One of the young associates at Mobius forwarded me an email she got from a friend who works at another firm about a summer associate prank that went horribly, horribly wrong.
Apparently, some summer associate(s) at Other Firm decided it would be funny to sneak into a partner's office and send an email from the partner's computer to another summer associate telling him that he had done a terrible job on an assignment. The goal is to freak the summer out and then tell him it's a joke and that the partner didn't really send the email. Haha! Anyway, it seems they used the computer of a partner who had left for the day and sent out the email. But they are so incompetent at pulling pranks, the following email was issued to the entire summer class the following day:
"...When [sending a fake email] is done from a partner's hijacked computer, and when the person who does it accidentally (I hope for their sake) (a) sends the email first from my computer not to "Brehm, [redacted first name]" but to "Bremer Bank Team", which consists of among others the CEO, CFO and Chief Legal Officer of Bremer Bank, who then sends me a return email asking why they are being copied on this kind of thing; (b) in the process of trying to close Outlook deleted a draft of an email to another client that I had been working on for most of yesterday and (c) in the process of trying to be covert locked my door but then did not unlock it when they left so I arrived today to a locked door with no key and had to wait for facilities to come up and open my door, then it not only demonstrates a lack of judgment, but I then need that person to fess up and report to me so we can discuss next steps.
I am not seeking to take this "up the chain" but I do need a little personal responsibility here. Guilty party please see me."
Apparently their law school did not host a seminar entitled, "How not to embarrass yourself and your school while working as a summer associate." If they had, sending fake emails from a partner's computer to clients, deleting a partner's files, and locking the partner out of his office would surely have been covered.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Never put a banana in your backpack
I say it again. Never put a banana in your backpack. Ever. Never ever ever. Because you will forget it is there, and then two weeks later your best friend Melanie will finally announce that she is going to clean out your backpack right there in Ms. Whomever's 10th grade English classroom to find out how your homework continues to disappear despite the fact that she knows you did it because, frankly, she is the only one who has kept you functioning for the past two years and she makes it her business to know such things. And she will reach deep into your backpack and produce a mushed banana, and three assignments covered in banana goo. And a hairbrush that is no longer fit to touch human hair, a smushed cereal bar (I've been looking for that), and the tattered paperback book I was always trying to read behind my geometry textbook (because, obviously, my teacher would never notice that I was reading geometry problems left to right down the page).
Melanie really did keep me functioning in high school. I was less organized then than I am now (and by "less," I mean "not at all"). Though we were issued planners by the school, I would often neglect mine, or neglect to remember where mine was. But when I found it (or, you know, Melanie found it), I would open it up and sure enough! There were all of my homework assignments and important dates neatly written in Mel's handwriting. She always wrote in blue ink, too. I don't know why.
Melanie and I met the first week of high school in Ms. Truck (name changed to protect the boring)'s algebra II class. I didn't know her yet, and I have always been pretty social, so I decided to bait her and see if she'd bite. She was sitting in front of me, valiantly trying to pay attention, when I dropped a note over her shoulder. She tensed for a second, and then slowly looked down at the note sitting on her desk. I think she thought I wanted her to pass it on up the row to someone else that I was already friends with, but there was her name, right on top. The note consisted of me basically complaining about what a fat-head (mature, I know) I thought Ms. Truck was. After what felt like an eternity, she wrote "Amen!" and passed the note back to me. She has never been rid of me since. We've been friends for ten years, Mel and I.
Sometime in the 10th grade, although I cannot tell you if it was before or after the banana incident, Mel announced that she planned to be Valedictorian so that she could give a speech at graduation, along with the honor of being, well, you know, the kid with the best grades in the senior class. I realized that there was no way in hell for me to be valedictorian, but this whole giving a speech thing sounded like a swell time, so I decided I would find a way to get myself up there, too. And sure enough, two years later, Mel gave a speech as Valedictorian, and I gave a speech as Senior Class president. We always traveled in pairs.
In fact, we were so often together that our track Coach one day expressed confusion at Mel's walking past his classroom by herself. I think he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen one of us without the other in 4 years. I only missed two days of high school, so it must have been a day I was too ill to function, or called away on some official school business. Otherwise, I would have been by her side, "accidentally" nudging her into a boy she liked as we passed so that she would have to look him in the eye and say excuse me, or recounting my run-ins with the red locker girls and planning revenge on whomever might have caused each other angst.
Melanie and I did not go to the same college. And now I live 1000 miles away from her. But we still burn up the email wires constantly with stories from our days and memories from our past. You just can't stop being friends with someone like Mel, not over something as silly as moving 1000 miles away.
So this is the brief, incomplete, hardly-does-the-truth-justice story of how Melanie became my best friend in high school and beyond. It is also a cautionary tale for all of you about to slip a banana in your backpack while thinking, "What's the worst that could happen?" If you don't have a Melanie in your life, things could get ugly, and fast.
Sometime very soon I will tell you the story of how I poached Amanda, my best friend from college, from my sister's circle of friends, and the zany adventures we embarked on while at the University of Tennessee and to this day. There are some stories you will not want to miss, and some only slightly edited because my parents do read this blog, and also because the statute of limitations have yet to run out on some of our, um, "adventures." Stay tuned.
Melanie really did keep me functioning in high school. I was less organized then than I am now (and by "less," I mean "not at all"). Though we were issued planners by the school, I would often neglect mine, or neglect to remember where mine was. But when I found it (or, you know, Melanie found it), I would open it up and sure enough! There were all of my homework assignments and important dates neatly written in Mel's handwriting. She always wrote in blue ink, too. I don't know why.
