My disdain strains the leash. American asshattery is boundless and ubiquitous, but we've out done ourselves this time. This is the drunk evening in pop culture, and we will awaken in the morning astonishingly embarrassed, if we've managed to retain anything resembling dignity.
Apparently, Katie Couric is switching jobs. I wouldn't know where to begin giving a fuck. People switch jobs everyday for a variety of reasons. Some valid, others utter bullshit. All completely irrelevant. What do I care if you're switching jobs? How the fuck is that news? Yet there it is.
I click one channel after the next. ABC, "Today is Katie Couric's last day." I could have sworn The Today Show was on NBC. Whatever. CBS, "We bid Katie good-bye today...." I glance at the remote, disbelief growing. Local Fox Station, "Oh, and it's Katie's last day on The Today Show." Suffocating, cloying sentiment on one channel after the next. My cat leaves the room. I turn to ESPN. Mike and Mike In The Morning won't let me down. As a rule, they don't talk about much outside of sports. Just two guys gabbing away about the latest pseudo sports news.
I toss the remote on the bed and head to the kitchen. From the smell of the things, the coffee has finished brewing. I rummage through the cabinets looking for my coffee mug. I hear the shower shut off. I steel myself against the imminent avalanche of well wishes. Samantha likes to watch The Today Show in the mornings.
The squeak of the bathroom door announces the end of Sam's morning grooming ritual. I pour a cup of coffee. The patter of her feet on the kitchen tile somewhere behind me. She hugs.
"Morning," she says.
"Morning." I turn and she's on her way to the bedroom, and the remote. I listen. Take a sip of coffee. Waiting. Soon Matt Lauer is prattling on about how much he's going to miss Katie. I walk into the bedroom. Sam is standing there with a hand on one hip, the remote in the other, head cocked. They are running a series of Katie clips from over the years. Sam's face is one part amusement, one part incredulity with a splash of disgust for color.
"Are they still talking about this middle-aged teenager switching jobs," she laughs.
"Yep." Another sip of coffee and I sit on the side of the bed.
She laughs and turns off the TV.
Women are so much smarter than men.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
8 Weeks And I'm On
Unjustifiable narcissism. That's the only way to describe my mood this morning. After an oddly entertaining and relaxing weekend, one in which I entirely set aside my bar studies, I returned to reality this morning and realized that there's roughly 8 weeks before I sit for this thing again. For whatever reason, I'm unconcerned. Asininely arrogant might be a better description.
Thomas Edison said, " I have never failed anything. I have simply found ways that things don't work." Okay, well, I have found out that cramming for the bar the last 2-3 weeks just doesn't work. I need to find my anxiety. I need to find my sense of urgency. Where the hell is my fucking concern? I had it a minute ago.
Hmmm. If I don't pass this time, I'll be taking it again in February. I'll be paying $500 to take it again. I'll get reacquainted with that sickened feeling when checking the list of candidates that passed, and not finding my name. I'll suffer the "sorry to hear about the bar results" conversation for another three months.
Suddenly, I've found my anxiety. I've found my fucking concern. I found my sense of urgency. Most importantly, I've lost my comforting arrogance.
Time to put in 40-hour work weeks for the next seven weeks. Time to handle my business, and not let my business handle me.
Thomas Edison said, " I have never failed anything. I have simply found ways that things don't work." Okay, well, I have found out that cramming for the bar the last 2-3 weeks just doesn't work. I need to find my anxiety. I need to find my sense of urgency. Where the hell is my fucking concern? I had it a minute ago.
Hmmm. If I don't pass this time, I'll be taking it again in February. I'll be paying $500 to take it again. I'll get reacquainted with that sickened feeling when checking the list of candidates that passed, and not finding my name. I'll suffer the "sorry to hear about the bar results" conversation for another three months.
Suddenly, I've found my anxiety. I've found my fucking concern. I found my sense of urgency. Most importantly, I've lost my comforting arrogance.
Time to put in 40-hour work weeks for the next seven weeks. Time to handle my business, and not let my business handle me.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Unexpected
Personality tests. Who'd a thought it could be a such a source of contentious conversation. I thought I would jump in here and type up a quick post.
Randy and Eddie's results are fodder for some revealing debate. Samantha is up next. Should be fun.
You should give it a try too.
http://www.personaldna.com
Randy and Eddie's results are fodder for some revealing debate. Samantha is up next. Should be fun.
You should give it a try too.
http://www.personaldna.com
Sunday, May 28, 2006
BBQ'd Phone Call
"What's up, Trev?"
"Nada damn thing," he says, "What's up for this weekend? You holding the annual BBQ or what?"
I look at Sam, who's is not a fan of being awakened by ringing phones or alarm clocks.
"Hey, I forgot about this weekend. Are we having people over again?"
"If you want," she says through thinly veiled agitation. "We'll have to go to the store and grab food and beverages."
She's a true sport. I'm not sure what I did to deserve her, or what she may have done to end up with me, but I'm sure analysis would jinx it.
Uncovering the phone I say, "Yeah, we're doing the BBQ and all that again." Thinking the reason he's calling is because we haven't sent out the invitation.
"Cool. Don't want it to look like I'm inviting myself or anything, I was just wondering."
"My ass." I said. "You invited yourself and you don't give a shit." We laughed. "I guess I'd better get this whole thing organized."
"Yeah, you have a whole 48 hours."
"Thanks for the reminder." I chuckled. "I need to send out some Email invites, I guess."
Now it was his turn to chuckle. "Randy and Eddie are sitting here. And Randy is on the phone with Kevin right now."
"Am I that predictable?"
"No, I'm that sexy."
"Sounds like you've misplaced your Y chromosome," I say
We laugh and hangup.
"Nada damn thing," he says, "What's up for this weekend? You holding the annual BBQ or what?"
I look at Sam, who's is not a fan of being awakened by ringing phones or alarm clocks.
"Hey, I forgot about this weekend. Are we having people over again?"
"If you want," she says through thinly veiled agitation. "We'll have to go to the store and grab food and beverages."
She's a true sport. I'm not sure what I did to deserve her, or what she may have done to end up with me, but I'm sure analysis would jinx it.
Uncovering the phone I say, "Yeah, we're doing the BBQ and all that again." Thinking the reason he's calling is because we haven't sent out the invitation.
"Cool. Don't want it to look like I'm inviting myself or anything, I was just wondering."
"My ass." I said. "You invited yourself and you don't give a shit." We laughed. "I guess I'd better get this whole thing organized."
"Yeah, you have a whole 48 hours."
"Thanks for the reminder." I chuckled. "I need to send out some Email invites, I guess."
Now it was his turn to chuckle. "Randy and Eddie are sitting here. And Randy is on the phone with Kevin right now."
"Am I that predictable?"
"No, I'm that sexy."
"Sounds like you've misplaced your Y chromosome," I say
We laugh and hangup.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Serenity
Today is pleasantly prosaic. I awoke without the headbanger. Meandered into the kitchen and started brewing a pot of coffee. While Mr. Coffee was doing his thing I absently scratched the cat behind his ears, and grabbed him some Pounce cat treats. His one true love. Checked on Sam who was stretching languidly and emerging from a good night's sleep.
"Hey, beautiful," I say.
"Hey," she says reaching for the remote. She turns on the morning news. "Crap," she says.
"We haven't been up long enough for it to be anything serious. What's the problem?"
"It's going to be 90 freaking degrees today. That sucks." We have differing opinions on weather. I like it hot, she hates it. But we both agree; we should go to the gym right now before it gets too hot in there.
Just got back from the gym. Good workout. We made some sandwiches for lunch, and Sam's crashed on the love seat. The cat's curled up by the stereo. Perfect.
I fire up the computer. Checked my Email. Nothing too exciting. I check the Internet news. CNN.com, Truthout.org, Washington Post. A serene day in the news, too. I notice that MSN has a link to a site that does personality tests. I take it. It has some interesting results.
It says you can just mouse over different areas of the personality dna strip and it provides an explanation.
The gumballs on the phone again. Trev's calling.
"Hey, beautiful," I say.
"Hey," she says reaching for the remote. She turns on the morning news. "Crap," she says.
"We haven't been up long enough for it to be anything serious. What's the problem?"
"It's going to be 90 freaking degrees today. That sucks." We have differing opinions on weather. I like it hot, she hates it. But we both agree; we should go to the gym right now before it gets too hot in there.
Just got back from the gym. Good workout. We made some sandwiches for lunch, and Sam's crashed on the love seat. The cat's curled up by the stereo. Perfect.
I fire up the computer. Checked my Email. Nothing too exciting. I check the Internet news. CNN.com, Truthout.org, Washington Post. A serene day in the news, too. I notice that MSN has a link to a site that does personality tests. I take it. It has some interesting results.
It says you can just mouse over different areas of the personality dna strip and it provides an explanation.
The gumballs on the phone again. Trev's calling.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Blackhawk
Bushmills puts the God in "Oh my God, I think I'm going to be sick." I must've pissed off the 800 pound gorilla in the room, and he's giving me a world-class ass kicking because my skull feels like it's being crushed. I don't dare open my eyes. My tongue feels like I licked a sandbox, and tastes like the indiscernible mixture of smells in decomposing bar air. This hangover is definitely in the top five all time worst. Can you die from a hangover? Nah, I couldn't get that lucky.
Samantha laughs, "Was it everything you hoped it would be?" She's standing in the doorway, and smells freshly showered. I still refuse to open my eyes.
"You betcha," I whispered, but thought I was yelling. I find it hard to think about anything besides the two gallons of water and the hangover mixture that's waiting in fridge. Sam made it for me last night. God I love this woman.
I threw off the covers and sat up gingerly. Yep, the best part of this day is going to be bedtime. I wander to the fridge and grab the hangover drink. I reach above the fridge and grab a vitamin c tab, a vitamin d tab, two aspirin, and a L-cysteine tablet. I chase those down with the mixture of OJ, milk, a banana, V-8 juice and a little salt and nutmeg. I should start to feel better in a bit. I set that container down and grabbed one of the gallon jugs of water, popped the top off and drank 'til I was breathless, took a break, repeat.
Sam puts her arms around me, kisses my chest, "You smell like a bar. Get your ass in the shower."
"Your compassion is overwhelming."
"I'll be compassionate if you develop prostate cancer. The 'in sickness and health' clause doesn't cover hangovers." We laughed.
"You have an odd sense of humor, honey," I said.
"It's why you love me," she says. "I gotta go. Brush your teeth and gimme kiss."
I obeyed.
After she'd left, I went to the bathroom and started the shower. I got in and tried to figure out how I got in this condition.
I wandered in around 4:30 and the party was in full swing. Trev seemed to be holding court. Outstandingly spry considering his state of mind earlier in the morning. That hangover cure must be the ticket.
"What's up, fellas," I say. Randy gestures to a chair where a 24 oz beer and a shot of Bushmills wait expectantly. I get seated and notice there's an empty shot glass in front of everyone.
"Couldn't wait on ya any longer. You were holding up the party," Kevin says.
I glance at Randy who is spinning his phone on the tabletop with a knowing smirk. I glance at Eddie, he gestures toward the bar. Faith is working. Comedy.
I get her attention, hold up five fingers, and point to my soon to be empty shot glass, and give her the thumbs up. Five Bushmills, please. Thanks.
I drain my shot. Set it down and ask, "Where's Seth?"
"Someone had an extra ticket to Miami for some music convention. So he headed out a couple of hours ago," Eddie says. I nod.
To Trev, "So you said you had something to tell me. Gimme."
"I think Trev is officially sick of Sherri," says Eddie.
"Hey, this is my damn story. I'll tell it," Trev interrupts.
"I was there," Eddie foreshadows.
Faith arrives with the shots, sets them down and glances across the table at Kevin who smiles that "we've got a secret" smile. Yeah, we have your secret too, Kev. But that'll keep. We distribute the shots, knock 'em back and Randy says
"Give, Trev."
"All right. Well Sherri has been on my nerves for a while and, frankly, I want her to move out. We have a sweet apartment and I don't want to give it up. Plus, I'd rather lick the floor at a peep show than move." Groans all around.
"Anyway, we're up the street at Nola's having some drinks. We're knocking 'em back 'til about 9 and guess who walks in?" He gestures toward Eddie. "So Eddie sits down, breaks out the pics of the new baby and is just, in general, the cliched annoying new father." Eddie tosses him the bird and says, "Hey, he's a good-looking kid, takes after his dad!" Laughter.
"So after a few more cocktails, one of Sherri's friends shows up from work. She proceeds to get loaded and just annoy the hell out of me."
