Ok, I no longer get the "coulda had a v8" commercials.
I understood the first one, where the guy is working out on the balance ball and his trainer asks him if he is still eating right and getting all his veggies, and he says "when I can" and she bops him on the head. Ah, she's right! He could have had a v8 and he would have gotten his veggies! There's no excuse for missing them when they are neatly pureed into a handy disposable bottle! What a bop-worthy offense!
But now the commercials make no sense. The latest one is a montage with a guy passing up veggies at all these different functions and his wife (I assume she is his wife) bopping him on the head after each one. After about the 7th pushing away of his carrots and his wife bopping him, the announcer intones "Coulda had a v8" while the wife shakes her head disappointedly at her hapless, unhealthy other half.
But here's the problem. v8 is continuing the theme of saying that you can just get your veggies by drinking a v8, and to pass up such a simple solution is stupid. Hence, the head bopping. But the guy in the newest commercial isn't passing up a v8 or saying he hasn't gotten his full servings of veggies, he's passing up the traditional on-your-plate veggies. Why is he being bopped when he pushes away a plate of broccoli? If he ate his veggies, he wouldn't need to drink v8.
Maybe I'm missing something. But it doesn't seem like a good plan to infer someone who doesn't eat physical veggies is boppable when you sell a product that replaces those missed veggies.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
100 things
I lovingly stole this idea from my sister, who lovingly stole it from another blogger. It's a good thing. I encourage you to lovingly steal it from me.
Anyway, for my 100th post I thought I would give you 100 things about me. In no particular order...
1. I cannot whisper. It's a stage whisper at best. Everyone can hear me. I try to whisper, I just don't succeed in it.
2. I used to get in trouble in grade school for talking in class all of the time. Probably because I couldn't whisper.
3. Thanks in part to my lack of whisper ability, I have a naturally authoritative voice.
4. This is great for speeches and giving direction, but it gets me in trouble because people sometimes accuse me of pretending to know what I'm talking about when I don't.
5. Often I didn't realize that was the impression I was giving. I have taken to adding at the end of my sentences, "Despite my confident tone, I don't know that for a fact."
6. I love cheese. Especially cheese with salted crackers.
7 Once, while Patrick and I were still dating, we went to a friend's wedding, and I tried to spread cheddar on a cracker.
8. Patrick told me that cheddar was not a "spreading" cheese. I told him that with a little elbow grease, every cheese could be a "spreading" cheese.
9. That pretty much sums up my philosophy on life.
10. I also like to talk about "personal accountability" a lot.
11. For example, I dislike it when people give excuses. I would rather a person say to me "I'm sorry I am late" and offer no explanation than to tell me "the guy in front of me at the check-out took forever, there was nothing I could do."
12. I am guilty of offering excuses, too. But I consciously work at it.
13. I am a terrible speller. It took me three tries and a spell-checker to get "consciously" right.
14. There is a scar in my right eyebrow of which I do not know the origin. One day I started looking through old photos, and I have determined it showed up between my third and fourth birthday. No one in my family knows how I got it.
15. I was a pretty rough-and-tumble kid, so the scar doesn't really surprise me.
16. In fact, I'm pretty well covered in small scars.
17. I have dislocated both shoulders, broken my left wrist, broken both big toes and both pinkie toes, sprained my left knee, had two cysts taken out of my left wrist, sprained both ankles too many times to count, and had 4 concussions.
18. I used to joke that everything that could possibly kill me has already tried.
19. I often joke about my clumsiness. In fact, I often joke. Period. I am a firm believer that she who can laugh at herself will never cease to be entertained.
20. I never cease to be entertained.
21. I have a great wit. It's probably my best non-physical attribute.
22. My best physical attributes are my calves.
22. Seriously. Great calves.
23. My sister wonders why I have such a thing about high heels. It's all in service to the calves, baby.
24. I have a black belt in Shingitai Jujitsu.
25. My husband has a second degree black belt in Jujitsu.
26. We met when I was a white belt and he was a green belt.
27. I had a crush on him from the day I met him.
28. I still do.
29. Just yesterday, in fact, I told him "I don't know what it is I like so much about you, but I sure do like it a lot."
30. Anyway, he didn't know I was alive when we met. It took me two more years to get him to ask me out.
31. He says he was always interested, but thought I was too serious and studious for him.
32. That's fair. He wasn't studious at all. He's two years older than me, and we graduated at the same time.
33. Of course, I graduated a little early.
34. But still. He claims that if he hadn't started dating me he would still be in college.
35. He is very smart. He left UT's engineering program with a 4.0 because it was boring. Then he didn't bother to go to a bunch of other classes over a few years because they were boring, too.
36. See a theme?
37. Anyway, it seems his stick-to-it-edness has improved substantially since he got himself an smc.
38. Oops, this is supposed to be 100 things about me. Seems I've gotten off track.
39. I graduated from UT summa cum laude with degrees in psychology and political science in 2004.
40. And then I went to law school.
41. As you know, law was not my first choice for a career.
42. I still take Flinstones gummy vitamins as nutritional supplements.
43. Two a day.
44. I'm very picky about my pills. I hate swallowing those big, chalky horse pills.
45. I have to take them with orange juice to hide the taste. And even then, I have the aftertaste in my mouth all day.
46. I don't know my sister's legal married name. Before marriage, she was CEC. Then she married an H. I know she goes by EH. But is her name CEH? CCH? ECH? I don't know.
47. I don't know if she knows my legal married name, either.
48. It took me 8 months to decide if I was going to change my name. I flip-flopped constantly. I only made a decision when Patrick announced he didn't know how to introduce me and I had to make up my mind.
49. I don't know if I made the right choice.
50. My best friend is Melanie.
51. As you know, we met in high school.
52. We used to make up songs while running cross-country and track together. And just in general, because it was fun.
53. "You get into the truck on another track day; Coach is kinda smiling, you know what he's gonna say..."
54. During track practice as a sophomore in high school, I was struck in the forehead by a discus.
55. The swelling was horrible.
56. The next day, a girl on the tennis team got hit in the face with a tennis ball.
57. It was caught on tape.
58. So people were too busy making fun of her to make fun of me.
59. I went to a cruel high school.
60. I was senior class president.
61. I gave a speech at graduation.
62. The only part I remember of it was quoting the "we are more than champions" verse of the Bible.
63. I love college football. I don't care who's playing. I'll watch it.
65. But if the Tennessee Vols are playing, I don't just watch it.
66. I armchair coach it.
67. I am very competitive.
68. Almost anything can be turned into a game.
69. A game I'll try to win.
70. Melanie is not nearly as competitive as I am.
71. When we play cards, she often suggests that we don't keep score.
72. And this makes the point of the game... what?
73. I love those "Where's Waldo" books.
74. And the traditional logic games, like "If Adam doesn't bring a casserole and Danielle brings a ham, whose drives a Saab?"
75. The answer is Caleb. Caleb drives a Saab.
76. I skipped number 64. Did you notice?
77. I did that because I repeated number 22.
78. Both were intentional.
79. I am the youngest of my family.
80. I don't buy the "birth order" analysis of personality.
81. It seems about as accurate as my daily horoscope.
82. I hate it when people interrupt each other during debates.
83. Or say "No offense, but..."
84. Or make global generalizations or stereotypes.
85. I hate it even more when a member of a particular group reinforces a negative stereotype.
86. Whenever I see someone royally botching a parallel parking job, I pray it isn't a woman.
87. I am a great parallel parker. Much better than Patrick.
88. He is the first to agree.
89. I have two cats, Tobey and Caesar.
90. Tobey's full first name is October. But no one ever calls her that.
91. Except my mom.
92. Caesar fetches rubber bands. He'll drop it right back in your hand, over and over again.
93. I've never seen anything like it.
94. Like all moms, I believe that my cats are the best in the world.
95. Except mine actually are.
96. I like dance. All types of dancing. Ballroom, line, hip hop, tap...
97. I'm not particularly good at any of them. But I still like to try.
98. I love colloquialisms. I'm all over them like white on rice.
99. When I grow up, I want to be the most respected attorney in my field.
100. Or a famous actress.
Anyway, for my 100th post I thought I would give you 100 things about me. In no particular order...
1. I cannot whisper. It's a stage whisper at best. Everyone can hear me. I try to whisper, I just don't succeed in it.
2. I used to get in trouble in grade school for talking in class all of the time. Probably because I couldn't whisper.
3. Thanks in part to my lack of whisper ability, I have a naturally authoritative voice.
4. This is great for speeches and giving direction, but it gets me in trouble because people sometimes accuse me of pretending to know what I'm talking about when I don't.
5. Often I didn't realize that was the impression I was giving. I have taken to adding at the end of my sentences, "Despite my confident tone, I don't know that for a fact."
6. I love cheese. Especially cheese with salted crackers.
7 Once, while Patrick and I were still dating, we went to a friend's wedding, and I tried to spread cheddar on a cracker.
8. Patrick told me that cheddar was not a "spreading" cheese. I told him that with a little elbow grease, every cheese could be a "spreading" cheese.
9. That pretty much sums up my philosophy on life.
10. I also like to talk about "personal accountability" a lot.
11. For example, I dislike it when people give excuses. I would rather a person say to me "I'm sorry I am late" and offer no explanation than to tell me "the guy in front of me at the check-out took forever, there was nothing I could do."
12. I am guilty of offering excuses, too. But I consciously work at it.
13. I am a terrible speller. It took me three tries and a spell-checker to get "consciously" right.
14. There is a scar in my right eyebrow of which I do not know the origin. One day I started looking through old photos, and I have determined it showed up between my third and fourth birthday. No one in my family knows how I got it.
