Alarm Clock

I went over six months without using an alarm clock. Actually, I hadn’t even unpacked it until a couple of weeks ago.

After unpacking it, I had to set it. The first decision was figuring out what sound to wake up to. Waking up to a buzzer is too much for me. I don’t know how people do it. There has to be some strong correlation between unhappy people and people who wake up to loud buzzers. The short time I spent waking up to a buzzer, I'd start the day being angry at everything, starting with the alarm clock.

I can’t wake up to a CD either. Jake did a good job out explaining why. I’ll summarize: if you’re a big Doobie Brothers fan, and you decide to wake up to them every morning. In two weeks, you’ll hate the Doobie Brothers.

I wake up to the radio. It’s a nice in-between. Howard Stern used to wake me up for years. The problem with Howard was that I’d lie in bed and listen to him for a half hour before getting up. (I understand why women don’t like Howard, but I never understood how men could listen to anyone other than Howard back when he was on FM. Would you go watch an Elvis impersonator if the King himself was playing across the street for the same price?) And classic rock stations are good for me because it pretty much guarantees a different fast song every morning (although Deep Purple seemed to wake me up quite a bit.)

Anyway, when I set up my alarm clock this time, I decided that I'd wake up to NPR. I found it on my radio, and went to bed. The next morning I realized that instead of 91.5 (which is NPR), I had accidentally set my alarm to 90.1, WMBI, Christian Contemporary.

It wasn’t bad. The DJ’s voice is very friendly and soothing, and the songs are always uplifting. I’ve kept it as my morning station. Cindy offered to search for NPR for me this morning, but I told her not to, I like my Christian Contemporary station.

Yesterday’s wake up was pretty good. The DJ’s were talking (sometimes it's a song), and their conversation went like this.

DJ 1 – You know, GPS technology is really booming today.

DJ 2 – Oh yeah?

DJ 1 – Yeah, you can get GPS for anything these days.

DJ 2 – Really?

DJ 1 – I love having it in my car, I never get lost anymore. And you can get directions on the fly.

DJ 2 – Yeah, I like that too. It’s great when you're lost.

DJ 1 – Yeah, and listen to this, I heard about this new GPS tracking system that you can attach to your dog’s collar. So if you’ve got a dog that runs away a lot, it’s a great thing to have.

DJ 2 – Oh yeah, definitely.

DJ 1 – Soon we’ll be able to put these chips everywhere, like in our wallets, or on our keys.

DJ 2 – Yeah, really an amazing technology.

DJ 1 – You know what’s a good GPS for people that are lost?

DJ 2 – What?

DJ 1 – The Bible.

I was on my feet and ready to start the day.

Lost

Are other "Lost" watchers out there getting as fed up as I am?

I want this to be the last season. There have been 3 good episodes in the last 2 seasons. I used to think the writers had it all planned out, but now I'm starting to think that they're just dragging it out as long as they still have loyal viewers. I picture the producers telling them, "Listen guys, we can get at least three more seasons out of this. So I don't care what you have to do, just as long as they don't figure out what the fuck going on."

Let me proclaim, right here and now: After this season, I'm done. Fuck you Lost. I just don't care anymore. Maybe they're on the island because they're the only people on Earth dumb enough to have not figured it out by now. The only people dumb enough to never ask any questions. The only people dumb enough to fight amongst themselves. The only people to let their captors off the hook time and time again.

Lost viewers should unite, and spread the word that we're done watching unless they end it this season.

Also, I've been trying to post this, all week, but the new Google blogger is resistant to youtube videos, so here's a link. (maybe thats why they were pushing it so hard) I heard this song at the gym on Monday. It reminded me how crazy the chorus is! This is a pop song! It was played on the radio! Wow.

I respect her more for singing that in such popular song. Is that why its so popular? And she leads into it by saying, "so free your love..."

Lent

Today is Fat Tuesday, which means that Lent starts tomorrow. Lent is when people give up vices like Chocolate, or Caffeine, or Swearing for a month to know what it's like to sacrifice something, like Jesus did back in the day.