Melanie and I met the first week of high school in Ms. Truck (name changed to protect the boring)'s algebra II class. I didn't know her yet, and I have always been pretty social, so I decided to bait her and see if she'd bite. She was sitting in front of me, valiantly trying to pay attention, when I dropped a note over her shoulder. She tensed for a second, and then slowly looked down at the note sitting on her desk. I think she thought I wanted her to pass it on up the row to someone else that I was already friends with, but there was her name, right on top. The note consisted of me basically complaining about what a fat-head (mature, I know) I thought Ms. Truck was. After what felt like an eternity, she wrote "Amen!" and passed the note back to me. She has never been rid of me since. We've been friends for ten years, Mel and I.
Sometime in the 10th grade, although I cannot tell you if it was before or after the banana incident, Mel announced that she planned to be Valedictorian so that she could give a speech at graduation, along with the honor of being, well, you know, the kid with the best grades in the senior class. I realized that there was no way in hell for me to be valedictorian, but this whole giving a speech thing sounded like a swell time, so I decided I would find a way to get myself up there, too. And sure enough, two years later, Mel gave a speech as Valedictorian, and I gave a speech as Senior Class president. We always traveled in pairs.
In fact, we were so often together that our track Coach one day expressed confusion at Mel's walking past his classroom by herself. I think he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen one of us without the other in 4 years. I only missed two days of high school, so it must have been a day I was too ill to function, or called away on some official school business. Otherwise, I would have been by her side, "accidentally" nudging her into a boy she liked as we passed so that she would have to look him in the eye and say excuse me, or recounting my run-ins with the red locker girls and planning revenge on whomever might have caused each other angst.
Melanie and I did not go to the same college. And now I live 1000 miles away from her. But we still burn up the email wires constantly with stories from our days and memories from our past. You just can't stop being friends with someone like Mel, not over something as silly as moving 1000 miles away.
So this is the brief, incomplete, hardly-does-the-truth-justice story of how Melanie became my best friend in high school and beyond. It is also a cautionary tale for all of you about to slip a banana in your backpack while thinking, "What's the worst that could happen?" If you don't have a Melanie in your life, things could get ugly, and fast.
Sometime very soon I will tell you the story of how I poached Amanda, my best friend from college, from my sister's circle of friends, and the zany adventures we embarked on while at the University of Tennessee and to this day. There are some stories you will not want to miss, and some only slightly edited because my parents do read this blog, and also because the statute of limitations have yet to run out on some of our, um, "adventures." Stay tuned.
4th Grade Confessions
I was on the phone with my sister last night for over an hour, generally cutting up and laughing about our childhood, when I told her something I have never told anyone else until now: In 4th grade, I was the pencil snapper.
Perhaps I was rebellious. Perhaps I was bored. Perhaps I was just a mean-spirited kid. I don't know. But for about two weeks, as the class would line up and leave the room for various reasons, I would stealthily snag a pencil off of one of my classmate's desks and break it in two. Then I would slyly replace it and, pretty as you please, file out of the room with the rest of the class. The class would return after music or lunch or whatever and the poor victim would clutch their broken pencil in agony and Ms. Turley would admonish the class that whomever was breaking the pencils must stop immediately or face dire consequences.
I never felt bad about snapping the pencils. 4th grade sociopath, I was. In fact, I never once blinked over the entire affair. I even snapped my own pencil once to divert any potential attention away from myself. But here the story gets worse. One day, as the class was leaving the room, Ms. Turley realized she forgot her keys and hustled back into the room to discover some kid named Jeremy still there. He didn't have a reason why he was still in the room after the rest of us filed out, so she made the only reasonable conclusion: he was the pencil snapper. He denied it, of course, but he was often in trouble, and was not a good student. He was not believed by Ms. Turley or anyone else. And I, to my shame and guilt that has followed me for 15 years, did not turn myself in in his place. I let him stew for pencils I snapped.
I know my parents read this blog, and I'm sorry that they have to find out this way, but I just had to confess. I'm sorry, 4th grade classmates, for snapping your pencils. It was mean and wrong. I'm sorry, Ms. Turley, for not obeying the class rule not to distrub another's things. But I'm sorry most of all, Jeremy, that I let you take the fall for me. I'm sorry you were not believed when you professed your innocence. I'm sorry you were punished for my wrongs. I'm sorry that I did not have the guts to set the record straight. I was raised better.
Yet even now I admit: I still get a guilty kick out of the sound of a new, freshly sharpened, no. 2 pencil going SNAAAAAP!
Add that to my therapy to-do list.
Perhaps I was rebellious. Perhaps I was bored. Perhaps I was just a mean-spirited kid. I don't know. But for about two weeks, as the class would line up and leave the room for various reasons, I would stealthily snag a pencil off of one of my classmate's desks and break it in two. Then I would slyly replace it and, pretty as you please, file out of the room with the rest of the class. The class would return after music or lunch or whatever and the poor victim would clutch their broken pencil in agony and Ms. Turley would admonish the class that whomever was breaking the pencils must stop immediately or face dire consequences.
I never felt bad about snapping the pencils. 4th grade sociopath, I was. In fact, I never once blinked over the entire affair. I even snapped my own pencil once to divert any potential attention away from myself. But here the story gets worse. One day, as the class was leaving the room, Ms. Turley realized she forgot her keys and hustled back into the room to discover some kid named Jeremy still there. He didn't have a reason why he was still in the room after the rest of us filed out, so she made the only reasonable conclusion: he was the pencil snapper. He denied it, of course, but he was often in trouble, and was not a good student. He was not believed by Ms. Turley or anyone else. And I, to my shame and guilt that has followed me for 15 years, did not turn myself in in his place. I let him stew for pencils I snapped.
I know my parents read this blog, and I'm sorry that they have to find out this way, but I just had to confess. I'm sorry, 4th grade classmates, for snapping your pencils. It was mean and wrong. I'm sorry, Ms. Turley, for not obeying the class rule not to distrub another's things. But I'm sorry most of all, Jeremy, that I let you take the fall for me. I'm sorry you were not believed when you professed your innocence. I'm sorry you were punished for my wrongs. I'm sorry that I did not have the guts to set the record straight. I was raised better.