15. I was a pretty rough-and-tumble kid, so the scar doesn't really surprise me.
16. In fact, I'm pretty well covered in small scars.
17. I have dislocated both shoulders, broken my left wrist, broken both big toes and both pinkie toes, sprained my left knee, had two cysts taken out of my left wrist, sprained both ankles too many times to count, and had 4 concussions.
18. I used to joke that everything that could possibly kill me has already tried.
19. I often joke about my clumsiness. In fact, I often joke. Period. I am a firm believer that she who can laugh at herself will never cease to be entertained.
20. I never cease to be entertained.
21. I have a great wit. It's probably my best non-physical attribute.
22. My best physical attributes are my calves.
22. Seriously. Great calves.
23. My sister wonders why I have such a thing about high heels. It's all in service to the calves, baby.
24. I have a black belt in Shingitai Jujitsu.
25. My husband has a second degree black belt in Jujitsu.
26. We met when I was a white belt and he was a green belt.
27. I had a crush on him from the day I met him.
28. I still do.
29. Just yesterday, in fact, I told him "I don't know what it is I like so much about you, but I sure do like it a lot."
30. Anyway, he didn't know I was alive when we met. It took me two more years to get him to ask me out.
31. He says he was always interested, but thought I was too serious and studious for him.
32. That's fair. He wasn't studious at all. He's two years older than me, and we graduated at the same time.
33. Of course, I graduated a little early.
34. But still. He claims that if he hadn't started dating me he would still be in college.
35. He is very smart. He left UT's engineering program with a 4.0 because it was boring. Then he didn't bother to go to a bunch of other classes over a few years because they were boring, too.
36. See a theme?
37. Anyway, it seems his stick-to-it-edness has improved substantially since he got himself an smc.
38. Oops, this is supposed to be 100 things about me. Seems I've gotten off track.
39. I graduated from UT summa cum laude with degrees in psychology and political science in 2004.
40. And then I went to law school.
41. As you know, law was not my first choice for a career.
42. I still take Flinstones gummy vitamins as nutritional supplements.
43. Two a day.
44. I'm very picky about my pills. I hate swallowing those big, chalky horse pills.
45. I have to take them with orange juice to hide the taste. And even then, I have the aftertaste in my mouth all day.
46. I don't know my sister's legal married name. Before marriage, she was CEC. Then she married an H. I know she goes by EH. But is her name CEH? CCH? ECH? I don't know.
47. I don't know if she knows my legal married name, either.
48. It took me 8 months to decide if I was going to change my name. I flip-flopped constantly. I only made a decision when Patrick announced he didn't know how to introduce me and I had to make up my mind.
49. I don't know if I made the right choice.
50. My best friend is Melanie.
51. As you know, we met in high school.
52. We used to make up songs while running cross-country and track together. And just in general, because it was fun.
53. "You get into the truck on another track day; Coach is kinda smiling, you know what he's gonna say..."
54. During track practice as a sophomore in high school, I was struck in the forehead by a discus.
55. The swelling was horrible.
56. The next day, a girl on the tennis team got hit in the face with a tennis ball.
57. It was caught on tape.
58. So people were too busy making fun of her to make fun of me.
59. I went to a cruel high school.
60. I was senior class president.
61. I gave a speech at graduation.
62. The only part I remember of it was quoting the "we are more than champions" verse of the Bible.
63. I love college football. I don't care who's playing. I'll watch it.
65. But if the Tennessee Vols are playing, I don't just watch it.
66. I armchair coach it.
67. I am very competitive.
68. Almost anything can be turned into a game.
69. A game I'll try to win.
70. Melanie is not nearly as competitive as I am.
71. When we play cards, she often suggests that we don't keep score.
72. And this makes the point of the game... what?
73. I love those "Where's Waldo" books.
74. And the traditional logic games, like "If Adam doesn't bring a casserole and Danielle brings a ham, whose drives a Saab?"
75. The answer is Caleb. Caleb drives a Saab.
76. I skipped number 64. Did you notice?
77. I did that because I repeated number 22.
78. Both were intentional.
79. I am the youngest of my family.
80. I don't buy the "birth order" analysis of personality.
81. It seems about as accurate as my daily horoscope.
82. I hate it when people interrupt each other during debates.
83. Or say "No offense, but..."
84. Or make global generalizations or stereotypes.
85. I hate it even more when a member of a particular group reinforces a negative stereotype.
86. Whenever I see someone royally botching a parallel parking job, I pray it isn't a woman.
87. I am a great parallel parker. Much better than Patrick.
88. He is the first to agree.
89. I have two cats, Tobey and Caesar.
90. Tobey's full first name is October. But no one ever calls her that.
91. Except my mom.
92. Caesar fetches rubber bands. He'll drop it right back in your hand, over and over again.
93. I've never seen anything like it.
94. Like all moms, I believe that my cats are the best in the world.
95. Except mine actually are.
96. I like dance. All types of dancing. Ballroom, line, hip hop, tap...
97. I'm not particularly good at any of them. But I still like to try.
98. I love colloquialisms. I'm all over them like white on rice.
99. When I grow up, I want to be the most respected attorney in my field.
100. Or a famous actress.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Goodbye Chicago!
Well. It's 2:30pm, and I am leaving for the airport at 3:00pm. All I have left to do is haul my hopefully only 50lbs bags onto a cart and take them downstairs to the cab I have reserved for me. Except the front desk is out of carts for a moment. However, I could not help but notice what floor the last cart has gone to. I think I may go knock on that resident's door and take it by force. Because they will never see me again, and I need that cart.
Goodbye, Chicago! Goodbye s'mores maker, goodbye incredibly stained carpet, goodbye awesome view of Navy Pier, goodbye too-short grocery cart, goodbye somewhat creepy mannequin in the corner!
Goodbye!
Goodbye, Chicago! Goodbye s'mores maker, goodbye incredibly stained carpet, goodbye awesome view of Navy Pier, goodbye too-short grocery cart, goodbye somewhat creepy mannequin in the corner!
Goodbye!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Flight of the Conchords- Business Time
Too funny. I nearly shot chai tea latte out of my nose the first time I saw it. And you guys know I usually reserve that reaction for when a family member falls down the stairs or something (you have to know my family...)
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Hey smoopyliciousness!
The darling Patto and I are planning a trip to the World's Best Alma Mater for a housing reunion, since I was an RA in college and am still close to my former fellow RAs. The other RAs and I have been exchanging e-mail messages for some time, working out the reunion details. Then yesterday, I received an e-mail to the group that The Breakfast Club, the most amazing 80s cover band ever to play the stage in Knoxville, TN was going to be in town the exact! same! weekend!
It was a sign from God that this trip home and the attendant housing reunion is blessed!
In my glee, I quickly fwded the e-mail to Patrick, along with the following note:
"Oh baby! Remember the Breakfast Club? They're going to be in Knoxville the same weekend we are! Oh! Happy Day!
I love you my baby I dooooo!
Happy Wednesday, otherwise known as Wed "less than 4 days till I am back with my baby" nesday!"
Nauseatingly cutesy, I know, but I haven't seen my husband in a couple of weeks and I have been living apart from him for the past 3.5 months, and my mental state is deteriorating quickly without him. And he would have just chuckled and that would have been that.
That is, had I actually sent that e-mail to Patrick.
No, instead of hitting "Fwd" I somehow hit "Reply All," and in my extreme excitement, did not notice the difference. So I sent that incredibly snuggle-filled missive not to my darling husband, but to 9 of my former co-workers and my former boss.
They were good enough to send me multiple e-mails back telling me they loved me, too.
It was a sign from God that this trip home and the attendant housing reunion is blessed!
In my glee, I quickly fwded the e-mail to Patrick, along with the following note:
"Oh baby! Remember the Breakfast Club? They're going to be in Knoxville the same weekend we are! Oh! Happy Day!
I love you my baby I dooooo!
Happy Wednesday, otherwise known as Wed "less than 4 days till I am back with my baby" nesday!"
Nauseatingly cutesy, I know, but I haven't seen my husband in a couple of weeks and I have been living apart from him for the past 3.5 months, and my mental state is deteriorating quickly without him. And he would have just chuckled and that would have been that.
That is, had I actually sent that e-mail to Patrick.
No, instead of hitting "Fwd" I somehow hit "Reply All," and in my extreme excitement, did not notice the difference. So I sent that incredibly snuggle-filled missive not to my darling husband, but to 9 of my former co-workers and my former boss.
They were good enough to send me multiple e-mails back telling me they loved me, too.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Admission Essay
Every now and again, someone gets real impressed with the fact that I go to Harvard Law School and asks me about my college grades and LSAT scores and such. But a couple in the know also ask me about my admission essay. What did I write about? Did I combine my political science and psychology degrees into a comment about the benefits and flaws of the current American Jury System? What impresses Harvard?
If you think for a moment that I wrote a comment on the American Jury System, you have another thing coming. But to ease the curiosity of those of you who really want to know how I wowed Harvard into accepting me in two weeks flat, I am reprinting the first paragraph of my admissions essay. I swear to you on my sister's gave (sorry, Boo) that what you are about to read is what I actually submitted to Harvard with a straight face (or what I can pull from memory- the actual copy is on a computer at home in Boston. I reserve the right to change this post if I get home and see an error).
"Law was not my first, or even second choice for a career. When I was a child, all of my friends and I knew exactly what we wanted to be when we grew up. Josh wanted to be a CIA agent, Jennifer wanted to be a novelist, and I wanted to be Queen of a small, tropical and fabulously wealthy island nation. Upon later inspection, I realized that the queen-market was a very difficult one to break into, and set my sights on something more managable: becoming a famous actress."
