Supplemental Jurisdiction

Random Observation from a Trip to Starbucks

Those posters at Starbucks for Paul McCartney's new album look like Paul McCartney doing an impression of Dana Carvey doing an impression of Paul McCartney.

(The only clip I could find of Carvey doing his impression is this bit from The Dana Carvey Show. It is mildly amusing.)

Back to the Future

Currently I'm sitting in the same library, at the same table, I sat in while studying for the bar exam. That was exactly two years ago, and I haven't been in this library since, even though it is literally three blocks from my apartment. I'm not really sure why I've never been back. It is a really nice library, with very modern amenities such as wi-fi, laptop plug-ins at every table, a beautiful open plan with windows everywhere, and a coffee bar. In fact, I can see my apartment from where I sit. I think maybe I've never been back because studying for the bar was such a horrible experience that I wanted to distance myself from it as much as possible. Plus, any books I want to read I either borrow from my mom or buy, so I rarely need to go to a library. I mean, if I did read. Usually I just watch Springer and eat Doritos.

But today I need to get a brief done, so I came down here where I could spread out my paperwork and concentrate. So it is exactly like how I found myself exactly two years ago. In the fall I am about to start a new job exactly like the job I was going to start that fall two years ago. And I'm freaking the hell out.

Yeah, so I thought I'd link to some of the random blog entries I wrote while in this library two years ago, bar studying, but I couldn't find any. And that's when I remembered that none of them were any good, just me bitching a lot, so I never transferred them over to the new blog. It's too bad too. Luckily I remember how most of them went:

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod. Ohmygodohmygodfeesimpledeterminabledueprocessshearsayoutofcourtstatementsusedfortruthofthematter. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod

Awesome.

Solid Logic

So, I was listening to the Monica Goodling House Testimony yesterday, when I heard Rep. Steve King, R-Iowa, demonstrate his rock-solid reasoning skills. In trying to defend Ms. Goodling's credentials, he mentioned that Yale College had originally been founded as a reaction to Harvard College no longer being religious enough for some people. He then compared the founding of Regent University, a notorious Christian school, to Yale, stating: "So, I submit that Regent is the successor to Yale which is the successor to Harvard."

Ergo, Regent is just as good as Harvard and Yale. Seriously, I'm about to go all Sherman on the Iowa 5th district.

In Memoriam

Today I was scheduled to play a tennis match out in a part of town to which I rarely venture. "Great," I thought, "I'll get to go to Thai 2000." Thai 2000 is this fantastic restaurant housed in an old McDonalds, with tasty pad thai. I described my first, and last, visit over a year ago. I was very excited about an opportunity to return.

Further instanet investigation revealed, however, that Thai 2000 closed sometime in the summer or fall of 2006. I was, and still am, completely devestated. No more ordering pad thai at an old McDonald's counter. No more sipping Thai iced tea where Ronald's PlayLand used to be. No more flipping through the Korean karaoke songbook (to which we were told that the only English songs available were translations of Korean songs). Thus, this post is dedicated to the memory of Thai 2000. We'll meet again some day in heaven, my sweet out-of-place and somewhat unnerving thai restaurant. Oh yes we will.

Thai 2000

??? -- 2006

Electioneering

The municipal general election is this Tuesday. Today, I get a knock on my door from some guy and his kid, and they're campaigning for a woman running for city council.

Me: Hey
Dude: Hi. Just wanted to remind you about the election this Tuesday. If you could find it in your heart, please vote for [city council candidate].
Me: Uh . . . ok?

I wasn't really sure how to respond to "if you could find it in your heart." What is he implying with that phrase? That only cold-hearted bastards would vote for the opponent and that I, as a member of the cold-hearted bastard constituency, need to look deep within myself in order to make the right decision, as opposed to my natural inclination? Or is he saying that this candidate deserves my pity and mercy, like some homeless person down on his luck?

It probably was the first one. Truth is, before that guy showed up on my doorstep, I was going to vote for the candidate who promised to kick more puppies and kittens. I really agreed with his platform that over the last four years, city hall has gone soft on puppies and kittens.

Holy Smoke

Peeps, sorry for the lack of posts, but you've got to understand: It is mad crazy with work around these parts. I'm serial.

In a related story, I saw this about law firm interviews on the Best of Craig's List, and it is pretty funny. My favorite:

4. What would you say is your greatest weakness?

What I said: My greatest weakness is that I get too personally involved with my work. For instance, when I am working on trial prep, and then the case settles favorably, I feel as though it should have gone to trial anyway, despite knowing that the settlement is what's best for our firm and our client.

What I thought: Pussy. If there are any females in your office, you can be certain I will work twice as hard to get into their pants as I will to make my billables. And yes, since you require us to bill 1,900 hours, that means I will be sexually harassing my co-workers 3,800 hours a year.

Time Travel

So, I went home to visit my parents this weekend, and it was like a trip back in time. Again. Basically, my bedroom has changed very little in 10 years, and it is basically in the same shape it was when I was in high school (except for the random law books in my bookcase, which like the penny in "Somewhere in Time" are the only thing keeping me in the present).

Anyway, this weekend, I was in my bedroom, playing my Sega Genesis, as I am wont to do. This time it was NHL '94, perhaps the greatest sports game of all time. Seriously, it was freshman year of high school all over again. When was the last time you heard someone scream things like "Hey Craig Janney, stop being a douche and going offsides," "Butcher, why don't you check somebody?" and "You play left wing, Shanahan, so why do you suck at shooting left handed?"

