federalists and anti-federalists, peasants' rights in 17th century England, the Blackstone Commentaries, Joseph Story, and guns as protection from Native Americans, wolves, bears, outlaws and tyrants.

There was even a short discussion about the English Bill of Rights in 1689 being applicable only to Protestants, and how the Scottish and Roman Catholics were forbidden from bearing arms, which at the time was considered a form of oppression; thus our citizens will be oppressed if forbidden from bearing arms today.


So back to the original question, what would our Founding Fathers think about this handgun ban?

I don't know, and frankly, I'm not sure I'd base all of my philosophical decisions on the opinion of a group of men who wasted ink on the Constitution to honor our state militias, but not ban slavery.

Not to mention, they wore long blonde wigs to work every day.

Matt Leinart

I saw this story on the front page of MSN.com today. Not the front of the sports page, but the front of the news section.

Apparently someone is trying to stir up controversy over some recent pictures of Matt Leinart. Here are the two pictures at the center of the controversy.
















The MSN story begins:

Matt Leinart is used to the spotlight. But this is probably something he wishes wasn't so public. (Wouldn't most single guys want these pics to be public?)

The Cardinals' quarterback is in a bit of hot water this week after pictures surfaced on the Internet of the former USC star partying at his Phoenix-area home. (Pun incidental?)

One of the pictures shows Leinart in what appears to be a hot tub with four young women. (What appears to be?)

Another shows him holding a beer bong, with a girl crouching at the other end. (Why not write, "another shows him holding what appears to be a beer bong, with what appears to be a girl crouching on the other end.)

Arizona coach Ken Whisenhunt said Tuesday that he was "disappointed" in the quarterback, according to a report on the Web site of the East Valley Tribune. (But he left out the rest of the quote, Whisenhunt said he was disappointed, but then he went on to say, "A young, high profile, good looking guy like Leinart, with all of that money, in this city, I guess I just assumed he was banging hotter chicks.")


Here, maybe this'll make Leinart seem more normal.

But real men take a beer bong with class.... pinky finger extended.

the yes men

I watched a very funny documentary the other night called The Yes Men. It follows a couple of liberal activists who get into a couple of situations that made me laugh so hard I had to stop and pause the movie.

If you've got NetFlix or something, queue this one up, watch it, and read this post later. If you've seen it, or don't ever plan on watching it, continue reading.


These two guys started a website to spoof the World Trade Organization website. Somehow, their website was often mistaken for the real thing -- to the point where these guys were being asked to make appearances on behalf on the WTO!

So naturally, they made the appearances. One them does all of the public speaking as the WTO rep, and he does it EXTREMELY well. The documentary is worth watching just to see him. He is so perfect for the role that it's difficult to explain.

Here he is on CNBC. Just look at him!

At these appearances, he essentially takes the same positions as the WTO, except he doesn't sugar coat the rhetoric. So it comes off as extreme (or just extremely honest to some.)

For example, my favorite is when he was asked to appear on CNBC's marketwatch for a debate. He poses as a WTO rep named Granwyth Hulatberi (they use great fake names by the way, my favorite was "Kinnithrung Sprat.")

Stances he takes during the debate include: The WTO's key agenda is to privatize education, so your kids won't think the way you do, they will understand why free trade is good, and they will honor the right thinkers like Darwin and Friedman. And might makes right, the rich are right because they have power, and the poor are wrong because if they were right, they'd have power. The problem with liberals is that they rely too much on facts, but protesters against free trade don't understand the theories well enough. Markets are still the answer no matter what. (you really have to watch him say this stuff) For example, a market in human rights violations can allow countries that want to abuse people to buy “Justice Vouchers” from those who don’t.

But, the craziest part, is that no one EVER questions whether this guy is an actual WTO rep. People just find him to be a straight talking free market guy.

Once he was up on a stage in front of an auditorium full of PhD students advocating that free trade would be actually more beneficial to business owners than legalized slavery (because it is cheaper to pay for the laborer's wages in their own country, and that also allows businesses to avoid the stigma of depriving anyone of their "freedom.") In the presentation, he actually crunches some numbers to demonstrate. He finally argues that slavery should have never been abolished because had it truly been a problem, it would have been fixed by the market.


It's very funny, just watching him play the WTO rep is worth it. As far as globalization, I don't really have a stance either way. Even if it seems immoral to some, it's difficult to argue with the fact that people in third world countries choose to work in these sweatshops. No one is putting a gun to their head. The argument will always be that they're better off with our factories there pumping money into their economy. No one is stopping them from passing labor laws, and if they do, large companies can find another country's poor people to work for them. And in theory, this should eventually lead to a truly global market. (which will be a disaster for the US (imho)) I guess I like my economics how I like my coffee, Keynesian.

here's a reason

Here's a reason to vote for Obama (regardless of whether he can do it, at least he's got the right idea)

I remember sitting in finance classes my junior year and constantly asking questions that started with, "Well, couldn't you _____?" and the professor would respond, "Well,,, yes, someone could, but that's illegal."

"But who's going to catch you?"

"Most likely, the SEC."

"Most likely?"

"Ok, does anyone else have a question?"


So finally, one morning that semester in banking class, I decided that finance was not for me. (although I really knew all along, I was guided into that major in the first place)

Here's an interesting yet troubling op-ed from late last year: Ben Stein (yes, Ben Stein) is essentially saying that Goldman Sachs packaged and sold collateralized mortgage obligations (securities that represent claims to cash flows from pools of home mortgages) and at the same time, was shorting the entire industry (betting that the price of the stuff they just sold would go down.)

He also discusses an article written by a prominent Goldman economist who is actively spreading the doomsday propaganda we hear so much of these days, and insinuates that many others with Goldman's interests in mind are doing the same.

Fuck.

I wonder if it's even possible for the government to stop this. The SEC is underfunded (I learned this while trying to apply for a job with them in 2006. When I finally got an HR manager on the phone, she ended up spilling her guts to me. I simply asked "Can I send you my resume?" And she rambled on for 10 minutes about their lack of funding in all areas.) (Ironic that I couldn't get a job with the SEC when I actually believe in their mission.) And their people are underpaid compared to others in the industry. Most people who start out working for the SEC, end up leaving to spend the prime of their career helping companies fight the SEC.

Martha Stewart was put in prison for because of a stock tip that helped her avoid a $45,000 loss. Meanwhile, according to Stein's sources, Goldman Sachs sold roughly $100,000,000,000 worth of mortgage backed securities in the last three years, then shorted the entire industry and watched it crumble.

Is that even possible? (it's more than possible that I'm just missing something here)

The US capital markets have truly separated us from the rest of the world. But like everything else, bad things happen when people start abusing.