What’s the big deal? I don’t get it. What’s so hard about giving up something that’s bad for you?

If you really want to make Lent a challenge, give up something that’s good for you. Give up exercise. Give up showering. Give up sleeping indoors. Then maybe you'll start to feel a little of Jesus' pain.

Why doesn't everyone dress like this in the winter?

job v. work

My entry into the workforce began at the age of 15, at a pool across the street from my parents’ house. It was a painless job. My responsibilities were limited to working at the front desk and the concession stand, and the best part was that if I had to be at work by 10:00 am, my alarm clock could be set for 9:58, and I’d still be there early.

Besides the occasional 20 minutes of dishwashing at night, the job was simple. People at the pool were usually in a good mood, and my friends would hang out there all the time, plus I only worked 20 hours a week, so I had little to complain about. Of course, the experience of working at a pool could have been more fulfilling had I been better looking or had some semblance of game. But then again, the experience of going to high school could have been more fulfilling had I been better looking or had some semblance of game.

At the time, my mom worked as a bank teller, and one of her regular customers was a local attorney (I’ll call him Will.) One day Will mentioned to my mom that he needed someone to work for him. Knowing that I was a big Matlock and Night Court fan, combined with the fact that although my teachers constantly complained about me, they always suggested that I go to law school because of my skilled arguing when trying to avoid punishment, my mom thought I might like the job.

As my second summer at the pool was coming to an end, my mom told me about the opportunity to work for Will. She mentioned that he wanted someone who was a good writer, and that got my attention. I wasn’t a good writer, but I had just won an award for a story that I’d written for my school newspaper, so at least I could pretend I was a good writer. (The story was about the varsity men's basketball team. (I knew a lot of the players, so they gave me permission to take liberties with their quotes.) The story cemented me as a sports writer for the paper, and essentially began the end of my interest in journalism. Sports writing for a high school paper isn't all glamour and glitz. Three straight issues of writing in depth about girls’ basketball is too much for even the most dedicated young male journalist.)

Working for Will sounded kind of fun to me, so told my mom that I’d do it. Will called me in for an interview shortly thereafter.

When I arrived at his office, his secretary told me to wait for a few minutes until he was ready. Will's door was open, so I could see right into his office. Up to that point in my life the only attorneys I’d ever seen were Ben Matlock, Dan Fielding, and Christine Sullivan, so I was eager to peek in and watch him operate.

The first thing I noticed was that he never picked up his phone. Don’t get me wrong, he was talking on the phone the entire time, but he was always on speakerphone. Sometimes he worked on other things while talking, but most of the time he just had both hands on the back of his head.

His voice was loud, and he was aggressive. I couldn’t make out who he was talking to, but when orders were given, he was the one giving them. If conversations were like ballroom dancing, Will was leading. Every time. I was already beginning to feel intimidated as he called me in. (I was a sarcastic, insecure, 5’9, 110lb, dark-skinned kid. I couldn't imagine the two of us hitting it off.)

I quickly learned that Will was a loud talker in general. We sat no more than four feet from eachother, but I could have been outside behind a closed window with a construction crew working behind me and still heard every word he said. I started to think that maybe he spoke to everyone as if he was talking to them on speakerphone. Maybe the speakerphone talking was practice for being loud in person.

Will might have been a nice guy, but I wouldn’t have known. He wasn’t mean at all, but he certainly wasn’t pleasant. He talked fast, with very little bullshit. He seemed like a guy who knew what “exchanging pleasantries” entailed, but was consciously trying to avoid them. Most adults I’d met up to that point in my life would sit around and bullshit with me for a few minutes before cutting to the chase. But my interview with Will went like this:

(I walk in)

Will – Have a seat. So your mom tells me you’re a good writer.

Me – Yeah, I won an award for a story I wrote last year, and so our class got a field trip..

Will – (Interrupting) Ok, that’s great. Word Perfect. Word Perfect is important. It’s huge right now. You know how to use Word Perfect?

