Maybe not the funniest of the series, but I liked it and felt I better show some love before the server starts recognizing t’s authority and I really and truly lose the blog forever…

a : /me puts on rite of spring because he feels like rioting
k : heh
k : noice
a : man, that would have been a sight to see dudes in the audience swinging chairs at others in full tux action
a : proper ladies in evening wear pulling hair
k : haha
a : you know what’s funny too
a : it’s from like 1915 or so..
a : and people were outranged at the atonality, rhythm, and pelvic movements..
a : now that stuff is common place in mainstream music..
k : oh pelvic movements
12:10 PM
a : and as for the pelvis.. every rap video ever, anyone?
k : yes, i should think that “p poppin’” wouldve been so far across the line it wouldn’t even have registered
k : everyone’s head asplode
a : It would have registerd as normal..
a : like atari
a : it was so far out there it would have come back on the other side
k : just like pink goths
a : Hahaha
a : Pink is totally goth!
k : it’s ULTRA goth
a : hah.. It’s so goth it hurts!
a : heh
k : all goth hurts
k : or it’s not goth
a : hahah
a : you win.

When it comes to goths, I’d like to think we all win.

r : there have been some good commercials this afternoon
r : the nfl.com one where the guy is predicting what the player is saying
r : and the southwest commercial with the wii
k : yeah, i like those
k : unf. every one of those is offset by 1000000000 Nissan Titan or wang-pill commercials
r : they should cut to the chase and call one of those pills “wang magic”
k : yeah
k : Wang Magic ®
k : (pills may contain Unicorn horn, Dragon testicles, or SirenVoice®)
k : Potential side effects may include temporary invisibility, demonic possession, unintentional enslavement of sexual partners or the ethereal creation of sex golems.
k : also headaches, nerve pain and bleeding from the eyes
k : If you are currently taking Witches Brew, or any other mystical or occult potion, tincture or poultice, please consult your doctor and Magician/Warlock/Fairy Advisor due to potentially life threatening magical interactions including, but not limited to, loss or destruction of your immortal soul.
r : jesus dude
r : that was some commitment

I try.

You and your wife are about to pull away from the whole foods parking lot when a tall mid-40’s man leaves the bags he’s loading into his car to flag you down. When you roll down the window, with a big smile he says to you “All of the happily married couples I know are with women from foreign countries!”
How do you respond?

All B and I could do was laugh uneasily say “uhh thanks?” and drive off. I have no idea? Is this something like reverse racism? How did he know we were married? For that matter, how did he know she was from a foreign country?

For that matter, why did this guy feel so compelled as to quit loading his groceries, walk over to us and flag us down to say that?

Sometimes I like to read while sitting down on the toilet. I admit it. I know it sounds bad, but I at least try to only read materials that will remain in my possession to cut down on the nasty factor…

I do this at home, and I do this at work. Sometimes the change of scenery is nice, and it tends to help keep me awake if I have a lot to read that day. This morning, I was sitting in a bathroom stall reading, and a man walked into the bathroom. He went directly to one of the stand up urinals, and he began to urinate. I am not sure if he even knew if I was in the bathroom. While the man was urinating, he just started letting farts fly as loud as he possibly could, and this made we wonder. What is the proper etiquette in this situation? I know it is a bathroom, and I know that this behavior would be perfectly acceptable if he was sitting down on a toilet, but is this an acceptable action if he is standing up to urinate with no intent to dispose of solid waste?

—————

Late addition – I was in the bathroom again. How do people look at you straight in the eye as they walk out without washing their hands? Shouldn’t they at least play the game by running some water?

In a three week span in December, I gained 28 pounds. Yes, I know that 28 pounds is a huge number…even unbelievable. Yes, I realize that some of that was because I had lost some weight during finals, so I naturally gained some of that back quickly. Yes, some of the weight was probably “water weight”, whatever that is. Yes, I did use different scales at different times of the day. However, I did gain a lot of weight…I can prove it. I have lost most of the weight in the months since then, but I have not lost the stretch marks on my hips that occurred during that fateful three week time span…

In hindsight, I should have spent my entire school break soaking in a vat of Jergens in order to avoid these permanent marks of disfigurement…Who will love me now???