"No doubt, the cheerleader on speed," Eddie says, "She sucks."
"I'm sitting there and looking at Sherri. Looking at whatever her freaking name is. And I'm thinking I'm so sick of this chick. Just positively sick of her. I would chew my own leg off to get away from her." We laugh. Trev is legendary for making life changing decisions with a fifth in him
"At about this time Eddie gets up and goes to the bathroom," he pauses for effect. I glance at my now empty beer glass. Kevin gestures for another round of beers and shots. They arrive suspiciously fast. Everyone slams the shots and sips the beer. Trev wipes his mouth and continues,
"Sherri and what's her name are just gabbing away. I look over at the restrooms, 'cause I need to take a leak too. Then, I notice the door. And that the door and the bathrooms are in the same general direction." Eddie busts out laughing at this point. You can see where this might be headed, but it got much better.
"I look at Sherri and I say,'hey, I'm going to the restroom real quick.' She barely even acknowledged me!" I take a long pull from my beer. Thinking that this beer tastes better than sex after a day of memorizing A&P law.
"I bump into Eddie and I say, 'let's go.' He's like, 'go where?'" At this point Eddie is nearly on the floor. "I'm all 'to Blackhawk.'"
"Then I say," Eddie jumps in, 'you gonna tell Sherri?'"
"I was like, nah, I'm sick of her. Then we leave and we drove to Blackhawk to do some gambling!"
"Let me get this straight. You told Sherri that you were going to the bathroom, and then you left and drove an hour and a half to gamble," Randy surmises.
"That covers it to this point," Trev says.
"That's not the half of it," Eddie urges Trev along.
"Well, I don't have the best luck in the world." We all nod in agreement. If there is a person alive that shouldn't be gambling, it's Trev. "So I proceeded to lose all of my discretionary income." Nothing particularly shocking about that. I take a big gulp of beer, contemplating another shot. Randy beat me to the punch, he's gesturing to Faith. I glance at Kevin.
"Well, I wasn't ready to leave yet," he smirks," So I broke out the bill money and the rent money." Drinks deeply, "And lost all that shit, too!" Everyone is laughing their ass off at this point. Kevin has his hand over his mouth in disbelief, and I can't help but think it's some sort of miracle that Trev is still amongst the living.
"You spent all of the rent and bill money," Kevin asks. Trev nods.
"Then, "I'm in disbelief, "we decide to drive back. I mean, you know it's four in the morning and I have a job to go to. Not like the golf pro here." He juts a thumb in Eddie's direction, who shrugs.
"So we get outside my house, and mind you I'm shit canned already, I ask Eddie if he has any cabbage on him. He's like, 'yeah.' I'm like come on in and let's partake of that. You need 5-6 servings a day you know." The drinks arrive.
" So Sherri hates this stuff to begin with, but she thinks that we still have money to pay rent and the bills and I haven't figured out how to break the bad news to her, either." We're starting to draw attention we're laughing so hard. Sherri was not a favorite of the crew.
"So we start blazing up and Sherri storms out of the bedroom. Freaking hair everywhere screaming'where the hell have you been.' I got the blunt in my hand. I take a toke, hold it in trying to think of something to say--realizing this could get really ugly. I hand the blunt to Eddie, and I just said 'Blackhawk.' Like I went to the store for a loaf of bread and some milk." Laughter.
"She screams at me, 'you have no idea how fucking pissed I am at you right now!' And I want him and that out of here right now, talking about Eddie and the cabbage." We all take our shots .
"I say," I look at Eddie and he's shaking his head,"Well, you're about to be really pissed. I spent all the rent and bill money." We can't wait to hear Sherri's reaction.
"What'd Sherri say?" Randy slurred.
"She just screams like someone's killing her. Like over and over again. Then she slams her head into her hands and starts sobbing and crying and asking why I hate her so much."Trev is dying laughing as are the rest of us, "And I just started laughing and said, 'I don't know. I just do.'" Uproarious laughter from everyone and I notice that people have gathered around to hear this story.
"So what did she end up doing," I asked.
"She called whatever that girl's name is and went over there. Said she'd be by later in the week to get the rest of her stuff." He shrugged.
"Well now there's the small problem of paying your rent and bills this month," I noticed I was slurring and another shot didn't sound appetizing as I noticed Eddie gesturing to a new waitress who had come on.
"Nah, golf pro here is floating me a loan. Thanks again, bro," he raised his glass to Eddie. That's when it occurs to me.
"The new father was out until all hours of the night boozing, gambling and harvesting the cabbage? What'd Christine have ta say 'bout that?" I asked.
The drinks arrive sometime around here, I think.
"Oh, I'm so far in the dog house you might need a GPS tracking device to find my ass. I might have to crash with Trev here for a while. Man, she's pissed!!" I thought to myself she was probably at the end of her rope with Eddie, but that's for another day.
I knocked back another shot and the rest of my beer. Noticed that we'd put another happy hour to bed and thought it's about time to head home. But this is where Trev talked me, Randy and Kevin into "just one more." Eddie, exercising a wisdom that only comes with self-inflicted marital problems, opted to head home. The way my head feels, I should have done the same.
Samantha laughs, "Was it everything you hoped it would be?" She's standing in the doorway, and smells freshly showered. I still refuse to open my eyes.
"You betcha," I whispered, but thought I was yelling. I find it hard to think about anything besides the two gallons of water and the hangover mixture that's waiting in fridge. Sam made it for me last night. God I love this woman.
I threw off the covers and sat up gingerly. Yep, the best part of this day is going to be bedtime. I wander to the fridge and grab the hangover drink. I reach above the fridge and grab a vitamin c tab, a vitamin d tab, two aspirin, and a L-cysteine tablet. I chase those down with the mixture of OJ, milk, a banana, V-8 juice and a little salt and nutmeg. I should start to feel better in a bit. I set that container down and grabbed one of the gallon jugs of water, popped the top off and drank 'til I was breathless, took a break, repeat.
Sam puts her arms around me, kisses my chest, "You smell like a bar. Get your ass in the shower."
"Your compassion is overwhelming."
"I'll be compassionate if you develop prostate cancer. The 'in sickness and health' clause doesn't cover hangovers." We laughed.
"You have an odd sense of humor, honey," I said.
"It's why you love me," she says. "I gotta go. Brush your teeth and gimme kiss."
I obeyed.
After she'd left, I went to the bathroom and started the shower. I got in and tried to figure out how I got in this condition.
I wandered in around 4:30 and the party was in full swing. Trev seemed to be holding court. Outstandingly spry considering his state of mind earlier in the morning. That hangover cure must be the ticket.
"What's up, fellas," I say. Randy gestures to a chair where a 24 oz beer and a shot of Bushmills wait expectantly. I get seated and notice there's an empty shot glass in front of everyone.
"Couldn't wait on ya any longer. You were holding up the party," Kevin says.
I glance at Randy who is spinning his phone on the tabletop with a knowing smirk. I glance at Eddie, he gestures toward the bar. Faith is working. Comedy.
I get her attention, hold up five fingers, and point to my soon to be empty shot glass, and give her the thumbs up. Five Bushmills, please. Thanks.
I drain my shot. Set it down and ask, "Where's Seth?"
"Someone had an extra ticket to Miami for some music convention. So he headed out a couple of hours ago," Eddie says. I nod.
To Trev, "So you said you had something to tell me. Gimme."
"I think Trev is officially sick of Sherri," says Eddie.
"Hey, this is my damn story. I'll tell it," Trev interrupts.
"I was there," Eddie foreshadows.
Faith arrives with the shots, sets them down and glances across the table at Kevin who smiles that "we've got a secret" smile. Yeah, we have your secret too, Kev. But that'll keep. We distribute the shots, knock 'em back and Randy says
"Give, Trev."
"All right. Well Sherri has been on my nerves for a while and, frankly, I want her to move out. We have a sweet apartment and I don't want to give it up. Plus, I'd rather lick the floor at a peep show than move." Groans all around.
"Anyway, we're up the street at Nola's having some drinks. We're knocking 'em back 'til about 9 and guess who walks in?" He gestures toward Eddie. "So Eddie sits down, breaks out the pics of the new baby and is just, in general, the cliched annoying new father." Eddie tosses him the bird and says, "Hey, he's a good-looking kid, takes after his dad!" Laughter.
"So after a few more cocktails, one of Sherri's friends shows up from work. She proceeds to get loaded and just annoy the hell out of me."
"No doubt, the cheerleader on speed," Eddie says, "She sucks."
"I'm sitting there and looking at Sherri. Looking at whatever her freaking name is. And I'm thinking I'm so sick of this chick. Just positively sick of her. I would chew my own leg off to get away from her." We laugh. Trev is legendary for making life changing decisions with a fifth in him
"At about this time Eddie gets up and goes to the bathroom," he pauses for effect. I glance at my now empty beer glass. Kevin gestures for another round of beers and shots. They arrive suspiciously fast. Everyone slams the shots and sips the beer. Trev wipes his mouth and continues,
"Sherri and what's her name are just gabbing away. I look over at the restrooms, 'cause I need to take a leak too. Then, I notice the door. And that the door and the bathrooms are in the same general direction." Eddie busts out laughing at this point. You can see where this might be headed, but it got much better.
"I look at Sherri and I say,'hey, I'm going to the restroom real quick.' She barely even acknowledged me!" I take a long pull from my beer. Thinking that this beer tastes better than sex after a day of memorizing A&P law.
"I bump into Eddie and I say, 'let's go.' He's like, 'go where?'" At this point Eddie is nearly on the floor. "I'm all 'to Blackhawk.'"
"Then I say," Eddie jumps in, 'you gonna tell Sherri?'"
"I was like, nah, I'm sick of her. Then we leave and we drove to Blackhawk to do some gambling!"
"Let me get this straight. You told Sherri that you were going to the bathroom, and then you left and drove an hour and a half to gamble," Randy surmises.
"That covers it to this point," Trev says.
"That's not the half of it," Eddie urges Trev along.
"Well, I don't have the best luck in the world." We all nod in agreement. If there is a person alive that shouldn't be gambling, it's Trev. "So I proceeded to lose all of my discretionary income." Nothing particularly shocking about that. I take a big gulp of beer, contemplating another shot. Randy beat me to the punch, he's gesturing to Faith. I glance at Kevin.
"Well, I wasn't ready to leave yet," he smirks," So I broke out the bill money and the rent money." Drinks deeply, "And lost all that shit, too!" Everyone is laughing their ass off at this point. Kevin has his hand over his mouth in disbelief, and I can't help but think it's some sort of miracle that Trev is still amongst the living.
"You spent all of the rent and bill money," Kevin asks. Trev nods.
"Then, "I'm in disbelief, "we decide to drive back. I mean, you know it's four in the morning and I have a job to go to. Not like the golf pro here." He juts a thumb in Eddie's direction, who shrugs.
"So we get outside my house, and mind you I'm shit canned already, I ask Eddie if he has any cabbage on him. He's like, 'yeah.' I'm like come on in and let's partake of that. You need 5-6 servings a day you know." The drinks arrive.
" So Sherri hates this stuff to begin with, but she thinks that we still have money to pay rent and the bills and I haven't figured out how to break the bad news to her, either." We're starting to draw attention we're laughing so hard. Sherri was not a favorite of the crew.
"So we start blazing up and Sherri storms out of the bedroom. Freaking hair everywhere screaming'where the hell have you been.' I got the blunt in my hand. I take a toke, hold it in trying to think of something to say--realizing this could get really ugly. I hand the blunt to Eddie, and I just said 'Blackhawk.' Like I went to the store for a loaf of bread and some milk." Laughter.
"She screams at me, 'you have no idea how fucking pissed I am at you right now!' And I want him and that out of here right now, talking about Eddie and the cabbage." We all take our shots .
"I say," I look at Eddie and he's shaking his head,"Well, you're about to be really pissed. I spent all the rent and bill money." We can't wait to hear Sherri's reaction.
"What'd Sherri say?" Randy slurred.
"She just screams like someone's killing her. Like over and over again. Then she slams her head into her hands and starts sobbing and crying and asking why I hate her so much."Trev is dying laughing as are the rest of us, "And I just started laughing and said, 'I don't know. I just do.'" Uproarious laughter from everyone and I notice that people have gathered around to hear this story.
"So what did she end up doing," I asked.
"She called whatever that girl's name is and went over there. Said she'd be by later in the week to get the rest of her stuff." He shrugged.
"Well now there's the small problem of paying your rent and bills this month," I noticed I was slurring and another shot didn't sound appetizing as I noticed Eddie gesturing to a new waitress who had come on.