Me – Yeah, I took a class in it last year, I…

Will – (Interrupting) Good. You’ve gotta know Word Perfect these days. Do you have a car? (he does a 180 in his chair, so now he’s got his back to me)

Me – Well, its my dad’s old car, but I can use it.

Will – because I’m going to need you to run some stuff to court for me. Can you start tomorrow?

Me – Yeah, what…

Will – (Spins his chair back around and faces me) Ok, I can give you $6 an hour, I’ll see you tomorrow at 9.

Me – Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow.

(I got up and left, no handshake)

I was confused. My interview for the pool job was 45 minutes long! We discussed school, my extra-curricular activities, my likes, dislikes, the responsibilities of the job and more. But Will might have had me in and out of his office in under a minute.

A small part of me was glad because I didn’t have to tell him that I got a “D” in my Word Perfect class in high school (which was especially ironic because it was the only time I got less than "B" in a high school class.) And $6 an hour was a big bump from $4.45 at the pool. But I was worried about how his “no nonsense” personality was going to mesh with my “predominately nonsense” personality. My excitement level had decreased significantly.

The next morning I showed up for work at 9am sharp, his secretary showed me to my workspace. Will’s office was the first floor of a big renovated house, so I got my own room. He was a successful attorney, so everything had been rehabbed to the point where I forgot I was in a house. And I was happy about getting my own ‘office’.

Will came in right away and directed my attention to three big boxes on the floor. The boxes were full of documents; it was my job to put them all in chronological order and flag the important ones. Simple enough.

By 10:15 I was asleep.

Flipping through those documents was killing me. It was a personal injury case that had been going on for years, so half of the documents were motions and court papers. The other half were medical reports. I didn’t know what any of it meant, so I had to read it all to try and determine if it was important enough to flag. I was bored and confused.

By 10:45 I was looking for something else to do. I asked the secretary if Will had left me any other work, so she gave me some papers to deliver to the courthouse. I was relieved.

Both of my parents’ cars were pieces of shit. I took my mom’s van that day, a brown, 1986 Plymouth Voyager with spotty air conditioning. The only thing worse than the 30 minute drive to the courthouse without A/C, was the 45 minute drive back to the office without A/C but with an increase in traffic and temperature. I had half a mind to ask Will if he'd let me take his Cadillac next time. (slightly less than half)

I picked up some lunch and ate it in my office. The entire time, the boxes of documents stared at me ominously, like a 200lb girl whose house I’d drunkenly left my wallet. I didn’t want to go back there, but I knew I had to.

As I was putting papers in chronological order I realized that if he had me doing grunt work like this, he certainly wasn’t going to let me write anything important. I was a naïve kid. So naïve that I actually had visions of helping him with closing arguments and cross examinations. I really did. It wasn’t until my first day that I realized he only wanted me to know Word Perfect so I could type out the notes he was dictating in his office.

I learned that 9 to 5 in an office, was quite different from 12 to 6 at a pool.

Thankfully, I had to work at the pool the next day, so I let Will know that I couldn’t come in to work. He told me to call him on Monday and we’d figure out my hours for the next week.

I never spoke to him again.

Today was my first day working as a licensed attorney. Its a temporary job for a Chicago law firm.

Guess at what I was doing all day?

Karma is a bitch.

Intelligence

To summarize this article: the Senate is investigating intelligence failures at the Pentagon that eventually helped make the case for invading Iraq. Democrats argue that intelligence was manipulated to justify the invasion. Republicans argue that although mistakes were made, Pentagon officials did nothing wrong.*

If the Senate concludes that intelligence was in fact manipulated, shouldn’t those responsible be tried for treason?

Here’s another article that goes into more detail about possible motives for the invasion. I found it while searching for Karen Kwiatkowski (quoted in the third paragraph.) She worked for the Pentagon the year before the Iraq invasion. She basically says that intelligence reports were manipulated to push American public opinion into supporting the war. Others in the article say that intelligence was manipulated to satisfy the United Nations’ criteria for war.