I would love to get your opinions on this recent cover model on a local free magazine called Bar Stool Sports. The link to this week’s issue is here.

It is also being picked up on a law blog here.

Wine analogies for Irvine Welch’s Trainspotting/Porno characters. This is more about the novels than the movie, although true about both to an extent.

Sick Boy (the handsome guy, I forget which actor):
Cabernet Sauvignon. Great depth, a complex and rewarding experience. Best of the lot.

Renton (Ewan McGregor’s character):
Merlot. Both are very well known and highly rated by very many, but not particularly dynamic.

Begbie (the psycho):
Cabernet Franc. Possibly the single most stimulating element, but too much stimulation causes a numbing effect. The quotient should be limited to roughly 3 to 10% of the blend.

Spud (the stuttery guy with big glasses):
White wine. Both have a fair enough raison d’etre in the abstract, but neither belongs in the first person. They get wack very quickly, if not immediately.

Additions to the list are welcome.

k:shit, i can’t do much with this pending work
k:so saq
r:yes, saqueria del balls
k: haha
k: that’s a new one, astonishingly enough
r: what can i say, i’m a trailblazer
k: how did that never get created before
r: seriouslyu
r: in a stroke of genius
k: you said stroke
r: indeed.

speaking truth to what-feels-like my 2347832764rd hour in the office:

Ben Johnson III, the managing partner of Alston & Bird, tells a story about being a young partner at the firm in the early 1970s.

He was sitting in on an interview between then-senior partner Philip Alston, Jr., and a second-year law student. The student said, “It must be really exciting to practice law here.” Alston would have none of it: “No, it’s not. Lawyers are paid to do things too tedious for anyone else to do.”

i’ve often argued that we are hired to take care of a specific kind of minutia that the rest of the business world can’t be bothered to figure out. when you feel good about it, it’s called ’specialization.’ when it is deadly boring, you call it tedium.

k: why does life have to be confounding in such silly ways
r: because it knows you like it
k: oh yes
k: i’m fucking ecstatic all the time
k: people say that about me
r: totally
r: they say “k is such a joyous fellow”
k: “wow” they say, “that k is just ecstatic, pretty much all the time.”
k: “i wonder what makes everything seem so awesome to him.”
k: my coworkers introduce me that way, in fact, in meetings
k: “this is k, he’s just ecstatic to meet you”
r: “This is k, he’s not just a member of the optimist club, he’s the founder.”
k: “I assure you, he does not hate you, or the world, or everything in it, not even in the morning.”
r: “in fact, he just got in from his morning run, when he mentioned how much he loved everyone and everything he ran past this morning”
k: “especial note was made of his total lack of murderous impulses.”

I’m sorry it’s been a while since I wrote anything for you guys, but I am super swamped at work, riding high on oh, let’s round it off to about 4 cups of coffee, and I just don’t have time for any meaningful, thought-provoking stuff. So instead, you get a story.

So I have this doll, Zhazhee. She has a cloth body and plastic arms and legs and a plastic head with blue eyes that blink when you turn her upside down. She was the first doll I ever had, I still have her, she sits on my dresser with her wobbly plastic head that now droops a little bit and her eyes are always half shut because her cloth body isn’t as strong as it used to be and doesn’t provide as much support. There are pictures of me lying next to her before I could sit up, sitting next to her before I could stand, standing and holding her before I could walk, and walking with her in the backyard of my first house on Kenilworth Avenue, the one I don’t remember. When I was three, I brought her with me to the doctor’s office to keep me company when I got a booster shot. But then I forgot her, left her at the doctor’s by accident, and my mom says I cried all night long and couldn’t sleep and she had to take me back to the doctor’s at 7 am the next morning, the moment the office opened, and she was worried that the doll would be gone and I’d just keep crying and never stop. But Zhazhee was there, sitting on top of their file cabinet, waiting for me.

