Day 7

Day 7--A Photo That Makes You Happy



PLAYOFFS!!!!

Also, these pictures of DC covered in snow are pretty cool.

Day 6--Tickling

Day 6--Whatever Tickles Your Fancy

I suppose this means I can write whatever I want. However, I am exhausted from the holidays, so how about a short list. In no particular order, my christmas gift haul (bear in mind, I had to transport gifts from Chicago to DC on only two small carry-ons):

1. Hockey Gloves
2. Three seasons of the Simpsons
3. Madden for Wii
4. Wii Remote
5. Small John Deere farming machinery (like Hot Wheels size. From my mom because I am addicted to Farmville)
6. Lego Indiana Jones for Wii
7. Cubs Pez dispenser
8. Three books: The Black Swan; Superfreakonomics; and Traffic: Why we drive the way we do
9. Zebrahead--Panty Raid
10. Lawyer Jokes Calendar
11. An old thyme hat. Kind of like a tam o'shanter, but I am not sure what is really called. (Used to be my Grandpa's)

Hope everyone had a great holiday. Back to the grind tomorrow.

Day 5--Favorite Quote

Hey look at this, five for five! I am impressed with myself. However, these posts are getting noticably shorter and shorter. I am gonna blame Christmas and the NHL's condensed schedule. I fly back to DC tomorrow, then it is work on Monday, so hopefully, this ship will get rolling again. For now, it is merely:

Day 5--Your Favorite Quote

All sunshine makes a desert

My girlfriend is not a very big fan of this quote but that is OK. You know why? Its because all sunshine makes a desert.

Day 4--Favorite Book

Short and sweet for a Very Merry Christmas:

Day 4--Your Favorite Book:

Day 3--Favorite TV Show

Here we go again. Remember that post yesterday? Well you probably read it today because I made a post two days ago as well and I am sure you figured that there would be nothing new here for at least a month; But you were WRONG!! In yesterday's post I stated the uncontroverted fact that 3% of my DVDs are movies. In today's installment, we learn how the other 97% roll . . .



Day 3--Your Favorite TV Show



Alright, let's rehash what we know. First, many of my DVDs are of the TV variety. Second, this flies in the face of the message intended by my favorite song.

We can breakdown this TV show thing by listing off what it is I own. For the most part, it falls under six television shows. Two can be voted off the island from the outset:

Firefly--Holy hell, do I love this show. Not only that, the girlfriend loves it too (it was our first television related bonding experience. Also, for some holiday, I got a card that would record 30 seconds and I sang a portion of the theme song in that way that only I can pull off (i.e. the singing sucks, but it is cute as hell)). However, the show only lasted 14 episodes, and thus cannot compete with a show has lasted at least 20 seasons.

Smallville--I love ya Smallville, but too Monster of the weeky, and well, I haven't watched a new episode in the last two seasons and I only own the first five (first four are great though, well, 2-4 is great). Eventually I will buy the rest, but repeat viewings are not very high.

That narrows the field down to four. Two dramas and two half hour comedies. One from each category has to be cut. There is no turning back. This is the final destination for two of these shows. The last hurrah, the last turkey in the pie hole, the final nail in the coffin (don't you hate those reality shows that have an hour to fill, but only fifteen minutes worth of material so they spend a bunch of time building up to nothing, going out to commercial saying "What will happen" and recapping the scenario, then coming back from commercial saying "What will happen" and recapping the scenario, infusing with 2 minutes of new material, then wash, rinse, and repeat? It annoys the fuck out of me. And yes, I am looking at you Hell's Kitchen. Arrghhh, it makes me so mad.) But anyway, as I was saying, we have already eliminated two of the top six television shows. Which remaining show will make a fatal mistake. The answer . . . . after this brief message:




Angel--I love this show, but it is a spin-off, and therefore, not as great. OK, it might be better than Buffy, but ummm, move along please. I would like to note, that I have watched the last two episodes of this series more than I have ever watched another single television program. That is worth noting.

Arrested Development--It came down to a simple question. At its best, was AD funnier than The Simpsons at its best. Simple question. Simple answer.

TV TIMEOUT FOOL!




So, as you have you guessed, that leaves Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Simpsons. And to be honest, I am trying to pick a top show, but

I can't decide, can't decide. Brain aneurysm!




the below version is sweet, yet lacks the line. Anyway, I am not deciding. Because both shows rock.