Yet even now I admit: I still get a guilty kick out of the sound of a new, freshly sharpened, no. 2 pencil going SNAAAAAP!
Add that to my therapy to-do list.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Poker Butts
I can't stop laughing. I was just reading an article about how human females have departed further from the evolutionary line of primates than human males, which means that several aspects of human female biology are difficult to explain in terms of evolution. Issues with whether we have evolved from primates aside, this is the paragraph about ovulation that made me laugh out loud:
"Though some studies suggest that men and women do have an unconscious sense of when a woman enters a fertile period and is ripe for mating, there is no obvious outward sign as there is for most mammals. Many female monkeys, for example, get bright red butts when they release an egg. But women are poker butts, even to themselves, which is why they are left to temperature-taking and guessing in order to time ovulation."
Poker butts! Is she drawing dead or does she have a full house? You'll never know, because women have poker butts!
Ok, just thought I'd share.
"Though some studies suggest that men and women do have an unconscious sense of when a woman enters a fertile period and is ripe for mating, there is no obvious outward sign as there is for most mammals. Many female monkeys, for example, get bright red butts when they release an egg. But women are poker butts, even to themselves, which is why they are left to temperature-taking and guessing in order to time ovulation."
Poker butts! Is she drawing dead or does she have a full house? You'll never know, because women have poker butts!
Ok, just thought I'd share.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eaters
I'm going to need an official ruling as to whether it is "cheater, cheater pumpkin eaters" which suggests that "pumpkin eaters" is modified by both cheater and cheater (like "big, ugly troll") or if it is supposed to be "cheater, cheater, pumpkin eaters" which suggests that the "cheater" parts are a calling or greeting to the pumpkin eaters (as in "hey, hey, Paula"). I think it is the latter.
But that's not the story. The story is how I got trapped on a plane next to a middle-aged couple who proceeded to regale me with tales of how they cheated on their spouses with each other for TEN YEARS before finally divorcing them and marrying each other. But let me start from the beginning.
I spent the weekend at home in Boston visiting the loving Patto, the cats, and a few friends I have not seen since I moved to Chicago a month ago. On Sunday evening Patrick dropped me off at the Rhode Island airport (only an hour south of Boston and full of cheaper flights). I discovered that my flight had been delayed an hour, and plopped down at the Friday's inside the terminal and happily read my book over a glass of Shiraz and the pecan-crusted chicken salad (v. tasty). The couple across from me looked to be in their mid-late-40s, and were having a few beers and working sudoku puzzles together. They were there the whole time I was (more than an hour), and each drank about three beers. Anyway, while I was looking up and paying my bill, the woman asked me if I was going to Chicago, too (it's a small airport, so the odds were in her favor). I said yes and we chatted a bit about our travels. She and her husband were very nice, and I had a nice time talking to them. As we were packing up our things to go to the gate, they announced that they were in the "A" section of Southwest, which means they would get to board first, and if I wanted, they would save me a seat at the front of the plane since I was way back in the "C" section and was guaranteed to be seated across from the lavatories. I said that would be great. Silly, silly me.
Sure enough, when I boarded the plane, they waved cheerfully from the fourth row and the woman moved over from the window seat she was guarding to the middle so that I could take the window. I sat down and we continued to chat. They were friendly if not a little verbose, but I attributed that to the several beers they drank in Friday's. We get into the air and they each ordered another beer. And one for me, too, since they were so happy they didn't get stuck sitting next to a lunatic (heh, little do they know). Around their second air-beer (I was still working on the first), they start telling me about how they met. He's a dentist, she was his assistant, and they started having an affair in 1991. I was like, "come again?" Oh yes. Ever see Reba? They were both married to other people, and they starting filling me in on all the fake work conferences they would go to in Vegas and FL, and how they almost got caught all these times, and about their other covert activities.
Now, WHY would you tell someone whom you've just met, and whom you know is on her first (and God willing, last) husband all about your 10 year affair and about what a dope your ex is and how you made him/her pay for things that you ended up getting for your mistress/mistern? Anyway, over the course of the next 2 hours I was privy to all sorts of information I didn't want to hear. I probably should have insisted on paying for my beer at that point, but I admit I drank it in the name of their cuckolded spouses. I think we can all agree that buying me a beer was the least they could do for making me listen to their VERY sordid tale.
Towards the end of the flight the woman turns to me and says, "you know, I have a bladder infection" (I told you they wanted to share ALL of their personal details with me), "but I think the beer is helping it." Now. Anyone who has ever had a UTI knows that alcohol is one of the worst things you can drink when you have a bladder infection. I told her that I knew that cranberry juice was supposed to help heal things up right away, but I admit it, I didn't tell her that alcohol was going to make it worse. I tell myself that it wouldn't have mattered, that she was too drunk by that point to make a difference, and that at least I told her about the cranberry juice, right? Right?
A bit unethical, I know. Shame on me. But I just don't feel that guilty.
But that's not the story. The story is how I got trapped on a plane next to a middle-aged couple who proceeded to regale me with tales of how they cheated on their spouses with each other for TEN YEARS before finally divorcing them and marrying each other. But let me start from the beginning.
