on why not to be naked and wet with your co-workers

Morning workouts, or "PT" as we in the biz call it, is ripe with potential for both embarrassment and bemusement. Thankfully, after nearly a year of being active duty, bemusement is more common than embarrassment.

There are just so many bizarre things that take place in the locker room and/or fitness area, due in part to the fact that retirees, civilian employees, and people from other branches are also allowed to use our facility. Yesterday I was there and a middle-aged Marine was shout-grunting every time he pulled down on the overhead bar, and it was everything I could do not to laugh. I mean, even assuming shout-grunts do give you extra power, it seems like you'd at least try to tone them down when no one else around you is implementing the shout-grunt method. Then there's the the guy, whom I actually haven't seen in a month or so, who is in the locker room daily, shaving his body hair and oiling his body when I begin my workout, and still in the locker room shaving his body hair and oiling his body after I finish my workout, shower, and leave. Given his creative body piercings, I assume he is a civilian.

Friday, I had showered in the giant shower room and was standing next to the towel rack, retrieving my towel, when I felt a spray of water drops across my back and left arm as someone approached me from behind while using his hand to forcefully swipe water off his body. My initial reaction was of the WTF variety -- What in the he- oh. Why hello sir who significantly outranks me. Thank you. I was just thinking how wonderful that shower was, and how much I wanted another. An encore, if you will. Dessert to the fine entree that was the shower I just finished five seconds ago. And you, with your powers of perception, granted me my wish. I thank you.

california :: america as america :: the world

For good and for bad.

ooh, uh...

There are some things that, if you knew as a child that you'd be doing them as an adult, would have caused you to purposefully O.D. on Flintstones vitamins. Never in his wildest dreams would this boy who competed in poetry recital competitions as a fifth grader and cried at Harry and the Hendersons as a third grader have ever thought that he'd be spending two months fully integrated with the Marines. WTF.

Thing is, I'm loving it. It's like living in a movie. These people (either gender) swear with such gusto and creativity and in such inappropriate circumstances that you can't help but smile. And who wouldn't like having their brief-writing interrupted by the rattling of your office window as helicopters fly low overhead?

I'm still the dork trying to figure out the best response to a manly "ooh-rah" (and a good day to you, fine sir?), but at least I'm having a good time while I'm doing it.

procreation missionaries

My lovely wife and I go back and forth pretty frequently on whether we're going to have children, and one little consideration I recently learned of is the fact that if we were to get our preferred location for my next base assignment and she were to be pregnant while over there, the place is so remote that she would have to "stork nest" in Germany during the last trimester and give birth over there. Wowsers.

But that's a sidenote, really, from the main point of this post: parents aren't the best advocates for parenting. We were out with several couples last night, one of which has a newborn. The husband's opinion on the matter? "I'm told this will be awesome in 40 years." Each time we're told by an exasperated parent "don't rush into having kids" (hardly an issue after six and a half years of marriage), I wonder if that's the parent's nice way of saying "run for your life."

forceful music

Just a quick post to share a picture I took several months ago while in lovely, lovely Victoria and promptly forgot about. Sorry for the awkwardly placed pole -- I tried to take the picture quickly from afar before he noticed. He seems to be staring me down, though, so I don't think I was successful.

title rescinded on account of having crossed the line

I have three posts-in-the-making at various places on my computer, each the product of reflection and (some) wit, but apparently this is what I need to actually prompt me to hit the "publish post" button.

So the question is, which is most disturbing?
a) That I continued to read the article after having read the headline
b) That I found it humorous that the suspect, in stereotypical man fashion, apparently rolled over and went straight to sleep after his first liaison
c) That the phrase "gonna get me some Sugar" popped into my mind immediately after seeing the horse's name
d) That I felt a little bad for the guy upon reading about how he's been ridiculed for his exploits.

I'll blame my apparently twisted outlook on reading way too many bizarre and disturbing criminal law cases.

mission accomplished

First Lieutenant T.M., reporting as ordered. I've made it out of Commissioned Officer Training relatively unscathed, have arrived at my home base, and am preparing to set off again for ten more weeks in that little slice of heaven I like to call Alabama. I guess the good thing about being in 'Bama so long is that by the time I free myself from that lovely state I'll almost be a captain. You can get a head start and begin calling me Capt T.M. now, if you'd prefer.