Day 2--Favorite Movie

When we last checked in with crazy Daaaaazzze Meme I was lamenting the fact that I had to pick a favorite song. And, as Gladwellians are want to do, I just went with the Tipping Point for myself and used some anecdotal evidence. 'Cause who needs the scientific method right? Well, for this day, we are about to get all mathematical. Strap yourselves in kids, because now it is:

Day 2--Your Favorite Movie

These days, movies are cheap. So long as you do not go to a theater. A DVD ranges between 10 and 20 bucks. You can sign up for Netflix and watch something like 800 movies a month for 15 cents. So it stands to reason that one should own one's favorite movie. Its not like you have to hire two unionized projectionists to run your home movie theater. Everyone has a DVD player by now. If one can access the internet, they likely have computer of some sort or even a gaming system which can play DVDs (except for the Wii, damn Wii). Additionally, through the magic of the internet one can download a shit ton of 1's and 0's which eventually form into moving pictures with sound which may or may not resemble copyrighted works.

So, those are the facts of the world we live in. And remember, my hypothesis is that everyone owns, in some way shape or form, be it legal or illegal, one's favorite movie.

I own approximately 175 individual DVDs. Of those, 5 are movies (more on this tomorrow, which will be obvious when you see tomorrow's topic--"brag more about the number of DVDs you own even though it really is not that many"). So of all my DVDs, about 3% represent theatrical movies (though one may not have been released in theaters, or at least, it should not have). Also, I have no movies on my computer, and I think I lost a couple of DVD-R's which an ex-con friend gave that had five or six movies on them. I am fairly certain that I saw the blatant copyright violations and summarily destroyed the discs.

Regardless, the point is that the defense's theory does not hold water. My hypothesis is wrong. I surveyed everyone here, and it comes out 0-1 in owning-not owning one's favorite movie. Which means I do not own my favorite movie. The shame I feel. I am not a true American. Thankfully, in my world, one person does not a hypothesis prove. I never said the rule had to be absolute. If people read this blog, I would totally put up a poll which would prove my hypothesis correct. But alas.

Anyway, to answer the question:



Gawd that is a shitty trailer. What, was everyone high in the 60's or something? This is a kick-ass fan made one set to music. None of that annoying talking (as for silent films, I recommend Battleship Potemkin)



The book is pretty good too.

Day 1--Favorite Song

Hey this looks easy. I suck at updating this blog for a myriad of complex reasons that would take at least 30 days of explanation. Instead of of spending the next two fortnights plus two days explaining, I am going to spend the 2 1/7ths fortnights doing this 30 days meme thing that I have been seeing at one place (I am so busy, I no longer follow blogs*). Thus, I am gonna give this a shot to hopefully reinvigorate my blogging spirit. But don't hold your breath. Unless you had fish tonight. Then please do.

*blatant lie, but I try to make at least 1/4th of the sites in my reader work related.

Day 1--Your Favorite Song

Jeebus Christmas. They have to make the first one this tough. I am seriously rethinking this whole meme bullshit. Picking a favorite song is like picking your favorite adopted child. You had nothing to do with its development and were probably not there for the release party, but be damned if you did not make that thing your own and love it more (in your head) that the actual creator did/does.

Favorite could mean so many things, especially when it comes to music. So fuck it, I will just pick the song that made me turn my radio down 0.8 clicks, from the Mix 101.9 to Q101, way back in the year 1996 or some such (when I was ~15. I was a late bloomer to the whole teenage angst thing.).





Turns out, the song is about TV being bad. Guess I missed that message. He should have sang television instead of subway. That would have helped. Maybe. Probably not. I am dense.

Dumbass

Matisyahu is an arrogant dumbass. In regards to his song "one day", he states, "I don't think you could write a better song for the Olympics. The song is about getting past the differences and coming together. It's about hope and unification -- that's the whole deal with the Olympics."

Ummm, the whole point of the olympics is to kick some commie ass and prove that the USA is the best country ever. Ever, ever? Ever, evah. Why do you think we added events like snowboarding? Why do you think USA basketball got ripped for winning a bronze medal? The only hope that exists is the hope that One Day everyone will feel unified because everyone speaks english.