I spent the weekend at home in Boston visiting the loving Patto, the cats, and a few friends I have not seen since I moved to Chicago a month ago. On Sunday evening Patrick dropped me off at the Rhode Island airport (only an hour south of Boston and full of cheaper flights). I discovered that my flight had been delayed an hour, and plopped down at the Friday's inside the terminal and happily read my book over a glass of Shiraz and the pecan-crusted chicken salad (v. tasty). The couple across from me looked to be in their mid-late-40s, and were having a few beers and working sudoku puzzles together. They were there the whole time I was (more than an hour), and each drank about three beers. Anyway, while I was looking up and paying my bill, the woman asked me if I was going to Chicago, too (it's a small airport, so the odds were in her favor). I said yes and we chatted a bit about our travels. She and her husband were very nice, and I had a nice time talking to them. As we were packing up our things to go to the gate, they announced that they were in the "A" section of Southwest, which means they would get to board first, and if I wanted, they would save me a seat at the front of the plane since I was way back in the "C" section and was guaranteed to be seated across from the lavatories. I said that would be great. Silly, silly me.
Sure enough, when I boarded the plane, they waved cheerfully from the fourth row and the woman moved over from the window seat she was guarding to the middle so that I could take the window. I sat down and we continued to chat. They were friendly if not a little verbose, but I attributed that to the several beers they drank in Friday's. We get into the air and they each ordered another beer. And one for me, too, since they were so happy they didn't get stuck sitting next to a lunatic (heh, little do they know). Around their second air-beer (I was still working on the first), they start telling me about how they met. He's a dentist, she was his assistant, and they started having an affair in 1991. I was like, "come again?" Oh yes. Ever see Reba? They were both married to other people, and they starting filling me in on all the fake work conferences they would go to in Vegas and FL, and how they almost got caught all these times, and about their other covert activities.
Now, WHY would you tell someone whom you've just met, and whom you know is on her first (and God willing, last) husband all about your 10 year affair and about what a dope your ex is and how you made him/her pay for things that you ended up getting for your mistress/mistern? Anyway, over the course of the next 2 hours I was privy to all sorts of information I didn't want to hear. I probably should have insisted on paying for my beer at that point, but I admit I drank it in the name of their cuckolded spouses. I think we can all agree that buying me a beer was the least they could do for making me listen to their VERY sordid tale.
Towards the end of the flight the woman turns to me and says, "you know, I have a bladder infection" (I told you they wanted to share ALL of their personal details with me), "but I think the beer is helping it." Now. Anyone who has ever had a UTI knows that alcohol is one of the worst things you can drink when you have a bladder infection. I told her that I knew that cranberry juice was supposed to help heal things up right away, but I admit it, I didn't tell her that alcohol was going to make it worse. I tell myself that it wouldn't have mattered, that she was too drunk by that point to make a difference, and that at least I told her about the cranberry juice, right? Right?
A bit unethical, I know. Shame on me. But I just don't feel that guilty.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Silver is not a protected race
Mobius just won a huge victory here in Chicago regarding a national convenience/retail store chain that was accused of racial discrimination by three street performers. The plaintiffs allege that when they would go into the store they would be followed around by employees, harassed and accused of shoplifting, and asked to leave the store because they were black.
That's all well and good, except the plaintiffs are crazy.
No, really, they're crazy. One is on anti-psychotics because he has a documented paranoid personality disorder. Another has some sort of emotional disorder which causes him to weep uncontrollably (think body-racking sobs) during testimony-- other people's testimony, not his. The third may not actually be crazy, but he has a chip on his shoulder a mile high and it was apparent to everyone (including the jury) that he was looking for a fight every time he entered the store.
But hey, even crazy people could be discriminated against because of their race, so I give them the benefit of a doubt. Except, the strange thing about racial discrimination is that people have to know you are black to discriminate against you because of it.
And these people are silver. And gold. And bronze.
Yes, our dear street performers paint themselves and their clothes head to toe in metallic paint, and then pretend to be statues on the streets of Chicago. Every now and again one pops to life, much to the delight (or fear, whatever) of people passing by. When their shift ends each night, they travel en masse into the retail store (usually between the hours of midnight and 2am), dragging a 5-gallon bucket full of coins behind them. Once inside the store, they are "watched and followed" on a regular basis, and have been asked to show a receipt when leaving the store with their purchases if they did not buy them at the front register.
They sued for 100 million dollars.
The jury was not impressed. They were out for less than an hour (including lunch) before returning a verdict of not-guilty on all counts.
And now, a fun and interactive poll! Leave your vote in the comments section!
For which reason do you think the jury did not believe the claims of the street performers?
A. Despite their claims of continual harassment over the course of 3 years, the performers shopped at the store 2-3 times a week, and three days during the trial.
B. The performers testified that they thought the chain was a great place, and overall does a great job of promoting racial equality, and it was just a couple of renegade employees who were racist, despite the fact that they were alleging that this store had a store-wide policy of racial discrimination.
C. The tin man started waving his bottle of anti-psychotic drugs around while on the stand and screaming, "It's these pills! These pills affect me!"
D. All of the above.
That's all well and good, except the plaintiffs are crazy.
No, really, they're crazy. One is on anti-psychotics because he has a documented paranoid personality disorder. Another has some sort of emotional disorder which causes him to weep uncontrollably (think body-racking sobs) during testimony-- other people's testimony, not his. The third may not actually be crazy, but he has a chip on his shoulder a mile high and it was apparent to everyone (including the jury) that he was looking for a fight every time he entered the store.
But hey, even crazy people could be discriminated against because of their race, so I give them the benefit of a doubt. Except, the strange thing about racial discrimination is that people have to know you are black to discriminate against you because of it.
And these people are silver. And gold. And bronze.
Yes, our dear street performers paint themselves and their clothes head to toe in metallic paint, and then pretend to be statues on the streets of Chicago. Every now and again one pops to life, much to the delight (or fear, whatever) of people passing by. When their shift ends each night, they travel en masse into the retail store (usually between the hours of midnight and 2am), dragging a 5-gallon bucket full of coins behind them. Once inside the store, they are "watched and followed" on a regular basis, and have been asked to show a receipt when leaving the store with their purchases if they did not buy them at the front register.
They sued for 100 million dollars.