There's so much to say about the last month and a half, I don't know where to begin. Since we last talked, I've eaten alligator tail, rappelled down a wall, and gone up against fighter pilots in a popular Air Force game that is best described as full-contact billiards. I have also worked a seemingly endless string of 19-hour days, marched in torrential rains (anyone see CNN last month?), and biffed it while sprinting toward the finish line at the end of a 1.5 mile cardio test. So it's been a mixed bag. All in all it wasn't as bad as expected, or was at least bad in different ways, and I graduated before they could kick me out.

And that's it, really. Just a posting to let you know that I'm still alive and that I hope to post more regularly now that I'm -- oh, who am I kidding. See you in a month.

on pirating music

When I was in grade school, there was this girl in my class whose last name was “Hickey”. I thought she was cute and secretly liked her, but no one else did and so people made fun of her and I remained neutral, the Switzerland of second grade. One day, in the midst of particularly merciless teasing, she blurted out that she was moving away soon and so we all ought to be nice or else we’d be sorry when she was gone. This, of course, made my classmates shout out how happy they were that she was leaving. I never did stick up for her, let alone tell her that I sort of liked her. I do think I saw her with her family later on Family Feud, however, and that somehow felt to me like a little bit of revenge for her.

That leads me (via the weakest link possible) to the oddity of “normal” people, or at least people who aren’t actors, being on television. I think that reality tv shows are our modern gladiator tournaments. We take “normal” people, put them in bizarre contrived situations, and let the strong among them devour the weak for our amusement. The special twist comes in celebrity reality shows, where producers seem to select only the weak among the celebrities, the old and crippled among the herd . Then we pit them, the weak and the weaker, against each other. Still, sometimes, a Maximus emerges (I’m looking at you, Flavor Flav), and uses it all to his or her advantage.

All this to say I propose a new celebrity survival show, to include some real classy folks, like Rod Blagojevich and others, but also to include the Somali pirate who was taken into custody several months ago. I, somewhere in my heart, feel bad for the guy (was I born to be a defense attorney?), and I think he could be the next Maximus. Let the guy go, and if he comes out on top, which I imagine he would, consider his time served. With any luck, he can spin it into an entire career. He can take up rapping, since nothing says street cred like being a former Somali pirate captured off the Horn of Africa. Maybe start a clothing line, to include massive pirate-themed bling. His belt can be held up by a diamond-encrusted skull-and-crossbones “Swashbuckle” that he flashes in his music videos, much like T.I. twirling his hanky or Nelly and his (now defunct) adhesive bandage. So let’s give the guy a break, or at least a chance. Plus, if we do, I sense we’ll have minutes of entertainment to come.

and behind door number 3...

Most of those who have spent very much time with me know that decisions aren’t my strong suit. Or, more accurately, speedy decisions aren’t my strong suit. I first realized this when I was taking a personality profile for one of my high school classes. I was working on it at home and couldn’t figure out how to answer one of the questions. I went to my mom to see which answer she thought best reflected my personality and, just while talking with her, I changed my mind several times as to what the correct answer--a simple yes or no--was. The question: Do you have a hard time making decisions?

Part of the reason, I think, is some bizarre inner drive for accuracy. Thus, when given surveys that ask questions and require me to circle a number, one through five, in response, I not infrequently end up circling the blank space between two numbers because, darn it, the answer is 3.5, not three and not four, and I can’t just choose a whole number to circle because what if the answer to the next question really is three? Then that throws the whole system off, since I now have a true three and a pseudo three, with no means of differentiating between the two. This of course can wreak havoc on my judicial opinion turnaround time if I let it because, sweet mercy, if I take this long to answer a question as to how satisfied I was with the service at Taco Bell, how much longer am I going to want to take when helping determine whether someone was unjustly imprisoned?

Point is, I can take a long time to make decisions. Which is why I submitted two assignment preference lists to the JAG, one pre-housing meltdown and one post-housing meltdown, with the post-meltdown list reflecting the altered odds of us purchasing a home at our assignment location. It is also why my wife and I, once we knew she would be on a boat commercial fishing in Alaska at the time I would receive our assignment options, went over the different scenarios prior to her departure so I would know, when give our two options from the Air Force (presumably taken from our previously-made list, which assignment to choose.