By the way, Wikipedia informs me that Brendan Shanahan is married to Craig Janney's ex-wife. Apparently I'm not the only one who thought he was acting like a douche.

Right, point is I was rocking NHL '94 on the Genesis, just like I was 13 years ago. And I was still kicking ass. Although I only scored 12 goals against the Kings (usually it is a good 15-20 when I've had some practice), I ended up beating some of my old records that had been saved on that cartridge for the better part of a decade. The only thing missing was a 6-pack of Mountain Dew and an acne outbreak.

Some of you may understand the attraction of nostalgia. For those that don't, I admit I find it slightly comforting in these times where I must come to terms with my impending adulthood. I mean, I'm not there yet (obviously), but it is finally on the horizon and I'm having trouble dealing.

Clueless

Uh, I'm watching the Super Ball and I just saw an ad for General Motors. Hey, GM, word of advice: In a time when you're laying off thousands of employees, perhaps it isn't the smartest idea to make a commercial about laying off a robot who then commits suicide by jumping off a bridge. Just a thought.

[UPDATE: They posted the whole ad. I find it weird that ifilm includes an ad before the ad.]

Who am I?

I was reading this post over at Legally Blonde, and it got me thinking:

Am I late Gen X or early Gen Y?

I was born in 1978. Given that, Wikipedia seems to suggest the former, but then again, what does Wikipedia know? Whatever.

Free Trade

Happy Holidays, y'all. Below are some random comments. (More following the link.)

* * *

I'm at home for what I've been referring to as "Christmas Break." Since I haven't been in school now for a year and a half, it is an odd, and probably inappropriate, term to use. In fact, as I was leaving work last week, I said to one of my co-workers, "See you after break!" I cringed after saying it, immediately realizing how stupid I sounded. Truth is, though, I am sort of on break, having taken off the days between Christmas and New Year's.

Actually, it is sort of a working break. In order to get in some hours, and to give me an excuse to avoid my parents briefly, I took on a short assignment that I could do while at home. Today I decided to get to it, but I had one problem: where to work. My mom lives in a time machine; her dial up internet runs at about 9200 baud. My dad has a more modern connection, but I wouldn't be able to concentrate there with the constant sports on the television. So basically what I'm looking for is a Starbucks. Unfortunately, my hometown, like my mom, is stuck in 1997, sans Starbucks. What's a boy to do?

I was surprised to learn that the town does have a Starbucks-like coffee shop, which is locally-owned and has free wifi (a huge improvement over Starbucks right there). It had a tiki theme going on, which was done in a pleasant and not too-overbearing type way. As I slaved away on my memo for the man, I was somewhat impressed with the conversations around me; they were generally interesting. I also enjoyed the intense mocking in which my inner monologue engaged while eavesdropping on a high school nerd conversation (it covered all the basics: Monty Python, a shirt covered in digits of pi, some random chemistry jokes, etc.). Although I'm sure this place is worried about the impending arrival of Starbucks, I don't think it will affect it much, as the clientele seemed very supportive. Plus, free wifi.

Random Thoughts

1) Those Budweiser commercials featuring "Galvanize" by the Chemical Brothers kind of annoy me, specifically the line "there's a party of here/so you might as well be here." It reminds me of the time I had to write a poem in first grade, and the teacher reprimanded me for rhyming "fish" and "fish." (For the life of me I can't remember the subject of the poem, but if I was rhyming fish, it must have been awesome.) I insisted that any word paired with itself rhymed by definition, but my teacher disagreed. I believe the words "lazy" and "insolent" were used in her speech.

So, anyway, I sort of feel the same way about that particular line in the song, and the fact that is the line used in every Budweiser commercial makes me annoyed everytime I hear it.

2) Last night on my way home, Baby Got Back came on the radio. Halfway through the song, it dawned on me: Sir Mix-A-Lot is a feminist. I know that's sort of hard to take seriously when he's dancing atop a giant paper mache buttocks, but just listen to his lyrics, man. He's against women getting plastic surgery ("'cause silicon parts are made for toys"). He is encouraging women to look healthy, instead of becoming super skinny ("I like 'em round, and big . . . I want 'em real thick and juicy . . . I'll keep my women like Flo Jo"). And he's against the unreasonable body images portrayed in women's glamour magazines ("So Cosmo says you're fat/Well I ain't down with that!").

Here's to you, Sir Mix-A-Lot: A Modern Rap Feminist.

Ridin' Dirty

This weekend I sold out. I mean, I sold out a long time ago (hello, new job), but this weekend I sold out the last ounce of purity left in my soul: sports team loyalty. Because my mother is an alumna, we've always been a Michigan house. (Side note: I, too, was almost a Michigan alumnus twice over, except that both times I sold them down the river as soon as I received a better offer.) So, obviously I was rooting for Michigan to beat OSU, and now that they've lost, I'm hoping for a rematch in January.

For those of you that disagree with the rematch, let me just say I've heard the arguments against and I don't care. The arguments are not compelling; you cannot seriously tell me that USC deserves to be in the championship game more than Michigan. Aside from OSU, anyone else playing for the championship will have one loss, and every other team, save one, lost their one game to some bitch.