The jury was not impressed. They were out for less than an hour (including lunch) before returning a verdict of not-guilty on all counts.
And now, a fun and interactive poll! Leave your vote in the comments section!
For which reason do you think the jury did not believe the claims of the street performers?
A. Despite their claims of continual harassment over the course of 3 years, the performers shopped at the store 2-3 times a week, and three days during the trial.
B. The performers testified that they thought the chain was a great place, and overall does a great job of promoting racial equality, and it was just a couple of renegade employees who were racist, despite the fact that they were alleging that this store had a store-wide policy of racial discrimination.
C. The tin man started waving his bottle of anti-psychotic drugs around while on the stand and screaming, "It's these pills! These pills affect me!"
D. All of the above.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Has anyone seen my elbow?
I have a big memo due for Mobius on Friday, but I have hit an afternoon lull today and just can't seem to get going on it again. So, to further procrastinate, let me tell you about this bizarre thing that's going on with my skin. Feel free to comment on possible causes and solutions.
My skin is peeling off all over. Ok, mostly on my hands and elbows, but it feels like it is peeling off all over. For some reason, about two weeks after I moved to Chicago, I noticed that my skin has been getting drier and drier, until one morning I woke up and the skin over my elbows was all white where it had basically let go of the layer of skin beneath. I brushed my hand over it and the skin peeled off like it might after a sunburn. Crazy! I said. So I grabbed up my regular body lotion and rubbed some on my hands and elbows, and thought that was that.
That was not that. My hands have become so dry the skin is peeling off from the fingertips down. Think leprosy. I bought special Vaseline Intensive Rescue Healing Hand Cream to try to prevent this, and though I rub it on my hands 5 or 6 times per day, my hands seem not to be absorbing it at all. And then my ear lobes started to peel (along with the hands and elbows).
This is just too much. Dry earlobes? What will peel off of me next, my right leg? Speaking of my right leg, last night I discovered dry and flaky skin along the inside of my thigh. That's right, a new patch of dryness where previously none existed.
So what is causing this sudden and horrible dry skin? Perhaps a change in shower water? (My hair, by the way, has never felt softer). Stress of being away from Patto for the summer? (Although I haven't been feeling that stressed- I sleep well at night, exercise, eat... decently, etc.). Good old-fashioned body freak?
I am thinking it is the last one. My body has decided to freak out on me. As soon as I get this memo turned it I will try to talk it down from its proverbial ledge with promises of a massage or something. Until then, I can only offer shallow appeasements and moisturizer.
My skin is peeling off all over. Ok, mostly on my hands and elbows, but it feels like it is peeling off all over. For some reason, about two weeks after I moved to Chicago, I noticed that my skin has been getting drier and drier, until one morning I woke up and the skin over my elbows was all white where it had basically let go of the layer of skin beneath. I brushed my hand over it and the skin peeled off like it might after a sunburn. Crazy! I said. So I grabbed up my regular body lotion and rubbed some on my hands and elbows, and thought that was that.
That was not that. My hands have become so dry the skin is peeling off from the fingertips down. Think leprosy. I bought special Vaseline Intensive Rescue Healing Hand Cream to try to prevent this, and though I rub it on my hands 5 or 6 times per day, my hands seem not to be absorbing it at all. And then my ear lobes started to peel (along with the hands and elbows).
This is just too much. Dry earlobes? What will peel off of me next, my right leg? Speaking of my right leg, last night I discovered dry and flaky skin along the inside of my thigh. That's right, a new patch of dryness where previously none existed.
So what is causing this sudden and horrible dry skin? Perhaps a change in shower water? (My hair, by the way, has never felt softer). Stress of being away from Patto for the summer? (Although I haven't been feeling that stressed- I sleep well at night, exercise, eat... decently, etc.). Good old-fashioned body freak?
I am thinking it is the last one. My body has decided to freak out on me. As soon as I get this memo turned it I will try to talk it down from its proverbial ledge with promises of a massage or something. Until then, I can only offer shallow appeasements and moisturizer.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Just in time for Fathers Day
Perhaps you are unaware, but I have the coolest father ever. And to recognize his general awesomeitude, the local news ran a story about how he just won the National Masters Competition in springboard diving.
Here is my Dad on the news.
Let me know if the link isn't working for you and I'll help you out.
Here is my Dad on the news.
Let me know if the link isn't working for you and I'll help you out.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Softball Sexism
Mobius plays in a summer softball league. Our division is made up of other law firms, and though attorneys are not known for their softball prowess, it seems the people on the team have a good time, win or lose. (You can tell a firm does its fair share of losing when they say stuff like, "we have a good time, win or lose!") Mobius's record is 2-3, but in their defense, Mobius has a higher percentage of lawyers on the team than any other firm in the league. The other teams appear to be made up of the support staff and the husbands of the support staff, who are professional summer league softball players.
Anyhoo, it all seemed like such a good time that I joined the softball team. And then I realized what a sexist, sexist world it really is. Since the lawyer-league softball teams are co-ed, there are certain rules to ensure that women are given a fair shake. There are fairly innocuous rules, like that the batting order must go male-female-male-female, and that there must be at least 4 women in the outfield at all times. But then there are stupid, sexist rules. For example, if a man is walked, the woman behind him is also automatically walked. This does not apply if a woman is walked. Also, men are not permitted to wear gloves. In Chicago, the summer league softballs are larger and softer than traditional softball, so a glove isn't a must to protect your hands. Still, men can't wear them at all. I was told this was so there was a greater probability that men would drop the ball, "like women do." Are you kidding me?!
But truly the most annoying part is not perpetuated by the league, but by the players, who instantly revert back to playground stupidity as soon as they take the field. "Easy out!" they cry when a woman takes the bat. "Everyone move up!" Despite the fact that the other team was batting, I swelled with pride when a woman knocked one clean over the heads of the guys in center field and had a triple as a result. Easy out, indeed.