Obviously, the admissions folks at Harvard scrambled all over each other to be the one to type up my admissions letter.
The point is this: Harvard is chock-full of serious people who write about serious things. And that is great. And if you are that type of person, Harvard has a spot for you. But I am not that type of person. And I wasn't about to write a phony admissions essay about the intersection of law and interstate commerce. I wrote about why the law interested me, and I didn't take myself too seriously. And Harvard had a spot for me, too.
If you think for a moment that I wrote a comment on the American Jury System, you have another thing coming. But to ease the curiosity of those of you who really want to know how I wowed Harvard into accepting me in two weeks flat, I am reprinting the first paragraph of my admissions essay. I swear to you on my sister's gave (sorry, Boo) that what you are about to read is what I actually submitted to Harvard with a straight face (or what I can pull from memory- the actual copy is on a computer at home in Boston. I reserve the right to change this post if I get home and see an error).
"Law was not my first, or even second choice for a career. When I was a child, all of my friends and I knew exactly what we wanted to be when we grew up. Josh wanted to be a CIA agent, Jennifer wanted to be a novelist, and I wanted to be Queen of a small, tropical and fabulously wealthy island nation. Upon later inspection, I realized that the queen-market was a very difficult one to break into, and set my sights on something more managable: becoming a famous actress."
Obviously, the admissions folks at Harvard scrambled all over each other to be the one to type up my admissions letter.
The point is this: Harvard is chock-full of serious people who write about serious things. And that is great. And if you are that type of person, Harvard has a spot for you. But I am not that type of person. And I wasn't about to write a phony admissions essay about the intersection of law and interstate commerce. I wrote about why the law interested me, and I didn't take myself too seriously. And Harvard had a spot for me, too.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Look at me and my usefulness!
I finally have work to do! Well, I *had* work to do. Then I did it. But none the less, I actually came to work and settled in and worked! This is a much needed break from the two weeks of absolutely nothing I have done since coming to OFC. Don't get me wrong- I like down time. A whole day of not having anything to do? Great! But 7 days of not having anything to do while being forced to account for your time? Not great. Miserable.
To show you my level of functioning over the past two weeks, I give you a pair of haikus I wrote to Melanie in my height of bored desperation (this is something we did in high school quite a bit, and I'm a-bringing it back, cause I'm old school like that).
I have lost three pounds
climbing the stairs between floors
'cause it takes longer
than taking the lift
and I have time to waste, so
I print three floors up.
But thankfully, it will probably be Thursday before I subject her to more of my, um, creativity.
To show you my level of functioning over the past two weeks, I give you a pair of haikus I wrote to Melanie in my height of bored desperation (this is something we did in high school quite a bit, and I'm a-bringing it back, cause I'm old school like that).
I have lost three pounds
climbing the stairs between floors
'cause it takes longer
than taking the lift
and I have time to waste, so
I print three floors up.
But thankfully, it will probably be Thursday before I subject her to more of my, um, creativity.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
How do you get jurisdiction over the Garden of Eden?
What do President Bush, the Sears Tower, The Olsen Twins, Google.com, Charles Dickens, the Magna Carter, the Aztec Pyramids, Three Mile Island and Dostoevsky have in common?
They are all defendants together in this suit.
Sadly, the plaintiff never gets around to listing what he is actually suing them for. Just that they are in fact, being sued. Together. In federal court. For something regarding prisoner civil rights.
In America, even very very crazy people get their day in court.
They are all defendants together in this suit.
Sadly, the plaintiff never gets around to listing what he is actually suing them for. Just that they are in fact, being sued. Together. In federal court. For something regarding prisoner civil rights.
In America, even very very crazy people get their day in court.
1000 strong, and growing
Hey! According to my little counter friend, Diverged has received over 1,000 visits since April 2007, when I started counting! If I have figured out how it works correctly, it counts you the first time you visit each day, but then does not count you again for the rest of the day, no matter how many times you visit. So feel free to check back every 30 minutes without worrying that you are upsetting my counter. It is tres sophisticated.
It's been nice to have you along. Feel free to leave a comment. And remember, visit early and often!
It's been nice to have you along. Feel free to leave a comment. And remember, visit early and often!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Turf War!
Remember how I said that outside my window at OFC I have 30 something spiders? (What I mean is, there are at least 30 of them- not that the spiders are between 30 and 40 years old. Although they might be. I haven't asked.) Well, I was just staring out at them (and the city beyond) when I noticed a lot of movement in one corner of the window. There is a large spider that is engaged in a fight with a much smaller spider. Both are kind of jumping at each other and waving their arms (legs?) around while the web they are fighting on sways in the wind. The smaller one was doing a lot of running back and forth, and at first I thought it was just running for its life. But in fact, it is disconnecting the web strings that are supporting the larger spider. Now THAT is a clever tactic. The larger spider keeps almost tumbling off the web, and is distracted momentarily as it spins off more support for itself. This gives the smaller spider a chance to wave its arms/legs around at the larger spider, which seems to be the preferred method of fighting.
Spider Wars! Playing out in real life on my window ledge! Only instead of being orange and green (I was always the orange spiders), these combatants are tan and black. And appear to be barefoot. At least, they are not wearing matching hi-tops. Too bad.
Monday, August 13, 2007
First Anniversary
You guys know I don't spend a lot of time gushing. But this post is an exception. Yesterday was my first wedding anniversary with Patrick. He flew in Friday evening and we had a fabulous anniversary weekend. We went shopping along Michigan ave, we saw the Bourne Ultimatum, we went to the Melting Pot for dinner, (which is one of our favorite restaurants and where we spent our first Valentine's Day). Afterwards, we walked down to the beach with a bottle of champagne and watched the water and the Chicago skyline. It was beautiful. We exchanged gifts (we spent too much on each other again- it is ever our curse). Being that the first anniversary is paper, Patrick ended up getting me four cards, because he liked them and couldn't decide between them anyway. One was funny, one was kind, and two would melt your face off with the loving goodness that flowed out of them. Someone who was truly in love wrote those last two cards. In keeping with tradition of me being a strange, strange bird, I got him a card that referenced puppet shows. Que romantic.
People often tell me that the first year of marriage is the most difficult. I hope so, because this year has been incredible, and if it gets even better after this, I'm sold. As my sister said in her toast at my wedding, I have truly met my match.
And now, only two more weeks until my summer stint is up in Chicago and I can live with my wonderful husby full-time again! I have missed him these three months. I cannot wait to wake up close to him every day (not just every other or every third weekend) with his arm wrapped around my waist and his warm breath in my face and me gently and sweatily wriggling free because Oh. My. God. that man emits so much heat and he sends me into premature hot flashes every morning. I have missed those hot flashes and wouldn't trade them for hanging onto my own pillow and all the covers for anything in the world.
People often tell me that the first year of marriage is the most difficult. I hope so, because this year has been incredible, and if it gets even better after this, I'm sold. As my sister said in her toast at my wedding, I have truly met my match.
And now, only two more weeks until my summer stint is up in Chicago and I can live with my wonderful husby full-time again! I have missed him these three months. I cannot wait to wake up close to him every day (not just every other or every third weekend) with his arm wrapped around my waist and his warm breath in my face and me gently and sweatily wriggling free because Oh. My. God. that man emits so much heat and he sends me into premature hot flashes every morning. I have missed those hot flashes and wouldn't trade them for hanging onto my own pillow and all the covers for anything in the world.
Friday, August 10, 2007
I have no comment on this
This is my husband.
This is my husband on a dare.
And yes, we are going to discuss that popped collar when I get back from Chicago.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
oh hello my darlin' sweet tea
I borrowed that line from db. But it pretty much sums up the southern sentiment towards its unofficial regional beverage, sweet tea. Sweet Tea, more appropriately, because if it isn't a proper noun, goshdarnit it should be.
Even Slate has recognized the goodness that is sweet tea. You can read the article here.
Several of my friends tease me about the pitcher of sweet tea I keep in my fridge at home, despite the fact that I have been living in the great white north for two years now. One of my fellow southerner classmates insists I bring it with me to every study group and pot luck meal we have (the pot luck supper is another fine southern tradition). One fall afternoon she dropped by my house to borrow a book, and as she helped herself to a glass from the cabinet and made a bee-line for the fridge, I had to tell her we were fresh out of sweet tea. From the look on her face, you would have thought I had told her I was an alien in a human suit. After recovering from the shock, she slowly set the glass down on the counter, gathered up her southern resolve, put a hand on her hip and asked, "Well how long does it take you to make more?"
And I made more right then. Because a southern household, even one relocated to Massachusetts has sweat tea in their fridge. Besides, I was almost to the bottom of my own glass.
"[Sweet tea] is the house wine of the south." Dolly Parton
Even Slate has recognized the goodness that is sweet tea. You can read the article here.
Several of my friends tease me about the pitcher of sweet tea I keep in my fridge at home, despite the fact that I have been living in the great white north for two years now. One of my fellow southerner classmates insists I bring it with me to every study group and pot luck meal we have (the pot luck supper is another fine southern tradition). One fall afternoon she dropped by my house to borrow a book, and as she helped herself to a glass from the cabinet and made a bee-line for the fridge, I had to tell her we were fresh out of sweet tea. From the look on her face, you would have thought I had told her I was an alien in a human suit. After recovering from the shock, she slowly set the glass down on the counter, gathered up her southern resolve, put a hand on her hip and asked, "Well how long does it take you to make more?"
And I made more right then. Because a southern household, even one relocated to Massachusetts has sweat tea in their fridge. Besides, I was almost to the bottom of my own glass.
"[Sweet tea] is the house wine of the south." Dolly Parton
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
The smc v. quirky Quiz!