And for the record, I probably cannot write a better song about the olympics, but I am sure there exists someone, somewhere, that can (to be fair I have not heard the song yet, I will listen to it later an amend this post if necessary) (also, if by "you" he meant the reporter taking down the quote, then you, Mr. Matisyahu, are probably correct. Sorry Rudi Greenberg of the Express).



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A Short Post About Nothing

The woman is demanding a blog post. At first I was thinking about doing a Top Ten Things I Hate About You list, but then realized that I just did a top ten list as well as that would admit that I have seen the movie of a similar title. So that was out (even though I am truely annoyed that last night she bought a portion of my X-mas gift (with me there no less), three seasons of The Simpsons on DVD, but refuses to allow me to release them from their shrinkwrapped bondage). Then I tried to think of something interesting or amazing that I have done recently, but my meager accomplishments (if there are in fact any) pale in comparison to the fact that she saved a blind woman's life the other day.

I could write about the fact that the woman has Netflixed Twilight, even though she has not read any of the books and determined that it sounds stupid (per Wikipedia plot summaries), and is going to ruin my day off tomorrow by making me watch it.

Or I suppose I could write about the fact that I quit smoking for her about a week and a half ago (Nov. 1 to be exact). And after three jittery days have seemed to nearly kick the habit (though walking out of work every day still causes my mouth to water as it anticipates those delicious carcinogens wafting over it, twice per drag). The best part of the quitting process is that I did not even have to give up beer! Though, I am no longer drinking Bud Light. At least for now. I will be back old friend.

I could write about the fact that I have very little actual work to do at work right now. But lots of people do not have a job and I do not want to sound like a dick.

So there is really not that much going on for me right now. I do not what to tell you all. Except that I am addicted to Farmville. It makes me hate myself a little. But it is addictive. Oh well. At least I am not smoking.

How I was Attacked By Wolves and Forced to Live Among Them for Six Months

Or, more accurately, the top ten reasons I suck at blogging.

1. Shitty T-Mobile. I do not get telephone service in my office, and as such, have no mobile internet in my office. I get phone service when I go to smoke, but not data service (and this is in downtown DC). Hence, I cannot email entries to my blog. Of course, I could type them out, and just save them until I am at a place where I have data service, but see #9.

2. Work. I have a job. Surprisingly, it has been just over a year since I started this job. I would not say that it keeps me busy, per se, but it does mean that I have to be someplace for at least 8 hours a day. And factor in the commute, we are looking at 9 hours. And then factor in the fact that I have spent the last 8 hours staring at a computer screen, I am not so motivated to fire up the old laptop when I get home. I much prefer staring at the television screen when I get home and bask in its warm glowing warming glow. And once you read #9 (no peeking!), you will understand that watching my ever-growing collection of The Simpsons DVDs is much preferred to moving my fingers above, and THEN applying pressure to, a keyboard.

3. Firewalls. There is one at work. I cannot access blogger from my work computer. Hence, no matter how freaking bored I get during the day, I cannot write a post. Well, I suppose I could, either long hand, in a word document that is later printed out, or even as mentioned above on my Blackberry, but as you noticed in #1, I cross-referenced #9, which remains true for this bullet-ish point.

4. Sports. Specifically, Hockey and Football. I cannot blame baseball. The Cubs were out of it a couple months ago and my fantasy baseball team nosedived after a stellar first month (I finished 11th out of 12). But Hockey, oh hockey. I play of course and that takes up one night per week. And now hockey season has started. Even as I type this I am acutely focused on the 'Hawks-Wings game (I suppose that means I am obtusely focused on writing). Sure, sure, this is the 'Hawks third game of the year, and the first two, played in Sweden, meant I could only catch the game on Saturday, but still, its HOCKEY! And the hawks will be good this year. So I have to spend a lot of time reading Puck Daddy, and Second City Hockey and Fifth Feather and Third Man In (See #9 as to why I am not including links).

And Football has started. The woman and I have a routine for football. We get up on Sunday morning and we head to the bar. We split a brunch and drink a lot. It is a lot of fun (except for the fact that I root for the Packers and she roots for the Bears). And she is friends with the bartender, so we get a pretty good deal for drinking all day. That obviously impairs my blog writing ability on Sundays.

5. Speaking of the woman, may as well include her here. She loves to go out and do things, and even though I am #9, I usually go along with her. Doing things that are not writing = not writing.