"Nah, golf pro here is floating me a loan. Thanks again, bro," he raised his glass to Eddie. That's when it occurs to me.
"The new father was out until all hours of the night boozing, gambling and harvesting the cabbage? What'd Christine have ta say 'bout that?" I asked.
The drinks arrive sometime around here, I think.
"Oh, I'm so far in the dog house you might need a GPS tracking device to find my ass. I might have to crash with Trev here for a while. Man, she's pissed!!" I thought to myself she was probably at the end of her rope with Eddie, but that's for another day.
I knocked back another shot and the rest of my beer. Noticed that we'd put another happy hour to bed and thought it's about time to head home. But this is where Trev talked me, Randy and Kevin into "just one more." Eddie, exercising a wisdom that only comes with self-inflicted marital problems, opted to head home. The way my head feels, I should have done the same.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
The Whole Crew
My indifference seethed. After hours of studying agency and partnership law, my attention span was going to need heroic measures. I've got a living will. Explicitly states no heroic measures. I set a&p law aside and perused the Internet news.
Skilling and Lay are going to be getting ass raped for the rest of their lives. A rare justice sighting.
Hoffa searchers start digging under a barn in suburban Detroit. Whoever killed him is dead. Why is this is so important to people? Who killed Hoffa? I don't know, but he's probably dead--assuming one person killed him.
Kelvin Sampson made some naughty phone calls to recruits. Oooooh, not that. The NCAA sucks. National Communists Against Athletes. Fuck 'em.
McDonald's CEO derides Fast Food "fiction." Does he? Excuse me, Mr. CEO. Do you eat your own food? Not likely.
Amazing. It's amazing what passes as news.
I logged onto MSN IM. Everyone is on: Trev, Eddie, Randy, Kenny--which is odd because he's a chef-- Rick, and Seth.
A message pops up that I've been invited to a conversation. Cool.
Randy: What's up, man?
Me: A&P brain freeze.
Randy: Agency and Partnership sucks.
Eddie: Cut the foreplay. We're thinking about meeting down at Harpo's for some brews. You in?
I checked the time and
Me: Fer sher.
Me: Trev, are you all recovered?
Trev: Good enough. Your remedy is the key to the lock.
Me: So you're gonna make it?
Trev: Yep.
Me: Cool. I need a shower, and then I will head down. See everyone in about an hour.
I logged off. My cell phone rings. It's Trev.
"What up, Trev?Miss me?" I laugh.
"Nah, you're built all wrong for the job. Did you notice that the entire crew is going to be out tonight?"
The stars have aligned perfectly. This is going to get ugly.
Skilling and Lay are going to be getting ass raped for the rest of their lives. A rare justice sighting.
Hoffa searchers start digging under a barn in suburban Detroit. Whoever killed him is dead. Why is this is so important to people? Who killed Hoffa? I don't know, but he's probably dead--assuming one person killed him.
Kelvin Sampson made some naughty phone calls to recruits. Oooooh, not that. The NCAA sucks. National Communists Against Athletes. Fuck 'em.
McDonald's CEO derides Fast Food "fiction." Does he? Excuse me, Mr. CEO. Do you eat your own food? Not likely.
Amazing. It's amazing what passes as news.
I logged onto MSN IM. Everyone is on: Trev, Eddie, Randy, Kenny--which is odd because he's a chef-- Rick, and Seth.
A message pops up that I've been invited to a conversation. Cool.
Randy: What's up, man?
Me: A&P brain freeze.
Randy: Agency and Partnership sucks.
Eddie: Cut the foreplay. We're thinking about meeting down at Harpo's for some brews. You in?
I checked the time and
Me: Fer sher.
Me: Trev, are you all recovered?
Trev: Good enough. Your remedy is the key to the lock.
Me: So you're gonna make it?
Trev: Yep.
Me: Cool. I need a shower, and then I will head down. See everyone in about an hour.
I logged off. My cell phone rings. It's Trev.
"What up, Trev?Miss me?" I laugh.
"Nah, you're built all wrong for the job. Did you notice that the entire crew is going to be out tonight?"
The stars have aligned perfectly. This is going to get ugly.
SPAM
The bubble gum machine gumballs on my cell phone light up. The Caller ID says it's Trevor calling. We've been friends almost since childhood.
"What's going on, Trev?"
"Not much. How're things going?"
"Cool. Cool."
"Hey, sorry to hear about you not passing the bar."
"Thanks." I get sick of having that conversation. And it reminds me that I should be fucking studying instead of running my mouth, but I haven't talked to Trev in a bit.
"Well, it could be worse. You could be living in a state where the levees are seriously under funded and a category five hurricane could tear through the state killing hundreds and leaving you unable to find loved ones. All the while you're trapped on the roof of the home you grew up in and the national media plasters your picture all over the airwaves every chance they ge in the name of ratings, and politicians bandy about your plight like a political soccer ball."Trev says.
"I suppose there's always that." I laugh.
"Hey, did you check out American Idol last night," Trev asks.
I laugh, vaguely wondering if he has ADD. "No, still haven't managed to sprout any ovaries," I say.
"Ovaries. That's pretty good," Trev laughs. "I didn't either, but, on the bus this morning, people were getting in a pretty heated discussion about who should have won. Ri-fucking-diculous."
"I bet they didn't vote in the presidential election, but they voted for their favorite Karaoke singer. Rank and file dumbfucks." Then I said, "Seriously, that's all that show is--Karaoke on steroids. "
"Spam." Trev says.
"What?"
"Spam. The people on there remind me of Spam. You know, the highly processed meat in a can that's going to outlive you and me?"
Trev makes some interesting connections. "How's that?"
"Whoever wins is just a highly processed, prefabricated product ready for mass consumption. Spam. Sorta meat. Sorta talented. In a prefabricated way." I laugh. Only Trev.
"Taco Bell as fine dining, " I say.
"Exactly."
Then it dawns on me that Trev is, or should be, at work. "You at work?"
"Got my fucking khakis on and I'm sitting in a grey cubicle. I better be at work. Why?"
"Just curious." Thinking I need to get to work on agency and partnerships. "You wanna grab some brews during happy hour?"
"Fuuuuuck. I dunno. I'm working off a banger right now. I got all fucking soaked last night. I'll tell you about it later. He laughs. "But anyway, that's really why I was calling. What's that hangover remedy you use again?"
"The drink, or the pills?
"Both. I need both, I think."
"Two cups of milk. One cup of orange juice. One small can of V-8 juice. A banana. A little nutmeg and a little salt."
"Pills?"
"Two aspirin. One vitamin D tablet. One vitamin C tablet. One L-Cysteine tablet."
"Thanks. There's a GNC across the street. Gonna run over there and see if I can put that shit together. "
"Cool. Cool. I've gotta go over agency and partnerships. Let me know about happy hour later on."
"Aight."
"Aight."
Let's see. Frolic vs. detour.
"What's going on, Trev?"
"Not much. How're things going?"
"Cool. Cool."
"Hey, sorry to hear about you not passing the bar."
"Thanks." I get sick of having that conversation. And it reminds me that I should be fucking studying instead of running my mouth, but I haven't talked to Trev in a bit.
"Well, it could be worse. You could be living in a state where the levees are seriously under funded and a category five hurricane could tear through the state killing hundreds and leaving you unable to find loved ones. All the while you're trapped on the roof of the home you grew up in and the national media plasters your picture all over the airwaves every chance they ge in the name of ratings, and politicians bandy about your plight like a political soccer ball."Trev says.
"I suppose there's always that." I laugh.
"Hey, did you check out American Idol last night," Trev asks.
I laugh, vaguely wondering if he has ADD. "No, still haven't managed to sprout any ovaries," I say.
"Ovaries. That's pretty good," Trev laughs. "I didn't either, but, on the bus this morning, people were getting in a pretty heated discussion about who should have won. Ri-fucking-diculous."
"I bet they didn't vote in the presidential election, but they voted for their favorite Karaoke singer. Rank and file dumbfucks." Then I said, "Seriously, that's all that show is--Karaoke on steroids. "
"Spam." Trev says.
"What?"
"Spam. The people on there remind me of Spam. You know, the highly processed meat in a can that's going to outlive you and me?"
Trev makes some interesting connections. "How's that?"
"Whoever wins is just a highly processed, prefabricated product ready for mass consumption. Spam. Sorta meat. Sorta talented. In a prefabricated way." I laugh. Only Trev.
"Taco Bell as fine dining, " I say.
"Exactly."
Then it dawns on me that Trev is, or should be, at work. "You at work?"
"Got my fucking khakis on and I'm sitting in a grey cubicle. I better be at work. Why?"
"Just curious." Thinking I need to get to work on agency and partnerships. "You wanna grab some brews during happy hour?"
"Fuuuuuck. I dunno. I'm working off a banger right now. I got all fucking soaked last night. I'll tell you about it later. He laughs. "But anyway, that's really why I was calling. What's that hangover remedy you use again?"
"The drink, or the pills?
"Both. I need both, I think."
"Two cups of milk. One cup of orange juice. One small can of V-8 juice. A banana. A little nutmeg and a little salt."
"Pills?"
"Two aspirin. One vitamin D tablet. One vitamin C tablet. One L-Cysteine tablet."
"Thanks. There's a GNC across the street. Gonna run over there and see if I can put that shit together. "
"Cool. Cool. I've gotta go over agency and partnerships. Let me know about happy hour later on."
"Aight."
"Aight."
Let's see. Frolic vs. detour.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Technology Is The Best Evidence
It's when I'm standing in Safeway that my laughter threatened to Tsunami forward like some unwanted atavistic fashion. Like big hair and pastels from the 80's. I concentrated on the nutritional profile of the specialty eggs. Specialty egg meaning that the hens are vegetarian fed and cage-free. If you ever read Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation, that's going to become important to you. Twenty-five percent daily value of Vitamin E. I realized I was smirking to myself and tried to stop. I licked my lips and pushed air from my mouth as if suddenly overwhelmed. 185 mcg of Lutein per egg. Lutein? Have to look that up when I get home. I snickered. Fucking Randy. Seriously, I didn't want to launch myself headlong into a laughing fit in the dairy section at 7 in the morning. That'll get you a free ride to the happy house. 100 mg of Omega-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids per egg. Okay, I recognize that one. Some Chuck--nondescript guy-- cloyingly middle management in his pleated khakis and faded, wrinkled polo shirt, and Super Cuts haircut reached over and grabbed an 18 count of conventional eggs. He looked at me as though I was holding up progress. I shrugged as if to say, "Sorry, I'm just not in any hurry to get to work, plop down in my cubicle and romance my boss's ass for the next 8 hours, Chuck." He faded away, and I mused about the contents of his eggs. That held off the laughter for a bit.
I swear to fuck. Why is it that no matter where you park, a SUV will park next to you and block your view when backing out? I parked toward the back of the parking lot, away from everyone, and now I'm flanked by a F250 and a Yukon. Piss and shit. I approached my car and glanced up to see Chuck adjusting the rear view mirror in his F250. He looked over. I nodded and smiled. Simon says, "Fuck you." He waved as if to say I will be out of your way in a second. I nodded and smiled again. Simon says, "Fuck you, twice."I hoped he needed gas, fucker.
I eased out around the remaining Yukon, and pulled out of the parking lot. I started thinking about Randy's phone call and lost it.
Caller ID says Randy is rattling my cage. "What's the deal, " I answered chuckling.
"Wait, wait," he gasps as he tries to catch his breath. I wait wondering how good this gets. He calms himself, and then busts up all over again. What the fuck. I'm the expectant parent.
Finally, "Dude, you're not going to believe this shit," Randy says.
"I bet I will." He starts laughing again. I'm the expectant parent again.
"Okay, bro," he starts, "I went to that 7/11 up the street from The Pub."
"Right." Wondering why he didn't go to Kabredlo's, about a block away.
"Well, I sneak in through the back way of the bar. Thinking I would sit in the back of the parking lot and watch from a distance and tag along."
"Right, right," thinking Randy missed his calling. He's a lawyer, but he might be a better PI. Or stalker. I shook that out of head.
"Well, they were already pulling out, heading in the opposite direction. "
I jumped in, "How do you know they were both in there? Kevin has dark tint on his windows."
"He had them down."
"He's slipping."
"He was drunk, dude. Anyway, I follow them about five miles, like I'm a fucking stalker or some shit. They pull up to this sweet ass house!" He pauses for effect.
"Where?"
"Almost out of Boulder, heading east." Posh area. "Fuck that, though. I sit in my car down the street, have a smoke or two. About 20 minutes."