If the White House felt the need for a regime change in Iraq, why not just explain its reasons to the American public and beg for support?** And if the UN’s got a problem with it, they can assemble their army and stop us.***

*A vote for Obama is a vote to end partisan politics. (At least that's what he's selling)
**Who knows, maybe the American public would have got behind a good old fashioned conquering of Iraq. You never know…
***I guess that in a way, we kind of did that

snow

I have a confession to make. Although I know about some of the potentially dangerous consequences, until recently, a big part of me was kind of pulling for global warming.

I'm not kidding.

12 of my last 15 years have been spent living in or around Chicago. And you’re not going to find many anti global warming activists standing at a CTA bus stop in early January.

I have stood on an L train platform countless times, looking into a 30mph freezing wind and reassuring myself by thinking, "Well, once this global warming thing gets going, it won't be so bad out here."

It's been especially cold here lately. The thermometer in my car read -5 a couple of days ago. (and typically the temperature reading on my car is 5 degrees too warm.) We got a short break from the negative temperatures on Tuesday, just long enough for mother nature to drop eight inches of snow on my driveway.

I hadn’t been in the gym for a week or so, and I was looking for an excuse to take a long hot shower, so shoveling my driveway seemed particularly appealing to me at the time. I just had to figure out a way to handle the cold. My problem has always been that I’m just not built for cold weather.

My parents are from India, my grandparents are from India, and my great grandparents are from India. Its been a long time since anyone in my bloodline has felt Chicago style cold (if ever.) The next time some guy who’s half German and half Norwegian tells me that he doesn’t think it’s cold outside, I’ll tell him to go live in Bombay for 200 years, then spend a week in this weather and tell me how it feels.

With that in mind, (and a lot of free time) I decided to plan my outfit before shoveling. (as opposed to my usual, "just get out there and do it as fast as I can.")

Lesson #1 – Swallow your pride.

When you’re out shoveling snow, it’s not about how you look. This is what looked like on Tuesday.

I’ll take you through the anatomy of my outfit step by step. (because what I wore while shoveling snow is very interesting)

First, the gloves. You know those leather, cashmere lined gloves you bought at Nordstrom? The ones you wear to work, and while driving… Leave them inside. Go to a store and buy a pair of waterproof mittens. Swallow your pride. You don’t need to use your fingers while shoveling snow, you only need the opposable thumb.

I was too lazy to go buy mittens, so I wore the biggest gloves I could find. But no matter how thick your gloves are, at some point your fingers will get cold. When mine did, I’d slide my entire hand into the palm of the glove and use it like a mitten. It worked every time. Keeping your fingers together allows them to preserve body heat and stay warm.

Lesson #2 – Swallow your pride.

Wear a ski mask. During the winter, I honestly can't understand why people aren't wearing ski masks every day. I truly don’t. When I walk down the street in January, why isn’t every single person wearing a ski mask? It makes no sense to me. Why wear a hat and scarf, when a ski mask will not only cover your neck and ears, but will cover most of your face?

The new trend is to wear 180’s while going to work in the morning. (by “new” I mean 4 years ago when I last went to work in cold weather) But there's one thing that 180’s don’t cover. Your entire fucking head!

I must warn you, if you walk around with a ski mask on all the time, you will get your fair share of looks. I’ve even had people heckle me from passing cars. But when it comes down to it, the moment a heckler rolls down his car window to yell at me, we both know which one of us is feeling colder. I don’t have to say a word. I just smile, knowing that the objective truth is on my side.

Just because ski masks aren't "hip" right now doesn't mean we shouldn't wear them. Remember when everyone was tight rolling their jeans in the late 80's? Someone had to be the first to stop the stupidity.

Someone has to start the ski mask revival movement. Why not me?

Why not us?

If you’ve got two ski-masks that cover different parts of the face, wear’em both. (Wear'em both even if they cover the same parts of the face, it can't hurt.) The only skin exposed on my face were my eyes and half of my lower lip.

Jacket. Obviously the longest, thickest water proof coat you have should suffice.