6. Twitter has turned my brain to mush. If this is the future of writing, count me out. I want no part of it. (How many characters was that?) Of course, due to #9, I twitter occasionally. Not much. And my tweets make me appear to be a twit (hehehehe, see what I did there?).

7. I am old, broken, and decrepit. Oh, let us just look at my injuries in the last couple weeks or so. As I tweeted, I had me some ass surgery about a month ago. Ass surgery is not cool. You cannot even enjoy a good sit (not a typo). You cannot even enjoy a good shit. I won't get into all the disgusting details, but as #9 as I may be, recovering from ass surgery makes one want to do less. Cannot even sit on my ass and type.

Then there was the softball game from which I received a panoply of injuries. As a softball pitcher, one must be prepared for balls hit back up the middle. And occasionally one of those balls will target the pitcher's balls. I got lucky. The batter's 90 mph redirect of my pitch off his bat when about two inches below my balls and slightly to my left. I reacted in time, I think, but instinctively used my glove to cover my fun parts, which caused the ball to glance off the glove, hit my inner thigh and nailed my inner thigh before proceeding through my legs and up the middle of the infield (the batter was safe fyi). The result was a bruise the likes of which I have not seen since I was hit by a car. Needless to say, a cup will now be added to my softball uniform.

Later in that game, I hit a drive to right field, which was promptly fumbled by the right field because the right fielder in softball usually sucks. For a normal person, this would be an easy double, but because I am slower softball version of Sid Bream, I had to hustle to turn it into a double. As I was nearing the bag, the throw from the outfield came in, and I did my best skid/slide which resulted in 1) my left knee scrapping along the dirt and 2) the shortstop crashing into me as he attempted to field the throw. So, as a result of this play, I skinned my knee, resulting in a quite a large wound (that my friend's girlfriend disinfected by pouring purell on it, Ouch) and a tweaked right ankle, which after a couple hockey games, still ain't right.

So given those injuries, plus a visit to the Doctor this week where he fiddled with my ass and made it hurt more, I am taking the week off from hockey. And hence, able to write this post. My pain=Your gain.

8. Books. I have bought five or six books in the last two months and have read none of them. I have to get on that shit.

9. If you have yet to figure out what this one is, my condolences.

10. I was blackmailed into revealing that I have had sexual relations with numerous young women at my place of employment. Oh, sorry, that was someone else who makes unfunny top ten lists.

Oh well

So I was actually going to write an actual new blog post tonight. It was going to be a symphony of prose, which alternatively elicit guffaws and introspection.

Unfortunately for you dear reader, my girlfriend unexpectedly showed up at my place tonight bearing gifts of Simpsons season five and seven. So this is the hackneyed post you get.
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Greatest Hits III

I don't write here as much as I should or write long posts like I did. So indulge me as we take a trip down memory lane and I repost some of the better (read: unsucky) posts from my old blog. I may add a prologue or a post script, but probably not because I am lazy.

There is not much to say about this one, just a random story from a nice summer's day that almost turned deadly. I also like that I tagged this post, "Grave Danger (Is there any other kind?)".

Because it was so nice out, sunny but with a nice breeze, I decided to read outside. I packed up all my gear, book, smokes, lighter, iPod, coffee, and a glass of water, and headed out onto the back porch. Upon opening the screen door, I immediately saw my nemesis.

A wasp was having a grand old time hanging out on my chair. He was walking up and down the back like he owned the fucking thing. This wasp needed to be taught a lesson by another WASP. I calmly, and with as little movement as possible put down my reading gear, while the wasp continued his exercise, walking up and down the curvature at the top of the lawn chair.

Once I had dropped the dead weight, I beat a hasty retreat back into the house, seeking out the nearest magazine. I quickly found a two-month old double issue of SI. Perfect. I rolled it, and snuck back out. The wasp was where I left him, continuing his journey to nowhere. Summoning all of my Native American heritage (which is probably none), I quietly snuck up behind him, and delivered a mighty THWACK.

When I removed the magazine from the point of impact, the wasp was no where to be seen. He was not attached to the magazine nor the chair. Confused, I crouched down to see where his flattened body had landed. I did not see it anywhere. I looked high and low, but the wasp was gone. I quickly retreated into the house.