"Okay."
"Then I head up the street on foot. They are in a house at the top of the hill."
"Wait a minute. You went up to the house? What the fuck did you do that for?" I asked.
"Just listen. So I get up to the house, and walk to the side and see what I can see." He laughs. I'm thinking Randy needs help, but so far I'm laughing right along with him. This is awesome. We've got Kevin dead to rights. Then Randy says, "I get to the side of the house and look in through this basement, or lower-level, window and there they are! In all their glory!" He dies laughing, as do I.
"They're fucking, dude?!" I ask, catching my breath.
"Hell, yeah!!They must've got straight to the shit because he's behind her slapping her ass and shit like he's Big Stroke Pimp. Dude, I swear to God she has more dimples on her ass than a golf ball. More craters than the fucking moon. It was disgusting! Her fucking tits are swaying back and forth like who the fuck knows what!! Oh my God, it was so nasty!!" He dies laughing. I had this picture in my head of Kevin hammering this heifer's hangar. Words like hurling, and nauseating are important here. I chuckled a bit, choking back the imagery.
Randy, "Dude, I'm going to Email it to you."
I'm confused, "Email me what?!"
"You know I bought that new phone, right?"
He bought a cell phone that has some video capability on it, "Yeah, but tell me you weren't standing outside of someone's house, peering through the window and video taping Kevin and some fat chick having sex."
"You know it, motherfucker!!" More laughter.
This does have rare entertainment value, but I don't think I need to see this. I'd rather see a "What's grosser then gross" joke come to life, but more importantly, "Randy, think about this for a minute. You stalked two people. You peeped through a window while they're engaged in a little horizontal aerobics, you vidoe taped it, and now you're going to Email it out to your friends?"
"That's right!" Then, silence. Then, "Considering I'm a lawyer, that wasn't the wisest thing in the world to do."
"Not at all, "I started, then, "Just don't Email it to anyone. It looks like you got away with one, with your drunk ass." I started laughing.
"Fuck, you. That shit's funny."
"Oh, that shit's hilarious. Don't erase it! You know Kevin is going to make some attempt at denial!" We giggled like two school girls. Got him.
I swear to fuck. Why is it that no matter where you park, a SUV will park next to you and block your view when backing out? I parked toward the back of the parking lot, away from everyone, and now I'm flanked by a F250 and a Yukon. Piss and shit. I approached my car and glanced up to see Chuck adjusting the rear view mirror in his F250. He looked over. I nodded and smiled. Simon says, "Fuck you." He waved as if to say I will be out of your way in a second. I nodded and smiled again. Simon says, "Fuck you, twice."I hoped he needed gas, fucker.
I eased out around the remaining Yukon, and pulled out of the parking lot. I started thinking about Randy's phone call and lost it.
Caller ID says Randy is rattling my cage. "What's the deal, " I answered chuckling.
"Wait, wait," he gasps as he tries to catch his breath. I wait wondering how good this gets. He calms himself, and then busts up all over again. What the fuck. I'm the expectant parent.
Finally, "Dude, you're not going to believe this shit," Randy says.
"I bet I will." He starts laughing again. I'm the expectant parent again.
"Okay, bro," he starts, "I went to that 7/11 up the street from The Pub."
"Right." Wondering why he didn't go to Kabredlo's, about a block away.
"Well, I sneak in through the back way of the bar. Thinking I would sit in the back of the parking lot and watch from a distance and tag along."
"Right, right," thinking Randy missed his calling. He's a lawyer, but he might be a better PI. Or stalker. I shook that out of head.
"Well, they were already pulling out, heading in the opposite direction. "
I jumped in, "How do you know they were both in there? Kevin has dark tint on his windows."
"He had them down."
"He's slipping."
"He was drunk, dude. Anyway, I follow them about five miles, like I'm a fucking stalker or some shit. They pull up to this sweet ass house!" He pauses for effect.
"Where?"
"Almost out of Boulder, heading east." Posh area. "Fuck that, though. I sit in my car down the street, have a smoke or two. About 20 minutes."
"Okay."
"Then I head up the street on foot. They are in a house at the top of the hill."
"Wait a minute. You went up to the house? What the fuck did you do that for?" I asked.
"Just listen. So I get up to the house, and walk to the side and see what I can see." He laughs. I'm thinking Randy needs help, but so far I'm laughing right along with him. This is awesome. We've got Kevin dead to rights. Then Randy says, "I get to the side of the house and look in through this basement, or lower-level, window and there they are! In all their glory!" He dies laughing, as do I.
"They're fucking, dude?!" I ask, catching my breath.
"Hell, yeah!!They must've got straight to the shit because he's behind her slapping her ass and shit like he's Big Stroke Pimp. Dude, I swear to God she has more dimples on her ass than a golf ball. More craters than the fucking moon. It was disgusting! Her fucking tits are swaying back and forth like who the fuck knows what!! Oh my God, it was so nasty!!" He dies laughing. I had this picture in my head of Kevin hammering this heifer's hangar. Words like hurling, and nauseating are important here. I chuckled a bit, choking back the imagery.
Randy, "Dude, I'm going to Email it to you."
I'm confused, "Email me what?!"
"You know I bought that new phone, right?"
He bought a cell phone that has some video capability on it, "Yeah, but tell me you weren't standing outside of someone's house, peering through the window and video taping Kevin and some fat chick having sex."
"You know it, motherfucker!!" More laughter.
This does have rare entertainment value, but I don't think I need to see this. I'd rather see a "What's grosser then gross" joke come to life, but more importantly, "Randy, think about this for a minute. You stalked two people. You peeped through a window while they're engaged in a little horizontal aerobics, you vidoe taped it, and now you're going to Email it out to your friends?"
"That's right!" Then, silence. Then, "Considering I'm a lawyer, that wasn't the wisest thing in the world to do."
"Not at all, "I started, then, "Just don't Email it to anyone. It looks like you got away with one, with your drunk ass." I started laughing.
"Fuck, you. That shit's funny."
"Oh, that shit's hilarious. Don't erase it! You know Kevin is going to make some attempt at denial!" We giggled like two school girls. Got him.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Slumpers
"Doesn't she have some nice fucking tits?"
Suddenly, I was sure Kevin was smoking crack. I took a sip of beer, and warily sized up the bartender. Kevin nudged me.
"Did you hear me? Check out those fun bags."
"How long have you been here," buying time and wishing this topic would just die and rot in his brain.
"Since happy hour started. Three o'clock. Why," he asked with a smile that I had trouble reading. It either said he knew something I didn't, or that he was supremely self-satisfied that he managed to get shit canned in just over two hours.
"No particular reason." I glanced at my watch and asked, "When are Randy and Eddie getting here?"
"Fuck, they called about an hour ago. Said they were on their way. Prolly caught in traffic." I noticed he was sweating and wondered if he was going to vomit on the bar.
"You feel all right?" I asked. "I mean, because you've managed to throw on a hefty set of beer goggles in less than two hours, and you're sweating balls."
"Ah, I'm cool. But about her tits. You like 'em right?" I think Kevin's mom is a pitbull because he wasn't letting go of this chick's tits.
"She's got big tits, sure." Doing my best impression of a politician. Pathologically vague and placating--I thought.
"You'd fuck 'er?" He leered. I took a long pull of my beer. Not because I wanted to continue avoiding this line of bullshit. But because I thought it would keep me from laughing. It didn't work.
"Have you developed some morbid curiosity about bestiality? Because if you're curious about banging barnyard animals, I'm sure, if we drive far enough, we can find you a suitable sow to bang, and you can drop all this shit about the bartender." I laughed, wiping beer from my chin I added, "What the fuck?! I think you're done for the day!" I grabbed his beer and moved it. He snatched it back. "Seriously!" I said. "The bartender isn't even a serviceable substitute for a nice fat pig! We'll find you one. Just wait for Randy and E to get here." I laughed and wondered if the bartender heard me. I was getting a buzz going, and I should come with a sign that reads, "WARNING : Talks loud when tipsy!"
"Airight, airight. " That same smile, "Here comes Randy and Eddie." He pursed his lips and placed one vertical index finger over them--the universal sign for "shut the fuck up"--and winked. I wondered what the hell he was up to. I noticed that it was $3 you call it for the next hour. I ordered my third 24 oz beer and four shots. Fuck it, if Kevin wants to hit the pipe and bang sheep, who am I to stand in his way?
Everyone exchanged "What up's" and Kevin starts in again with the bartender's tits. "Hey, you guys like the bartender's tits?" He winked at me is if to remind me to shut the fuck up. I swallowed my shot of Canadian Mist. I decided that I was a masochist. That shit tastes horrible and burns on the way down. What the fuck was I thinking when I ordered and drank that shit?! Reading Kevin, Randy and Eddie's face, I could tell they were thinking the same.
Randy slid his glass on the bar and said, "Look Kevin, if you want to bang that fat ass, you bang her. But don't think you're getting a pass!"
"No shit, " Eddie added. "Of course she's got big tits. She's got a big gut, big thighs, big shoulders. She's a goddamned 2-gap tackle. So bang 'er if you feel like you need to break the slump, but don't think we're gonna let you get away with it." We all laughed. Eddie got the bartender's attention and giving me a look that said, here's how it's done, ordered four shots of Bushmills. I didn't think he did much better--just paid too much. I shot him the finger. He laughed.
It finally dawned on me. "So, Kev, how long's it been?" He gave me a sneer, shot me the finger and we all threw back our shots, and then our heads in laughter.
Randy, grimacing and shooting Eddie the finger--Randy hates Bushmills--, said, "Four fucking months, bro!" I shook my head laughing.
"Oh, now I get it, " I started. "You're trying to persuade me to say that the bartender is hot, so when you bang her I won't give you shit. Oh no! You fuck her, it's on homey!" Again, laughter. Then Eddie says, "Listen, we've all been in a slump and needed a slumper. A slump breaker. But we've also all taken our lumps when we did, and you gotta take your's, bro!"
Kevin laughed, finished his beer and headed to bathroom. I glanced at the bartender and noticed she'd craned her neck to find Kevin. I nudged Randy and gestured towards her. He snickered and said, "He's already got it all lined up, that bastard."
"Okay, no one say anything. Let's see how this plays out, " Eddie said. We agreed. Another round of 24 oz brews.
When she came back with the beers I asked, "When's Rick coming on?" Rick is another bartender and friend of ours. Setting them down she said, "He comes on for me at 7. He's closing." I nodded and looked at Randy and Eddie. We laughed.
Randy said, "I'll double back. I know you guys have to get home to the wives." We high fived.
Kevin came back from the bathroom and didn't protest the beer sitting in front of him. He took a big gulp from it and peered down at the bartender, whose name is Faith. I checked my watch--6:15. I gestured to Faith and asked for my tab. I figured I would finish my beer, and head home. The half-hour was filled with idle drunken talk, and congratulations about Eddie's new baby boy. At 6:45 I said, "Well, I better get home. I think Samantha wants to go out to eat. I need a shower," then, to Kevin, "You leaving?"
"Nah, I think I'm going to try and sober up a bit." Randy, Eddie and I exchanged looks.
Eddie says, "Airight, I gotta go."
"Me too," says Randy. We headed to our cars. Randy says, "I'll go get some cigarettes and sneak back. Call you guys in a bit." We laughed and headed out.
Driving along is when it occurred to me that Kevin could stand to watch the Persuasive Writing Workshop. There are some helpful tips about crafting a persuasive argument. Tactics that would've proven helpful to Kevin a couple of hours ago. Things like word choice, what you really want the opposing party to agree to, getting them to agree to a "disguise" of your crux issue. In short, getting them to agree to something before they realize what they have agreed to. I shook my head. Then the phone rings--it's Randy, and he's laughing his ass off.
Suddenly, I was sure Kevin was smoking crack. I took a sip of beer, and warily sized up the bartender. Kevin nudged me.
"Did you hear me? Check out those fun bags."
"How long have you been here," buying time and wishing this topic would just die and rot in his brain.
"Since happy hour started. Three o'clock. Why," he asked with a smile that I had trouble reading. It either said he knew something I didn't, or that he was supremely self-satisfied that he managed to get shit canned in just over two hours.
"No particular reason." I glanced at my watch and asked, "When are Randy and Eddie getting here?"
"Fuck, they called about an hour ago. Said they were on their way. Prolly caught in traffic." I noticed he was sweating and wondered if he was going to vomit on the bar.
"You feel all right?" I asked. "I mean, because you've managed to throw on a hefty set of beer goggles in less than two hours, and you're sweating balls."