So one day when Paul and I first started dating, we were over at my dad’s house and my dad started telling stories about me when I was little. He asked if I’d told Paul about Zhazhee and I said no, I had not, because what self-respecting 19-year-old girl tells her new boyfriend about her first babydoll? So then my dad told a few Zhazhee stories, including the one about the doctor’s office. I started telling him stories too, and I mentioned that when Zhazhee got hurt, which well-loved toys tend to do, my parents used to take her to this place called The Doll Hospital and she’d get fixed up.

“It was amazing,” I said, “she’d have a huge gash on her leg or her stuffing would have fallen out, and off she’d go for a week and then she’d come back and be good as new”

“Do you still have Zhazhee?” Paul asked, “I want to see.”

So I ran into the other room and grabbed her off my bed and handed him to her proudly – I was showing Paul one of the things I loved most in the world, sharing a part of who I was, amazed that he seemed genuinely interested – and suddenly Paul started laughing. Laughing and laughing and he couldn’t stop. My father was staring at him with this weird look on his face and I didn’t know what was going on.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” said my father, “Nothing at all.”

Paul stifled his laughter, held it for a couple beats, and then just suddenly burst out with “THAT ISN’T THE REAL ZHAZHEE!”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean?”
“THERE WAS NO DOLL HOSPITAL! YOUR PARENTS JUST THREW OUT THE OLD DOLL AND BOUGHT YOU A NEW ONE!”

As it turns out, my father, who did not know Paul well enough yet to know that he cannot keep a secret, any secret, no matter what it is, had leaned over to Paul while I was out of the room and told him the truth. But he had never told me.

And that was how he crushed my childhood with one sentence.

Now I like to use the Zhazhee story for leverage when we argue.

“You forgot to call me back,” Paul will say, “I waited all night for your call.”
“Yeah, well you crushed my childhood,” I’ll tell him.

Sometimes he brings it up as proof that I am probably wrong.

“I’m telling you, the US government really did try to kill Castro. I learned it in school.”
“Oh really?” Paul will ask, “is that where you learned about The Doll Hospital too?”

Apparently, having on two fans all day every day doesn’t drive up the
electricity bill nearly as much as using AC. April was mostly pretty hot. But our bill for the monthof april (and last day of March and first 3 days of May) was $34.59… That’s 10+ meals cooked per week, two fans, zero air-conditioning, two large primates engaged in studying, netstroking, and watching tv. I can’t recommend Honeywell jet-looking fans enough.

Occasionally, a day proceeds in a much more pleasant way than our morning-selves assume that it will. Having woken up stiff and with a nasty headache — the lately unavoidable result of overindulging in Dalwhinnie of an evening — I felt it to be rather likely that I might find today something of a chore.

Reading my morning news over a bowl of cereal didn’t help, and even a hot shower achieved only minimal results. I’m coming to understand what all those adults have meant over the years when complaining about “getting old” and “do it while you can”. In the medium term, it’s not that you can’t do the things you once did, but that you no longer want to… the repercussions are harsher, and continue to become more so. Alas, I may have to impose limitations on my intake of whisky, much as I have already imposed strict limitations on soju (or, as I’ve come to think of it, The Liar, after the degree to which it misrepresents its own destructive power).

After reluctantly putting on clothes to reinforce my humanity, I figured a little walk and some real food might do me some good. It’s unbelievably gorgeous outside today… a result, I suppose, of the storm season, and the mild weather that traps itself between successive waves of thunder and miserable rain. A breezy and slightly overcast 70-ish degrees is enough to put me over the top into “giddy” when I’m feeling well, but it helps even on days when I feel stretched out, or beat down or stupid.

I strolled a block over to the new “Thai and Vietnamese” restaurant that just opened because my mid-hangover cravings pretty much always fall into the category of rich, salty, and sometimes oily. I don’t know the physiological reasons for all those, but I know it’s true, and I try to do what my body tells me. I like Saigon Cafe because the food’s quite good, prices reasonable, and it’s got outdoor seating.

An aside : The guy sitting across from me in the patio area was doing some sort of clever twist with his chopsticks to get the noodles in his Pho to wrap around and stay attached to them. Since our usual Pho spot uses those long, slick, plastic chopsticks, I have some kind of trouble grasping slippery noodles… perhaps I need to experiment to find that dude’s method. The guy was otherwise of questionable culinary interest, as he hadn’t even put basil in his broth. Blasphemy!