Maybe I should apply for a job at Goldman Sachs, they probably need people to count their money.

speech

(sorry, this is kind of dated, I wrote it last week, but proofreading has become an issue)

Barack Obama gave a speech on race last week. I'm assuming the motivation behind it was to address the anti-white/anti-American comments made by his Minister (Jeremiah Wright.) Some of Wright's comments included:

"Who cares about what a poor black man has to face every day in a country and in a culture controlled by rich white people?"

"We bombed Hiroshima, we bombed Nagasaki, and we nuked far more than the thousands in New York and the Pentagon, and we never batted an eye. We have supported state terrorism against the Palestinians and black South Africans, and now we are indignant. Because the stuff we have done overseas has now brought right back into our own front yards. America's chickens are coming home to roost."

Obama could have distanced himself from Wright. He could have simply stated that he disagreed with Wright's comments and put an end to the "controversy." But he didn't.

Although Obama didn't support his Minster's comments - he called them a "profoundly distorted view of this country" - he did not distance himself from Wright either. In fact, Obama defended him. He defended a man who blamed America for 9/11 and referred to attack as nothing more than 'America's chickens coming home to roost.'

Addressing Wright's angry comments, Obama said,

"But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races."

I've heard him make statements like this before and I like it, I think it's sincere. ("Brave", adds Cindy) ("Mature" adds me)

He's actually respecting the intelligence of his listeners.


Remember when Bill Clinton first responded to allegations of marijuana use by saying, "When I was in England, I experimented with marijuana a time or two, and I didn't like it. I didn't inhale and never tried it again."

If that statement was somehow true, wouldn't it be worse than if he was lying? If in fact he didn't inhale, then what was there to not like about smoking marijuana? It certainly wasn't the taste of smoke in his mouth that bothered him. We all know how much he likes cigars.

And what about the fact that by not inhaling, he was wasting somebody else's weed? It's probably safe to assume that the people with whom he was smoking would have enjoyed inhaling the shit that Bill wasted.


back to Obama. Obama seems sympathetic. Not that Hillary Clinton is unsympathetic, but from reading parts of Obama's book and listening to him speak, it seems to come more naturally for him. I wonder how much of that has to do with the fact that he is an extreme minority? (by that I mean although he's black, he's a minority amongst black people in this country because he is not a descendant of west African slaves.) When the racial group to which you belong does not exist, when you are without those who understand your own racial issues, it forces you to examine those of others.


Two tangentially related things:

1) Juice used to work out at Obama's gym. He told me that he's seen Obama lifting weights in a pair of full length spandex pants (Juice, can you please expound on that?)

2) Paul Krugman believes that Clinton's health care plan has much better chance of truly being universal than Obama's. (that was for you HG)


I'm as tired of hearing about all of this "Change" bullshit as everyone else. America's not so bad that we need a candidate campaigning exclusively on a platform of "Change." Constantly hearing about "change" actually makes me want to vote for Nader... again.

But we still rule the world. Obama's minister has a point. If the quest for world dominance was a football game, in 2001 we were up 58-0, and on 9/11 the Islamic extremists kicked a field goal. In response to their FG, our second string QB came in and hastily threw and interception that was run back for a touchdown. But we're still up 58-10.

just in case

For those following the Eliot Spitzer saga, the New York Times is reporting that he is expected to resign.

Here’s a great picture of him from yesterday’s press conference.

I'd usually take a thousand words over a picture, but this one really says a lot.

The company that provided Spitzer with the prostitute - The Emperor's Club - uses a seven tier scale to rate it's women. The most coveted are anointed with a "7 diamond" rating, and charge $3,100 per hour for their services. The Emperor's Club website has been shut down, but the Tribune has posted four screen shots from the website to show the difference between a five diamond and three diamond girl. (there is a difference) Spitzer allegedly paid $4,300 for a 2.5 hour session.

There is something to be said about Spitzer's decision to spend more time with a ~$1,700 an hour companion rather than choosing one of the pricier options. New Yorkers should be proud. Their Governor went out and got more for his money. Who wouldn't want a guy like that in the Governor's mansion? Fiscal responsibility is what the new Democratic party is all about.

Shouldn't this strengthen his position nationally? I thought I'd wake up this morning and maybe read a story about his exploratory committee. I'd almost say that Barack Obama should consider going after Spitzer's endorsement now, while the price is low.

I say "almost" because there is a large could beneath this silver lining. While Spitzer served as the New York Attorney General, he prosecuted at least two prostitution rings. (I just had de ja vu by the way.) An Attorney General has some level of discretion regarding who to prosecute. Voters will likely think: If you're a poon-hound yourself, show some respect and let the other poon-hounds of New York have their fun. Don't be a hypocrite. Don't be like one of those vocally 'anti-gay' gay guys.

I’m curious to know how much time was spent by US Attorneys and the FBI on the investigation that led to this 55 page, 129 paragraph complaint. Tax dollars well spent. I imagine that a homeless family in New Orleans will be relieved to hear that the federal government is still able to deploy teams of investigators armed with the latest in wire tapping technology to take down an interstate prostitution ring. This filth is destroying our country!

If prostitution is illegal, shouldn’t pornography be illegal? One woman gets paid for sex. The other gets paid for sex, and for allowing the sex to be videotaped and sold to the general public.

read any good books lately?

I'd love some recommendations.

I've yet to read Mayflower, though I've been meaning to.


Also, anyone see this op-ed? $2 trillion is now the estimated cost of the war.

$2,000,000,000,000

That's two million millions!


By how many votes did Gore lose Florida in 2000?

I remember watching George Bush debate in 2000 and wondering to myself, "How is he gonna trick the middle class and poor white voters?"

It's funny how historically conservative economic policy is much more rooted in Social Darwinism than that of liberals. And yet I'd bet a testicle that a vast majority of those who don't believe in evolution also consider themselves Conservative.

and remember these heros? Here's a press release from the Federal Election Committee website discussing the $630,000 in fines paid by the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth for accepting contributions in violation of federal limits (among other things.)

Wow, that's a shocker!! "So those guys were heavily financed under the table by Republican donors? Geez... Who would have guessed that???"

Was it me who once advocated that Dick Cheney be tried for Treason? I think his conduct falls under the "adheres to their enemies" or "giving them comfort... elsewhere" language. I'm sure Bin Laden felt pretty comfortable when the U.S. military decided to stop looking for him and started focusing their efforts on Saddam Husein.

I can just picture someone trying to sell the idea of 9/11 to Bin Laden by saying, "And after you attack their innocent civilians, not only are they not going to come after you with all of their resources, but I believe that the U.S. government will actually invest a huge chunk of their retirement money into searching for a man who actually thinks of you as a threat to him and his regime!"