Anyway, that point aside, this weekend caused me to root for almost every team I despise. Arkansas, Florida State, Notre Dame (fucking Notre Dame, people!). And when I did that, placing my hope in teams I routinely wish would be obliterated, both metaphorically and literally, I was totally screwed. If I needed a team to come through and help Michigan, they failed. Miserably. So, to tie this back to this post's title, at the end of Saturday I felt completely dirty.

If you'd like to see the Weird Al parody of the above video, click here.

Also, I'm still planning on doing my "blog crushes" feature, as soon as I can figure out how to sound not totally creepy. If you'd like to be possibly featured, drop me an email. If you're a hot girl, be sure to include a picture. Yeah, I know, creepy.

Overheard

Yesterday I was watching the Michigan/Ohio State game in between some tennis matches, when this somewhat youngish woman sat down next to me. She started speaking to another man across the table:

"How often do you see a black quarterback at Ohio State? That's quite an advantage for them."

Good times.

Final Election Thought

Editor's note: This is a post I've been working on for several days. It is about boring Missouri politics stuff, and how the elimination of the straight-ticket voting might have actually hurt Republicans. Many of you will find this boring, so I've included a little teaser here, and the rest can be found by clicking the link at the end.

This is something I've been thinking about, but haven't really had the time to think through. Here in Missouri, the Republican-controlled legislature got rid of straight-ticket voting, starting with this most recent election. The conventional wisdom is that the straight-ticket benefits Democrats more than Republicans, and its deletion was included as retribution for the Democrats unwillingness to support a bill requiring showing government-issued picture IDs before voting. (The bill passed anyway and the ID requirement was later overturned by the state supreme court, although the straight-ticket part stayed.)

However, I have a hard time believing the conventional wisdom is true. Instead, straight-ticket voting is most likely more effective in areas that lean heavily one way or the other. Thus, in St. Louis City, Democrats will benefit from the straight-ticket option, while in out-state Missouri (a term for everything but St. Louis and Kansas City) Republicans will benefit most from straight-tickets. On the whole, since the cities still out-populate the rest of the state, this means that straight-ticket helps Democrats.

I'm a little bit country . . .

This morning I was reading my old college newspaper (I like keeping up, especially considering I interview high school applicants), when I came across this:

The caption is the kind of thing that makes me laugh and cry a little, all at the same time, because it reminds me just how elitist the school can be sometimes. As someone who grew up going to the state fair every summer, I can tell you now that "hay-barrel throwing" is not any event I recognize. I can't even begin to imagine what a barrel of hay would look like, let alone what its practical uses would be.

I believe what the caption meant was "hay bale throwing." Now that's something I'm familiar with, having not only participated in a few hay bale tossing contests in my time, but also having "bucked" hay at my own home during the summer. Whoever wrote that caption had probably never even seen a real-life hay bale before last week, let alone bucked.

Which brings me to my point: I'm a little country. Now, I'm not some bumpkin by any means, but I attended a fancy college and law school with mostly city and suburban kids. Thus, I enjoyed learning them a thing or two about how us country folk from the Middle West lived. And that would often involve stories about county fair shenanigans (the greased pig story was a favorite), fooling my friends into bucking hay with me, or our various clandestine parties out in random fields. I think what fascinates my friends even more is that while I've done lots of these things, I don't particularly come across as "country." Perhaps that's because they assume all country people talk funny, listen to country music, and don't like doing any "cultural" activities, like going to plays or museums. I don't know. Fact is, though, I take pride about a lot of things about where I came from, but I also like where I am.

On a related note: On a recent trip to the department store, I picked up a John Deere hoodie that says "Country Boy" across the chest. This is meant to be semironic. In fact, as I go into my late 20s, I believe semirony is where it's at. I still use sarcasm a lot, but when I do, I am also kind of earnest about it. It is a very confusing emotional state to work through. I need therapy.

SJ Live!

I'd like to note that I had my hair cut guy, as well as the hair cut guy next to us, almost on the floor laughing with my stories about Lisa Turtle and Hammer.

Thank you; I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

My Michigan Gas Station Story

Just after I crossed into Michigan, I stopped for gas at a station near Coldwater.  I put the pump in the car, then told my mom that I was going in to get a bottle of water.  My mom, busy searching for something, remained in the car. 

I went into the store and decided to use the bathroom.  It was a typical gas station bathroom, complete with condom machine.  However, this was a condom machine with a sense of humor:

(click on the image to enlarge)

This condom's running gag is that it is a play on President Bill Clinton.  Never mind that he hasn't been president for 6 years. No, this condom isn't going to let little things like "timing" and "relevance" hold it back.

Because I'm not in the habit (yet) of taking real cameras into the bathroom with me, I unfortunately could only snap this using my crappy phone cam.  Thus, you can't really make out the bulleted punch lines also included on the package.  It has been a couple of weeks, so I can't remember the exact wording, but the first bullet says something about preventing embarrassing stains on your blue dress, while the second bullet guarantees the it provides a full cover up.  Eight year old jokes, very clever.  It makes me wonder about the kind of person that buys this product.  But, I'm even more intrigued by the kind of person that actually uses this product.

Anyway, I come out of the bathroom, pick up a bottle of water, and head to the cash register.  The gas station guy looks at me and asks, "Is that your car at pump 12?"