Once safely behind the impenetrable fortress that is my screen door, I evaluated my options. All my stuff was outside, including the book I wanted to read, as well as a possible super-wasp, who could not be killed by an ordinary strategically aimed magazine. But, one day I will be a lawyer. I am sure that I will walk into many situations where I will eventually be stung (though in the pocketbook, or at least the client's pocketbook), and sucked it up and headed back out to continue my search. I figured my search would be fruitless, and I could go ahead with reading my book, keeping one eye on the words and one eye to the sky.

I saw him almost at once. He was four feet from where I attempted to murder him, hidden underneath a table. Half of his body had been smashed, and he could no longer fly. He was pulling himself along the ground like the Terminator at the end of The Terminator. Only two of his legs worked, and he looked pissed. I pulled my magazine out its sheath, and proceeded to pummel the half dead wasp. He had no chance. I was left with a highly dead wasp on my back-porch, his stinger halfway out. Not wanting to touch him, I used my magazine like a putter to get him to the nearest patch of land that would not have any foot traffic.

Once I succeeded, I was able to settle into my chair, and start enjoying my book.

About ten minutes later, two additional wasps buzzed my head. I freaked out and immediately grabbed for my sword, err, magazine, but by the time I was in my Gladiator position, they were twenty feet away. They kept buzzing around, a safe distance from me, and I went back to reading, keeping one eye on them. Soon, there was no activity, but I kept alert.

Then, one of the wasps returned, and landed on the porch about two feet from me. And he brought me a present. Secured in his arms was the wasp that I had killed, and putted into the dirt. For a second it looked like the second wasp was trying to slap his dead brethren back to life, but he quickly gave up, flew away and left the dead wasp lying on the ground, two feet from my bare feet.

His threat could not have been more subtle had he left a horse's head in my bed. I fled back to the safety of my bunker.

Young and Stupid

Sometimes I think back to who I was and realize what a fucking dumbass I was. Be it six months or six years, I am almost appalled at how dumb I used to be. Granted, I think I am smart as whip right now, but I am sure in a few months, I will look back at a couple things I did this month and think, wow, how fucking stupid was I.*

I generally try to keep my emotions in check, walk around with the poker face. However, one of the instances this does not work is when I play video games. Specifically, when the video game is obviously cheating. Video games do cheat sometimes, particuallry sports game, though sometimes I just play poorly and I get fucking pissed off. When I was young and stupid, I would have to keep my emotions in check, usually. Lots of times my parents would be around somewhere, or I would be playing late. In those cases, I would not swear like a sailor or throw things or pound my fist on the desk.

If my folks were not around, it was pretty much anything goes. Cursing, throwing controllers, yelling, all that shit. I cannot remember how old I was during one particular instance, but I was probably in high school, playing Madden on the computer when I truley acted dumbly.

It was the summer time, or a vacation day, but I know that it was during the day and my parents were both at work. I was playing Madden and the game began to obviously cheat and try to ruin my perfect record. When the final gun sounded, I had lost, and I was pissed. I stormed around yelling whatever obscenity popped into my head. And then, needing a way to really, really show the Madden game how pissed I was at it, I punched the wall.

It was a pretty good punch, though not conventional. It was not a jab, more like a swing. Essentially, I was walking down the hall, arms at my side, and just flung my right hand behind me, as though I was on a bike and emphatically stating that I was making a left turn. My punch was true, and hit the wall in a perfect spot, right between the studs. Drywall of course, is not that strong. I did not break through the wall, but I dented it pretty good. It really is quite amazing how you can be so pissed off you punch a wall, but then once you acheive the desired result, breakage, your mood switches pretty quick to holy fuck, my dad is gonna kill me.

But that is not the worst part of the story.

With a dented wall, I was young and stupid enough to think I could fix it and no one would be the wiser. In theory, it was a good plan. In theory, communism works. But being young and stupid, theory was all I needed. I headed to the basement, secured some spackle, and went about patching the dent. I spackeled the dent, smoothed it out as best I could and prepared to move to the second phase of the plan.

Had I been smarter, I would have realized that the first part of the plan doomed me to failure. Spackle takes about 24 hours to dry. After it drys, you need to sand it. And regardless, one can always tell the where dry wall has been spackled. But I threw caution into the wind, and set about finding the paint to cover up the white spackle.

And this might be the worst part.