"Ah, I'm cool. But about her tits. You like 'em right?" I think Kevin's mom is a pitbull because he wasn't letting go of this chick's tits.
"She's got big tits, sure." Doing my best impression of a politician. Pathologically vague and placating--I thought.
"You'd fuck 'er?" He leered. I took a long pull of my beer. Not because I wanted to continue avoiding this line of bullshit. But because I thought it would keep me from laughing. It didn't work.
"Have you developed some morbid curiosity about bestiality? Because if you're curious about banging barnyard animals, I'm sure, if we drive far enough, we can find you a suitable sow to bang, and you can drop all this shit about the bartender." I laughed, wiping beer from my chin I added, "What the fuck?! I think you're done for the day!" I grabbed his beer and moved it. He snatched it back. "Seriously!" I said. "The bartender isn't even a serviceable substitute for a nice fat pig! We'll find you one. Just wait for Randy and E to get here." I laughed and wondered if the bartender heard me. I was getting a buzz going, and I should come with a sign that reads, "WARNING : Talks loud when tipsy!"
"Airight, airight. " That same smile, "Here comes Randy and Eddie." He pursed his lips and placed one vertical index finger over them--the universal sign for "shut the fuck up"--and winked. I wondered what the hell he was up to. I noticed that it was $3 you call it for the next hour. I ordered my third 24 oz beer and four shots. Fuck it, if Kevin wants to hit the pipe and bang sheep, who am I to stand in his way?
Everyone exchanged "What up's" and Kevin starts in again with the bartender's tits. "Hey, you guys like the bartender's tits?" He winked at me is if to remind me to shut the fuck up. I swallowed my shot of Canadian Mist. I decided that I was a masochist. That shit tastes horrible and burns on the way down. What the fuck was I thinking when I ordered and drank that shit?! Reading Kevin, Randy and Eddie's face, I could tell they were thinking the same.
Randy slid his glass on the bar and said, "Look Kevin, if you want to bang that fat ass, you bang her. But don't think you're getting a pass!"
"No shit, " Eddie added. "Of course she's got big tits. She's got a big gut, big thighs, big shoulders. She's a goddamned 2-gap tackle. So bang 'er if you feel like you need to break the slump, but don't think we're gonna let you get away with it." We all laughed. Eddie got the bartender's attention and giving me a look that said, here's how it's done, ordered four shots of Bushmills. I didn't think he did much better--just paid too much. I shot him the finger. He laughed.
It finally dawned on me. "So, Kev, how long's it been?" He gave me a sneer, shot me the finger and we all threw back our shots, and then our heads in laughter.
Randy, grimacing and shooting Eddie the finger--Randy hates Bushmills--, said, "Four fucking months, bro!" I shook my head laughing.
"Oh, now I get it, " I started. "You're trying to persuade me to say that the bartender is hot, so when you bang her I won't give you shit. Oh no! You fuck her, it's on homey!" Again, laughter. Then Eddie says, "Listen, we've all been in a slump and needed a slumper. A slump breaker. But we've also all taken our lumps when we did, and you gotta take your's, bro!"
Kevin laughed, finished his beer and headed to bathroom. I glanced at the bartender and noticed she'd craned her neck to find Kevin. I nudged Randy and gestured towards her. He snickered and said, "He's already got it all lined up, that bastard."
"Okay, no one say anything. Let's see how this plays out, " Eddie said. We agreed. Another round of 24 oz brews.
When she came back with the beers I asked, "When's Rick coming on?" Rick is another bartender and friend of ours. Setting them down she said, "He comes on for me at 7. He's closing." I nodded and looked at Randy and Eddie. We laughed.
Randy said, "I'll double back. I know you guys have to get home to the wives." We high fived.
Kevin came back from the bathroom and didn't protest the beer sitting in front of him. He took a big gulp from it and peered down at the bartender, whose name is Faith. I checked my watch--6:15. I gestured to Faith and asked for my tab. I figured I would finish my beer, and head home. The half-hour was filled with idle drunken talk, and congratulations about Eddie's new baby boy. At 6:45 I said, "Well, I better get home. I think Samantha wants to go out to eat. I need a shower," then, to Kevin, "You leaving?"
"Nah, I think I'm going to try and sober up a bit." Randy, Eddie and I exchanged looks.
Eddie says, "Airight, I gotta go."
"Me too," says Randy. We headed to our cars. Randy says, "I'll go get some cigarettes and sneak back. Call you guys in a bit." We laughed and headed out.
Driving along is when it occurred to me that Kevin could stand to watch the Persuasive Writing Workshop. There are some helpful tips about crafting a persuasive argument. Tactics that would've proven helpful to Kevin a couple of hours ago. Things like word choice, what you really want the opposing party to agree to, getting them to agree to a "disguise" of your crux issue. In short, getting them to agree to something before they realize what they have agreed to. I shook my head. Then the phone rings--it's Randy, and he's laughing his ass off.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
A Call To India
All day I have fought the urge to kill someone. It started this morning. I settled in at the computer, ready to go through the Persuasive Writing Workshop. A tornado threw a temper tantrum and leveled my apartment complex. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. It was the lawn mower the maintenance crew uses. It's the size of a Sherman tank, and about as subtle. If I lived in California, I would have stood in a fucking doorway. I can't believe they call themselves, "Manicuring the landscape." If that's manicuring a landscape, then ole' Smoky is electroconvulsive therapy.
So, anyway, I pushed on. Booted up the computer. Dial up. I gotta get some high-speed in my life one of these days soon. Fuck. Norton Internet Security rears its pastel head. I need to update my virus definitions. Since I access the workshops via the Internet, I thought I better get this handled.
It connects to Symantec. Starts comprising a list of what is available. I took a sip of coffee. Burned my fucking tongue. I hate that shit. Then I just swallowed it, so I am certain my esophagus has blisters. Felt like I swallowed lava. Then I get an error message from Symantec. Something about a corrupt file. I have to manually download the virus definitions--again. This is getting fucking old.
So I download the virus definitions. Then, as the software begins to install, "Your subscription has expired." I blew on my coffee a bit. Took a small sip. No pain this time. Maybe I burned off all the nerve endings. I got your exfoliate. Anyway,I downloaded the virus definitions again. Again it starts the installation. Again, "Your subscription has expired." I set down my coffee mug. I was thinking about throwing it.
I leaned back in the chair. Sighed and noticed that the tank was closer to my door. I went to the living room and turned on the idiot box. I needed some brain bullshit. E! never disappoints. They were running some expose on the hottest of the hot in young Hollywood, or some shit. Paris Hilton. A rich heiress who is famous for getting banged and filming it. That's daddy's girl. Somehow skank doesn't quite capture it. I turned off the TV and headed back to the computer.
I opened the NIS program. Click on "Help and Support." It says I have 352 days before I need to renew my subscription. I go to Symantec's website looking for the "Contact Us" button. Byzantine. Seriously, getting to a place where you can actually contact these people is nothing sort of miraculous. Once you get there, you have to fill out some form telling them what your problem is. I figured I would do that once I got someone on the phone, but, okay. "Your product is a pain in the ass of Biblical proportions." Didn't think that would go over well. Delete. In a more civilized tone, I explained my plight. Hit "submit." I came to a page that read, among other things, "You will be charged $29.95 per incident." Bullshit. I pick up the phone and call. It soon becomes clear why they discourage contacting them.
In an accent so thick I could barely understand what was being said, "Symantec, how may I help you?" I lead by telling him I wasn't paying for shit. If the product worked, I wouldn't be on the phone with him. "I don't handle that." I explain my problem. He transfers me to a woman with a thicker accent. I reiterate my position about paying for this call. She says something unintelligible. I ask her to repeat. She repeats. All I could make out was that I don't have to pay for it. Cool.
I move on to the reason for my call. After about a 20 minute phone call, which would have taken 5-10 minutes if I wasn't constantly saying, "What" Or "Can you spell it for me,"I had to run the Disc Cleanup Wizard.
It took another 20-30 minutes to run that and download the virus definitions. Oh happy day. I'd had enough. I changed clothes and went for a run. It was 3 PM.
I got home, showered, grabbed some water and settled in front of my albatross. Actually, the computer is cool. It's fucking NIS. Anyway, I listened to about an hour of the workshop and it seems as though it's going to be helpful. But it's a three-hour workshop, so I'll let you know for sure tomorrow. Right now, it's barley and hops time.
Ciao.
So, anyway, I pushed on. Booted up the computer. Dial up. I gotta get some high-speed in my life one of these days soon. Fuck. Norton Internet Security rears its pastel head. I need to update my virus definitions. Since I access the workshops via the Internet, I thought I better get this handled.
It connects to Symantec. Starts comprising a list of what is available. I took a sip of coffee. Burned my fucking tongue. I hate that shit. Then I just swallowed it, so I am certain my esophagus has blisters. Felt like I swallowed lava. Then I get an error message from Symantec. Something about a corrupt file. I have to manually download the virus definitions--again. This is getting fucking old.
So I download the virus definitions. Then, as the software begins to install, "Your subscription has expired." I blew on my coffee a bit. Took a small sip. No pain this time. Maybe I burned off all the nerve endings. I got your exfoliate. Anyway,I downloaded the virus definitions again. Again it starts the installation. Again, "Your subscription has expired." I set down my coffee mug. I was thinking about throwing it.
I leaned back in the chair. Sighed and noticed that the tank was closer to my door. I went to the living room and turned on the idiot box. I needed some brain bullshit. E! never disappoints. They were running some expose on the hottest of the hot in young Hollywood, or some shit. Paris Hilton. A rich heiress who is famous for getting banged and filming it. That's daddy's girl. Somehow skank doesn't quite capture it. I turned off the TV and headed back to the computer.
I opened the NIS program. Click on "Help and Support." It says I have 352 days before I need to renew my subscription. I go to Symantec's website looking for the "Contact Us" button. Byzantine. Seriously, getting to a place where you can actually contact these people is nothing sort of miraculous. Once you get there, you have to fill out some form telling them what your problem is. I figured I would do that once I got someone on the phone, but, okay. "Your product is a pain in the ass of Biblical proportions." Didn't think that would go over well. Delete. In a more civilized tone, I explained my plight. Hit "submit." I came to a page that read, among other things, "You will be charged $29.95 per incident." Bullshit. I pick up the phone and call. It soon becomes clear why they discourage contacting them.
In an accent so thick I could barely understand what was being said, "Symantec, how may I help you?" I lead by telling him I wasn't paying for shit. If the product worked, I wouldn't be on the phone with him. "I don't handle that." I explain my problem. He transfers me to a woman with a thicker accent. I reiterate my position about paying for this call. She says something unintelligible. I ask her to repeat. She repeats. All I could make out was that I don't have to pay for it. Cool.
I move on to the reason for my call. After about a 20 minute phone call, which would have taken 5-10 minutes if I wasn't constantly saying, "What" Or "Can you spell it for me,"I had to run the Disc Cleanup Wizard.
It took another 20-30 minutes to run that and download the virus definitions. Oh happy day. I'd had enough. I changed clothes and went for a run. It was 3 PM.
I got home, showered, grabbed some water and settled in front of my albatross. Actually, the computer is cool. It's fucking NIS. Anyway, I listened to about an hour of the workshop and it seems as though it's going to be helpful. But it's a three-hour workshop, so I'll let you know for sure tomorrow. Right now, it's barley and hops time.
Ciao.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Suburban Sprawl
The Analytical Workshop was helpful. I realized that a meandering style of writing, concerning myself with euphony and literary style, is as out of place in legal writing as a Stradivarius at a rock concert. Honestly, in comparison, my writing resembled suburban sprawl. Banal, vague and sucking the life out of a vibrant downtown community as I set up one cookie cutter subdivision after the next. In legal writing that downtown community is called legal analysis. Meandering about setting up big box stores and fast food franchises distracting the grader is a good way to fail the bar. It looks meaningless, vague and disorganized to someone who's looking for analysis. So they never make it downtown, and you fail. Believe me, there are a myriad of things you would rather be doing with your Summer than studying for the bar. Oh well, I guess it could be worse. I could be watering my lawn and get eaten by an alligator.
Tomorrow: The Persuasive Workshop. The anticipation is killing me. I might wet myself.
Tomorrow: The Persuasive Workshop. The anticipation is killing me. I might wet myself.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Analytical Workshop Day
Nothing really to say. Just trying to escape the autism of everyday life. I didn't do much over the weekend in the way of bar preparation. Check that: I didn't do a fucking thing in the way of bar preparation. I can't seem to feel guilty about it, either.