I’ve become a great fan of the combination of steamed rice, sweet/salty pork, and egg recently, so I got the bbq pork rice dish with a fried egg on the side. It’s not so different from a semi-regular weekend breakfast dish I make, which is rice with a few strips of crumbled bacon and an egg over the whole business. The egg yolk gets all up in the rice and is rich and sticky and wonderful, and offsets the pork. By the end of the meal, I was feeling great, and glad I made the choices I did (subsequent to the scotch related decisions last night, that is).

On the way back I walked past the pool area to collect my mail and could not help but laugh at the collection of people therein. My apartment complex is about two stones throws away from Emory, so there are quite a lot of undergrads up in here. Thus, the poolside crew fit that description as well, though oddly, it was all guys. Oddly, because a lot of very noticeable girls live here too, so I guess I kinda figured they’d be invited. Anyway, that’s not the funny part. The funny part is that these dudes’ radio was blaring “I want it that way” by the Backstreet Boys, with no apparent chagrin. At best, this makes those guys tremendously lazy and poor planners (I know one of those guys has an iPod) and at worst demonstrates really awful taste in music.

Anyway, now I’m vegetating on the couch, feeling like today might not be a total loss, and thinking about what I ought to accomplish now that I’ve got the proper state of mind and body to do so.

an actual conversation that just occurred between m and i:

m: i can’t get through to [friend]
r: huh
m: it just keeps ringing, but no voicemail
r: …
m: i wonder if she is dialing up
r: what?
m: i wonder if [friend] is dialing up
r: what is dialing up? (no sarcasm or g-mode)
m: …
m: dialing up? like with a computer?
r: oh. wow. i haven’t “dialed up” in like ten years

let me let you in on the automotive battle royale that has been going on in my head. this is a personal hell of mine, both petty in importance* and yet troubling due to my vast love of vehicular masses. the problem is summed up in the unified one-car vs. two-car theory .

basically, here is the issue. where m and i live, you pay for parking. a lot. you pay at every restaurant you go to, you pay at most of the stores you go to, you pay a monthly fee at your office and even at your home. a monthly fee to have a car at your home.

to date, m and i have subscribed to the two-car theory (e.g., we pay for two parking spots). as much a legacy of our previous southern life, we have two older cars (circa 96 and 98), albeit both paid off. my car is obnoxiously difficult to deal with, as it has seen a tough 140k miles and is starting to have the problems incident to seeing that much pavement.

as a result, i want a new car. something fun. however, i see the day-to-day absurdity of having two cars in a city where i take mass transit every day. therein lies the rub.

so the two-car vs. one-car theory is simple: if you have two cars, you can have one sporty and one practical. but that is wasteful. if you have one car, it must be *both* sporty and practical. so, how do we find that one car?

so the car must be a coupe (that’s the attractive part– four doors are so….standard), sporty, yet seat four *adults* comfortably (that’s the practical part). there are very few choices in this class of vehicles:

* Infiniti G35 Coupe: not unless your passengers are 4 feet tall.
* Audi A4/S4 Cabrio: technically two-doors, but still looks like a passenger car.
* Pontiac G6 Coupe/Convertible: one of the few true four-seater coupes out there, but it easily wins the American Flag award: great curves, but the most boring face in its class.
* Scion tc: truly great body design– looks like a lexus/merc, but what am I, an eighteen-year-old speed racer?
* Acura RSX: ditto.
* Volkswagon Beetle: already got one.
* Anything Mercedes: price/image.

this all leaves, of course, the BMW 3-series. while i love how they drive, i just can’t face being identified with BMWs. it seems that every person of questionable aesthetic i knew in undergrad and law school drove a 3-series. ugh.

so am i forgetting anything? am i doomed to make the decision between (mind you, material) happiness and waste? your thoughts are welcome.

* i know this conversation is probably fairly absurd to t (as a person who detests cars), but vehicle body aesthetics and driving dynamics are as interesting to me as food, music, the law, etc.