I could not find the paint. But I found white paint and a paint that was just a little bit darker than the paint on the hallway wall. So, I mixed them. Seemed like a good idea. Mix dark paint with light paint, you get the right colored paint. Course, I am color blind so there really was never a chance for me to tell that the colors matched. Not to mention the fact that wet paint is always a slightly different shade than dry paint.

But I had gotten this far, so I painted the damn wall with my mixed paint. Cleaned everything up, turned all the lights off in the hallway and hid in my room.

Eventually, my dad got home. It took about two hours, but it happened. I was laying on my bed trying to read, when I heard "what the hell is this?" come through my bedroom door. He was asking my little sis, but I knew I would soon have a knock on my door. There was nothing I could do. I had to tell the truth.

"Yeah, so I kinda punched the wall, and it made a little hole, so I got the spackle and patched the hole, but then I could not find the right color paint, so I mixed a couple paint buckets that I found in the basement and painted the wall."

I think my dad was shocked at my combined ingenuity and stupidity. I mean really, after hearing that story, what are you suppossed to say? He did not say much, and if I recall correctly, I did not even get in trouble. Just a few head shakes and a couple incredulous "Wow"s. My mom was thrilled I had fucked up her wall, and not just because I am her only son who can do no wrong. She had been pestering my dad to repaint the hallway. This gave him a good reason to do it.

I am still shocked that I thought that this was the best course of action. But I was young and stupid. Now when I get frustrated at video games, I just bottle the anger, and get some lumps on my neck.

image from: http://simpsonsviewertop8.blogspot.com/

*I went out with my paralegal friend a couple weeks ok, and he lives an hour out of DC (he has a shitty commute), so I would go out in his town and pass out at his place. It was a pretty standard night, drinking and shit, but when I woke up, I put on my shirt and pants and went out to smoke. My friend showed up and was like, what the fuck happened to your shirt? I look at my shirt, and there is this nasty stain on my shirt and the crotch of my pants. Based on the visual evidence, it looked like I threw up on myself. I had no recollection of me throwing up and nor did he. We went down to the basement where I slept and found no further traces of vomit. We were flummoxed, but came to the conclusion that I vomited on my shirt and pants at some point, and that was that. Cut to Monday morning, and paralegal friend informs me that it indeed was not vomit on my shirt. Instead, I decided to reheat some spaghetti and meatballs that I found in his fridge and eat it on his deck. In my drunken stupor, my aim was poor, and much of the spaghetti and meatballs I tried to shove in my mouth missed, rolled down my shirt and pants and onto his deck. My friend discovered this because of the mess I left on his deck. So yeah, should not have bought myself a shot that night. Stick to beer.

Selfish?

In the nearly a year that I have been working in the Real World at my current place of employment, two people in my group of about 22 people have passed away.

The first, was wholly unexpected. The guy was about 50 years old and had a sudden and massive stroke. He was on life support for a couple of days before passing. A week after he died, his 18 year old graduated high school. Horrible, horrible story. My grandfather had a stroke when I was about five and was never the same. I never really got to know him. Strokes and anyuerisms scare me more than anything. I was friendly with the guy, but never really talked to him at length. We tax attorneys tend to keep to ourselves.

The second, was a bit more expected, but still unsettleing. I summered where I work in 2007. I shared an office with her then. We shared the same exit door, but it is what we call a "walk-through." Her office was behind mine, with a wall and a door separating us. Our shared printer was in my bay, so I would see her at least several times a day. As just mentioned, we tax attorneys are not the most talkative, outgoing bunch, so we never engaged in any long discussions, but I still used her as a resource and asked her dumb questions like, "Where can I get more legal pads?" or "Can I recycle this, or should it be shredded first?" At the end of the summer, when I shredded a lot of my shit using her shredder, but letting her clean up the mess, I informed her that I would probably accept the offer and would see her in 2008. Turns out I wouldn't see her in '08. But I saw her twice in '09.

When I started working last Septemember I ended up in a different office. I stopped by to see her once, but she was not there. She was never there. Something had happened. Turns out, she had cancer. And not the good kind (not that there is a good kind).