Today I'm working on the Analytical workshop, which takes about three hours. I'm looking forward to it, for some strange reason. Maybe I'm just happy the prosaic introduction is over.
For now, though, I'm going to go workout.
Today I'm working on the Analytical workshop, which takes about three hours. I'm looking forward to it, for some strange reason. Maybe I'm just happy the prosaic introduction is over.
For now, though, I'm going to go workout.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Bored
I had to be bored. I'd been staring at a blank TV screen for who knows how fucking long. Actually, I don't know when I started spacing out. Watching the introductory section of these Multistate Performance Test lectures is like watching a film on the migration patterns of lemmings. Anyway, the lecturer lead off by saying if you have any experience with the MPT, you could skip this section if you want. I failed this section miserably on the bar, does that count as experience? I decided to watch.
It provided some helpful hints and such. Nothing enlightening, really. Actually things I may have thought to do on exam day, had I not come down with a sudden case of freeze dried brain. What the fuck are ya gonna do? I can't find the balls to cry about it. Just listen to these lectures, get the tips and tactics; memorise them and get this shit over with.
It provided some helpful hints and such. Nothing enlightening, really. Actually things I may have thought to do on exam day, had I not come down with a sudden case of freeze dried brain. What the fuck are ya gonna do? I can't find the balls to cry about it. Just listen to these lectures, get the tips and tactics; memorise them and get this shit over with.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Gotta Get Ready
I suppose I should feel something. But I don't. I can't even muster up the energy to fake it. You know that fake thing you do when you see someone you could do without, but in the interest of good public relations you put on a "It's so good to see you" face? I couldn't find that. Nope. Nada. That's how much failing the bar moved me. Come to think of it, I don't do that face. Nevermind that.
I kept waiting for late onset of bitter disappointment or anger. It never came. Of course, the truth is I wasn't shocked. I knew I failed when I left the examination center. So this was nothing more than a formality. Confirming that I was right about at least one thing that day.
I'd just completed the short essay section of the exam, feeling pretty confident despite not having studied the topic of the first question. Then, I came to the Multistate Performance Test (MPT) section. I immediately felt as though I was playing the lead in a bad after school special. No idea what was going on. Flailing in my writing. Using throat clearing phrases like, "I should note here that it would be helpful to remember the fact that...."A clear sign that, at that moment, I couldn't find my ass with both hands and a tour guide. And just to make sure the neon sign reading, "UNPREPARED" was on and brightly lit? Yeah, I wrote "time" at the end of my answer to indicate that I had more to say, but, since I hadn't organized and planned well (the essence of being a good lawyer), I was out of time. Yep, probably made it pretty easy for them to flunk my ass. Incidentally, this section of the test is worth 40 percent of the first day's grade.
Well, despite what this may seem indicate, I do come fully assembled; brain included. I ordered a set of CD's from The Practising Law Institute covering the MPT. And tomorrow I'll break them out. The next crack at the Colorado Bar is July 25th and 26th. Approximately 10 weeks off. Gotta get ready.
Despite
I kept waiting for late onset of bitter disappointment or anger. It never came. Of course, the truth is I wasn't shocked. I knew I failed when I left the examination center. So this was nothing more than a formality. Confirming that I was right about at least one thing that day.
I'd just completed the short essay section of the exam, feeling pretty confident despite not having studied the topic of the first question. Then, I came to the Multistate Performance Test (MPT) section. I immediately felt as though I was playing the lead in a bad after school special. No idea what was going on. Flailing in my writing. Using throat clearing phrases like, "I should note here that it would be helpful to remember the fact that...."A clear sign that, at that moment, I couldn't find my ass with both hands and a tour guide. And just to make sure the neon sign reading, "UNPREPARED" was on and brightly lit? Yeah, I wrote "time" at the end of my answer to indicate that I had more to say, but, since I hadn't organized and planned well (the essence of being a good lawyer), I was out of time. Yep, probably made it pretty easy for them to flunk my ass. Incidentally, this section of the test is worth 40 percent of the first day's grade.
Well, despite what this may seem indicate, I do come fully assembled; brain included. I ordered a set of CD's from The Practising Law Institute covering the MPT. And tomorrow I'll break them out. The next crack at the Colorado Bar is July 25th and 26th. Approximately 10 weeks off. Gotta get ready.
Despite
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
David Blaine
Get out. David Blaine spent a week submerged under water. Then, as if he needed to provide further evidence that he is an all-out nut bag, he made an attempt at breaking the world record for holding your breath while submerged--9 minutes. And for his efforts, tell him what he's won! Yes! David Blaine suffers breakdown of skin tissue, liver failure in addition to a host of other physical ailments! But that's not all! No, you get to spend the next week at the Yale Medical Center so they can study the effects of being submerged long-term on the human body. Outstanding! You have won the exclusive vacation trip for the unabashedly and astoundingly stupid! Seriously, what did this guy suppose was going to happen? On the other hand, you have to admire his willingness to make a spectacle of himself for our amusement.
Nah, he didn't break the record. 7 minutes and 9 seconds. Of course, this all assumes that it was even real. Debatable.
Nah, he didn't break the record. 7 minutes and 9 seconds. Of course, this all assumes that it was even real. Debatable.
Difference Without Distinction
Humor comes at the most unexpected times. It's four in the morning when the clock radio goes off. Instead of the customary frantic searching of, and then pounding, the "off" button, I didn't even open my eyes. I just laid there and wondered how much coffee you have to drink to be obnoxiously happy at 4 in the morning. That's when I started really listening to the show, and simply couldn't believe the topic of discussion. Usher or Justin Timberlake, who do you prefer? What?! I couldn't help but snicker a bit. Then the snicker evolved into a chuckle. Then the chuckle became full on laughter.
If you have minute, could you point out the difference? Sure, one is black and the other white, but find me a difference between these chuckleheads. Both have adopted the boutique goes commercial look as their own "personal" style. They sing the same type of music, and possess the same voice range--limited. Apparently, both idolize Michael Jackson, which is disturbing on more than one level. But hilarious nonetheless. And, finally, it seems they use the same choreographer. So the only real difference I can find is that they are of different races, and here are three DJ's really debating who is better. Maybe I was still tired, but I laid there laughing about that for about ten minutes. After recovering from my paroxysm of laughter. I turned off the alarm clock, washed the face, brushed the teeth, pulled on some sweats and headed to the gym. Hilarious. I can't wait to hear what these clowns talk about tomorrow.
If you have minute, could you point out the difference? Sure, one is black and the other white, but find me a difference between these chuckleheads. Both have adopted the boutique goes commercial look as their own "personal" style. They sing the same type of music, and possess the same voice range--limited. Apparently, both idolize Michael Jackson, which is disturbing on more than one level. But hilarious nonetheless. And, finally, it seems they use the same choreographer. So the only real difference I can find is that they are of different races, and here are three DJ's really debating who is better. Maybe I was still tired, but I laid there laughing about that for about ten minutes. After recovering from my paroxysm of laughter. I turned off the alarm clock, washed the face, brushed the teeth, pulled on some sweats and headed to the gym. Hilarious. I can't wait to hear what these clowns talk about tomorrow.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Celebrity Wannabe
So I'm coming out of the locker room this morning, fiddling with my MP3 player. Talking myself out of getting another one, not that the one I have needs replacing. It's just that a small part of me is a slavish consumer. Like everyone else. Anyway, it's right about here that I had tuned into this conversation between a gym member and a personal trainer.
Member: "I want to be celebrity chick hot."
Personal Trainer (PT): "What does that mean to you?" I stop and act as though I'm picking out a magazine, while noticing that our budding celebrity is, well, portly.
Member: "You know, like everyone thinks the celebrity girls are hotties, you know? I want that."
PT: Searching for anything to say at this point. "Okay, but you understand that most are unhealthy looking, right?"
Member: Blank stare. "I don't care about health. It's about to be Summer and I want to look hot in about 6 weeks like the magazines say I can do."
This woman is firmly planted in her 40's.
PT: "Ads are not necessarily truthful, you know."
Member: Impatient stare.
PT: "Okay, well, we can get you started on a fat loss program."
Leaving the magazine collection without selecting anything,--surprise, surprise--I couldn't help but think this woman watches too much TV.
Member: "I want to be celebrity chick hot."
Personal Trainer (PT): "What does that mean to you?" I stop and act as though I'm picking out a magazine, while noticing that our budding celebrity is, well, portly.
Member: "You know, like everyone thinks the celebrity girls are hotties, you know? I want that."
PT: Searching for anything to say at this point. "Okay, but you understand that most are unhealthy looking, right?"
Member: Blank stare. "I don't care about health. It's about to be Summer and I want to look hot in about 6 weeks like the magazines say I can do."
This woman is firmly planted in her 40's.
PT: "Ads are not necessarily truthful, you know."
Member: Impatient stare.
PT: "Okay, well, we can get you started on a fat loss program."
Leaving the magazine collection without selecting anything,--surprise, surprise--I couldn't help but think this woman watches too much TV.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
A Tedious Comparison
A Napoleon complex served up with a pat of smugness usually inhibits viewer acceptance. So imagine my surprise when realizing I agreed with NBA Commissioner David Stern.
Dan Patrick posed the question, "Do you believe that either Kobe Bryant or Lebron James is the next Michael Jordan?" As a reposte, "I know it can be fun for you guys to do, but this whole comparison to Michael Jordan is nothing if not tedious. I believe in judging a player's, or any person's, entire body of work. Until these guys have retired from the game and we can assess their entire body of work, this comparison is pointless and seems to indicate you guys may have run out of things to talk about. Sure, they are having some success at this point in their careers, but remember that Michael played 16 seasons. So I prefer not to entertain that comparison at this point in either of their careers. "
Fighting through the muddle of a good night's drinking, I tuned into the Sports Reporters on ESPN. Some twaddle about Kobe choking in the playoffs, again. Then, there it is, the comparison between Kobe Bryant, Lebron James and Michael Jordan. It's seriously becoming a cliche, and somnolent. I yawned, stretched, turned the television off, rolled over and turned my head to the pillow.
Dan Patrick posed the question, "Do you believe that either Kobe Bryant or Lebron James is the next Michael Jordan?" As a reposte, "I know it can be fun for you guys to do, but this whole comparison to Michael Jordan is nothing if not tedious. I believe in judging a player's, or any person's, entire body of work. Until these guys have retired from the game and we can assess their entire body of work, this comparison is pointless and seems to indicate you guys may have run out of things to talk about. Sure, they are having some success at this point in their careers, but remember that Michael played 16 seasons. So I prefer not to entertain that comparison at this point in either of their careers. "
Fighting through the muddle of a good night's drinking, I tuned into the Sports Reporters on ESPN. Some twaddle about Kobe choking in the playoffs, again. Then, there it is, the comparison between Kobe Bryant, Lebron James and Michael Jordan. It's seriously becoming a cliche, and somnolent. I yawned, stretched, turned the television off, rolled over and turned my head to the pillow.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Norton Internet Security 2006 Day
I love spending an inordinate amount of time wallowing in the tedious. This morning, after several other reminders over the last few weeks, which is annoying in itself, Symantec reminds me that my antivirus protection expires tomorrow. Well, with all the passive aggressive techno twits in the world creating malicious code for no apparent reason, I thought I better get that handled. So I clicked on Earthlink's "connect" button and set about making some green tea. I don't suffer the dial up noise well. That is another story, though.
Settling in with tea in hand, looking full on beat up in a pair of sweats and needing to shave--seriously, my face looked like a Brillo pad--, I click on the window that takes me to Symantec's website. Now to decide which product to choose from. Well, I had the Norton Anti-Virus 2003. Naturally, I'd updated that a couple of times. It's always worked well. No viruses. But then I happened upon Norton Internet Security 2006. I'm the curious sort, so I clicked on the button to learn more about the product. It contains anti-virus, a personal firewall, anti-spamware, and--this was the clincher--it had anti-spyware. Bonus! My subscription to Spyware Doctor expires in a couple of days as well, and it's going to cost me $50 to renew that subscription. So with Norton Internet Security 2006, I get everything I need for $50. Hard to beat. So, for $15 more than I planned to spend on virus protection, I actually save some cash. Love it, love it. But this choice would prove epochal.