Sweater. If you’ve got a turtle neck, wear it. The tighter the better.

Undershirt. Long underwear helps, the tighter the better.

Mine isn't as tight as I'd like it to be, but I've got a shirt underneath.

Lesson #3 – Swallow your pride.

Weight-belt. You can either be the guy who wore a weight-belt while shoveling snow. Or you can be the guy who threw out his back while shoveling snow. I’ve made my choice.

Make sure you strap it on tight. It will help keep your lower back straight while bending over to scoop snow. It only takes one awkward movement to injure your back. (I’ve seen it happen on driveways before)

(disclaimer, if you’re reading this in a place like Kentucky or Tennessee or some other state where "snowfall" means three inches of powder, then obviously you won’t need the belt. But for those of us in the North who are out there lifting driveways full of tight frozen snow,, you can get a good belt for $25 at your local sporting goods store.) (this is the one I have http://www.altusathletic.com/product_default3.asp?product_id=16)

Shoes. I know guys who wear three pairs of socks and Air Force Ones. Not a good idea. Water will get through sneakers, and once the socks get wet you're in serious trouble. Boots will give you much better traction, and it takes a set of circumstances to unfold for water to find its way in. Buy a pair of Timberlands. They come in handy more than you'd expect. I’ve had mine since 2002, and they hold up just as strong as they ever did. I might ask to be buried in them.

http://www.timberland.com/product/index.jsp?productId=1776446&cp=1779791.1761081.1761136&parentPage=family (they’re cheaper in stores, and I bought a darker color, because they’ll fade into the lighter color eventually)

Lesson #4 – Swallow your pride.

Long underwear bottoms. Unless you’ve got some snow pants, I’d suggest slipping into your tightest pair. They make a big difference.

It took me ~30 minutes to shovel my driveway, I was so warm that I even shoveled part of my neighbor’s sidewalk. I was so warm that afterwards I walked outside for a few minutes with my ski masks off and my jacket unzipped, just to could get a little cooler in preparation for the hot shower.

Now that I've understood how to live with the cold weather. I can honestly be against global warming.

Maybe.

Its my profile picture too,

I wonder how many people are hoping that Prince's Super Bowl halftime set will be all new stuff?

at least one. (me)

post post proofread

I just made a post post proofread of of that last entry. I've changed typos before, but this was a first. The first post post proofread. And I think it helped.

The Mayor

This is kind of funny. Well… it’s not funny in a conventional sense, but it’s atypical, and it’s interesting. So not necessarily funny, but its something. If you can come up with a proper adjective, feel free to comment.

San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom admitted yesterday to having an affair with Ruby Rippey-Tourk (his campaign manager’s wife.) Here’s an article.

Newsom’s election in 2003 was national news because it made him one of the youngest mayors in the country. When I first saw pictures of him, I distinctly remember noticing his hair and thinking that he had to be a playboy.

That is serious hair.

Now this is the real deal. That's hair you'd like to see in HD.

This is him posing with his ex-wife not long before their divorce.

(Keep in mind that this is the mayor of a major city. Not many guys in any profession will lay down like that in front of a camera for you) It’s almost like a call to all women, “Ladies, if you play your cards right, the only thing separating your left boob from a Persian rug could be my cupped hand.”

So obviously, without any knowledge of this affair, all signs point to Newsom being a playboy and big time poon hound. Look at that hair! Seriously, scroll up and look at it again. Lets not kid ourselves here, not many guys can pull that off. I can think of a few famous people: Pat Reilly, Gordon Gecko, Mel Kiper Jr. and Steve Lavin. Your average person might know one guy who can get away with it. Tops. (Most guys who can get away with it, either don’t know it, or don’t have the courage to do it. That’s why the stars really have to align for a guy to pull it off)

You don’t forget a head of hair like that. This is a picture I took of Steve Lavin at the final four last year. I’m not one to get star-struck for anyone, but I proudly admit that I'll stop to admire a fine head of hair.