Monday, the call came. A nice guy, a major with a southern accent, introduced himself and explained the assignment selection process. Then he said, While we were able to give you your top regional choices, we didn’t have availabilities at any of the bases you listed. Instead, it’s “A” or “B”. Let me know within 48 hours if either of these choices works for you. The 48 hours was expected (actually, 24, so I was practically swimming in time with 48), but I had thought that out of 20+ options, one of our options might have also been one of theirs. It wasn’t.

In the end, we chose an option that, though we hadn’t thought of it before, ended up being quite good (we hope). It was … “A”. We expect you to visit.

jag rawr

JAG, six months ago: We'll let you know in June

JAG, two months ago: We'll let you know in late June

JAG, two weeks ago: We'll let you know next week (i.e., either very late June or very early July)

Me, today: Come. On.

Hurry up and wait, I believe is the saying? Here's to hoping tomorrow's the day I find out where we're moving. In the meantime, I've been preparing for commissioned officer training, which I assume goes something like this:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Stephen Strong: Army of Me - Basic Training
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Jeff Goldblum

and take yo pictcha

Wedding dialogue of the year, or at least of the month:

Friend of the groom, to bride and groom as they sit in their getaway limo shortly before embarking on the honeymoon: "Take pictures!"

Surrounding crowd: "Hahaha."

Friend of groom: "Not of that."

Surrounding crowd: "Hahaha."

Friend of groom: "Shame on you all."

I guess weddings give you sex on the brain, even for the old folks.

a quiz (with pictures, er, links!)

So by our calculations, it's about one month until we find out where we'll be posted. Eee.

We gave the Air Force around 25 options, pretty much all of which we'd be quite happy with. Of course, some would make us happier than others. Like the base in northern Italy: Under two hours to Venice? Check. Under half an hour to skiing in the Alps? Check. One-and-a-half hours to Slovenia and under two-and-a-half to Croatia? Check and check. But even if we don't get Italy (which is practically guaranteed to be the case), there's still Turkey, England, and Hawaii.

Oh, and Fairbanks, Little Rock, Wichita, and Biloxi, all somewhat more likely when considering the fact that getting an international posting at all is somewhat unlikely. So here's the quiz:

Where will we be sent?

A) Cambridge, England
B) Tokyo, Japan
C) Guam, uh, Guam
D) Mediterranean Coast, Turkey (or at least super close by)
E) Minot, North Dakota

No whammies, no whammies...

a moving post

Two months. Huh.

My family moved several times when I was in junior high and high school and one thing I remember about the experience is that it would generally take me until about Christmas (assuming it was a summer move) before I would feel comfortable talking freely with my new acquaintances. Until that point I would spend large chunks of my small group conversation time analyzing what I was going to say and by the time I deemed something worth saying the conversation had moved beyond anything that was going to come out my mouth. Though I mostly got over that long ago, the habit seems to pop up on this blog from time to time. So I will blame my lack of posting on that. And on being lazy.

Of interest likely to just a very few, my wife and I recently moved into a house. It's like being transported to the 50s, as I imagine them to have been. Upon driving into our driveway we passed a bunch of children drawing giant chalk figures across the entire length of the cul-de-sac (yes, I was tempted to draw my own versions at night while the neighborhood slept), and before I had even finished backing the U-Haul into the driveway, one neighbor came over with his kids and offered to help us move in. We declined the offer but thanked him, and he responded by telling us he was going to the park with his kids but that we could talk to his wife if we needed help in the meantime ("mean as a rattler" but still somehow liked, he said). Several times since moving in we have heard the ice cream truck go by (I wondered how many pedophiles have tried to find one of those things on ebay), and the other day we came home to find a 8 1/2 by 11 piece of paper folded into our screen door, with a child's drawing and a mostly-legible "Welcome" scrawled onto it. It's a suburban utopia.

But. There is a mysterious chocolate lab who, while mostly cute, is made somewhat less so by his massive man marbles and the fact that he has left several incredibly large gifts on our lawn that, as they are watered by the sprinklers, only become more disgusting. I realize many, if not most, would clean the deposits up right away, but I'm too disgusted right now. Maybe this weekend.

Two months of delay and over-analysis, and I give you a story about dog s--t. Sorry.