Still, it's a fun game and I try not to bristle too much at the stupid rules and attitudes of some of the other players. There will always be those women who are not "easy outs," and those men who are. And I never dropped a ball, even though I have two X chromosomes. Perhaps they should make me take off my glove to even things out a bit.
Anyhoo, it all seemed like such a good time that I joined the softball team. And then I realized what a sexist, sexist world it really is. Since the lawyer-league softball teams are co-ed, there are certain rules to ensure that women are given a fair shake. There are fairly innocuous rules, like that the batting order must go male-female-male-female, and that there must be at least 4 women in the outfield at all times. But then there are stupid, sexist rules. For example, if a man is walked, the woman behind him is also automatically walked. This does not apply if a woman is walked. Also, men are not permitted to wear gloves. In Chicago, the summer league softballs are larger and softer than traditional softball, so a glove isn't a must to protect your hands. Still, men can't wear them at all. I was told this was so there was a greater probability that men would drop the ball, "like women do." Are you kidding me?!
But truly the most annoying part is not perpetuated by the league, but by the players, who instantly revert back to playground stupidity as soon as they take the field. "Easy out!" they cry when a woman takes the bat. "Everyone move up!" Despite the fact that the other team was batting, I swelled with pride when a woman knocked one clean over the heads of the guys in center field and had a triple as a result. Easy out, indeed.
Still, it's a fun game and I try not to bristle too much at the stupid rules and attitudes of some of the other players. There will always be those women who are not "easy outs," and those men who are. And I never dropped a ball, even though I have two X chromosomes. Perhaps they should make me take off my glove to even things out a bit.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Purse Peekers
I blatantly stole this idea from my sister (and you can see Mel's take on it here, after she stole it from me). At first I thought you might really enjoy getting a glimpse into what kind of person I am, based on the contents of my purse, but then I realized that I haven't actually thought about what's in my purse since the last time I went through Airport Security. And I didn't really think about it then, except that I made a mental note to put the purse in the bottom of my other carry-on bag so that they wouldn't see the illegal things that I always forget to take out before going through airport security. They didn't. So really, this exercise is as much for me as it is for you. Let's learn together, shall we?
The purse I will be going through is my regular purse. Unlike the sis, I DO change my purse depending on what I am wearing and the season. My method of changing purses is to put my wallet, keys and hairbrush into the new purse. Thus, the daily purse retains the gritty, that-which-lurks-in-purses stuff while my other purses sit empty and clean until they are needed. So it's a good thing that I'm going through the regular purse, or else we wouldn't find half of the goodies I keep in regular purse.
My regular purse is a red leather Merona purse. I got it at Target when they started carrying the Merona line. Good accessories, that Merona. I always get compliments on it. Anyway, my red leather purse exactly matches my red leather work bag, so I often nestle the purse into my bag along with my laptop and heels and head out the door, all together and classy like. I'll let you know when the novelty wears off.
But back to the purse. Inside my purse, I have:
1. Ann Taylor sunglasses and sunglasses case
2. Round hairbrush with emergency hair thingie around the bottom
3. Small plastic case that holds a couple of feminine products, just in case.
4. Crappy old cell phone that will be replaced with super-awesome cell phone as soon as our plan runs out in July
5. Checkbook
6. Tape Measurer (my mother raised us well)
7. Small bottle of hand sanitizer
8. Matches (oops, sorry Mr. Airport screener)
9. Small container of mints
10. Sample sized Clinique blush in Mocha Pink
11. Burt's Bees lip balm
12. Chapstick lip balm
13. Lip Appeal lip balm
14. Blistex lip balm (why do I have some many tubes of lib balm?)
15. Three pens, two of which bear the logo of Old Firm Boston
16. Two mechanical pencils
17. A small mirror
18. An allen wrench
19. Three Cold-Eeze cough drops
20. Two Tylenol Cold and Flu daytime capsuels
21. Maybelline SuperStay lipcolor- in both Blush (for day) and Rose (for evening)
22. Receipts for: cab ride last night; John Harvard's restaurant; Toast Restaurant (a brunch place in Chicago); and the UPS store.
23. My friend Amanda's address scribbled on an bit of torn envelope
24. My friend Blake's address scribbled on some folded bit of paper
25. A name tag from a Mobius welcome dinner
26. A paint sample of the color we painted our guest bedroom, in case I should happen across an accessory that would match the room.
27. Wallet containing: Driver's license in my maiden name; driver's license in my married name; check card; credit card; Ann Taylor credit card, CTA fare card; Harvard Student ID; Grocery Store cards for Dominick's, Stop & Shop, and Shaw's (I threw out the Kroger card just last week); Store Rewards/Membership cards for PetSmart, Hallmark, Hollywood Video, Delta SkyMiles, Men's Wearhouse, Border's bookstore, DSW shoe warehouse; O'Charley's 10% off coupon; $10 gift card to MediaPlay (I've had it for 8 years now); Red Cross Donor card; two BCBS cards (one on the Harvard plan (expired) and one for mine and Patrick's plan); business cards from: my gym, my hairstylist, my aunt Suzie, my old boss at the Mortgage company, my husband, my old therapist, my friend Amanda, and Patrick; my old UT student ID; a visitor's pass for UT's Rec complex, one picture of my friend Blake and his new wife Lori; and three pictures that came with my wallet six years ago; 19 cents in nickels and pennies (I need to go to the ATM).
23. Two Orbitz gum wrappers and one York Peppermint patty wrapper.
So there you have it! There were quite a few things I was surprised to find (4 tubes of lib balm come to mind...) but all in all, nothing bizarre. Perhaps the allen wrench was bizarre. But it never hurts to be prepared.
So. Whatcha got in your purse?