I clicked on the "buy now" button, filled out the payment information, and clicked on the "download" button. Now, the window pops up that tells you how long it is before the file downloads. It reads "30 minutes." About what I expected. I take a sip of tea. Numi makes some awesome tea. I drink their black tea as well. Really good, if you like black tea. My cat jumps in my lap, and I talk in some voice that I would never want anyone to hear coming out of my mouth. But he seems to appreciate it. A glance back at the computer screen, and now my download time is an hour. Not what I remember, but okay. Booting the cat out of lap I make my way to the bathroom, depositing my cup on the kitchen counter along the way. I get back, sit down and look at the computer screen. Are you fucking serious? Three hours and thirty-five minutes to download. I understand, fully, that my dial up status is contributing to my download time. But seriously, I don't think it can take all the blame here. I glance at my watch: 10 AM. I guess I'll go workout while Symantec does its thing.
Around 11:30 AM I get back from the gym. I put in an hour on the treadmill and did some ab work. A decent workout. Not great, but decent. My cat meets me at the door, and we exhange pleasantries. That voice again. I just know I'm going to slip and do that in front my friends at some point. I'll never live it down. My friends possess nothing that resembles mercy. Since the workout didn't take long, or at least 3 hrs. and 35 mins., I didn't bother checking on the download status. Instead, I went straight to bedroom, peeled--and I do mean peeled--off my sweaty clothes, and headed to the shower.
Finishing up there and dressed, I start pouring through the fridge for something to eat. My eyes landed on some frozen Maryland Style crab cakes in the freezer. Pour some oil in a 10" skillet, flip a couple of times and enjoy. Just about right. While I'm banging around the pots and pans cabinet looking for a 10" skillet, I wonder whether or not my download is finished. I get some olive oil in the pan, grab some water and move to the computer. Hoping I get lucky.
Oh, happy day! It's 12:30 PM and the download is all finished. I don't eat McDonald's, but I'm loving it! So,oh, I didn't mention that I run Firefox Mozilla as my browser--it's killing Internet Explorer--and you click on an "open" button and, then, you are alerted to the fact that you're opening an executable file and it could contain malicious code and yada-blah, etc. I click on it, and go check on the crab cakes.
Crab cakes were coming around rather nicely, suprisingly. Frozen anything doesn't instill much confidence. But, what're ya gonna do? I check on the download. It's extracting files. Cool. I checked my Email. Nothing spectacular, really. A couple of Emails from Careerbuilder.com. Another from Monster.com. My boy in Houston dropped me a line. Cool, cool. Here is where it begins to get annoying.
The dialogue box tells me that I have another version of Norton AntiVirus Protection--I know that--and I will have to uninstall it and then run the extraction again. Annoying, but okay. Honestly, what're you gonna do but uninstall the older program. I glance at the time: 1:05 PM. I hit the control panel, find Norton Antivirus 2003, hit "change" and wait. A window pops us letting me know that I am about to delete NAV. And it wants to know if I'm sure this what I want? I'm not sure of much, but I am sure of this. I click "yes." Then, it begins its process. The little bars start their thing, and I wonder about the crab cakes.
I turned the crab cakes, smashed them down a bit, actually. They had this shape that reminded me of a dome stadium or something. Anyway, they didn't have far to go before they were done, so I just hung in the kitchen. Opened the fridge, thought about the odd beer, then decided against it. I planned on doing some preparation for the MPT portion of the bar exam today. I can't believe I haven't passed the bar yet. Completely unexpected. Never had a problem with a standardized test in my life, and here comes the bar. A knock at the door snaps me out of my pity party. "UPS," someone yells.
Hmmmm. I didn't order anything. So I'm wondering what the wife bought. I answer the door, sign for package and start shaking the brown box that the man dressed in brown handed me. No clue, and, since it's not addressed to me (ain't that a bitch?) I set it on the couch and go back to the crab cakes. They're ready to go. I slide them on a plate and head to the computer.
The removal is complete so now I can open the NIS files again. It starts its extracting thing again. Whatever, whatever. The crab cakes are surprisingly tasty. Better in Maryland, I'm positive. But when you're in Colorado, and you love seafood, you do what you can when you can. The time is 1:20.
I have MSN Instant Messenger and my wife is normally online, so I tell her that UPS just brought her something. No, I have no idea who it is from. No, I don't know where it is from. It has your name on it. That's the extent of my knowledge. She supposes she will take a look at it when she gets home. I suppose the same. It's 1:35.
Finally, NIS does its thing and now I need to restart my computer. Cool, cool, cool. Nothing unusual here. I restart my computer. I think I have too much stuff on computer. It takes forever to restart. But, finally, it does. The programs start loading. Spyware Doctor alerts me that I can upgrade for free. Smugly, I decline. I'm so smart. I went with NIS2006. More time passes. Then a window pops up, "Norton Internet Security has determined you have not restarted your computer." Um, actually, yeah, I did. But whatever. Start, restart, wait for the whole process to start again.
My cell phone rings. It's my brother. Cool, cool. Apparently, he bought a 55" screen television from Best Buy, and it promptly didn't work. So he called them, they came out and took it in. It needed a new motor. A new motor? Never thought a TV had a motor in it. Him either, but quickly tells me that's beside the point. They've had the TV for a month. I asked him if that is how long it takes to figure out you don't know what the hell you're doing. We laugh. I notice that my computer has restarted, and there is a box that says, "Norton Internet Security has determined you have not restarted your computer." My laughter fades as I restart my computer, again.
My bro continues on about how he went down to Best Buy and went off. Funny how a pissed off 6'4" 270 pound man can improve not only customer service, but their manners as well. He was watching his 60" screen television as we spoke. Someone calls and he needs to go. He'll call me back to tell me about the electronic leviathan.
Meanwhile, my computer is in the process of restarting. I go down to get the mail. It's creeping up on 2:30.
Nothing major in the mail. Credit offer for my wife. Credit card offer for me. From the same company. Imagine that. Credit card offer for me. Credit card offer for my wife. From the same company, again. Imagine that. A handful of coupons and ads. Chicken breasts are $3.99 a pound at King Soopers. Sirloin $6.99 a pound. Whatever. I toss most of it in the trash. Lament the weather and check on the computer. "Norton Internet Security has determined that you have not restarted your computer."
My hands are curled into tight fists, teeth grinding and I'm beginning to sweat. I resist the urge to wail on my computer and, instead, turn it off. I go in the kitchen, open the fridge and grab a beer. Taking a long pull, I head toward the balcony.
Looking out toward the horizon while drinking my beer, I fantasize about throwing the maker of NIS2006 off the balcony. I finish my beer and go back inside. It's a bit cool out for this time of year anyway.
I hit power on my PC and remind myself that this isn't exactly an inexpensive item. I promise myself I won't punch it, slap it, throw it or stomp on it if I get "the message" again. Luckily, I didn't get "the message." Half-hearted is the only way to describe my promise.
It's 3:15 and the day is slipping away. I want to go to the Public House for a few beers with friends tonight, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. They have a killer happy hour. For $10 it's all you can drink from 7-9PM. It's almost Kevorkian.
So this time everything starts up without a hitch. Except that I have to register my software and in order to do that, I must create a log on account with Symantec. Now, when in the process of buying this thing, I had to give them a password and all this crap. But now they are asking for my login name and a password, and they are not accepting my password. Then, I get this message that says enter the product key that came with the confirmation Email. I'm sure you can guess by now, but I'll tell you anyway. No confirmation Email.
Just as I'm looking for a number to Symantec, the Email comes through. I enter the password and product key code and everything starts install and set up. I'm certain you've endured this process more than once. It's about 3:45 PM.
The program does its set up thing, and then, almost unbelievably, I get a message that reads, "LU1847: NIS 2006 was unable to retrieve the definitions list because of corrupt files." So I went to their website where I manually downloaded the virus definitions that I needed. It took 40 minutes to download that file. Aftewards I had to, once again, restart my computer.
In the end, the program works fine and I saved a buck. Considering, however, that the whole process wasn't completed until almost 5PM, I'm less than excited about ever ordering a different product in the future. Next year, I'll just get the update to NIS2006. I wasted an entire day with this thing. Absurd, and never again.
Settling in with tea in hand, looking full on beat up in a pair of sweats and needing to shave--seriously, my face looked like a Brillo pad--, I click on the window that takes me to Symantec's website. Now to decide which product to choose from. Well, I had the Norton Anti-Virus 2003. Naturally, I'd updated that a couple of times. It's always worked well. No viruses. But then I happened upon Norton Internet Security 2006. I'm the curious sort, so I clicked on the button to learn more about the product. It contains anti-virus, a personal firewall, anti-spamware, and--this was the clincher--it had anti-spyware. Bonus! My subscription to Spyware Doctor expires in a couple of days as well, and it's going to cost me $50 to renew that subscription. So with Norton Internet Security 2006, I get everything I need for $50. Hard to beat. So, for $15 more than I planned to spend on virus protection, I actually save some cash. Love it, love it. But this choice would prove epochal.
I clicked on the "buy now" button, filled out the payment information, and clicked on the "download" button. Now, the window pops up that tells you how long it is before the file downloads. It reads "30 minutes." About what I expected. I take a sip of tea. Numi makes some awesome tea. I drink their black tea as well. Really good, if you like black tea. My cat jumps in my lap, and I talk in some voice that I would never want anyone to hear coming out of my mouth. But he seems to appreciate it. A glance back at the computer screen, and now my download time is an hour. Not what I remember, but okay. Booting the cat out of lap I make my way to the bathroom, depositing my cup on the kitchen counter along the way. I get back, sit down and look at the computer screen. Are you fucking serious? Three hours and thirty-five minutes to download. I understand, fully, that my dial up status is contributing to my download time. But seriously, I don't think it can take all the blame here. I glance at my watch: 10 AM. I guess I'll go workout while Symantec does its thing.
Around 11:30 AM I get back from the gym. I put in an hour on the treadmill and did some ab work. A decent workout. Not great, but decent. My cat meets me at the door, and we exhange pleasantries. That voice again. I just know I'm going to slip and do that in front my friends at some point. I'll never live it down. My friends possess nothing that resembles mercy. Since the workout didn't take long, or at least 3 hrs. and 35 mins., I didn't bother checking on the download status. Instead, I went straight to bedroom, peeled--and I do mean peeled--off my sweaty clothes, and headed to the shower.
Finishing up there and dressed, I start pouring through the fridge for something to eat. My eyes landed on some frozen Maryland Style crab cakes in the freezer. Pour some oil in a 10" skillet, flip a couple of times and enjoy. Just about right. While I'm banging around the pots and pans cabinet looking for a 10" skillet, I wonder whether or not my download is finished. I get some olive oil in the pan, grab some water and move to the computer. Hoping I get lucky.
Oh, happy day! It's 12:30 PM and the download is all finished. I don't eat McDonald's, but I'm loving it! So,oh, I didn't mention that I run Firefox Mozilla as my browser--it's killing Internet Explorer--and you click on an "open" button and, then, you are alerted to the fact that you're opening an executable file and it could contain malicious code and yada-blah, etc. I click on it, and go check on the crab cakes.
Crab cakes were coming around rather nicely, suprisingly. Frozen anything doesn't instill much confidence. But, what're ya gonna do? I check on the download. It's extracting files. Cool. I checked my Email. Nothing spectacular, really. A couple of Emails from Careerbuilder.com. Another from Monster.com. My boy in Houston dropped me a line. Cool, cool. Here is where it begins to get annoying.
The dialogue box tells me that I have another version of Norton AntiVirus Protection--I know that--and I will have to uninstall it and then run the extraction again. Annoying, but okay. Honestly, what're you gonna do but uninstall the older program. I glance at the time: 1:05 PM. I hit the control panel, find Norton Antivirus 2003, hit "change" and wait. A window pops us letting me know that I am about to delete NAV. And it wants to know if I'm sure this what I want? I'm not sure of much, but I am sure of this. I click "yes." Then, it begins its process. The little bars start their thing, and I wonder about the crab cakes.
I turned the crab cakes, smashed them down a bit, actually. They had this shape that reminded me of a dome stadium or something. Anyway, they didn't have far to go before they were done, so I just hung in the kitchen. Opened the fridge, thought about the odd beer, then decided against it. I planned on doing some preparation for the MPT portion of the bar exam today. I can't believe I haven't passed the bar yet. Completely unexpected. Never had a problem with a standardized test in my life, and here comes the bar. A knock at the door snaps me out of my pity party. "UPS," someone yells.
Hmmmm. I didn't order anything. So I'm wondering what the wife bought. I answer the door, sign for package and start shaking the brown box that the man dressed in brown handed me. No clue, and, since it's not addressed to me (ain't that a bitch?) I set it on the couch and go back to the crab cakes. They're ready to go. I slide them on a plate and head to the computer.