In honor of my sister's post about how different she and I are, I invite you to take the smc v. quirky quiz! Write down your answers to determine which sister you are more like:
1. Michael Kors is:
a. A beer company. They also make Kors Light.
b. A fashion designer. And a judge on Project Runway.
c. CBS's leading evening news correspondent. And unbelievably tan.
2. Cladding is:
a. A political term for running negative adds about your opponent in the 30 days before an election.
b. A particular style of fishing.
c. A decorative covering that goes over steel or concrete support beams.
3. A jigger is:
a. A measuring device for mixing drinks.
b. A measuring device for cutting wood planks.
c. A measuring device for baking bread.
5. In chess, the rook can only move:
a. Diagonally.
b. In an "L" shape.
c. Horizontally and vertically.
6. Coleus is:
a. A skin disease.
b. A leafy plant.
c. An ancient philosopher.
7. The youngest member of the Supreme Court is:
a. Beyers
b. Stevens
c. Roberts
8. What is the motto of Lowes?
a. Let's Build Something Together.
b. The Helpful Hardware Place.
c. You Can Do It. We Can Help.
9. A Federal Reporter is:
a. The new, "PC" term for a Narc.
b. A collection of court cases decided during a particular term.
c. The member of each U.S. Senate committee who is responsible for submitting the year-end report on the activities of that committee.
10. Stephanie Plum is:
a. A fictional bounty-hunter and the subject of 13 books and counting.
b. An "adult-swim" cartoon character famous for her green hair.
c. A major writer on the critique of modern feminist literature.
And a bonus question!
The correct response to "It Ain't the Plumber" is:
a. "Then who is it?"
b. "Do you kiss your momma with that mouth?"
c. "Will you still fix the sink?"
Ok, answers are printed below.
Answers:
1. B; 2. C; 3. A; 4. A; 5. C; 6. B; 7. C; 8. A; 9. B; 10. A. Bonus: C.
If you answered mostly Odd questions correctly, you are more like smc. If you answered mostly even questions correctly, you are more like quirky. If you answered all questions correctly, you are some sort of super-hybrid sister, and we should meet you. If you answered no questions correctly, you will be made fun of as soon as we find out about it.
Oh, and if you cheated and looked up answers online in order to beat your friend at this quiz, it's a toss-up.
So. Who were you more like?
1. Michael Kors is:
a. A beer company. They also make Kors Light.
b. A fashion designer. And a judge on Project Runway.
c. CBS's leading evening news correspondent. And unbelievably tan.
2. Cladding is:
a. A political term for running negative adds about your opponent in the 30 days before an election.
b. A particular style of fishing.
c. A decorative covering that goes over steel or concrete support beams.
3. A jigger is:
a. A measuring device for mixing drinks.
b. A measuring device for cutting wood planks.
c. A measuring device for baking bread.
4. How is an allen wrench shaped?
a. Like an L
b. Like a V
c. Like a Y
5. In chess, the rook can only move:
a. Diagonally.
b. In an "L" shape.
c. Horizontally and vertically.
6. Coleus is:
a. A skin disease.
b. A leafy plant.
c. An ancient philosopher.
7. The youngest member of the Supreme Court is:
a. Beyers
b. Stevens
c. Roberts
8. What is the motto of Lowes?
a. Let's Build Something Together.
b. The Helpful Hardware Place.
c. You Can Do It. We Can Help.
9. A Federal Reporter is:
a. The new, "PC" term for a Narc.
b. A collection of court cases decided during a particular term.
c. The member of each U.S. Senate committee who is responsible for submitting the year-end report on the activities of that committee.
10. Stephanie Plum is:
a. A fictional bounty-hunter and the subject of 13 books and counting.
b. An "adult-swim" cartoon character famous for her green hair.
c. A major writer on the critique of modern feminist literature.
And a bonus question!
The correct response to "It Ain't the Plumber" is:
a. "Then who is it?"
b. "Do you kiss your momma with that mouth?"
c. "Will you still fix the sink?"
Ok, answers are printed below.
Answers:
1. B; 2. C; 3. A; 4. A; 5. C; 6. B; 7. C; 8. A; 9. B; 10. A. Bonus: C.
If you answered mostly Odd questions correctly, you are more like smc. If you answered mostly even questions correctly, you are more like quirky. If you answered all questions correctly, you are some sort of super-hybrid sister, and we should meet you. If you answered no questions correctly, you will be made fun of as soon as we find out about it.
Oh, and if you cheated and looked up answers online in order to beat your friend at this quiz, it's a toss-up.
So. Who were you more like?
Old Firm Chicago
I have finished my stint at Mobius, and have now embarked on a three-week cameo engagement at Old Firm Chicago ("OFC"). I have settled into my new office, gotten a new office-mate from Michigan Law school (what is it with all these UM folk?) and... have not quite started working yet. We were re-oriented all day yesterday, and they were supposed to assign new work to us today, but they haven't done it yet. At least I've had a chance to catch up on my Slate reading (does that magazine get more and more liberal everyday, or is it just me?) and other such important tasks like trying to find little orange tags for my documents. Yes, I was provided with little purple tags and little white tags, but I like the orange ones best. What? I do.
I have a great view of the building that houses Mobius from my new office. And an even better view of the 30 spiders that live on the outside of my window. What is a spider going to catch 51 floors up? The heads of the tiny flies would have exploded at this altitude! Still, no less than 30 spiders make their homes around the edge of my window. They seem plump and active enough. So long as they stay out there and I stay in here, all is well.
Whereas Mobius was a very small office, OFC is a very large office. 500+ attorneys, 10 floors. As many of you know, I have no sense of direction, especially inside of buildings. So look for posts detailing how I nearly starved when I ventured out of my office looking for the bathroom and was not discovered curled up in a file room for 4 days. The nice thing about a large office, however, is the staff. They have staff that do everything. And back-up staff if that staff member is out for the day. And these people know their jobs. And if it's not their job, they know whose job it is, and will connect you to that person. Need little orange tags? You don't need to find the supply closet yourself. Just pick up the phone and dial office services. Orange tags on your desk by the time you find your way back from the bathroom.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find the library for some library training, since I have never actually used the library at OFC. I'm nearly certain I can find the elevator... this time.
I have a great view of the building that houses Mobius from my new office. And an even better view of the 30 spiders that live on the outside of my window. What is a spider going to catch 51 floors up? The heads of the tiny flies would have exploded at this altitude! Still, no less than 30 spiders make their homes around the edge of my window. They seem plump and active enough. So long as they stay out there and I stay in here, all is well.
Whereas Mobius was a very small office, OFC is a very large office. 500+ attorneys, 10 floors. As many of you know, I have no sense of direction, especially inside of buildings. So look for posts detailing how I nearly starved when I ventured out of my office looking for the bathroom and was not discovered curled up in a file room for 4 days. The nice thing about a large office, however, is the staff. They have staff that do everything. And back-up staff if that staff member is out for the day. And these people know their jobs. And if it's not their job, they know whose job it is, and will connect you to that person. Need little orange tags? You don't need to find the supply closet yourself. Just pick up the phone and dial office services. Orange tags on your desk by the time you find your way back from the bathroom.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find the library for some library training, since I have never actually used the library at OFC. I'm nearly certain I can find the elevator... this time.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Snap!
Not just Snap, readers: snap and zing.
The other night, I was on a roll. I was waiting at the airport for my perpetually delayed flight back from visiting the husby in Boston when a young woman approached me and asked if I had attended the world's most glorious undergraduate institution, because I looked very familiar to her. Indeed I had attended said university, and so had she! And graduated in my class- or at least the class I would have graduated with had I not snuck out a bit early. She sat down and the two of us spent an hour trying to figure out how we might know one another, but alas, to no avail. We must have just passed each other a lot on our way to the Humanities building.
Ashley and I were having a lovely time chatting, and soon caught the eye of one "Bill," who nestled himself on the airport bench beside us and proceeded to chat with us. Or rather, interrogate us. Oh, the personal questions this guy asked! I am not interested in making my life an open book (except, of course, on my blog... hmmm. Methinks I should rethink this...) Rather, I am not interested in making my life an open book to Bill, and neither was Ashley, so I curtly rebuffed him. But he wouldn't be deterred. And what followed was an hour and a half of me zinging him, and zinging him good. I had a snappy comeback for everything that came out of his mouth. My sister-alum and another guy we were talking to were in stitches the entire time. I wouldn't usually brag about this kind of thing, since more often than not I don't think of that really good zing until I am already out of the conversation, but I tell you guys what. I sassed circles around this guy.
I'm not always a smart ass, I promise. Just every now and again, when the planets align and some guy really starts to annoy me... Snap!
And not just Snap, readers. Snap and zing!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
I'm not here
Under no circumstances am I allowed to post today. I am simply too busy at work.
It's my last week at Mobius, and then I am off to Old Firm Chicago for three weeks before I head home to my beloved Patto for good. I am going to miss Mobius. We had good times.
Before I start missing it though, I have to get through 3 more assignments by Friday. I predict Thursday will be a long day. And night. Which is why I just can't post today, even though there is a lot going on and I have things to tell you.
Ok, one little story and then I'm going back to work.
Last night, Mobius had a dinner with the summers and a ton of attorneys, because the summer is winding down and they like dinner. After dinner, a few attorneys and another summer and I went down the street to a local pub for a night cap. After a few drinks, one of the most senior partners tells the following story:
At a restaurant with his wife one night, our partner friend spots a woman who looks familiar to him, but he just can't place her. So he does what you would normally do in that situation- he stares at her all night. Finally she gets up and goes to the restroom, and the partner waits a few minutes and then goes toward the restrooms so he can bump into her as she is leaving (which is not at all creepy, really). Sure enough, as she is coming out as he pretends to go in and he stops her and says, "Pardon me, but have we met before?" (smooooooooth). And she says, "you know, you look familiar to me, too. My name is Ann Sandine.*" And of course the partner suddenly straightens up and says, "Oh! Your Honor! I didn't recognize you with clothes on!"