The purse I will be going through is my regular purse. Unlike the sis, I DO change my purse depending on what I am wearing and the season. My method of changing purses is to put my wallet, keys and hairbrush into the new purse. Thus, the daily purse retains the gritty, that-which-lurks-in-purses stuff while my other purses sit empty and clean until they are needed. So it's a good thing that I'm going through the regular purse, or else we wouldn't find half of the goodies I keep in regular purse.
My regular purse is a red leather Merona purse. I got it at Target when they started carrying the Merona line. Good accessories, that Merona. I always get compliments on it. Anyway, my red leather purse exactly matches my red leather work bag, so I often nestle the purse into my bag along with my laptop and heels and head out the door, all together and classy like. I'll let you know when the novelty wears off.
But back to the purse. Inside my purse, I have:
1. Ann Taylor sunglasses and sunglasses case
2. Round hairbrush with emergency hair thingie around the bottom
3. Small plastic case that holds a couple of feminine products, just in case.
4. Crappy old cell phone that will be replaced with super-awesome cell phone as soon as our plan runs out in July
5. Checkbook
6. Tape Measurer (my mother raised us well)
7. Small bottle of hand sanitizer
8. Matches (oops, sorry Mr. Airport screener)
9. Small container of mints
10. Sample sized Clinique blush in Mocha Pink
11. Burt's Bees lip balm
12. Chapstick lip balm
13. Lip Appeal lip balm
14. Blistex lip balm (why do I have some many tubes of lib balm?)
15. Three pens, two of which bear the logo of Old Firm Boston
16. Two mechanical pencils
17. A small mirror
18. An allen wrench
19. Three Cold-Eeze cough drops
20. Two Tylenol Cold and Flu daytime capsuels
21. Maybelline SuperStay lipcolor- in both Blush (for day) and Rose (for evening)
22. Receipts for: cab ride last night; John Harvard's restaurant; Toast Restaurant (a brunch place in Chicago); and the UPS store.
23. My friend Amanda's address scribbled on an bit of torn envelope
24. My friend Blake's address scribbled on some folded bit of paper
25. A name tag from a Mobius welcome dinner
26. A paint sample of the color we painted our guest bedroom, in case I should happen across an accessory that would match the room.
27. Wallet containing: Driver's license in my maiden name; driver's license in my married name; check card; credit card; Ann Taylor credit card, CTA fare card; Harvard Student ID; Grocery Store cards for Dominick's, Stop & Shop, and Shaw's (I threw out the Kroger card just last week); Store Rewards/Membership cards for PetSmart, Hallmark, Hollywood Video, Delta SkyMiles, Men's Wearhouse, Border's bookstore, DSW shoe warehouse; O'Charley's 10% off coupon; $10 gift card to MediaPlay (I've had it for 8 years now); Red Cross Donor card; two BCBS cards (one on the Harvard plan (expired) and one for mine and Patrick's plan); business cards from: my gym, my hairstylist, my aunt Suzie, my old boss at the Mortgage company, my husband, my old therapist, my friend Amanda, and Patrick; my old UT student ID; a visitor's pass for UT's Rec complex, one picture of my friend Blake and his new wife Lori; and three pictures that came with my wallet six years ago; 19 cents in nickels and pennies (I need to go to the ATM).
23. Two Orbitz gum wrappers and one York Peppermint patty wrapper.
So there you have it! There were quite a few things I was surprised to find (4 tubes of lib balm come to mind...) but all in all, nothing bizarre. Perhaps the allen wrench was bizarre. But it never hurts to be prepared.
So. Whatcha got in your purse?
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
The Wonders of IT
Don't worry, kids: people are here to help you. Whenever you start working for a large corporation, you are usually put through hours and hours of IT training. It is no different in a law firm, except that I have noticed that at Mobius, when they say they are here to help you, they mean it. Case in point:
Each day of the first week we have a little more IT training, usually a block of about 2.5 hours per day. Yesterday we covered many things, but not the things I was trying to do today. I wouldn't learn today's activities until tomorrow's training. But I needed to do them today, you see, so I was stuck. So I looked warily over at my notes from yesterday's training, and at the top I had written "ANY questions, call Anthony at xxxx." Usually I find the IT people not to be so helpful, or a little condescending at my ineptitude, so I was hesitant to alert them to the fact that I was going to be a problem employee on the second day. But I had written the word "any" in all caps, which must mean I had believed them when they told me to call Anthony, so I called him. And instantly, the world's most helpful person answered, and walked me through what I was trying to do politely and in plain English. The process went so well I promised to marry Anthony if things didn't work out with Patrick and hung up.
Then later I needed more IT assistance to do something that wouldn't be covered until Thursday's training. It was library help. And it turns out the Chicago office Librarian at Mobius is out on maternity leave. So a very helpful secretary suggested I call the LA Librarian. Hesitantly (after all, I'm not even in her time zone, and I am definitely not her problem), I sent this Monica of LA an email. She called back within two minutes and walked me through the whole process, complete with short-cuts and helpful hints for the future. I am in love with the Mobius IT people, and if things don't work out with Patrick or Anthony, I invite Monica to move to Massachusetts so I may legally wed her, too. She was that awesome about this entire procedure.
Perhaps this is the norm for IT departments, and I have only had terrible experiences in the past which have caused me to lower my expectations. Either way, I am very happy with these people. So happy, in fact, I give you a dramatic recreation of what might happen if you called the Mobius IT people regarding a missing Blackberry (or Crackberry, as the sister calls it):
IT: This is Anthony, how may I help you?
Me: Hi Anthony, it's me again... I've lost my Blackberry and I've looked everywhere for it. Help!
IT: That's ok, let me help you find it. Ok, are you sitting at your desk?
Me: Yes.