(See the bottom of this page, one of the least discussed and most interesting 60 Minutes stories I've seen. (interview with Saddam Hussein's Interrogator))

$2,000,000,000,000. And we're using it to KILL PEOPLE.


and the funny thing is, I'm just a moderate.

quick story about a dump I took yesterday

To make a long story short, I actually looked down into the toilet, then looked up at the light and said out loud, "This is going to be a war of attrition."

harmony

I bought two airline tickets last week but only received confirmation for one because the airline had made a mistake - nothing that couldn't be fixed over the phone, but I still had to call. The customer service rep with whom I spoke had to call someone else to fix the problem, and while the "someone else" was fixing, we both waited.

She was about to put me on hold when we got to talking. To make a long story short, I learned that she met her husband on eHarmony.com.

I was kind of blown away... Meeting your husband through an online matchmaking service... I'll go out on a limb and guess that none of our parents met that way.

Check out the e-harmony homepage. Wouldn't it be funny if Briana was a little more on the ugly side?

What are the eharmony marketing people looking for in their website models?

I can picture the e-harmony marketing director at the board meeting - "Ok, she's gotta be hot. So lets just get that out of the way... But let's make sure she's old enough to where guys might get the impression that e-harmony is full of girls like this... you know, those girls who may have dated a few too many guys like this, and have reached the point where they just might fall for an honest white guy, who makes honest money, with an honest man's career goals she can tell her girlfriends about; who'll take her out to a fancy restaurant, order the third cheapest bottle of wine on the list, make her laugh a little, listen to her talk about her career, give her a hug goodnight and maybe even a peck on the cheek after the first date, and then try to have sex with her after the second."

"We need a girl who's gonna make a man believe. What kind of man? The man who looks in the mirror on Monday morning and says, 'What's wrong with me? I should be getting laid a little more often than I do.' And then he'll look at himself on Tuesday morning and say, 'I'll tell you what, it's a goddamn miracle that I'm able trick a girl into going to bed with me once or twice a year.' The kind of guy who proudly calls himself a good honest guy, but only because he doesn't have what it takes to be like this."

"We need to find the type of woman who has grown accustomed to dating men who lie to her. A woman who is fed up of dating the type of man she'll consider 'faithful' if he only sleeps with one other girl every six months -- and has been talked into believing that fellatio and cunnilingus are not technically "cheating". A woman who is tired of dating the type of man who has no qualms about leaving used condoms in his bathroom trash can (even though she takes birth control pills and they haven't used condoms in months) and when confronted about the discovery of used condoms, can talk his way out of the situation by saying something like, 'Why were you looking through my garbage? You don't trust me? For your information, I let my 16 year old cousin bang his girlfriend in my apartment on Wednesday nights, that's his condom. Now where's my apology?'"

"A woman who's smile says, 'listen, I've been through my share of bullshit, I've dated my fair share of bronze-tanned, sport coat wearing men who bought me too many drinks at the trendy nightspot and taught me a lesson a few months later; but I don't have any kids, I don't have any diseases, I've got a steady job, and I've still got my looks (I may have put on 10lbs since college, but this is 2008 and we all know that 95% men prefer that.) And now I'm ready to meet a nice guy on eHarmony, and have an honest, loving, committed relationship.' "

"Find her, and get her on the homepage asap."


I went to match.com next to check out their homepage model. Judging by the her looks, match.com's target is a bit different from eHarmony.

Their exec probably said, "Listen to me, eharmony has already cornered the market on guys looking for those 'early 30's, still hot, but hopefully newly desperate' women. We need another angle. I want a girl whose look says, 'My friends say I'm eccentric, but I'm just being myself. I hate it when men approach me at bars. I didn't play with barbie dolls when I was a kid, and I don't care to look like one either. (even though I'm pretty much a hairdo away from looking like one.) I don't think I want a boyfriend right now, but I wouldn't mind meeting someone fun, another free spirit to share time with, but who knows... And although I may not have been with too many men in my life, if I like you,,,, don't worry,, you'll get fucked. And sucked."


I just typed "online dating" into google, millions of hits. Ok, I'm going to limit myself to the first page.

This hit immediately jumps out, "Russian Brides - Single Russian Women Dating - Russian Girls."

There is one obvious question, and it is answered right at the top of their homepage, "Why dating Russian Women?"

here's why:

"Have you ever been to Russia? Let us help you to have an impression of what you will find in a Russian wife. The russian woman likes to look pretty. She likes to dress well when she walks in the city street to her destination. She wears a dress and pumps, or a suit with a blouse and jewlery. Russian lady is concerned about her weight, her hair, how she presents herself. She thinks gym clothes are for the gym.

Russian woman doesn't have a choice to stay home to take care of her husband, house, and children - for her, it is a dream. There, she willingly works to help her family to survive. Education is important, a good occupation is an asset. Many Russian women know 2 or more languages and hold degrees from universities. Each Russian woman I know is willing to learn - to learn English, to learn about cultures, various cuisines, philosophies, politics, to learn in all aspects

The Russian woman's attitude about herself is feminine. She expects to be treated as a lady, she is the weaker gender and knows it. The Russian woman has not been exposed to the world of rampant feminism that asserts its rights in America."

Why don't they just write, "If you have enough money, we're confident that we can find you a white woman who is poor enough to willingly be your slave."

(I didn't misspell "jewlery", that's how was on the website)

This is a legitimate website. The BBC apparently visited their office and did a story about them. There's a section on their "new client registration" page that says, "Please follow these simple rules if you want to find and marry a Russian woman. You will see that our guarantees work."

Rule #1: In the beginning, send 5-7 first introduction letters. Our experience shows that you need to send at least 5-7 letters to have a positive reply. Here comes the list of countries that are not very popular for some reasons among russian women. So, if you are from there, double the number of your first introduction letters : Iraq, Iran, Malaysia, Turkey, Greece, Thailand, Saudi Arabia, India, China, Japan and Mexico. Your chances are very low if you are from Africa or South America too. We don't have intentions to offend anybody, but this is a reality.

Those countries aren't popular for some reasons? What reasons? You're telling me that these beautiful, educated, subservient Russian women aren't lining up to meet honest, hardworking Mexican men? They won't jump at the chance to move to a freshly liberated Baghdad and meet their Iraqi prince charming? Not even some other sexually repressed, but maybe less war torn Arab country, where the men are into sex acts so bizarre that bringing barnyard animals into the bedroom is something that fathers have been teaching their sons for generations.

You're telling me that these women haven't been preparing their entire lives to move to a village in Northern China to be enslaved? Where starving men, who couldn't be less interested in sex, are hoping to put their new brides to work in the factories. Men who'd be happier if you sent them a healthy teenage Russian boy.