Oh yes. Our partner friend had appeared before this federal judge multiple times, but of course is used to seeing her in a black robe and behind her desk, not otherwise-merrily having dinner out on the town. So he bowed and scraped his way back to his table and wife, probably convinced that he had just committed career suicide. Luckily, Judge Sandine is very forgiving.
Awesome.
Ok, now I really have to get back to work.
*Not her real name.
It's my last week at Mobius, and then I am off to Old Firm Chicago for three weeks before I head home to my beloved Patto for good. I am going to miss Mobius. We had good times.
Before I start missing it though, I have to get through 3 more assignments by Friday. I predict Thursday will be a long day. And night. Which is why I just can't post today, even though there is a lot going on and I have things to tell you.
Ok, one little story and then I'm going back to work.
Last night, Mobius had a dinner with the summers and a ton of attorneys, because the summer is winding down and they like dinner. After dinner, a few attorneys and another summer and I went down the street to a local pub for a night cap. After a few drinks, one of the most senior partners tells the following story:
At a restaurant with his wife one night, our partner friend spots a woman who looks familiar to him, but he just can't place her. So he does what you would normally do in that situation- he stares at her all night. Finally she gets up and goes to the restroom, and the partner waits a few minutes and then goes toward the restrooms so he can bump into her as she is leaving (which is not at all creepy, really). Sure enough, as she is coming out as he pretends to go in and he stops her and says, "Pardon me, but have we met before?" (smooooooooth). And she says, "you know, you look familiar to me, too. My name is Ann Sandine.*" And of course the partner suddenly straightens up and says, "Oh! Your Honor! I didn't recognize you with clothes on!"
Oh yes. Our partner friend had appeared before this federal judge multiple times, but of course is used to seeing her in a black robe and behind her desk, not otherwise-merrily having dinner out on the town. So he bowed and scraped his way back to his table and wife, probably convinced that he had just committed career suicide. Luckily, Judge Sandine is very forgiving.
Awesome.
Ok, now I really have to get back to work.
*Not her real name.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Summers behaving badly, Part 2
More hijinks of ill-adjusted summer associates!
This story comes from right here in Chicago, from a firm we'll call, oh, Kitten Munch, LLP. Apparently, Kitten Munch hired what they thought was a good and decent fellow from the Univ. of Michigan law school to be one of their many prestigious summer associates. What they didn't know, of course, was that this particular summer had a penchant for getting drunk at firm events and pinching the bottoms of his female co-workers (summers and attorneys alike. He's an equal-opportunity grab-asser). He was promptly fired.
Fired! FIRED! Do you know how incredibly stupid you have to be to get fired from a summer associate job? (Apparently, about this stupid). I mean, even the summers that sent the email from the partner's office didn't get fired, just reprimanded. In the words of one of our attorneys here at Mobius, you have to feel the hot breath of the EEOC on your collar before you fire a summer associate in the middle of the summer.
What an incredible moron. On what planet did he think this might be acceptable? Certainly not on planet sober. And apparently, not on planet Kitten Munch, either. Hasta la vista, idiot. Enjoy defending those criminal charges for assault and sexual misconduct.
I know this was covered at Michigan's seminar on how not to embarrass yourself and your school at your summer associate job, because my office-mate at Mobius is from Mich. law school. And apparently knows the guy. I told the office-mate that as long as he is going to maintain is long locks, he might want to watch his backside around this guy. He could get mistaken for a co-worker.
7/30 UPDATE: read the story on Above the Law, a forum of attorney gossip and ill-repute, here.
This story comes from right here in Chicago, from a firm we'll call, oh, Kitten Munch, LLP. Apparently, Kitten Munch hired what they thought was a good and decent fellow from the Univ. of Michigan law school to be one of their many prestigious summer associates. What they didn't know, of course, was that this particular summer had a penchant for getting drunk at firm events and pinching the bottoms of his female co-workers (summers and attorneys alike. He's an equal-opportunity grab-asser). He was promptly fired.
Fired! FIRED! Do you know how incredibly stupid you have to be to get fired from a summer associate job? (Apparently, about this stupid). I mean, even the summers that sent the email from the partner's office didn't get fired, just reprimanded. In the words of one of our attorneys here at Mobius, you have to feel the hot breath of the EEOC on your collar before you fire a summer associate in the middle of the summer.
What an incredible moron. On what planet did he think this might be acceptable? Certainly not on planet sober. And apparently, not on planet Kitten Munch, either. Hasta la vista, idiot. Enjoy defending those criminal charges for assault and sexual misconduct.
I know this was covered at Michigan's seminar on how not to embarrass yourself and your school at your summer associate job, because my office-mate at Mobius is from Mich. law school. And apparently knows the guy. I told the office-mate that as long as he is going to maintain is long locks, he might want to watch his backside around this guy. He could get mistaken for a co-worker.
7/30 UPDATE: read the story on Above the Law, a forum of attorney gossip and ill-repute, here.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Coffee Break
Darn you, Starbucks Mocha Frappacino blended coffee! Darn you and your frothy and frosty deliciousness!
I have never been a coffee drinker. In fact, I didn't drink coffee at all until college, and then I would only drink it once or twice a year, with dessert. Then in law school, I would occasionally toss in a splash of coffee with my hot chocolate. But nothing serious. All together, it probably wouldn't have amounted to a cup a week.
But now I'm working, and suffering from afternoon lulls. And I'm surrounded by other people experiencing afternoon lulls, and they often invited me out for a quick trip to Fourbucks to perk ourselves back up. And at first, I just went for the 5 minute break, the fresh air, and the company. And then I started grabbing a caramel cider or a hot chocolate to take back with me. But then I tried the mocha frap. And I'm hooked. It turns out that walks to Starbucks are the gateway drug-- you start out just to be cool and hang out with your work buddies, and the next thing you know you're drinking 6 cups of black coffee a day. It's a downward spiral.
I tried to explain my worries to my sister, but she missed the point of the downward spiral and seized on what a ridiculously shi-shi drink my beloved mocha frappacino is. Her words?
And now you know why I always turn to my sister in moments of uncertainty and strife. Her kind words and strong sense of moral code inspire me to achieve my unrealized potential.
At least I don't get the new Raspberry Swirl Mocha Frappacino. Goodness knows she'd come to Chicago and slap me herself.
I have never been a coffee drinker. In fact, I didn't drink coffee at all until college, and then I would only drink it once or twice a year, with dessert. Then in law school, I would occasionally toss in a splash of coffee with my hot chocolate. But nothing serious. All together, it probably wouldn't have amounted to a cup a week.
But now I'm working, and suffering from afternoon lulls. And I'm surrounded by other people experiencing afternoon lulls, and they often invited me out for a quick trip to Fourbucks to perk ourselves back up. And at first, I just went for the 5 minute break, the fresh air, and the company. And then I started grabbing a caramel cider or a hot chocolate to take back with me. But then I tried the mocha frap. And I'm hooked. It turns out that walks to Starbucks are the gateway drug-- you start out just to be cool and hang out with your work buddies, and the next thing you know you're drinking 6 cups of black coffee a day. It's a downward spiral.
I tried to explain my worries to my sister, but she missed the point of the downward spiral and seized on what a ridiculously shi-shi drink my beloved mocha frappacino is. Her words?
"You know, of course, that that is a completely silly urban yuppie drink, right?
And from Fourbucks no less! You're so on your way to becoming Frasier. I mock you for your choice in yuppie beverages. Mock mock mock! If you're feeling sluggish, get yourself a Red Bull or something. And when you finish drinking it, smash the can on your forehead. You obviously are needing a little more macho in your beverage
reputation. Mocha frap indeed! Resume the mocking! :-)"
And now you know why I always turn to my sister in moments of uncertainty and strife. Her kind words and strong sense of moral code inspire me to achieve my unrealized potential.
At least I don't get the new Raspberry Swirl Mocha Frappacino. Goodness knows she'd come to Chicago and slap me herself.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Stay tuned
I'm not ignoring you, I'm just recovering.
On Thursday night of last week, my two closest gal pals, Amanda and Melanie, descended on the city of Chicago for a crazy fun girls' weekend. And crazy fun it was.
I'm going give details (only slightly edited to protect the innocent) as soon as I get my hands on the photo evidence, of which Mel currently has sole custody. In the mean time I'm going to try sleeping again. I remember sleep...
For now, let's just say it was one of the most crazy fun girls' weekends I have ever had.
On Thursday night of last week, my two closest gal pals, Amanda and Melanie, descended on the city of Chicago for a crazy fun girls' weekend. And crazy fun it was.
I'm going give details (only slightly edited to protect the innocent) as soon as I get my hands on the photo evidence, of which Mel currently has sole custody. In the mean time I'm going to try sleeping again. I remember sleep...
For now, let's just say it was one of the most crazy fun girls' weekends I have ever had.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Play it, Sam
Seems it never rains in southern California
Seems I've often heard that kind of talk before.
It never rains in California,
but girl, don't they warn ya?
It pours, man, it pours.
A sad song, really. It's stuck in my head right now. I'm on a sad song kick these days. Another current favorite is Billy Joel's "Through the Long Night." The bridges are beautiful. Oooh, and Simon and Garfunkel's "For Emily, wherever I may find her."
Any favorite sad songs I should add to my iPod?
Seems I've often heard that kind of talk before.
It never rains in California,
but girl, don't they warn ya?