"Uh, yeah," I say.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to go back out to your car.  It is against Michigan law to leave your car unattended while pumping gas," he informs me.

"The car is attended.  My mom is out there, sitting in it," I explain.

"Well, then, sir, you need to ask her to step outside the car.  Someone has to remain outside of the car."

I just stared at the attendant, wondering if I should debate the meaning of "unattended" with him.  I mean, I suppose it is possible that you have to remain outside of the car while pumping, but it seems hard to believe a state with massively cold winters would really make such a rule.  Instead, I looked down at my bottled water resting on the counter, then back up at gas station dude asking:

"So what the hell do you want me to do about it?"

His response: "I'm going to have to turn the pump off until you go back."

"Whatever, as long as you're not threatening me with Gas Station Jail."

After about 10 seconds more of staring, he finally realizes I'm not going to leave and rings up my 99 cent bottle of water.  I walk outside and see that gas tank is completely filled; apparently quick draw didn't shut off the pump in time.  Having already paid by credit card at the pump, I climbed in my car and sped away, grumbling.

Celebrities

Earlier this month, I was in L.A. for a friend's wedding.  I showed up a couple of days before the event so that we could get some golf in, as well as a general chillax (or, as much as one can chillax before such an occassion). 

Anyway, the way I figure, the redeaming feature of living in L.A. is the ability to see washed-up celebreties in person.  Sort of like living the Surreal Life.  As my friend and I were walking into the gym, we passed this girl.

"Did you see that?" my friend asked.

"What?"  I had been focused to the hotties walking ahead of us.

"Dude, that was Lisa Turtle."

It's true, I didn't notice Lisa Turtle (or "Lark Voorhies," as she likes to be called in real life; however, I am a big proponent of confusing actors with their characters.  Serves them right for trying to entertain us.).  But am I really at fault?  Just looking at IMDB, Lisa/Lark hasn't been in anything since 2002, and she hasn't been in anything anyone has actually seen since 2001's "How High."  (Just think about the significance of that for a minute.) 

IMDB can't help you, even if you wanted to know what Lisa/Lark looked like so you could keep an eye out next time you went to the gym.  See:

They do have a few pictures in the photo gallery, but they look like they all came from some women's prison movie she did.  From the movie's description, though, I'm guessing it is not the kind of women's prison movie I'm interested in.

While I was missing out on Lisa, on the other side of town, another friend of ours was taking full advantage of his celebrity encounter.  This friend was at the suit store purchasing a suit for the wedding, when he noticed a familiar man standing next to him.  Within 30 seconds, he finally placed the gentleman:  MC Hammer.  Even with the knowledge that he was standing mere inches away from greatness, he remained calm.  Then our friend spoke:

"You look good in that suit."

"You think so?" Hammer responded.

Ok, so that was totally awesome:  He gave Hammer fashion advice.  Or, more accurately I guess, reaffirmed Hammer's fashion choices, but whatever, that's still cool.  I mean, I've never done that.

On a related note, since I celebrate all things Hammer, I'm dropping his latest here.

I went to a pull.

Last weekend I went to a tractor and truck pull.  This wasn't my first, but it was the first since I was in high school probably.  For the uninitiated, a tractor pull involves various tractors competing in various classes to see which one can pull a "sled" the furthest.  It is kind of cool, for a little bit anyway.  However, most pulls I've attended haven't lasted just a little bit.  In fact, I don't think I've been to one that has ended before midnight.  So, yeah, we're talking about watching a lot of tractors for a long time.

By the way, how cool is it that Wikipedia has an entry on tractor pulls?  I think we should all try to edit the entry, though, to explain that Chuck Norris invented tractor pulls in the early 70s so that he wouldn't have to pull 700 pound weights around his yard all by himself.  It's Wikiality, people. 

The pull was held in a very, very (very) small town just down the road from where I grew up.  A couple of months ago I took an out-of-state friend there (Jesse James robbed a train nearby), and she said, "I could see moving here one day."  I laughed.  I showed her around a little bit, including the "Public School" which was still missing same "l" in "public" as when I was in high school.  Five minutes later, she agreed she wouldn't voluntarily move there.

Anyway, like I said, I hadn't been to a pull in about 10 years, so I wasn't really prepared for it.  Man, going to a tractor pull is apparently like going to a club.  The place was hoppin' with lots of attractive women, all wearing halter tops and glitter.  Only instead of dancing to crappy dance tunes like Promiscuous, they're driving kick-ass tractors and hauling 700-pound sleds.  Unlike most clubs I've been to, though, there were also a lot of old men wearing overalls with no shirt.  Unless that shit's become hot recently; I haven't been to a club in, like, 6 months.

Also like a club, the ladies at the pull were not into my lines.  Actually, make that line:  I go up to a girl and just say "Arrrggggghhh" until she asks me what the hell i'm doing.  That's when I deliver the punchline: "Arrrrrgghhhh.  Prepare to be boarded."  Get it?  My one pick up line is pirate-themed.  Surprisingly, it has yet to succeed.

The point is, it was a good time, although I won't be doing again anytime soon.  Given the opportunity, though, I highly suggest you go. 

A programming note:  After about 6 months of almost daily updates, I took a little break from SJ.  The vacation will continue for the next couple of weeks, as I'll be out of town.  I'll post sporadically.