I had been drinking for many hours when I took this, but I still had the wherewithal to snap that picture. And I’m a heterosexual male. Just try to imagine what happens to women when they see a head of hair like that!

I decided to read up a little more on Newsom and his lover. I'll summarize this story about a San Francisco Neighborhood Center’s annual fundraiser in 2005. Immediately you notice Newsom’s picture on the left. As soon as you see him, you notice the extra two inches of chest that he’s got on display for the cameras and people in attendance. Hugh Grant barely gets away with that.

Is that the mayor of a major city, or a nightclub owner? He’s one button away from flashing an occasional nipple. Is it "even money" that he shaves his chest? or am I just getting 20 cents on the dollar for that? Why doesn’t he just wear a t-shirt, and have tattoos on display?

Ok, so the story reads,

“Mayor Gavin Newsom joined us during the cocktail hour to chat with guests, and donated a private tour of his office and an autographed Armani tie for the Live Auction.”

Am I just stating the extremely obvious here by saying that I want to be this guy? He only showed up for the cocktail hour! Once the liquor stops flowing, the Mayor gets going...

And he autographed an Armani tie for the auction. For some reason I can’t imagine the bidding getting too frenzied for an Armani tie autographed by Richard Daley.

Ruby’s name is not mentioned in the story

But I didn’t give up. Go back to the story and scroll down until you see a picture of two women on the left side of the page. Look at the blond in the white shirt. There is no caption, but if you right click on it and select ‘save as’, you’ll see that the name of the picture is “Ruby Tourk & KatherineMunter-aprroved.JPG.” Bingo.

This happened in 2005. So what do you think? Was this the night of their first encounter? Had one of them already been putting moves on the other? Could the affair have already been going strong at that point? Who was chasing who? I’m inclined to think that she was after him. (For Newsom, women like that are probably a dime a dozen. But a head of hair like that on a man is a once in a lifetime opportunity for any woman.)

Thats Ruby's husband on the left

I did some more research. According to this article, the affair happened about a year and a half ago. The Neighborhood Center fundraiser was from May of 2005! That night might have been the night. Its possible that within a few hours of that picture being taken, Newsom took her back to his penthouse, put on Rod Stewart “Tonight’s the Night”, and made sweet love to her for the first time.

First I tried to imagine Ruby’s pickup line for the Mayor. She might have walked up to him after a couple of cosmos and said,

Ruby - Hey Gavin, I've wanted to tell you for a long time,, that your hair reminds me of my husband's chest.. and your chest, it reminds me of my husband's head.

Mayor – Ruby, what are you trying to say to me?

Ruby – Gavin,,, I’m trying to say that I want you to take me to your penthouse, put on Rod Stewart “Tonight’s the Night” and make sweet love to me.

Mayor – (slips her a card with only a phone number on it) Dial this number and say “the condor flies tonight.” Then give the man your location and a town car will pick you up in 5 minutes.

Ruby - ...

Mayor - When the car arrives; give two knocks on the trunk, two knocks on the passenger side window, and then don't start moving towards the back door until you hear the driver unlock the doors.

Or if it was in fact the Mayor approaching her, I picture Ruby at the bar ordering a drink:

Bartender – What’ll it be?

Ruby – I’ll just have a diet coke

(The Mayor walks up to the bar)

Mayor – Two Belvedere martinis please.

Bartender – Would you like olives with those?

Mayor – I’ll have olives in mine. (turns to Ruby) Do you want olives in yours?

(Pause. As she realizes what he’s doing)

Ruby – You wanna get me a martini?

Mayor – If you wanna play ball, I’ll get you a whole hell of a lot more than a martini.

I labored over how aggrssive his line would be in that situation,

- More reserved could have sounded something like this;

Ruby – You wanna get me a martini?

Mayor - Why? Do you see something else that you want?

- More aggressive could have sounded something this;

Ruby – You wanna get me a martini?

Mayor - Bitch if you wanna play ball, I’ll get you a whole hell of a lot more than a martini.

Kind of makes you think about who won that private tour of his office that night