IT: Great, that's good. Now what I want you to do is check your right hip for the Blackberry. If you held our your hand as if to shake someone else's hand, this is your right side. Look to your right side now. Do you see the Blackberry?
Me: No! It's not there! Oh no!
IT: That's alright, sometimes they are not on your hip. Now what I want you to do is swivel 45 degrees to the right in your chair and stand up.
Me: Ok...
IT: Now walk three steps away and turn 180 degrees to face your desk area. Can you do that?
Me: Yes... Ok, I'm facing my desk.
IT: Very good, that's perfect. Now I want you to scan the desktop. Are there any notebooks on your desk?
Me: Yes! I have an IL guide to insurance claims notebook on my desk.
IT: Very good. I want you to pick up that notebook and look beneath it. Is the Blackberry under the notebook?
Me: Um... Hold on... No. It's not there either.
IT: That's ok, you're doing fine. Replace the notebook on your desk. Now what I want you to do is think about the last place you went where you were working on business related activities. Can you tell me where that is?
Me: Let's see, I had an IT training in the conference room a minute ago.
IT: Good, good. Did you take your briefcase or computer bag with you?
Me: Yes!
IT: Excellent, you are doing so well. Do you see the briefcase in your office?
Me: Yes!
IT: Great. I want you to pick up your briefcase and put it on the desk.
Me: Ok...
IT: Now I want you to look inside your briefcase. Tell me what you see.
Me: Um, I see a notebook, my purse, a snack bar, some pens down in the bottom. No blackberry, though!
IT: That's ok. Tell me, do you see a pocket or flap on the inside of your briefcase?
Me: Yes! I found a pocket!
IT: Good, now I want you to run your hand along the inside of the pocket and feel for the Blackberry.
Me: Which hand?
IT: That's a good question. Either hand will do.
Me: Ok... I'm feeling around... I found it! I found it! It fell into this pocket!
IT: Excellent, you are back to normal. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: I love you, IT guy.
IT: I know. You told me that earlier today. Again.
Each day of the first week we have a little more IT training, usually a block of about 2.5 hours per day. Yesterday we covered many things, but not the things I was trying to do today. I wouldn't learn today's activities until tomorrow's training. But I needed to do them today, you see, so I was stuck. So I looked warily over at my notes from yesterday's training, and at the top I had written "ANY questions, call Anthony at xxxx." Usually I find the IT people not to be so helpful, or a little condescending at my ineptitude, so I was hesitant to alert them to the fact that I was going to be a problem employee on the second day. But I had written the word "any" in all caps, which must mean I had believed them when they told me to call Anthony, so I called him. And instantly, the world's most helpful person answered, and walked me through what I was trying to do politely and in plain English. The process went so well I promised to marry Anthony if things didn't work out with Patrick and hung up.
Then later I needed more IT assistance to do something that wouldn't be covered until Thursday's training. It was library help. And it turns out the Chicago office Librarian at Mobius is out on maternity leave. So a very helpful secretary suggested I call the LA Librarian. Hesitantly (after all, I'm not even in her time zone, and I am definitely not her problem), I sent this Monica of LA an email. She called back within two minutes and walked me through the whole process, complete with short-cuts and helpful hints for the future. I am in love with the Mobius IT people, and if things don't work out with Patrick or Anthony, I invite Monica to move to Massachusetts so I may legally wed her, too. She was that awesome about this entire procedure.
Perhaps this is the norm for IT departments, and I have only had terrible experiences in the past which have caused me to lower my expectations. Either way, I am very happy with these people. So happy, in fact, I give you a dramatic recreation of what might happen if you called the Mobius IT people regarding a missing Blackberry (or Crackberry, as the sister calls it):
IT: This is Anthony, how may I help you?
Me: Hi Anthony, it's me again... I've lost my Blackberry and I've looked everywhere for it. Help!
IT: That's ok, let me help you find it. Ok, are you sitting at your desk?
Me: Yes.
IT: Great, that's good. Now what I want you to do is check your right hip for the Blackberry. If you held our your hand as if to shake someone else's hand, this is your right side. Look to your right side now. Do you see the Blackberry?
Me: No! It's not there! Oh no!
IT: That's alright, sometimes they are not on your hip. Now what I want you to do is swivel 45 degrees to the right in your chair and stand up.
Me: Ok...
IT: Now walk three steps away and turn 180 degrees to face your desk area. Can you do that?
Me: Yes... Ok, I'm facing my desk.
IT: Very good, that's perfect. Now I want you to scan the desktop. Are there any notebooks on your desk?
Me: Yes! I have an IL guide to insurance claims notebook on my desk.
IT: Very good. I want you to pick up that notebook and look beneath it. Is the Blackberry under the notebook?
Me: Um... Hold on... No. It's not there either.
IT: That's ok, you're doing fine. Replace the notebook on your desk. Now what I want you to do is think about the last place you went where you were working on business related activities. Can you tell me where that is?
Me: Let's see, I had an IT training in the conference room a minute ago.
IT: Good, good. Did you take your briefcase or computer bag with you?
Me: Yes!
IT: Excellent, you are doing so well. Do you see the briefcase in your office?
Me: Yes!
IT: Great. I want you to pick up your briefcase and put it on the desk.
Me: Ok...
IT: Now I want you to look inside your briefcase. Tell me what you see.
Me: Um, I see a notebook, my purse, a snack bar, some pens down in the bottom. No blackberry, though!
IT: That's ok. Tell me, do you see a pocket or flap on the inside of your briefcase?
Me: Yes! I found a pocket!
IT: Good, now I want you to run your hand along the inside of the pocket and feel for the Blackberry.
Me: Which hand?
IT: That's a good question. Either hand will do.
Me: Ok... I'm feeling around... I found it! I found it! It fell into this pocket!
IT: Excellent, you are back to normal. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: I love you, IT guy.
IT: I know. You told me that earlier today. Again.
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