And "no" to Africa? Really? Not even Africa? Russian women aren't into Somalian men? Spitting in the face of the scholars consider Somali to be the original language of love. And I've heard that Ugandan men can fuck six times a day and still catch a wild boar to roast for dinner.


Here's another hit that caught my eye, the description read, "Cheating Wives Club. Hook up with a cheating wife now! Online personals for cheating wives." I clicked on it. The woman shown in the big picture on their homepage looks like a pornstar, but beneath her are some poorer quality pictures of "real" wives in mildly provocative poses. "This is the largest collection of unfaithful and desperate wives online to date, and these Women are not about playing games! Most of the members have web cams and are eager to chat and fool around. Ultimately, these ladies are eager to hook up with local men!"

A line on their sign-up page reads, "Come and fill the holes these women have in their lives."
(that might be stolen from Hallmark)

They claim to have a database of 3 million strong! One in every 50 Americans is on that site. And they offer a free trial. It'd be funny if you were looking through the profiles and came across your friend's wife. What are you obligated to do?


I went back to my Google search results and clicked on an ad (up to this point I had only clicked on search results.) The ad read, "Core Hot Date. Chat Board With Pics, Join Free." This took me to a webside called, "AdultFriendFinder.com, the world's largest sex & swinger personals community." (the link above might take you to a different page from the one I was originally on)

This site doesn't hold back, the homepage has 24 thumbnail pictures of women in rows of four. Under each picture is a username, age and location. Most of the pictures either show bare boobs, bare asses, lingerie, or wet t-shirts. Interestingly, above those pictures is a button that reads, "I am over 18 and agree to the viewing of sexually explicit material."

More sexually explicit than the nude pictures I'm looking at right now?

I clicked on the button and a new page opened with another 24 thumbnails. Hardly any faces. Most pictures are close-ups of spread pussies, spread ass cheeks, women licking their own boobs, fingering themselves, and one of a woman actually sucking on a cock.

Do people actually use this site?


Ok, so what might top actually finding "adultfriendfinder" is this: I have a "one proofread" rule. Meaning, if I write a post, I try to proofread it at least once before posting. So I wrote up to this point last night, but then Connors called and since I'd forgotten my point anyway, I decided to finish it and proofread it tonight. Fast forward to this afternoon, a friend (whose identity I won't disclose) came over. My brother texted while he was over, so he started ragging on my brother for getting a particular girl's phone number at a party a couple of months ago, but never calling her. (And in his opinion, he should have called.) Then we had a laugh about how my brother's friends - who are all 5 years out of college - still hit the bars like they're 22. So my friend says, "Man, if I was single right now, I wouldn't even mess around with the bars,,, buying all those drinks. I'd just get on adult friend finder."

"AdultFriendFinder.com??" I asked.
(and this friend falls in the 5% of men who can consistently pick up girls in bars, if he so desires)

He laughed. I told him about this blog entry and asked him to expound. He told me a story about a friend of his - married at the time - who was a member on the site. He set up a rendezvous that turned out to be a 10 person meet-and-greet kind of thing at a hotel. Five men, five women, everyone meets, finds a person, goes up to their room and fucks.

This happened on a weekday, during the day.

During the day!

Businesslike.


FYI - when you type "online dating" into Google, they give you a search suggestion for "Christian Online Dating." On the first hit it said "We believe in committed relationships and not casual dating."


Ok, so the original point of this post might have been to say that online dating sounds interesting. It's no longer just a bunch of computer geeks who couldn't get laid in a Bangkok whorehouse with a pocket full of Euros, it's normal people who just realize that it's an interesting new a way to meet people.

Are any of my single readers willing to try one of these matchmaking services, and we can document the results here? I can't think of one good reason why not.

We don't have to document the results. Or we can cross that bridge when it comes. But seriously, what's the worst that can happen? Has anyone tried it? Have a lot of you tried it? Wanna share some experiences? Thoughts?

2/20

I got an e-mail today from Illinois Skills match. Remember this post?

The e-mail informed me that my account had been inactive for a month, so I should log in again and look for jobs. I logged in, and immediately saw a message for me on the front page, in big red letters.

NEW JOB SINCE YOUR LAST LOGIN, CLICK HERE!

Ok, I'll give it one more chance, who knows, maybe they found something for me. Here's the new job:

Job Title: Assistant Professor of New Testament
Location: Chicago, IL
Hours per Week: 36-40
Salary Range: $50,000-$70,000
Education Necessary: PhD
Additional Information: Ph.D in New Testament with dissertation in Pauline Studies required. Prior experience must include performing research in New Testament and Pauline studies specializing in diversity, difference and power relations; assisting in teaching a graduate level class in the New Testament; serving in a leadership role in a local congregation.

Is this a joke? I'm serious. Is someone playing a joke on me? Is someone going to walk through my front door and point out the hidden cameras?

The New Testament? I honestly don't even know what the New Testament is. If someone put a gun to my head, I'd guess that it was the second edition of the Bible. (wikipedia says that it's the second half of the Christian Bible, so I guess i'd be in trouble, but maybe I could argue)


I interviewed for a job with a personal injury lawyer yesterday. He is looking for someone with more experience than I have, but for some reason he called me in anyway. I waited in the lobby for 10 minutes after arriving at his office. When he came out to greet me, the first thing he said was, "What's the good word?"

Can someone please tell me how I am supposed to respond that?

(Cindy thinks it might have some religious undertones.)

Am I supposed to say a word? One word describing my current state of mind?

After he asked me that, I thought about saying, "Ok, you know what, thanks, but no thanks." And walking out.

But I didn't. I just picked up my coat and bag, and thought to myself, "How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that?" After an awkward silence, looked down at my bag and said, "It's good to be here."

"What's the good word?" Should I have responded, "I don't know, what is the good word?"

Why doesn't he just ask me a real question, like, "What side does your cock hang?" And I could have just looked him dead in the eye and said, "slightly to the left."

The interview seemed like a waste. He was looking for someone with experience in a certain type of law. I don't have it. And he was really hung up on that.

It's not like my resume is deceptive, I even said in my e-mail to him that I didn't have any experience, but I am a relatively quick learner. I don't understand what he was thinking when he called me in for the interview. Was he thinking that maybe I did have experience in that type of law, but simply forgot to put it on my resume... the resume I sent him,, for that particular job? And I was just kidding about not having any experience in my e-mail?

So either I don't have experience, or I'm an idiot with experience?


Cindy and I went to the Field Museum this weekend. It's kind of crazy because several exhibits are decades old, so some of the taxidermied animals on display have since become endangered (not sure if "taxidermied" is a word.) There is a display with several stuffed Polar Bears and their cubs. Next to them, there's a sign explaining that these animals weren't extinct when they were killed.