It pours, man, it pours.
A sad song, really. It's stuck in my head right now. I'm on a sad song kick these days. Another current favorite is Billy Joel's "Through the Long Night." The bridges are beautiful. Oooh, and Simon and Garfunkel's "For Emily, wherever I may find her."
Any favorite sad songs I should add to my iPod?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Patto's new 'do
Last weekend, Patto came to visit me in Chicago. Here's a recent picture of Patto:
Anyway, while he was in, he decided that his current hairdo was just too... 'eh', and he wanted to buzz his hair. Now. I find Patto very handsome with his current hair, so I was a little hesitant at this point. But it's his hair and I support his decisions. (I have been telling him this for years, because I knew there would come a day when I would want to do something to my hair that he would not really want me to do, and I want to be able to say to him, "Darling, haven't I always said "it's your hair and I support your decisions?", thus trapping him into supporting mine. Since we're on the subject, that day came in November of 2006 when I bobbed my hair. He hated it from go, but is a tough little trooper. It's now back to shoulder-length, and he has quit whining about it).
But I digress. So Patto decides he wants to buzz his hair, a look he has not sported since the second grade. But I support him. And besides, he is always saying that if he ever starts losing his hair he is just going to man up and shave his head, so now is as good as any to find out if he has an odd-shaped noggin. Forewarned and is forearmed.
So I buzzed his hair. Buzzing a person's hair is some of the most fun I have had not on a segway in weeks. Especially the part where you run the clippers straight back and give him a reverse mohawk. I wish I had gotten a picture of that. But anyway, here is the final product:
Patto with 1/3 inch-long hair and no goatee. Isn't he dreamy?
The biggest difference to me is that I think it makes his face look more round, which is unusual given that Patrick has a rather long face (a horse walks into a bar and the bartender says... oh, nevermind). Anyway, Patrick returned home with his new crew 'do. On the following Monday, Patto reported the following exchange:
Works like a charm.
Patto, July 2007. Isn't he dreamy?
Anyway, while he was in, he decided that his current hairdo was just too... 'eh', and he wanted to buzz his hair. Now. I find Patto very handsome with his current hair, so I was a little hesitant at this point. But it's his hair and I support his decisions. (I have been telling him this for years, because I knew there would come a day when I would want to do something to my hair that he would not really want me to do, and I want to be able to say to him, "Darling, haven't I always said "it's your hair and I support your decisions?", thus trapping him into supporting mine. Since we're on the subject, that day came in November of 2006 when I bobbed my hair. He hated it from go, but is a tough little trooper. It's now back to shoulder-length, and he has quit whining about it).
But I digress. So Patto decides he wants to buzz his hair, a look he has not sported since the second grade. But I support him. And besides, he is always saying that if he ever starts losing his hair he is just going to man up and shave his head, so now is as good as any to find out if he has an odd-shaped noggin. Forewarned and is forearmed.
So I buzzed his hair. Buzzing a person's hair is some of the most fun I have had not on a segway in weeks. Especially the part where you run the clippers straight back and give him a reverse mohawk. I wish I had gotten a picture of that. But anyway, here is the final product:
Patto with 1/3 inch-long hair and no goatee. Isn't he dreamy?
The biggest difference to me is that I think it makes his face look more round, which is unusual given that Patrick has a rather long face (a horse walks into a bar and the bartender says... oh, nevermind). Anyway, Patrick returned home with his new crew 'do. On the following Monday, Patto reported the following exchange:
So, a guy from the admissions office came by today, looked at me quizzically, and said, "Do you usually wear glasses?"So if your significant other wants to do something out of the ordinary with his hair, I say support him! 1), he might stay just as dreamy (or become more so, depending on his current state of dreaminess); 2), he has no one to blame but himself if it is a terrible, terrible mistake (and any clever woman can think of how to use that to her advantage at a later date); and 3), when you want to do something drastic with your hair, you can say, "remember when you wanted to dye your hair purple? Haven't I always said, 'It's your hair and I support your decisions?' Now get to supportin' mine, bucko!"
To which I replied, "no, I usually have hair."
Works like a charm.
Scalia makes me smile
Some of you know that Justice Scalia is my favorite Supreme Court jurist. Many more of you don't care. And yet more of you will gasp in horror because Scalia is your least favorite jurist and you're not sure we can be friends after this. Some of you don't know who Justice Scalia is. See me about this immediately.
Anyway, the reason Scalia is my favorite justice is because he is, in my and all other credible opinions, the most playfully brilliant Justice on the Court. He is witty, he is combatitive, and he writes dissents that inspire you to text your law school buddies messages like "OMG, just rd Scalia dsnt in PGA. ROFL!!!"
Ok, we don't actually text each other messages like that. But you get the idea.
Right now I am reading Scalia Dissents, a collection of his most famous and clever dissents. In addition to being highly informative and great debate-fodder, it's just plain funny in places, especially when he gets into one of his trademark rants. You can identify a true Scalia rant by whether Every Word In A Phrase Is Capitalized or every-word-is-hyphenated. Also be on the look-out for references to historical or literary figures, such as the "Majority's Pollyannish nonsense."
In case it will be a few days before you can run out and read the book yourself, I am including ten of the good Scalia quotes I have come across already. Enjoy!
"Now the Senate is looking for 'moderate' judges, 'mainstream' judges. What is a moderate interpretation of the text? Halfway between what it really means and what you'd like it to mean?"
"“[The Freedom of Information Act is] the Taj Mahal of the Doctrine of Unanticipated Consequences, the Sistine Chapel of Cost-Benefit Analysis Ignored.”
"The Court's statement that it is 'tempting' to acknowledge the authoritativeness of tradition in order to 'curb the discretion of federal judges' is, of course, rhetoric rather than reality; no government official is 'tempted' to place restraints upon his own freedom of action, which is why Lord Acton did not say 'Power tends to purify.'"
"[W]e Justices must confront what is indeed an awesome responsibility. It has been rendered the solemn duty of the Supreme Court of the United States, laid upon it by Congress in pursuance of the Federal Government's power "[t]o regulate Commerce with foreign Nations, and among the several States," to decide "What Is Golf?" I am sure that the Framers of the Constitution, aware of the 1457 edict of King James II of Scotland prohibiting golf because it interfered with the practice of archery, fully expected that sooner or later the paths of golf and government, the law and the links, would once again cross, and that the judges of this August Court would some day have to wrestle with that age-old jurisprudential question, for which their years of study in the law have so well prepared them: Is someone riding around a golf course from shot to shot really a golfer?"
"The Court must be living in another world. Day by day, case by case, it is busy designing a Constitution for a country I do not recognize."
"This Court seems incapable of admitting that some matters - any matters - are none of its business."
"Robert F. Kennedy used to say, 'Some men see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not?'-- [the latter] outlook has become a far too common and destructive approach to interpreting the law."
"Like some ghoul in a late-night horror movie that repeatedly sits up in its grave and shuffles abroad, after being repeatedly killed and buried, Lemon stalks our Establishment Clause jurisprudence once again, frightening the little children and school attorneys of Center Moriches Union Free School District... Over the years, however, no fewer than five of the currently sitting Justices have, in their own opinions, personally driven pencils through the creature's heart (the author of today's opinion repeatedly), and a sixth has joined an opinion doing so. The secret of the Lemon test's survival, I think, is that it is so easy to kill. It is there to scare us (and our audience) when we wish it to do so, but we can command it to return to the tomb at will. Such a docile and useful monster is worth keeping around, at least in a somnolent state; one never knows when one might need him."
"This case, involving legal requirements for the content and labeling of meat products such as frankfurters, affords a rare opportunity to explore simultaneously both parts of Bismarck's aphorism that 'No man should see how laws or sausages are made.'"
"I am persuaded, therefore, that the Maryland procedure is virtually constitutional. Since it is not, however, actually constitutional, I would affirm the judgment of the Maryland Court of Appeals reversing the judgment of conviction."
And a bonus one: "The main business of a lawyer is to take the romance, the mystery, the irony, the ambiguity out of everything he touches."
Anyway, the reason Scalia is my favorite justice is because he is, in my and all other credible opinions, the most playfully brilliant Justice on the Court. He is witty, he is combatitive, and he writes dissents that inspire you to text your law school buddies messages like "OMG, just rd Scalia dsnt in PGA. ROFL!!!"
Ok, we don't actually text each other messages like that. But you get the idea.
Right now I am reading Scalia Dissents, a collection of his most famous and clever dissents. In addition to being highly informative and great debate-fodder, it's just plain funny in places, especially when he gets into one of his trademark rants. You can identify a true Scalia rant by whether Every Word In A Phrase Is Capitalized or every-word-is-hyphenated. Also be on the look-out for references to historical or literary figures, such as the "Majority's Pollyannish nonsense."
In case it will be a few days before you can run out and read the book yourself, I am including ten of the good Scalia quotes I have come across already. Enjoy!
"Now the Senate is looking for 'moderate' judges, 'mainstream' judges. What is a moderate interpretation of the text? Halfway between what it really means and what you'd like it to mean?"
"“[The Freedom of Information Act is] the Taj Mahal of the Doctrine of Unanticipated Consequences, the Sistine Chapel of Cost-Benefit Analysis Ignored.”
"The Court's statement that it is 'tempting' to acknowledge the authoritativeness of tradition in order to 'curb the discretion of federal judges' is, of course, rhetoric rather than reality; no government official is 'tempted' to place restraints upon his own freedom of action, which is why Lord Acton did not say 'Power tends to purify.'"