The removal is complete so now I can open the NIS files again. It starts its extracting thing again. Whatever, whatever. The crab cakes are surprisingly tasty. Better in Maryland, I'm positive. But when you're in Colorado, and you love seafood, you do what you can when you can. The time is 1:20.
I have MSN Instant Messenger and my wife is normally online, so I tell her that UPS just brought her something. No, I have no idea who it is from. No, I don't know where it is from. It has your name on it. That's the extent of my knowledge. She supposes she will take a look at it when she gets home. I suppose the same. It's 1:35.
Finally, NIS does its thing and now I need to restart my computer. Cool, cool, cool. Nothing unusual here. I restart my computer. I think I have too much stuff on computer. It takes forever to restart. But, finally, it does. The programs start loading. Spyware Doctor alerts me that I can upgrade for free. Smugly, I decline. I'm so smart. I went with NIS2006. More time passes. Then a window pops up, "Norton Internet Security has determined you have not restarted your computer." Um, actually, yeah, I did. But whatever. Start, restart, wait for the whole process to start again.
My cell phone rings. It's my brother. Cool, cool. Apparently, he bought a 55" screen television from Best Buy, and it promptly didn't work. So he called them, they came out and took it in. It needed a new motor. A new motor? Never thought a TV had a motor in it. Him either, but quickly tells me that's beside the point. They've had the TV for a month. I asked him if that is how long it takes to figure out you don't know what the hell you're doing. We laugh. I notice that my computer has restarted, and there is a box that says, "Norton Internet Security has determined you have not restarted your computer." My laughter fades as I restart my computer, again.
My bro continues on about how he went down to Best Buy and went off. Funny how a pissed off 6'4" 270 pound man can improve not only customer service, but their manners as well. He was watching his 60" screen television as we spoke. Someone calls and he needs to go. He'll call me back to tell me about the electronic leviathan.
Meanwhile, my computer is in the process of restarting. I go down to get the mail. It's creeping up on 2:30.
Nothing major in the mail. Credit offer for my wife. Credit card offer for me. From the same company. Imagine that. Credit card offer for me. Credit card offer for my wife. From the same company, again. Imagine that. A handful of coupons and ads. Chicken breasts are $3.99 a pound at King Soopers. Sirloin $6.99 a pound. Whatever. I toss most of it in the trash. Lament the weather and check on the computer. "Norton Internet Security has determined that you have not restarted your computer."
My hands are curled into tight fists, teeth grinding and I'm beginning to sweat. I resist the urge to wail on my computer and, instead, turn it off. I go in the kitchen, open the fridge and grab a beer. Taking a long pull, I head toward the balcony.
Looking out toward the horizon while drinking my beer, I fantasize about throwing the maker of NIS2006 off the balcony. I finish my beer and go back inside. It's a bit cool out for this time of year anyway.
I hit power on my PC and remind myself that this isn't exactly an inexpensive item. I promise myself I won't punch it, slap it, throw it or stomp on it if I get "the message" again. Luckily, I didn't get "the message." Half-hearted is the only way to describe my promise.
It's 3:15 and the day is slipping away. I want to go to the Public House for a few beers with friends tonight, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. They have a killer happy hour. For $10 it's all you can drink from 7-9PM. It's almost Kevorkian.
So this time everything starts up without a hitch. Except that I have to register my software and in order to do that, I must create a log on account with Symantec. Now, when in the process of buying this thing, I had to give them a password and all this crap. But now they are asking for my login name and a password, and they are not accepting my password. Then, I get this message that says enter the product key that came with the confirmation Email. I'm sure you can guess by now, but I'll tell you anyway. No confirmation Email.
Just as I'm looking for a number to Symantec, the Email comes through. I enter the password and product key code and everything starts install and set up. I'm certain you've endured this process more than once. It's about 3:45 PM.
The program does its set up thing, and then, almost unbelievably, I get a message that reads, "LU1847: NIS 2006 was unable to retrieve the definitions list because of corrupt files." So I went to their website where I manually downloaded the virus definitions that I needed. It took 40 minutes to download that file. Aftewards I had to, once again, restart my computer.
In the end, the program works fine and I saved a buck. Considering, however, that the whole process wasn't completed until almost 5PM, I'm less than excited about ever ordering a different product in the future. Next year, I'll just get the update to NIS2006. I wasted an entire day with this thing. Absurd, and never again.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
10 Things That Piss Me Off
No, really, I woke up in a good mood this morning. Unusually good mood, actually. Then, I went to the fridge and started rummaging through it trying to find something to eat. That's when it happened. The Today Show was running a piece about valet parking attendants going through your car. Deplorable. Pissed me off. So I started thinking about the other things that piss me off. They are innumerable, really, which may be cause for some measure of alarm, but here are ten. In no particular order.
10. Jerry Jones. This man is the single worst thing that has ever happened to the Dallas Cowboys. The only good thing he ever did for that organization is to hire Jimmy Johnson, and then he screwed that up.
9. Self-important pricks in middle-management. Seriously, fuck your Dockers.
8. Pharmaceutical ads on TV. Seriously, aside from being just flat annoying, they are a constant reminder of the frailty of the human condition. Like I need that shit in my life. There you are enjoying (insert your viewing choice here) and here comes a Levitra ad with a little porn music in the back. Reminding you that one day you are going to get old and need some "assistance." Thanks, prick. Pun intended.
7. Exxon Mobil, Chevron, Shell and Conoco Phillips. If I need to explain this one to you, it is a big beautiful world out there and you should go forth and discover.
6. The myopic and self-absorbed attitude of SUV drivers.
5. Globalization. The only thing I want homogeneous is my milk. And even that concerns me some.
4. The pseudo-Mohawk. You know the one I am talking about. You don't shave the sides of your head, but you take some hair gel and sort of spike it in the middle. Who's idea was that?!
3. Celebrity worship. Brangelina and Tomkat. Who thinks of these ridiculous names? Nevermind that. People need to be more concerned with their own lives, rather than the lives of people who not only don't care anything about you, but probably loathe you. Beyond that, there are more important things to concern yourself with other than who is knocked up and who needs a cheeseburger and fries in their life. I mean, don't look now, but your Congressman is probably signing a bill into law that he hasn't even read. That has way more relevance in your life than any celebrity.
2. Kobe Bryant. Because he is a rapist who should be shooting jumpers in Canyon City. For those of you outside Colorado, that's where our state prison is located. Seriously, the man is a criminal and yet the PR branch of the NBA (more commonly known as the sports media) makes him out to be some heroic figure. Yeah, be heroic when Bubba does the same to you, rape boy.
1. Starbucks. Because it masquerades as an independent, earthy, environmentally conscious coffee house, and it is nothing more than a corporation. Wholly unconcerned with anything other than its image, and how that image translates to its bottom line.
Honorable Mention
Puff Daddy. Because his only talent is sampling the originality of true artists.
Paris Hilton. Because she just sucks in general.
The great decider, George W. Bush. Seriously, fuck him.
Outsourcing overseas, and the oppressive conditions multinational corporations perpetuate in the name of cheap labor.
10. Jerry Jones. This man is the single worst thing that has ever happened to the Dallas Cowboys. The only good thing he ever did for that organization is to hire Jimmy Johnson, and then he screwed that up.
9. Self-important pricks in middle-management. Seriously, fuck your Dockers.
8. Pharmaceutical ads on TV. Seriously, aside from being just flat annoying, they are a constant reminder of the frailty of the human condition. Like I need that shit in my life. There you are enjoying (insert your viewing choice here) and here comes a Levitra ad with a little porn music in the back. Reminding you that one day you are going to get old and need some "assistance." Thanks, prick. Pun intended.
7. Exxon Mobil, Chevron, Shell and Conoco Phillips. If I need to explain this one to you, it is a big beautiful world out there and you should go forth and discover.
6. The myopic and self-absorbed attitude of SUV drivers.
5. Globalization. The only thing I want homogeneous is my milk. And even that concerns me some.
4. The pseudo-Mohawk. You know the one I am talking about. You don't shave the sides of your head, but you take some hair gel and sort of spike it in the middle. Who's idea was that?!
3. Celebrity worship. Brangelina and Tomkat. Who thinks of these ridiculous names? Nevermind that. People need to be more concerned with their own lives, rather than the lives of people who not only don't care anything about you, but probably loathe you. Beyond that, there are more important things to concern yourself with other than who is knocked up and who needs a cheeseburger and fries in their life. I mean, don't look now, but your Congressman is probably signing a bill into law that he hasn't even read. That has way more relevance in your life than any celebrity.
2. Kobe Bryant. Because he is a rapist who should be shooting jumpers in Canyon City. For those of you outside Colorado, that's where our state prison is located. Seriously, the man is a criminal and yet the PR branch of the NBA (more commonly known as the sports media) makes him out to be some heroic figure. Yeah, be heroic when Bubba does the same to you, rape boy.
1. Starbucks. Because it masquerades as an independent, earthy, environmentally conscious coffee house, and it is nothing more than a corporation. Wholly unconcerned with anything other than its image, and how that image translates to its bottom line.
Honorable Mention
Puff Daddy. Because his only talent is sampling the originality of true artists.
Paris Hilton. Because she just sucks in general.
The great decider, George W. Bush. Seriously, fuck him.
Outsourcing overseas, and the oppressive conditions multinational corporations perpetuate in the name of cheap labor.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
James Blunt's "You're Beautiful"
I caught this song on the radio. The lyrics struck me as a bit odd, and so I looked it up at http://www.azlyrics.com. Is it just me, or is this dangerously close to being an ode to stalking?
My life is brilliant.
My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Flying high, [ - video/radio edited version]
Fucking high, [ - CD version]
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.
Either way, this song is coming to a VH-1 Cheesetastic episode near you.
My life is brilliant.
My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Flying high, [ - video/radio edited version]
Fucking high, [ - CD version]
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.
Either way, this song is coming to a VH-1 Cheesetastic episode near you.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Immigrant Boycott
The boycott may be akin to hanging the queen in chess. The immigrants are boycotting in an effort to demonstrate that they are indespensable in the American economy. I'm not certain, but it would seem to me that they could just as easily show the opposite. If that happens, that particular position quickly becomes untenable. Plus, the P. Diddy remix of the national anthem couldn't have won them any fans. Whose idea was it to take a song that commemorates a battle fought between two English-speaking countries, and re-word it and sing it in Spanish? Not a good idea. There are a few things you just don't mess with in America. Clearly, the national anthem is among them.
Beyond that, I am not sure what one day of boycotting is going to have on the American economy. You don't open your restaurant today? It'll be open tomorrow. You don't want to ship some goods? You'll ship it tomorrow. Shop not open? It'll be open tomorrow. You get the point. I don't think this boycott has much political cache.
Now having said that, I think it is flat silly to make illegal immigration a felony. That is amazingly asinine. The burgeoning penal system agrees. Seriously, the overcrowding in the penal system is well documented. So where would you put all of these "felons?" More taxes to build more prisons? More jails? And, then, assuming that they are in prison, our tax dollars would be used to feed and clothe them while behind bars.
I guess there is no easy answer to the situation, but the current discourse is meandering through the extremes. If we want a feasible and provident resolution, we must abandon the extreme measures currently being bandied about and look at the situation through objective, disinterested eyes. It's clear that this issue is the province of objective and nonparitsan minds. Now, if we can just find some of those.
Beyond that, I am not sure what one day of boycotting is going to have on the American economy. You don't open your restaurant today? It'll be open tomorrow. You don't want to ship some goods? You'll ship it tomorrow. Shop not open? It'll be open tomorrow. You get the point. I don't think this boycott has much political cache.
Now having said that, I think it is flat silly to make illegal immigration a felony. That is amazingly asinine. The burgeoning penal system agrees. Seriously, the overcrowding in the penal system is well documented. So where would you put all of these "felons?" More taxes to build more prisons? More jails? And, then, assuming that they are in prison, our tax dollars would be used to feed and clothe them while behind bars.
I guess there is no easy answer to the situation, but the current discourse is meandering through the extremes. If we want a feasible and provident resolution, we must abandon the extreme measures currently being bandied about and look at the situation through objective, disinterested eyes. It's clear that this issue is the province of objective and nonparitsan minds. Now, if we can just find some of those.
Problems Posting
I'm on the verge of losing my mind. I've attempted to post several entries, but they do not publish to my blog, for whatever reason. That is really starting to piss me off. And, to compound matters, there is no one to send an Email to or anything, just these FAQ's. And annoying and annoying and annoying. So if you have any insight as to what the problem is, I'd appreciate someone dropping me a line.
It will be interesting to see if this one publishes.
It will be interesting to see if this one publishes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