Anyway, seeing the animal exhibit gave me an idea for a reality show. Battle of the Animals.

What if you took one of a bunch of different animals, put them on a small island, and had them duke it out to see who survives? (mild, "winter in San Diego" type climate) Who wins that battle? Lion? Elephant? Rhino? Grizzly Bear? Tiger? Crocodile? Hippo? Maybe a Monkey goes out there and figures things out? Is there a Wolf out there who can hold his own with the big boys? A poisonous snake?

I think my money goes on the Rhino.

I guess it's not a real idea for a "show." It's not like it's going to get made and put on TV for kids to watch (although that is funny to think about.) But it's a discussion topic. Is it even that? the more I think about it, the more I think the Rhino would just go out there and steamroll everyone.

That Rhino could probably take out a man in a small car.

Anyone wanna set the odds in that battle? (I'm talking to you Dirk)

reaction

I cannot imagine the force that drives a man to walk into a lecture hall full of students and shoot them indiscriminately. I guess it's most frightening to know that there is a perfectly logical explanation.

This post is for any potential shooter out there. If you're down in the dumps, depressed, past the point of no return and thinking about shooting up a school, here are a few alternatives to consider:

1) Pick a bottleneck point on a busy expressway in the city nearest you and wait for the evening commute. Park your car lengthwise across the lanes, throw your keys into woods, and shoot yourself in the head. You won’t kill any innocent people, but you’ll certainly inconvenience a lot of them. And that’s something to be proud of, isn’t it? People will probably miss flights, dinner reservations, meetings, sexual rendezvous, etc.

2) Buy a Super Bowl ticket. Wait in your seat until immediately after the opening kickoff, then run out to the 50 yard line and cut your throat. That way, no one else gets hurt and you still get your exposure.

3) Kill your parents. Fuck it, if you’re gonna kill someone, it might as well it be the ones who brought you into this world. If you shoot up a school, your parents will probably wish they were dead anyway. So if you’re planning to kill, you might as well kill them and save them the heartache.

4) You’ve already got guns, so invest $20 in a ski mask and go rob a bank. Worst case scenario, you get killed in a shootout trying to escape. Best case, you make it into Mexico and the $100k helps you figure shit out.

5) Get as many credit cards as you can, take as many cash advances on those credit cards as you can and go to Vegas. Spend 70% of your money on drugs. Heroin, Meth, Crack, Peyote, Acid, and the hardest prescription stuff. Take the remaining 30% to the strip clubs, and have some fucking fun for once in your life. It’s probably a lot more fun to die of a heart attack while sniffing cocaine off a stripper’s ass than whatever bullshit you have in mind.

6) Get yourself on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange and slit your wrists. Disrupt the markets for a couple hours, piss off the right people.

7) Fuck it, join Al Qaeda. At least you’ll have some purpose in your life

8) Kill yourself in an interesting way. See how much the body can take. Put yourself in an oven and turn it up to 350. Or put yourself in a microwave. Or a washer, then a dryer. Cut off your dick, see how much it hurts. Then cut off your testicles and compare to find out which one is worse. Go to a zoo, strip naked, jump into a tiger exhibit and see how long you can hold your own with them. Pick a fight with an ultimate fighter, or just make serious moves on his girlfriend in a nightclub,,, and when he comes at you, pull out a knife.

9) There’s a big wave off the coast of Maui (Peahi) called Jaws. It is the biggest wave in surfing, yet no one has ever died surfing it. (that is because to get to the wave, a surfer must be towed to the outer reef by a jetski) Take a few surfing lessons, pay someone to tow you out there during a big set, and get yourself killed riding a 50 foot wave. You’ll be a surfing legend.

10) Come out of the closet. It's 2008, seriously, nobody cares! It's cooler to be gay than to not be gay. (in some states)

11) Start a website and ask all other potential school shooters to sign up. Take all of the shooters, go to a paintball field and fight it out,, with live ammunition. Last man standing wins. And the winner gets to kill himself.

12) Go skydiving and don’t release your parachute. Have someone videotape it and put it on youtube.

13) Start getting into Viagra. (Scrap the whole suicide plan and just start getting into Viagra.)

to the families and friends of the victims, my prayers are with you.

this thursday night

Are any of you going to hit the bars this Thursday?

probably the best night of the year for singles

real quick

Heated Seats: feel good on my back, not so good on my testicles.

re: new years resolution

I didn't technically break my new years resolution. Well, technically I broke it, but I didn't break the spirit of it. Well, yeah, I guess I actually broke the spirit of it. But last week I had a conversation with Tony and said i'd write a post about it. The next morning, I sat down and wrote an extremely long post. It was so long that I didn't feel like proofreading it. So i've been putting that off. But I did write something. That was kind of the spirit of the resolution. But it wasn't. The spirit of it was to actually DO something. Regardless, I tried,, for two weeks.

Anyone watch the state of the union last night? I caught the very end of it. Why do the Supreme Court justices have to sit there in their robes? and was there a single Asian in the building? and why does Bush still pronounce the word "Nuclear" as "Nuculer"? Is it because correcting it would be an admission that he mispronounced it in the past? therefore making him fallible?

and I'll tell you what: Nancy Pelosi doesn't look half bad for a woman about to turn 68.

weekend football

My brother and I watched the Dallas Cowboys play the New York Giants in the NFC divisional playoff game this past Sunday. The playoffs have not been kind to Cowboy quarterback Tony Romo. Last season, in his first playoff game, Romo bobbled the snap on a last second field goal that would have won the game for the Cowboys.

This year however, the Cowboys entered the playoffs as the #1 seed in the NFC (the historically stronger conference) and would play their first game at home against a team they had already beaten twice during the regular season. The Cowboys entered the game as a 7.5 point favorite, but lost by 4. In part because their offense was shut down in the fourth quarter.

This season Romo has been criticized by the football media for constantly being in the public eye. The Dallas media especially felt that his romances with pop stars Carrie Underwood, and more recently Jessica Simpson were an unwanted distraction from football.

The criticism came to a boil in the week before the Giants game after Romo spent the previous weekend in Mexico vacationing with Simpson rather than in Dallas preparing for the game.

After the loss, everyone knew what was coming when an emotional Romo took the podium at the Cowboys’ post-game press conference. After answering several questions about the Cowboys’ inability to score in the second half, a reporter from the Dallas star asked,

“Tony, I’ve just been told that Jessica Simpson was seen walking into Bob’s Steakhouse, by herself, and asked to be seated under a reservation in the name of ‘Manning party of two.’ Would you like to comment on that?”

re: Jack Wagner

random shit

I got a letter from my law school yesterday asking for a donation, it started out,

“Dear Ms. Irani,”

I think I’m going to pass on the donation for now.