Cat Blogging

About a month ago, a kitten showed up at my mom's place.  The kitten is friendly and quite eager to enter the house.  Four weeks later, the cat is totally at home.

Anyway, she's quite rambunctious, climbing furniture, knocking things over, running wildly around the house.  Here she is contemplating scratching on the living room chair:

And here is the cat being scared away from the chair by my mom's shoe (midflight):

Nasty

While browsing Dick's Sporting Goods this evening, I came across these on the sale rack, which I immediately had to have:

So freakin' sweet.  I was in the market for a "retro" shoe anyway, and opportunity came a knockin' in the form of these kick-ass Ilie "Nasty" Nastase's.

No Go

Don't.  Just don't.

Fun?

Yesterday I went through the self-checkout line at Wal-Mart and afterward noticed this at the top of my receipt:

I get that often the self-checkout line is faster and easier (hence why I use it). But, it is kind of ridiculous that Wal-Mart is trying to convince me that checking out myself is also fun. Hey Wal-Mart, do your employees think it is fun? What about all the employees that you can "let go" now that you're letting me, the consumer, have all the "fun" checking myself out? Memo to Bentonville: Self-Checkout is not Six Flags.

Summer

Last night, as I was lamenting the end of the NBA and the NHL seasons, I couldn't find anything on TV I wanted to watch.

"What the hell did I watch on TV last summer?" I asked myself.

Oh, right, at this time last year I was studying for the bar exam.

All of a sudden, I became very content watching Benson repeats on TV Land.  I have reclaimed summer.

I'm a jerk.

Today, when I came into work, I asked my co-workers to gather outside my door.   I then yelled "Here is your co-worker Law Talking Guy!," cued up Brass Bonanza, and took laps around the office, slapping people on the back and telling them "It's game time.  Come on now." 

Tomorrow at work, I reenact this.

God, I miss the Whale.

Sweet Deals

I am a big fan of Midwest Airlines.  They have first-class quality seats throughout the cabin, direct flights to my preferred destinations, and excellent chocolate chip cookies.  And although their initial price might seem higher than other airlines, when you compare the services you get, it generally isn't that much more to fly Midwest.

As such, I often check out their "flight deals" section to see what kind of sales they have going on.  The other day, this is what they had:

Wow, don't that list make you want to get out and travel.  Obviously it is a slow summer at Midwest Airlines. 

By the way, if you actually buy a plane ticket just to go to the Mall of America, then you are what's wrong with America. 

Recent Conversation

Because the Royals are horrific and the stands are constantly empty, this season they've resorted to telemarketing to try to get people out to the park.  The other day, some guy from the "Royals' Front Office" called me up:

Royals Guy:  Hi, Mr. Law Talking Guy.  This is Mike from the Royals' Front Office and we noticed you attended the Detroit series last week.  Did you enjoy your time at the game?

Me:  Yeah, I guess, considering.

RG:  Uh, what do you mean by considering?

Me:  Considering how terrible the Royals are.

RG:  Right.  Thank you for your time.

He didn't even try to sell me any tickets after that. 

New Contest

Just returned from my college reunion.  Good times, but sadly there was no Graves XXX.  I guess what they say is true:  You can never go home again.

Anyway, new contest:  Identify This Picture:

Rules:  This guy is famous among my friends and me, so obviously my known friends are excluded from this contest.  There are two possible correct answers:  1) The name of this fellow (This would highly impress me); OR 2) The location of this picture.  The winner will be the first person who gives the most exact answer in the comments to this post.  I am the arbiter of what qualifies as an exact answer.  The contest will last a week.  Again, there will be a prize (I'm thinking it will be a can of Natty UP if I can even find a friggin' can of it around here).

PS:  I know this contest is pretty much impossible, but I just really, really, really wanted to post this picture because it is so ridiculous. After this contest fails miserably, I'll hold another one that is much easier, and probably more fun.

The Old College Try

My five year college reunion is this weekend.  I'm only semi-enthused about it, though, because I'm not really going to see anyone I care to see who I haven't already seen fairly regularly over the past five years.  Even going back to campus isn't that big of a deal; my law school is pretty close to my college, so I'd often go back for certain events.  Plus I went to our homecoming equivalent this fall.  The only real advantage to going back is to hang out with my friends (which is never a bad thing, usually), and to show the people I mocked and alienated that I've matured (I haven't).  Oh, and it gives me an excuse to get crazy drunk on the college's dime again, so I guess that's ok.

To celebrate my reunion, I am listing the Top 5 Things I Miss About College:

1.  The Weekends.  Because of the language requirement, I had Friday classes until my junior year.  After that, Fridays were clear, which meant the weekend started Thursday night.  Every weekend a three-day holiday.  One of my friends was even smarter:  Through careful study of the schedule and thoughtful planning, he managed to only have classes Monday through Wednesday.  This meant he had more free days than school days.  Seriously, I've never seen someone work so hard in order to not have to work, and that quality impresses me.