And then, in early '09, someone in the group lateralled, and in the ensuing office reshuffle (I was eager to get out of my current office for a myriad of reasons, even though I had just scored a brand new desk they refused to cart to my new office), I ended up where I had spent the summer of aught seven (though it had been renovated, it now had a better bookcase and a whiteboard. Score! Crappy desk though). I took all the cool shit I had acquired in my three months in my old office, except for the desk and coat rack, and moved back into my old spot. And it essentially became my office. Sure it was a walk-through, but she was never in. The only reason someone would come into my office was because they wanted to talk to me or got me confused with the office next door where you pick up legal pads. There were drawbacks to having one's own office. Well, drawback. I usually get to the office late, around 9:30. But lots of time I do not get in until 10. Occassionally I miss the train that gets me to the office at ten and I end up in the office at 10:15. And thus, anyone walking down the hall can see that the light in my office is off. I am the only one with a key who shows up on a regular basis, and if the light is off, I am not in. I do not think anyone cares, but I am just a paranoid first year in the middle of a recession who gets worried about this shit. Sort of. I am fairly certain no one cares. As long as I get my shit done (or think I am getting it done).

But since I have been in my new old office, she has shown up twice. The first time she walked through the door and said, "Surprise!" as I frantically shoved the newspaper that I was doing the sodoku puzzle in under the desk. But I was surprised. She was not the same that I remembered. It was clear that the chemo and cancer had been very unkind to her. She was bald, wearing a neck brace, using a walker, and extremely skinny. It took a second for me to register who this was. If it had not been for a her voice, which I had not heard in 18 months, I do not think I would have recognized her. I can only hope that the look on my face did not shift from horrified to recognition and was merely confusion for a half a second before recognition. I cannot remember what I said to her after she said surprise, I can only hope that it was "Hi, nice to see you again" and not "Hi, how are you doing?"

When she came in again a month later, she looked better. She was not using the neckbrace. But she still did not look good. And it pains me that I have trouble remembering what she looked like before the cancer. I saw her almost every weekday for three months, and now I can only picture her as I last saw her (for what it is worth, when I try to construct the prior memories of her, she keeps looking like a female version of the old Rob from Get Fuzzy, which is not quite accurate).

A month ago, her mother and hospice worker came in to remove her personal items from her office. I did not realize it at the time, but she had likely taken a turn for the worse. My two bosses stopped by to chat with her mother, and though I had my headphones on, I usually keep the volume very low while working, and was able to hear what they were chatting about. No one had a bad thing to say about her. But at least they got to know her. She worked for us for 25 years. I got the impression that my bosses understood her fate, but were thought she could beat it. They understood the importance of standing behind her, and doing whatever was in their power to keep her in her proper position after she beat it. I was only overhearing, but I was very proud of my bosses. These are people you want to work for.

She did not beat it though. She passed over the weekend.

And I feel a bit selfish. No one where I work has as private an office as I do. We have an open door policy. However, the doors facing the hallway are always kept close. Hence, my office door is always kept closed. The other similarly situated offices are walk-throughs. Important people sit in the back office. Hence, others are always walking through the walk-through office. Other offices are offshoots of a lobby area, where the hallway doors open up into a lobby area that provides access to six or eight offices. Sure these offices can have their doors closed, but it is not really the way we roll. And thus, I am in a walk-through that no one walks through in an office with an open door policy where I cannot keep my door open.

Therefore, I have a more private office than most. As mentioned, no one comes into my office unless they want to talk to me. Rarely do people want to talk to me. Usually, it is just my bosses, either to hand me a case or pontificate about potential fantasy trades. Or occassionally, my paralegal friend stopping by because I am late in grabbing him for a smoke (his office is closer to the elevators). No one ever stops by to chat. And a random person will stop by to discuss something work related, though I can usually anticipate that because I have asked them to look at something.

So, for the most part, I can do whatever I want in my office without fear of pop-ins. This is nice for doing crosswords, sudoku, trying to get around the firewall, and, as was the case the other day, having some serious gas. The other night I decided to make a tuna casserole. I used a one of the big cans of tuna (not bulk size, but pretty big). As such, around 2 the next day, I had some serious gas. I started ripping farts left and right and straight down into my chair. If a fart is particularly nasty, I will light a match, but for the most part, if I have to fart, I let it rip, smell factor be damned. With another person sharing my office space, or with an office that people regularly walk-through, well there is a time to breathe and there is a time to squeeze, though that can lead to disasterous results.