I’m a man. (just in case)

Another thing,,, how do you go about selecting a bottle of wine at a liquor store? I was at the grocery store the other day and when I got to the wine section, I was overwhelmed. (well, to put that into perspective, I get overwhelmed when trying to decide what type of beans I want at Chipotle.) but still, this is worse. I had no idea what I was looking for. Maybe some brand of wine should market themselves by somehow hinting that their wine will stain your lips and teeth less than others in it’s price range.

Reading a story about Michael Vick's prison sentence, and then remembering that last weekend I was touching a coat at Macy’s that required the fur eight chinchillas to make, led me to wonder: What separates dogs from other animals? Maybe I should be wondering what separates humans from dogs. I’ve come up with this: Human males can masturbate. That is the primary difference.

In October I worked on a project with seven other contract attorneys. Six male, and one female. For those of you who own a female dog: would you allow your dog to play in a circle with seven un-neutered males?

Because of the restraint the we’ve developed throughout history, we’ve been able to spend our time thinking about other things, like language. ("we" refersto women as well, because now they don't have to spend all of their time running away from sex starved men)

I was about to get on the Metra the other day, (the Metra is a commuter train that travels between the suburbs and the city.) No frills. You get on, sit down, and wait for your stop. One of every four cars has a very small bathroom.

The train had pulled up, but the doors had not yet opened, so there was a line to get on the first car. The lines for the subsequent cars were shorter. As I was waiting for the second car, a man walked up to me, looked over to the line for the first car, and asked, “What’s with the line over there? Are they serving shrimp on that car?”

If he wasn’t serious, he fooled me.

Does any animal on the planet feel like a bigger pussy than the male elephant? Imagine if humans had to be protected from squirrels.

If you’re a single guy, is the first thing you do when you walk into a grocery store: pick up a pack of Magnum XL’s and keep them placed prominently in your cart as you shop? (it can’t hurt, can it?)

Is marijuana a banned substance for competitive eaters?

This is probably the wrong term, but where does the ‘chain of title’ break on a racial joke, to where telling it is no longer politically correct? For example, if a Hispanic guy tells a Mexican joke to a group of white people, it’s ok.

But can one of those white listeners relay that same joke to a group of his white friends? And defend against accusations of racism by saying, “Hey, a Hispanic guy told me the joke..”

What if it was originally told by a Hispanic guy to a Black guy, and then the black guy tells his minority friends? Is it ok for a minority to relay it to other minorities?

(this happened to me recently, and I said, “no, no, it’s cool, a Hispanic guy told me the joke.”)

I was listening to the radio the other day and heard Obama say, “Everyone should have the opportunity to send their children to a good school.”

Later in the speech he said, “Everyone should have a good job, with a good wage.”

I suppose it wouldn't sound as inspiring had he said, “Everyone should have the opportunity to send their children to an average school.”

Or, “Everyone should have an average job, and with an average wage.”

I was riding on an elevator a few days ago and it occurred to me that today’s elevator with a window, probably would have been an amusement park ride 150 years ago.

If you’re not satisfied with the food from a restaurant or grocery store, can you return it in the form of shit?

One of my friends was recently talking to me about buying a boat. At the same time, I was thinking to myself about trying to get a job cleaning boats.

You know what’s worse than having a garbage disposal?

Not having a garbage disposal.

I should just write one of these ramblings every week. Although that might be too much bullshit even for me to handle.

Maybe every morning at 9:50 am, I should get out of bed, brush my teeth, sit down at my computer, log onto this website, click “New Post”, and type, “I’ll tell you what…” And whatever comes out next, is what the post will be about.

I went to a happy hour last month and was talking to this guy... to make a long story short, he had a multi-page letter written to him by Ted Kaczynski from prison (The Unabomber.) He had the letter on him, on his person,, the letter was actually in his pocket while we were having this conversation.

Why? I don’t know. (The question was asked and answered, twice. I know the story behind it, but I don't truly know why.) So he was telling me about the unibomber’s philosophy and his writings, and basically, , , when you read his writing, you won’t think to yourself, “wow, that guy is fucking crazy.” If anything, I was actually thinking, “wow, that guy doesn’t not have a point.”

But didn't he detonate bombs in civilian areas and kill innocent people? His writing didn't seem that insane. Did he have some other shit going on? Did he walk in on his wife licking another man’s asshole? (after she had refused to lick his... even at his insistence)

I ran my idea about the corn skin – or corn lined - jacket by Hambone. His proposed motto for it, “tougher than shit.”

Dirk, I remember when you wrote about an odd back-to-back song pairing on your IPod, I just had a weird one too. Old Dirty Bastard “Brookyn Zoo”, followed by Jack Wagner, “Lovers in the Night.”

Having “ODB” is not abnormal, but that Wagner is ridiculous. On MP3 format!! I have that shit on my IPod! You can’t even buy that on I-Tunes. There is one Jack Wagner album being sold on I-Tunes today, and the song I just listened to is from a different album. (Although if I am Steve Jobs and have to pick one Wagner album to sell on I-Tunes, I’d sell the one I have.) (or, I guess, the “All I Need” album if I was in it for the money)

And not only do I have it, but it is ON my Ipod. (It’s on the “Don’t Give up your Day Job” album, for those of you..)

~12 years ago, Darayus and JP bought two Jack Wagner tapes (different albums) at a second hand tunes store in Naperville. They each took one. I don’t remember how they decided to split them up, or why they bought them in the first place. (we were big into Melrose Place at the time,, that's probably a start) Darayus’ tape eventually made it into his car and when the car was given to me, the Wagner tape remained (among others.)

I started listening to it. Fuck it, someone took the time to record that music and put it on a tape, so how bad can it be? (I recall vaguely liking the first song on the album back when JP and Darayus were playing it.) The songs weren’t too bad, they definitely grew on me. They grew on me to the point where after I had lost the tape, I searched for it heavily online. I searched for it to the point that I was more into finding the songs than I was actually listening to them.

I remember one time before law school, before I met the love of my life (she’s so busy with work that she doesn’t even read this anymore, I could be having an affair and change the theme of this blog to, “a man details the story of his ongoing affair to readers” and the only way she’d find out would be if Julia told her.) Anyway, one night at my first post undergrad apartment - ‘the lab’ for those who’ve been - I brought a girl back up from the bar. We were sitting in Juice’s room (no one was home) (and because he had the computer.) So we were sitting in the room, I turned on his computer and put on the Jack Wagner.

The Wagner was still playing 10 minutes later, long after she had left.