2. Ridiculous Stunts.  College students do a lot of stupid things just because they can, such as during hockey games running from the rink to a local bar, drinking a pitcher of beer, and running back, all before the intermission ends.  My stunts tended to be more on the psychological side.  For example, my friends and I had this rule that if you had a beer, you should always finish it (the "No Dead Soldiers" Rule).  This was even more so for good beer.  Anyway, one night my roommate's cousin was visiting from out of town, and we were all in our room enjoying a tasty Bass Ale.  Later that night, after I stumbled home, I noticed there was an empty Bass bottle on my roommate's desk.  In my hand, I cupped a half-full can of warm Natty Light.  Not wanting to drink any more, but feeling the pressure of the Rule, I decided to shift the blame and I poured my nasty Natty Light into the bottle on my roommate's desk.  In the morning, I confronted my roommate, asking him how dare he leave a half-full bottle of Bass.  Of course my roommate denied it, and it wouldn't have really mattered if it had just stayed between the two of us because we both knew it wasn't his (although he was unaware of my framing him).  But then I took it to the next level by accusing him publicly, in front of all our friends, of leaving a Dead Soldier of Bass Ale.  I think it speaks a lot of my roommate's character that all our friends (who are under no illusion about who I am) believed me instead of him.  This went on for a couple of days before I couldn't hold it in any longer and had to reveal the depth of my deception.  I love how, in college, your life can revolve around something like this for days at a time.

3.  Road Trips.  Nothing better than grabbing some friends, jumping in the car, and driving somewhere, whether it was just down the street or going to another town.  Two particular roadtrips stand out in my mind.  The first is a trip we took to another college to watch a football game (we were pretty good that year).  We were so upset after our loss, however, that at the last second we decided to go to the big city instead of back to campus.  The only problem was one of the guys was supposed to go to a campus party with his girlfriend.  Of course, he didn't really know that at the time, but apparently it was one of those "assumed" things.  So, he calls his girlfriend from a pay phone at McDonald's and gets her answer machine, leaving the message "Yeah, so, we're all going to [the city] tonight, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  Turns out she wasn't happy about that, as my friend found out later that night.  All the way home, I tried to talk him into shooting himself in the leg and claiming we were all carjacked, but managed to escape.  He didn't take my advice.

The second is our senior week trip to South Carolina.  At the time, my car was a standard transmission, and only one other friend knew how to drive stick, but he couldn't come down with us.  So, that meant I had to drive all the way down to South Carolina (and back), with my friend Bub, who's only function was to keep me awake during the trip.  He partially succeeded.  On the way back, we were getting pretty loopy.  Having recently purchased a camouflaged trucker's hat, Bub felt the need to roll up his sleeves and show off his guns to any hot girl we passed on the interstate, making him look like a real redneck.   This continued for at least 3 states. 

4.  The Work.  I'll admit it, I miss some of those college classes.  One such class: A study of the science used in science fiction novels.  We're talking very basic scientific stuff here, and luckily this class still managed to count toward my science requirement.   The class work basically consisted of reading science fiction novels, and then discussing them.  During the whole semester, there was only one "set" (one of my friends refused to call it a "problem set" because it wasn't a problem), a midterm (I got 100% on it!  I hadn't gotten 100% on anything since high school), and a final paper that was your own science fiction short story.  My short story focused around an ineffectual interstellar president who resorted to heavy drinking while his Federation devolved into war.  He was not-so-loosely based on my roommate (in fact, I used his real name).  I got an A, causing me to proclaim this class the best work-to-A ratio I had ever experienced.

5.  Grain Alcohol.  My friend Bub introduced me to a tasty punch called the Strip-and-Go-Naked, but I'd like to think I perfected it.  Mainly this is because he was sensible and after the first time realized making this punch isn't such a good idea.  Not me; I made several batches of SAGN for all our parties.  In case you're wondering, the ingredients are:  Countrytime Lemonade powder, Mountain Dew, water, vodka, beer, and grain alcohol.  It packs a punch, but it is damn fine stuff.  One time after a football game, the SAGN facilitated the stealing of one of our keg taps, as we were all too drunk notice.  It also caused me to break a glass bottle in the shower stall.  Because of SAGN, my friends and I had a lot of good times; however, we can't remember many of them, also because of SAGN. 

The sad thing about grain alcohol is that once you graduate college, you can't use it anymore.  In college, grain is a method by which you up the ante, and everyone calls.  People are impressed when you tell them the punch has grain.  And at 195 proof, it is also the cheapest way to get drunk.  But after college, if you serve a grain-based punch at a party, people think you're some sort of sexual predator.  They assume you are attempting to drug them and lock them up in your basement.  So, unwillingly, I gave up grain.

Except for this one party we had in law school.  I figured "Hey, I'm in school, I can use grain again!"  But just to be on the safe side, I only bought a flask.  So, everyone's having a good time at our party, and since I hadn't used the grain yet, I decided I didn't need to.  I realized I'd finally moved beyond my love affair with grain.  But there was this girl that kept trying to get me to drink more and more, which I'm usually cool with, but it was getting kind of weird.  At one point, she told me she'd make a special cocktail if I promised to drink it.  Not wanting to be a bad host, I said sure.  After she came back with a huge plastic cup of crap, I took a sip, told her it was tasty, and then pretended to move on and mingle with some other people.  Instead, I was really making my way to the kitchen so that I could dump it out.  And that's when I noticed it---the seal on my previously unbroken flask of grain was broken and about a third of it was gone.  That crazy girl was trying to drug me up!  Turns out it is true---only sexual predators use grain after college.