"[W]e Justices must confront what is indeed an awesome responsibility. It has been rendered the solemn duty of the Supreme Court of the United States, laid upon it by Congress in pursuance of the Federal Government's power "[t]o regulate Commerce with foreign Nations, and among the several States," to decide "What Is Golf?" I am sure that the Framers of the Constitution, aware of the 1457 edict of King James II of Scotland prohibiting golf because it interfered with the practice of archery, fully expected that sooner or later the paths of golf and government, the law and the links, would once again cross, and that the judges of this August Court would some day have to wrestle with that age-old jurisprudential question, for which their years of study in the law have so well prepared them: Is someone riding around a golf course from shot to shot really a golfer?"
"The Court must be living in another world. Day by day, case by case, it is busy designing a Constitution for a country I do not recognize."
"This Court seems incapable of admitting that some matters - any matters - are none of its business."
"Robert F. Kennedy used to say, 'Some men see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not?'-- [the latter] outlook has become a far too common and destructive approach to interpreting the law."
"Like some ghoul in a late-night horror movie that repeatedly sits up in its grave and shuffles abroad, after being repeatedly killed and buried, Lemon stalks our Establishment Clause jurisprudence once again, frightening the little children and school attorneys of Center Moriches Union Free School District... Over the years, however, no fewer than five of the currently sitting Justices have, in their own opinions, personally driven pencils through the creature's heart (the author of today's opinion repeatedly), and a sixth has joined an opinion doing so. The secret of the Lemon test's survival, I think, is that it is so easy to kill. It is there to scare us (and our audience) when we wish it to do so, but we can command it to return to the tomb at will. Such a docile and useful monster is worth keeping around, at least in a somnolent state; one never knows when one might need him."
"This case, involving legal requirements for the content and labeling of meat products such as frankfurters, affords a rare opportunity to explore simultaneously both parts of Bismarck's aphorism that 'No man should see how laws or sausages are made.'"
"I am persuaded, therefore, that the Maryland procedure is virtually constitutional. Since it is not, however, actually constitutional, I would affirm the judgment of the Maryland Court of Appeals reversing the judgment of conviction."
And a bonus one: "The main business of a lawyer is to take the romance, the mystery, the irony, the ambiguity out of everything he touches."
Friday, July 13, 2007
My kind of politics
Slate magazine periodically looks at the Presidential Candidate hopefuls and comments on how they are using their ads and websites to overcome their perceived difficulties in getting and keeping voters.
Here is one about Hillary Clinton trying to overcome her "warmth" problem.
Here is one about Mike Gravel trying to overcome his problem with no one having any idea who he is.
WARNING! Do not attempt to watch these videos while pretending to be hard at work on something. They are far too funny for all that, and you'll just end up hurting yourself. I'm serious. I know what you are thinking- "I'm pretty tough- I'll just watch them with a disinterested eye during this conference call and be fine." This is foolishness! Know your limits!
But go watch them. Right now. Especially the Mike Gravel one. Hilarious.
Here is one about Hillary Clinton trying to overcome her "warmth" problem.
Here is one about Mike Gravel trying to overcome his problem with no one having any idea who he is.
WARNING! Do not attempt to watch these videos while pretending to be hard at work on something. They are far too funny for all that, and you'll just end up hurting yourself. I'm serious. I know what you are thinking- "I'm pretty tough- I'll just watch them with a disinterested eye during this conference call and be fine." This is foolishness! Know your limits!
But go watch them. Right now. Especially the Mike Gravel one. Hilarious.
Ultimate Dorkitude! Engage!
Yesterday I participated in one of the most dorkifying activities possible: Mobius went on a Segway tour around downtown Chicago. That's right. 4 summer associates and 4 attorneys "glided" around Millennium Park for over an hour.
It was oodles and oodles of dorkirrific fun. And I had a blast. It's good to embrace the inner dork.
But first, we watched an incredibly graphic video about all the ways you could kill yourself and others on a segway. The video was mostly live actors, but when they wanted to show you something truly horrific, they would switch to a little cartoon man. Kinda like in Kill Bill. We watched a little cartoon man fall down a flight of stairs; we watched a cartoon man careen into traffic; we watched a cartoon man crack his head open on the sidewalk in about 6 different ways. Then it was time to ride our very own segways!
It was oodles and oodles of dorkirrific fun. And I had a blast. It's good to embrace the inner dork.
But first, we watched an incredibly graphic video about all the ways you could kill yourself and others on a segway. The video was mostly live actors, but when they wanted to show you something truly horrific, they would switch to a little cartoon man. Kinda like in Kill Bill. We watched a little cartoon man fall down a flight of stairs; we watched a cartoon man careen into traffic; we watched a cartoon man crack his head open on the sidewalk in about 6 different ways. Then it was time to ride our very own segways!
Here is me getting used to my segway - or potential vehicle of death.
I took to my segway very quickly, but tried not to get cocky. The cartoon man had broken every bone in his body when he got cocky. The group of us and our tour guides did a little practice gliding around a park, and then we headed off to see Chicago. It occurred to me as we started off that the video did not show you how to flee the mobs of cool kids that are sure to beat you up and take your lunch money for being seen on a segway.
On the Tour
Sometime along the way we passed a segway tour hosted by a different tour company. Their gliders were forced to wear bright orange safety vests in addition to the helmets. We called them geeks as we glided by.
All in all, it was a lovely day to glide around Chicago, and no one was mangled beyond recognition. We were all rewarded with farmer's tans and rubber legs when we were finally forced off of our segways back at headquarters. I assume the ensuing rubber legs is why segways haven't really caught on in America. Oh, that and the supreme dorkacy of it all. Anyway, if you ever have a spare day in Chicago, I recommend the segway tour. Just stay away from the company that makes you wear the hunting vests. It gives your position away to the cool kids.
Me and my segway. And some globe.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Temptation Update
Apparently, I am not the only Mobius summer to commit snack-sneaking. Just today two other summers confessed that they went out on a muffin mission when breakfast had not been cleared by 11:45am.
And these are the good summers! Of the (mostly) well-behaved variety! I bet they never wreaked havoc on their 4th grade classmates.
I'm not saying it makes a difference. I'm just saying that perhaps the breakfast should be sharing a little blame here. After all, how many people will it corrupt before we start judging its motives?
And these are the good summers! Of the (mostly) well-behaved variety! I bet they never wreaked havoc on their 4th grade classmates.
I'm not saying it makes a difference. I'm just saying that perhaps the breakfast should be sharing a little blame here. After all, how many people will it corrupt before we start judging its motives?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Temptation
For the past week and a half or so, Mobius has been hosting a group of people doing something or other all day in one of our conference rooms. What they are doing has nothing to do with me, although rumor has it they are trying to work out a settlement. What catches my attention is that the firm is providing food for these people. Heaps and heaps of food for only 8 or 9 people. They can't possibly eat all of the bagels and muffins and sandwiches and brownies and fruit that is layed out for them three times a day. And they don't. Which is where the temptations start.
See, the food is all layed out nice and pretty about 9 am each morning. The group of random settlement-lovin' folk show up, eat about a quarter of the food, and then retire to a conference room out of sight of the lovely heaps of breakfast. The food just sits there, abandoned, until it is cleared away by our hospitality folk around 11 so that they can lay out lunch. The first couple of days this happened, several of the attorneys and secretaries popped by and took a remaining bagel or muffin before it was cleared away from lunch. I was among them. Free muffin! Ok!
But it was not ok. The entire firm was issued an admonishment by an HR person that this food was for the folks slaving away and conferencing, and that we were not to touch it until it was removed and put out in the 5th floor conference room where it would become fair game. I believe this was mostly prompted by the people on the 5th floor, who are jealous of those of us lucky enough to be quartered on the same floor with the snacks. Anyway, we are now supposed to wait until an email is issued that the food has been removed from our floor and placed on the 5th floor. This means that no one on the 6th floor will get the food, because the 5th floorers have loyal secretaries that will hunt down the food for them before an email is ever issued. And in fact, no email has ever been issued telling us the food is now fair game. For all we know, the food just disappears.
Le whine.
So, every day I am tempted. As the clock draws near to 11am, I am torn between waiting for an imaginary email that won't come to alert me to free food or just grabbing a darn muffin on my way by, knowing it is minutes away from being carted off. This is compounded by my very hungry tummy. The tummy almost always comes down on the side of just grabbing a muffin. After all, the purpose of the "rule" was to make sure that the conference room people got their fill before we got to the food. But obviously the people are finished, as lunch is about to be layed out. On the other hand, there is the small matter of having been told not to eat it before it goes downstairs. And the tummy. Can't forget the tummy.
Which to obey? The letter of the law or the spirit of it?
See, the food is all layed out nice and pretty about 9 am each morning. The group of random settlement-lovin' folk show up, eat about a quarter of the food, and then retire to a conference room out of sight of the lovely heaps of breakfast. The food just sits there, abandoned, until it is cleared away by our hospitality folk around 11 so that they can lay out lunch. The first couple of days this happened, several of the attorneys and secretaries popped by and took a remaining bagel or muffin before it was cleared away from lunch. I was among them. Free muffin! Ok!
But it was not ok. The entire firm was issued an admonishment by an HR person that this food was for the folks slaving away and conferencing, and that we were not to touch it until it was removed and put out in the 5th floor conference room where it would become fair game. I believe this was mostly prompted by the people on the 5th floor, who are jealous of those of us lucky enough to be quartered on the same floor with the snacks. Anyway, we are now supposed to wait until an email is issued that the food has been removed from our floor and placed on the 5th floor. This means that no one on the 6th floor will get the food, because the 5th floorers have loyal secretaries that will hunt down the food for them before an email is ever issued. And in fact, no email has ever been issued telling us the food is now fair game. For all we know, the food just disappears.
Le whine.