What’s with movie theaters and the popcorn buttering. Jesus H. Christ!! Fill the tub with popcorn a quarter of the way, add butter then add salt. Add another quarter of popcorn, add butter and salt. Then cover the bowl and shake it. Uncover the bowl, add another ¼ of corn, add butter and salt, cover and shake again. Then fill it up, add butter, add salt, and it’s ready to serve. That’s really all there is to it!

Does anyone read the comments on this blog? Hansen, left a great one (as usual) on my last post. He essentially declares his love for Hayden Panettierre. I’ve seen pictures of her on a celebrity blog, the only thing I know about her is that she looks very young. I assumed she was on High School Musical, but she actually stars on “Heroes.”

(My viewpoint on very young looking girls is this: I guess I have yet to reach the age where I start to lust after extremely young looking girls)

(And who’s to say that every man reaches that stage, it’s just that men who like very young women are so damn outspoken about it. They’re a serious lobby,, they make themselves heard. They’re like the NRA of men. I don’t think all men are like that.)

For those of you who don’t know Hansen, he’s probably ~35, acts like he’s 25 and looks like he’s 45. Smart guy, married, with two children, liberal guy, irrational San Antonio Spurs fan. If you ask him about marriage he’ll tell you, “it’s all about the points system.” (you get points for doing things that contribute to the marriage/family. For example: making dinner or picking up the kids from school could be worth 100 points. And you lose points for doing things that take away from it. So going to a bachelor party in Vegas for the weekend could cost you 10,000 points.) Hansen’s philosophy is that marriage is all about balancing those points and exploring strategies that will maximize your own point total. Hansen seems like a very caring husband and father, although he has his moments, for example, there have been dozens of times when I’ve been sitting next to him drinking beer, playing cards or playing video games when his phone rings... It’s his wife… He ‘shushes’ everyone in the vicinity, answers the phone, and says, “yeah, I’m still at the library.... Oh I don’t know, I’ve gotta finish this paper, and then I’ve still gotta read for class tomorrow, so it could be a few hours.... Yeah, it’s hard work,,,,,, I know,,,,, no,,, no, I’m ok… It’s the sacrifice I made for our future, I’m fine. I love you too. Bye.”

Hansen’s nickname at school was “Ortho” (because if you had weed, he’d smoke it. A weed killer of sorts.)

So anyway, Hansen is going on about Panettierre, and how hot she looks. I tell him that I think she looks a little young for me. We both assume that she is 17.

I finally tell Hansen, “I like girls closer to my age. 17, that’s just too young.”

He replies, “Too young?? Too young?!?!! 100 years ago, she’d be four or five years too old!!”

“In some parts of the world today she’s four or five years too old.”

I guess he doesn’t not have a point.

I went to Best Buy wednesday to look at TV’s. I’m almost perfectly happy with the 20 inch Sony I bought in 1997… Although it would be nice to play video games and watch movies on a nice big TV.

So anyway, I’m at Best Buy looking at 32 inch TV’s when this couple walks past and starts looking at the 46 in TV’s. After examining a 46 inch flat panel TV for ~30 seconds, the girl asks her boyfriend, “You don’t think it’s too small?”

There are some guys out there who when you ask them about what they thought of the movie Blood Diamond, they’ll respond, “I don’t know…. I think he did.. Do you think he fucked her?”

What else???

1/20

To make a long story short (and then inevitably long again) I registered for unemployment on Friday. Shortly after, the local news reported that unemployment in Illinois had just reached 5%.

One of the requirements of being on unemployment is that I continue to search for a job. The State even requires us to sign up for a job search website it sponsors called Illinois Skills Match. (“us”)

That’s cool, I can certainly use all of the help I can get, so I signed up. After logging on to Skills Match, I saw that they ask for quite a bit of information: the schools I’ve attended, degrees I’ve received, employment history, and ALL of the skills I have (hence the title “skills match” I guess.) After filling out the information, I can click on the “My Jobs” link to view a list of jobs that match my profile information.

I entered all of my skills, plus the amount of time I have been proficient in each. I finally finished and eagerly clicked on the “My Jobs” link. The result was a table listing four jobs. I was happy to see four,,,, it only takes one…

Here are the four jobs that were listed for me:

Physician – Internal Medicine; Chicago, IL; Salary - $100,000-140,000
Research Economist; Mexico City, Mexico; Salary and Benefits Competitive
Chair of Department of Economics; Chengdu, China; Salary RMB 400,000-500,000 (~$60k)
Assistant/Associate/Full Professor; Lahore, Pakistan; Salary $50,000-70,000

I clicked on the Physician job first. They’re looking for a fucking surgeon. If they were looking for a pediatrician, maybe I could bullshit my way through a couple of days before people caught on.

“So I see you have _______ (insert symptoms,) ok. I’m going to prescribe some penicillin. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids, and get some rest. If the symptoms don’t go away in a week, come back next ______ (insert my day off.)”

maybe I shouldn't assume that I'd go in there and get the job

I went to the theater the other night, and in the middle of the show, an elderly man had a heart attack. His wife started screaming, “Is there a doctor in the house?”

I quickly ran over to her and replied, “I am a doctor, of jurisprudence. Do you want me to take a look at him?”

She told me to go fuck myself.

I replied, “I’m sorry, but you’re the one who asked if there was a doctor in the house. Maybe you needed me to draw up a will, or sue the theater. Or maybe we can get ambitious and sue the filmmakers.”

I skipped over the Mexico City job. I'm not ready to live there.

“Chair of Department of Economics.” CHAIR!!! I got an A in honors Macroeconomics in college. And a B+ in honors Micro. (should have had an A, but I wrote my final paper on the wrong subject. It was still a good paper, but the professor gave me a 40% because it was on the wrong topic.) I approached the professor after class and said, “Yes, I know that this paper was on the wrong topic. I’m not disagreeing with you on that. But it’s a good paper. Does it not demonstrate my aptitude?”

He replied, “Yes, but it is on the wrong topic, you have to be able to follow directions. I could have given you a Zero.”

I then replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, there must be a mistake on my schedule, because for Tuesdays and Thursdays from 11-12:15 it says that I am enrolled in ‘Econ 261H’, not ‘Following Directions 101.’” And I walked out.

Now that I think about it, I probably could have got the A had I taken that argument seriously.

Regardless, can I put that on my resume and become the next Chair of the Department of Economics the University of Chengdu?

And finally, I guess if I had to go to Pakistan, Lahore would definitely be my first choice of cities. But I’m only 28, some adventure wouldn’t hurt me, maybe I’d say “fuck it” and hole up in Islamabad for a couple of years before settling in Lahore.

re: new year

.... starting next week

New Year

My New Year's resolution is to post on my blog at least once a week.

baby steps

our next president (according to a sportsbook)

My sportsbook takes action on politics from time to time. For example, I made money betting on the 2005 Papal Conclave, and afterwards, experienced the worst case of "should have bet more" bettors remorse of my life.