Point being, I was sad to learn that she had passed. But I fear I may have been sadder to learn that seven months of private office may be coming to an end soon. I like having my own space. When the wind blows a certain way, I like knowing that I can break wind if that is what I desire. I wonder if a part of me hoped that she would beat it, so she could keep doing what she was doing, so that I could be ensured another five to seven years with a private office (assuming I stay here that long of course). Of course, it is not just the lassiez-faire farting I enjoyed. It was printing random crap. Playing brickbreaker while bored. Surfing the intertubes (to the extent the firewall allows me. Oh, and has anyone else noticed that google reader now starts showing the URL of the site you are readering, rather than treating it like a flash page where the only URL exposed was reader.google.com. What is up with this? Upcoming post on how google is becoming evil btw). Printing out the latest sports guy column and reading it at my desk as oppossed to on the computer so it looks like I am reading shit for work and not slacking on the intertubes.

So this is my apology to her. I am sorry I did not get to know you better. I know there is so much that I could have learned from you. Just today, I was struggling with a basic question about tax law that you would have known. Had you been there, I would have asked. I am sorry I did not ask more questions in the past. I am sorry I am selfish. I saw the e-mail saying that you had passed, and my heart hurt because you helped me in the past. I could have used your help in the future. But then I went to smoke with paralegal friend and told him my fears about the high mortality rate in my group. And I thought about how your passing would affect my private office. And I thought about how I could just take your case of bottled water and no one would care.

But mostly I am sorry that I did not get to know you better (yeah, its a repeat). I saw you many times for three months and I do not know anything about you. I am sorry. You are tougher than me. I wish I could have done more.

"I Screwed Up"

Those were the words I uttered to my boss when I walked into his office yesterday morning.

It happens to everyone. You screw up. You fail. Does not make it any easier. Fear of failing causes procrastination, making excuses, and can result in failing to do anything. Everyone knows this. I cannot tell you anything you cannot learn in Psych 101 (I assume, I never took it, which makes me unqualified to speak on, oh let's just say anything).

I suppose I could have made excuses. But that would have looked pretty stupid considering I sent my boss an e-mail last week saying everything was going as planned. And at that time, I really thought it was. In that e-mail I stated I needed X, Y, and Z, and that I should get them next week. Everything was on track. We were cutting it a little close, but there was no reason to worry.

Then, Monday afternoon, the mail came. I got the letter I was looking for. Read it and said, "What the fuck?" I got Y. I got Z. But there was no X. And X was the most important part. At first I got pissed. They did not send me the information I specifically requested. Then I looked through the case file. I did not actually request it. Oops.

I am fairly certain I told them about X on the phone. But X was not in the writing. Oops.

So, I cursed myself for about twenty minutes. Then ate lunch. Then decided to bite the bullet and tell my boss what was going on. Head into his office and, hello, he is gone for the afternoon. At first I was annoyed. I fucked up, won't someone help me. Won't someone please think of the children!?

Turns out, this was a good thing. I went back to my office, and instead of wallowing in my own misery, thought to myself, how can I make this right? There was no way to make it perfect, my fuck up had pretty much sealed that, but there is always an answer, and I set about considering my options. I eventually settled on the proper course of action and did the paperwork and drafted the shit I needed to accomplish that course of action.

So, Tuesday morning (well afternoon actually, I had a bunch of shit and meetings and crap and other types of malarkey to do in the morning, point is, soon as I had a free minute) I went into my bosses office and announced that I screwed up. I explained what happened and how it happened and how it got to the point that a fuck up like this could have caused this problem (i.e. excuses, not all my fault, but I take full responsibility because really, it is my fault). So we talked about it for a while, and worked out a solution, which happened to be the same one I had come to. So when he said, how soon can you have this drafted, I was able to say, it is right here.

Now, in the grand scheme of things, this is not that important (and really, what is?). I did not miss some sort of hard and fast, no questions asked deadline. It can potentially make me, my boss, and my department look bad. But not that bad. It is still unfortunate, simply because this should not have happened. And if the big boss comes calling, it is my boss that is going to take the heat, not me. I have not even been there for a year. The big boss would consider it a failure of management.

But because I went into my boss's office; because I owned up to the error; because I came in with a solution; well, I do not think my boss will mind getting any crap about this screw-up.

And most importantly, I have recognized the error of my ways. I screwed up. It happens. But now that I recognize my screw up, I have to learn from this. I cannot make this error again. If I do, well, I suppose I either get fired or allow my boss to grift me in a fantasy trade.