So, every day I am tempted. As the clock draws near to 11am, I am torn between waiting for an imaginary email that won't come to alert me to free food or just grabbing a darn muffin on my way by, knowing it is minutes away from being carted off. This is compounded by my very hungry tummy. The tummy almost always comes down on the side of just grabbing a muffin. After all, the purpose of the "rule" was to make sure that the conference room people got their fill before we got to the food. But obviously the people are finished, as lunch is about to be layed out. On the other hand, there is the small matter of having been told not to eat it before it goes downstairs. And the tummy. Can't forget the tummy.
Which to obey? The letter of the law or the spirit of it?
Saturday, July 07, 2007
The New View
I have been trying to get these pictures up forever, but the Internet connection from my apartment is nonexistent. So. Pretend I just moved to Chicago last week instead of 6 weeks ago.
This is the view from my new Chicago apartment on a clear day. As for right now, a summer storm has just passed, and out over the water there is a double rainbow. A tugboat is heading out between the arches. The late afternoon sun is out behind my building, and everything below sparkles, having been freshly washed. I tried to get a picture, but nothing does it justice. It's a beautiful city from where I sit.
More Apt Quirks coming soon, including a pic of the mannequin in the corner.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Boys and their fantasies
I hear a lot that women fantasize more than men do. I hear this is why the romance novel industry is a multi-billion industry, because women just love to fantasize. Well, this might be true in matters of romance (although I want to see some numbers on that), but I can tell you that in my vast experience of talking to men, on the whole, men fantasize much more than women. As in constantly. And not about what you might think.
The following is part of an actual email I received from one of my closest male friends, who was bored while trying to study for the bar, and let his mind begin to wander:
"I'm in Russia post-bar. Maybe a ship. Maybe stormy. I prevent some devious and dangerous crime. Months later in Chicago. Having dinner w/ firm folks. Attacked by Russian types. Big Bear of a dude. We show down. Many possibilities here, but final: I defend myself a little, a little impressively, but clearly will lose. Then intervention by other Russians. In charge is beautiful russian woman. Sort of modeled on the russian fighter girl from Street Fighter (though maybe w/out communist beret...). Somehow we have a past. Maybe on the boat. But there's still electricity.
Phew! Got me through this morning..."
...
Ok. Let me clarify for you, because it took a few emails back and forth for the entire thing to become clear (although it never made it to the point of realistic). My otherwise normal friend spent the morning daydreaming about protecting Russians from some devious crime on a boat and perhaps developing some chemistry with a woman who looks about like this, after which, the spurned criminals hunted him down in Chicago and were about to mangle him (despite his impressive efforts of fending them off) when said beautiful woman and her posse of Russian protectors arrived and saved the day, presumably by beating the snot out of the criminal Russians. He and Russian woman fall into one another's arms. Perhaps they go for cocktails and he regales her with his latest musings on Hegel. Whatever. I have one thing to say to this:
Right.
You may be thinking to yourself, "why would her friend even tell her about this?" Well, in fact, he began the email by saying "you would appreciate this." Why would I appreciate this? Because I married the King of fantasizers.
Oh yes. There isn't an idle moment when Patto is not inventing scenes of attacking marauders and his ensuing and heroic intervention. These episodes occur most frequently on the train. Patto will start staring off into space, and perhaps begin to squeeze my hand uncomfortably. I wriggle free and he looks up all sheepish. "What?" I say. And then he is explaining how he was imagining if the guy at the end of the train suddenly jumped up and pulled a knife on us how he would block like this (quick demonstration) and then would jump up and swing around the balance pole (I imagine like a stripper - but I don't think that's what he had in mind) and kick the guy in the chest, but then what if the guy jumped up and a bunch of his friends ran to help him? (What is it with guys and gangs of criminals?) THEN he would grab the closest one and throw him like this, and then trip the second one over the first one's body, and then hold him in this kind of choke hold and force the others to call the police on themselves or he would snap the hostage like a twig! And then....
You get the idea.
So let them say that women are always fantasizing. Just know that the next time your brother/friend/husband seems to have zoned out, he is probably dueling an escaped and psychopathic criminal pirate, who is attempting to derail a large passenger train loaded with rare medicine and bound for a small and impoverished village in Africa, (oh! and the conductor is a beautiful and intelligent woman who's father is the CEO of WorldBank!), and the only way to stop the crazed pirate is to hop a runaway stagecoach and set a trap involving Algerian bulls (the natural enemy of pirates) and then beat him in a battle of wits! And then...
You get the idea.
The following is part of an actual email I received from one of my closest male friends, who was bored while trying to study for the bar, and let his mind begin to wander:
"I'm in Russia post-bar. Maybe a ship. Maybe stormy. I prevent some devious and dangerous crime. Months later in Chicago. Having dinner w/ firm folks. Attacked by Russian types. Big Bear of a dude. We show down. Many possibilities here, but final: I defend myself a little, a little impressively, but clearly will lose. Then intervention by other Russians. In charge is beautiful russian woman. Sort of modeled on the russian fighter girl from Street Fighter (though maybe w/out communist beret...). Somehow we have a past. Maybe on the boat. But there's still electricity.
Phew! Got me through this morning..."
...
Ok. Let me clarify for you, because it took a few emails back and forth for the entire thing to become clear (although it never made it to the point of realistic). My otherwise normal friend spent the morning daydreaming about protecting Russians from some devious crime on a boat and perhaps developing some chemistry with a woman who looks about like this, after which, the spurned criminals hunted him down in Chicago and were about to mangle him (despite his impressive efforts of fending them off) when said beautiful woman and her posse of Russian protectors arrived and saved the day, presumably by beating the snot out of the criminal Russians. He and Russian woman fall into one another's arms. Perhaps they go for cocktails and he regales her with his latest musings on Hegel. Whatever. I have one thing to say to this:
Right.
You may be thinking to yourself, "why would her friend even tell her about this?" Well, in fact, he began the email by saying "you would appreciate this." Why would I appreciate this? Because I married the King of fantasizers.
Oh yes. There isn't an idle moment when Patto is not inventing scenes of attacking marauders and his ensuing and heroic intervention. These episodes occur most frequently on the train. Patto will start staring off into space, and perhaps begin to squeeze my hand uncomfortably. I wriggle free and he looks up all sheepish. "What?" I say. And then he is explaining how he was imagining if the guy at the end of the train suddenly jumped up and pulled a knife on us how he would block like this (quick demonstration) and then would jump up and swing around the balance pole (I imagine like a stripper - but I don't think that's what he had in mind) and kick the guy in the chest, but then what if the guy jumped up and a bunch of his friends ran to help him? (What is it with guys and gangs of criminals?) THEN he would grab the closest one and throw him like this, and then trip the second one over the first one's body, and then hold him in this kind of choke hold and force the others to call the police on themselves or he would snap the hostage like a twig! And then....
You get the idea.
So let them say that women are always fantasizing. Just know that the next time your brother/friend/husband seems to have zoned out, he is probably dueling an escaped and psychopathic criminal pirate, who is attempting to derail a large passenger train loaded with rare medicine and bound for a small and impoverished village in Africa, (oh! and the conductor is a beautiful and intelligent woman who's father is the CEO of WorldBank!), and the only way to stop the crazed pirate is to hop a runaway stagecoach and set a trap involving Algerian bulls (the natural enemy of pirates) and then beat him in a battle of wits! And then...
You get the idea.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Dad Dives On
Not to be outdone by Volunteer 8 news or the Knoxville Sentinel, Knoxville's Channel 10 picked up the story of my gold-winning dad and how he just won't quit competitive diving. This one focuses a little more on his injuries than the Volunteer 8 story, but I guess they thought that the "incredible inspiration not to give up on your dreams" angle had been adequately covered. Read the news story here, and watch the video (that's my dad!) here.
I am so proud of him. I wish I could walk around downtown with my laptop showing strangers the news clips and saying "that's my dad!" But the last time I did that the cop told me to move along. So.
Go watch the video!
I am so proud of him. I wish I could walk around downtown with my laptop showing strangers the news clips and saying "that's my dad!" But the last time I did that the cop told me to move along. So.
Go watch the video!
Monday, July 02, 2007
Baby Beavers Video
Perhaps you have seen my sister's post about the baby beavers being born at the knoxville zoo. I stumbled across a video here, so if you love you some baby beavers (or kits, as they are known by people in the know), go check it out.
Losing it
Last week, I was really, really tired. I'm not sure why, as I was getting a full night's sleep each night and certainly wasn't exerting myself at the gym. But anyway, by Friday morning, I was very tired and in need of a weekend.
And Sunday morning, as I decided to pour myself a big glass of milk, I opened the cabinet to retrieve said glass and found my carton of milk, neatly shelved among the glassware, where it had been sitting since Friday morning.
The scary thing was that as I stared with great confusion at my carton of milk in the pantry, one of my first thoughts was, "can it be saved?"
But of course it cannot be saved, not 48 hours later. So with heavy heart and empty glass I poured a 3/4 full quart of milk down the drain.
Happily, I haven't misplaced any perishables today (I don't think). But the day is young and I am ambitious.
And Sunday morning, as I decided to pour myself a big glass of milk, I opened the cabinet to retrieve said glass and found my carton of milk, neatly shelved among the glassware, where it had been sitting since Friday morning.
The scary thing was that as I stared with great confusion at my carton of milk in the pantry, one of my first thoughts was, "can it be saved?"
But of course it cannot be saved, not 48 hours later. So with heavy heart and empty glass I poured a 3/4 full quart of milk down the drain.
Happily, I haven't misplaced any perishables today (I don't think). But the day is young and I am ambitious.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Summers behaving badly
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.
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.
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?
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