I go to a bar

I was involved in this interaction last night, while standing outside a bar waiting for a friend:

[Girl comes out of bar, smiles at me, I turn away.  Then, she notices a bike chained outside the bar.]

GIRL:  Oh my god, this bike is sooooo awesome!

[She starts to pet the bike like a golden retriever.]

GIRL:  Man, I want the perfect bike.

[I realize this girl is totally wasted and/or high.  I turn back around.]

ME:  Hey, how's it going?

Sometimes, I'm a bad man.

How I spent my weekend.

Friday:  Cinco de Mayo.  Hung out with a friend, ate Taco Bell, drank Pacifico Clara, watched Three Amigos and Desperado (El Mariachi was checked out). 

Saturday:  Laid around in my pajamas until about 3:30 PM.  Watched basketball (sucks to be the Lakers).  Attended screening of Mission Impossible 3. 

Sunday:  Slept in late, did some work, watched The Beverly Hillbillies and more basketball.

Yeah, so Cinco de Mayo was pretty freaking awesome, in a very chill, laid-back way.  I had Nachos Bellgrande.  But perhaps the best moment of the weekend was waking up late, turning on the tv, and seeing The Beverly Hillbillies.  I love old tv shows.  I often catch Night Court right before I go to bed, and last weekend I was glued to the set because TVLand was showing a 48-hour Miami Vice marathon.  But, how can you not love those hillbillies, especially Granny?  So ludicrous, yet so hilarious.  It was a moment (well, 30 minutes) of mindless relaxation before I had to log on and start doing actual, real-world work. 

Of course, this reminds me of Weird Al (most things do), so I thought it would be appropriate to include this:

Crawfish

Yesterday, one of my good friends from high school had a crawfish boil.  110 lbs. of live crawfish, brought from Arkansas, all for the purpose of spicing them up, throwing them in a vat of boiling water, and consuming their tasty little tails.

If you never been, boils (regardless of their subject) are a good time, consisting mostly of eating something that was previously buried in mud and drinking lots of beer.   Last night was no exception.  It is also where I had this conversation:

ME:  Well, we have to leave.
DUDE:  Why?
ME:  We got work in the morning.
DUDE:  Hell, everyone here has to work in the morning.  (Ed. note:  except this guy, who is unemployed.)  What kind of work do you do?
ME:  I'm a lawyer.
DUDE:  No you're not, you're [messing] with me.  (Ed. note:  to be fair, this guy had just seen me drink a pitcher of Bud Light and suck the tails out of about 50 crawfish, all while wearing a pair of ratty shorts and a grubby t-shirt.) 

[The Dude turns to the other people standing around him, looking for confirmation as to whether I really am a lawyer.  They all shake their heads yes, mostly in disgust.]

DUDE:  Hey, you got a card or something?  I may need you by the end of the night.

For an instructional video on how to eat a crawfish, click here.

No Rules

Last Thursday, my co-workers and I went to this really awesome Vietnamese restaurant.  This place is hella-cheap and also hella-good.  Just after we sat down, however, I noticed that the sugar jar was a rather odd shape:

The sugar jar appears to be in the shape of a grenade, with the little lift button being where the pin should be.  Somehow I don't think it is entirely appropriate for a Vietnamese restaurant to be using grenades as table pieces.  Whatever, there was also a Buddhist monk at the restaurant, so perhaps that cancels everything else out.

Oh, and Vegas was a great time.  I didn't marry a cocktail waitress.

Big

On Friday, some friends and I attended a baseball game.  While there, one of my friends found this girl's hair very big and very funny, so she took at picture:

This picture doesn't even really do it justice; it was ginormous.  However, she was also pretty hot.  I have this theory:  I've been going to baseball games for a long time now, and I can state for a fact that hot girls love going to baseball games because the stadium is always packed with them.  Them, and their boyfriends.  So, it is really only hot girls with boyfriends that show up to the games, which may have less to do with hot girls loving baseball and more to do with them wanting to spend time with their boyfriends.

Except for one hot girl I met after the game.  She came up to me and three friends (all guys), crying and asking to "borrow" a cell phone.  Allegedly her friends had left her there and she didn't know how to get a hold of them.  She also wanted a ride to somewhere in Kansas.  Those who know me know I don't make trips into Kansas on purpose, so we were reluctant to let this unknown girl just jump in my car.  However, when our lone female friend rejoined the group, shr lost interest in both the cell phone and the car ride and ran off.  When we saw her going from car to car trying to convince people (mainly guys) to take her somewhere, we talked it over and decided to let her ride with us.  After all, she was really young, and we didn't want someone to take advantage of her.  Just then, a truckload full of young men let the hottie jump in with them.

So, I don't know if we did the right thing.  It was definitely sketch, but then again, what danger were we really in?  The girl was tiny.  On the other hand, we've all been monitoring the papers to make sure there's no story about a truckload of men being found dead in Kansas. 

Justice

I was out on the freeway, driving back to the city last night, when all of a sudden I noticed this Monte Carlo right on my tail.  He was riding it hard too, until he had the opportunity to zoom past me.  He must have been doing at least 85 in a 70.

"Man," I thought, "I wish guys like that would get pulled over, but they never do."

However, about 20 miles up the road, I passed him . . . and the cop that had pulled him over.  It was one of those self-satisfying-for-no-real-reason moments, but I was glad to have it anyway.