A handful of candidates remained when I placed my bet. Just days before the announcement, CNN ran a story confidently predicting that Ratzinger would be named. They cited several unnamed sources close to the conclave. I thought to myself, "CNN is a credible source, and they sound extremely confident about this,,, I might as well take Ratzinger while my book is still offering the action."

Just before betting my entire account balance on Ratzinger, a thought crossed my mind, "What if the sportsbooks are leaking that information to CNN get the action on Ratzinger??? Maybe I'll just make a conservative bet."

STUPID! As if bookies are out there leaking information to CNN about the Papal Conclave!!! And CNN either trusts the information enough to put it on the air, or are themselves on the payroll!

So in my mind, of all the interest in the Papal Conclave, no group wielded as much power with mainstream media as the sportsbook lobby! I must have assumed that the action on the Pope was reaching Super Bowl proportions.

So anyway, you can log onto the website right now and bet on who you think will win the 2008 Presidential election. Here are the current odds:

Hillary Clinton - 1-2
Rudolph Giuliani - 4.5-1
Barack Obama - 5.5-1
Mitt Romney - 8-1
Ron Paul - 12-1
Mike Huckabee - 18-1
Al Gore - 20-1
John Edwards - 22-1
Fred Thompson - 25-1
John McCain - 33-1
Bill Richardson - 100-1

Obviously the first thing that jumps out is the amount by which Hillary Clinton is favored. I don't know much about politics, but I do know that if I go to a racetrack and see 11 healthy horses waiting at the starting gate, and one of them is only paying fifty cents on the dollar, somebody thinks they know something.

Is smart money taking Obama at 5.5-1?

Is serious money taking Huckabee at 18-1? (it was 25-1 last week)

Last week, I took Huckabee to win the Republican nomination at 8-1, since then the odds have moved to 4-1.

And Giuliani is the Republican favorite? Are you kidding me? "America's Mayor"? Giuliani's claim to fame is being the mayor of New York on 9/11. Was he was pulling people out of the wreckage?

This guy is a senior adviser on Giuliani's foreign policy team.

And how about Ron Paul getting some serious respect at 12-1? He's getting better odds than John Edwards.

And as for Romney, I don't know anything about the Mormon faith other that the fact that when I went to Vegas for a national training session in 2002, the guys I met from our Salt Lake City office all had three things in common, 1) They were under the age of 25, 2) They were Mormon, and 3) Not one of them had less than two children, (they were also very nice, and didn't drink, so I guess that makes five)

Someone's gotta represent the Grand Old Party next year... why not Huckabee? That guy is an American's American.

this kind of stuff isn't for everyone

I was about to get into the shower yesterday when I realized that my fingernails were getting a bit long. I was already naked at that point, so I had a decision to make. I could...

1) Stand in the bathroom naked and cut my fingernails
2) Put my underwear back on, sit down, and cut my fingernails
3) Sit on the toilet naked and cut my fingernails

I went with option #3. Sitting on the toilet is by no means uncomfortable, and I'm not one of those guys who likes to hang out naked, so I figured it'd be nice to sit around naked for a few minutes. A little dry naked time would probably be therapeutic for me. After sitting on the toilet for a minute or so, I felt something happening, next thing I knew I felt a piece of shit coming down the pipe, and just like that the turd dropped cleanly into the toilet.

What a pleasant surprise that was!

Normally, I only take dumps when I know I have go. So generally speaking, within the first five seconds after my asscheeks have touched the toilet seat, you can bet your last dollar that there will be at least one turd in the water. So imagine my surprise when this piece of shit decided to nonchalantly make its way out of my asshole without warning.

I didn't even realize it, but in my excitement, I had stopped clipping my fingernails to ponder what had just happened. I resumed the nail clipping and next thing I knew, I felt another turd making its way through the anal canal. Another two pieces came out!

This had just gone from lounging on a toilet seat naked, to a surprise little turd, to a full-fledged dump!

This has pretty much changed my way of thinking about life.

Is this how other people shit? Do they just pick a time, decide to sit down for however long it takes and wait for shit to come out? Do any of you shit this way?

This is mind blowing!


**I wasn't even going to post this entry, but what's funnier than all of this, is that I went on Wikipedia to double check whether it is indeed the "anal canal" that leads to the asshole. Under the Wikipedia entry for "Anus", there is actually a PICTURE of a male AND female asshole. Not a diagram, a photograph! The man's asshole is all hairy, you can see his taint (or as many of you may call it, the "conch") and the bottom part of his scrotum. The woman's is kind of nasty, it looks like her pussy lips are actually going right up to - and perhaps into - her asshole.

flight

Are the terrorists winning? (see Hansen’s comment to my last post)

I flew out to San Jose a couple of weekends ago. To give myself enough time to get through the security checkpoints, I left my apartment three hours before takeoff. I guess I could have spent some of that time working. Since I'm paid hourly, that wasted time actually cost me money, but for those who have real jobs, that wasted time also means lost productivity.

No matter how often I stand in the security line at O’Hare, it never ceases to entertain. Watching a grown man standing amid the chaos of a busy airport in his socks, hurrying to put his belt back on in front of hundreds of people, while other shoeless/belt-less travelers wait to pass through the metal detector behind him is about all it takes to keep me entertained.

As I waited in line, I watched a mother with three small kids approach the metal detector. Her two boys appeared to be twins - five years old at most. The third, a daughter, was young enough to be carried by her mother. As the mother struggled to remove her shoes and hold the baby at the same time, her twins eagerly waited to pass through the metal detector. They were waiting because the security guard in charge of their line was helping the guard in the next line determine what item on the middle-aged barefoot business woman to our left was setting off the metal detector. Unable to resolve the problem, he instructed the other guard to call for help, and returned to our line. When he returned, the twins immediately ran through the metal detector together.

“WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA!!!!” shouted the security guard. He extended his arms out to both sides, grabbed the two boys, and made them walk back to their mother. “One at a time guys, One at a time!”

I’m certainly not about to say anything remotely profound here, but, if the terrorists decide to attack us again THEY’RE NOT GOING TO USE THE EXACT SAME METHOD THEY USED LAST TIME!!!

How much money are we putting into airport security?

Maybe these terrorists are smarter than we give them credit for.

Imagine the opportunity cost of the time spent in airport security lines. Or the cost of all the items that have been confiscated in these lines. Or the cost of my evachute.

How do we decide who wins and loses a war? I was talking to this German guy a few months ago – he was born/raised in Germany but moved to the US for his job. I asked him about World War II. How do the Germans teach it? What happened in WWII? The first thing he said was,

“The Soviets lost over 20 million people in that war!”

He’s right, kills don’t lie.