Epilogue:  40 miles later, the Monte Carlo passed me again, this time doing about 50 on a city street.  I guess he didn't learn his lesson.

Stand-up Comedy

I went to this Italian restaurant last night and ordered the "3-way Pasta."  It is a tasty blend of spaghetti, ziti and ravioli, with a huge meatball on top.  It is also massive as hell.

Our waiter, who professed to be an aspiring stand-up comedian, warned me of the largeness that is the 3-way Pasta. 

"It's ok," I say.  "I can always take the rest home."

"Seriously," the stand-up waiter says, "this is the Hurricane Katrina of pasta."

"That's pretty inappropriate, don't you think?"  I stare at him in obvious disapproval of his lame joke.  Not that I'm against Hurricane Katrina jokes.  I'm rarely a "too soon" type of guy---in fact, my brand of humor is "the sooner the better."  But I what I am against are unfunny jokes.

Later in the evening, when we were discussing with stand-up waiter how the fried ravioli was tasty but unhealthy, he says:  "You know, doctors are always telling you things that taste good are bad for you, but they really don't know anything."

"We're doctors," I explain, pointing to my friend and myself. 

"Oh."  SUW leaves.

Turning to my friend, I snicker, "Doctors of Jurisprudence, bitch."

Things we learned today: 

1)  My jokes also suck.  (Doctors of Jurisprudence?  Really?)
2)  I'm an ass.
3)  I don't care about either 1) or 2) because my humor only depends on entertaining myself, and I am easily amused by others' pain and embarrassment. 

Overheard

[Scene:  At the gym, where a song has just come over the radio]

FRIEND:  Hey, this is that song from Saturday Night Live.  You know, "More Cowbell!"

ME:  Yeah, "Don't Fear the Reaper."

FRIEND:  What?

ME:  The song, it's by Blue Oyster Cult.

FRIEND:  That's a real band?  I thought it was a song they just made up on SNL.

Twister

As you may have heard, yesterday we experienced a lot of tornadic activity.  While watching basketball, I heard the sirens go off.  My first thought was, "I should probably put some pants on."  My second thought was, "Now that I think about it, no one ever told me where to go in case of an emergency, and I suspect my third floor apartment is not a safe place, even with interior rooms." 

I'm not new to this tornado stuff; I grew up in the Midwest after all.  In fact, my years of training took over, and after I put my pants on (step 1 accomplished!), I immediately opened a window.  After that, I caught my neighbor leaving his apartment, and he told me he was just going to hang out at the bottom of the stairwell.  My thoughts exactly.

Anyway, turns out that in an apartment complex of several hundred people, we were the only people taking cover.  A couple walked past us and got in their car to go grab some lunch.  While the neighbor and I were chattin' it up, one girl even came down the stairs with her dog.

ME:  Where you going?
GIRL:  Taking the dog for a walk.
ME:  You know the sky's green, right?
GIRL:  Yeah, so?
ME:  And there are, like, five air-raid sirens going off right now.
GIRL:  Nice talking to you.

Things I learned yesterday:  People here must be confused as to what a tornado is.  Apparently, they believe it is the equivalent of Santa Claus or the Toothfairy---it is a nice fairy tale to tell the children, but you're crazy if you still believe in it when you're an adult.  And in many ways a tornado is like Santa Claus, only instead of toys underneath the tree in the living room, you find your neighbor's pick-up truck.

Oh, and ironic fact of the week:  Tomorrow the city is testing its tornado warning system as the start to Severe Weather Awareness Week.

The New Math

This was a lost weekend.  Saturday was entirely filled with Man activities.  For 11 straight hours, an old friend and I watched basketball, drank Old Milwaukee (purchased for 41.46 cents a can), ate pork chops (with our hands and with no sides, just meat), and smoked cigars while freezing our asses off.  Life is good.

On Sunday, however, I got really creeped out, and not just by the guy in the apartment building across from me who always seems to be staring out his window and into my apartment.  (It is like a reverse Rear Window thing going on, only unlike Jimmy Stewart, I'm pretty sure this guy is naked and touching himself.)  I went to the contemporary art museum, and they had this sculpture, which is the most realistic mannequin you've ever seen.  Seriously, he's dressed like a guard, and last time I was there, my mother went up to it to ask it a question, totally thinking it was a real person.  Anyway, on Sunday I see they had a new one, and I thought, "Damn, that's a pretty realistic, although it is only slightly better than their old one."  I walked around the gallery, every now and then checking in on the new sculpture just to make sure, cause these things look freakin' real, like they belong in Madam Tussaud's, if Madam Tussaud's had good wax statues.

Eventually I convinced myself this is indeed a statue; it was in the same position that it had been since I arrived, which had been around 5 minutes.  Just as I was about to walk over to examine it, though, BAM!  It freaking moved!  I about wet my pants right there.  It was an actual museum guard who happened to be standing perfectly still for a solid 5 minutes, right next to a wax sculpture of another guard.  That is some surreal motherfucking shit, my friends, and it was entirely too contemporary for my ass so I high-tailed it back to my apartment, where I cracked open a Bud Light and tried not to think about the naked guy staring at me from across the street.

Big news!

I have just changed my ringtone from this:

Powered by Castpost

To this:

Powered by Castpost

I have an unhealthy relationship with Adult Swim.