More to come, hopefully, including a brilliant comparison of California and America as each relates to and is perceived by its neighbors. Also, a plea for the captured Somali pirate to be invited onto a celebrity survival show.

justice blue eyes

I tried to think of a way to cleverly bring this up but I've been unsuccessful thus far and I need to go to bed now so I'll just throw it out there plain and simple -- I'll be hanging with Chief Justice John Roberts tomorrow evening. Just the two of us, him piercing my soul with his eyes.

Actually, I'm anticipating a throng of people with my wife and I lost somewhere in the back of the room, me wondering why I bothered to dress up in a full suit during non-office hours just to eat bad appetizers while standing next to some angry lawyer. (Who isn't my wife. Though my wife is also next to me. She's just not the angry lawyer. I have no connection to this hypothetical angry lawyer. There are a total of three people standing there. Well, plus the rest of the room. Agh, ambiguous verbage.) If, however, the event turns out to be anything more than that I will be quite pleased.

And yes, I am taking suggestions on awkward things to say should I actually meet him.

massive stimulus package

Point of interest: I was recently told that a former Little League teammate of mine is now a softcore pornstar making movies for Playboy and traveling around with them as part of a live softcore show. Oh, and his last name in real life is Cox. Clearly his life path was determined before he ever had a chance to do anything about it.

cruisers of the caribbean

As it turns out, I owe you a blog post. I was intending to post a few pictures of our cruise, but the pictures are very large and take more time to upload than I'm willing to give. Suffice it to say, the beaches were white, the seas were blue, and the sunsets were orange. Highlights included all the free food we could stuff down our throats, and not vomiting after stuffing all that food down our throats

Other highlights included sitting in inner tubes as we floated down a Belizean river that flowed through old Mayan caves, sailing within sight of the Cuban coast, and buying a sweet skull Christmas ornament at a shop in Mexico. I'm very excited about hanging a blue painted skull from our tree this holiday season.

I will also note that the cruise was full of New Yorkers and, my goodness, they loudly confirmed almost every stereotype you've ever heard. They seemed a little like very rich dessert -- all well and good in small portions, but a bit overwhelming if you get too much.

More to come, more to come.

duuuuude

Background: My great-grandfather owned a farm in Michigan, which had been passed down the family to him and onto my grandmother and her brother before they had to sell it to a steel corporation (hoorah for the steamroller of progress!). At the time my great-grandfather still owned it, he donated some of the land to the adjacent high school for use as their football field, which they subsequently named after him. That being the case, I recently searched for the high school to see if I could find pictures of the field.

The odd thing is this: The school's address, I kid you not, is 420 High Street. Are you friggin' kidding me? And while I'm at it, I'll throw out there that the town is Potterville. Not so funny on its own, but when you add it to the address, well huh.

last weekend

I've heard the night ice of a frozen lake buckle and contort under its own force, and it sounds like distant caribou.

Here's to things simultaneously added to and checked off from one's list of things to be done.

uh, hey, remember me?

So it's been a while.

I'll be honest, it's because our neighbor's inter--uh, our internet has been extremely sketchy lately, and my better judgment recommends I don't post to my blog at work. Point is, yeah it's been awhile and yeah it might be awhile again. In the mean time, I recommend those who don't mind naughty words but who do mind cuddly animals go ahead and click here. I laughed my arse off, albeit with a slightly guilty feeling.

My goodness this is a pitifully short post. My apologies.

Love, T.M.

memoir release date tba

Go to images.google.com. Search for "ugly pug". Click on the first picture.

You can tell your friends you know a famous photographer, if you'd like.

things i've done of late

At one point in her college career my wife had a professor who was odd in a variety of ways. He was the kind of guy who would, and did, ask students who they were and then, upon receiving a response giving their name, major, political affiliation, or whatever, respond by saying, "no, who are you." Good sir, I believe you confuse ambiguity for profundity.

I guess I write that because I'm about to list things I've done in the last week or so and I can hear his voice in the back of my mind, saying, "I'm not asking what you've done, I'm asking who you are." Well darn it, man, sometimes they're one and the same. Or at least closely related.

*****

Bought adult furniture.

I snicker a little as I type that, which I suppose means I'm not yet fully an adult. I should have perhaps said I bought the kind of furniture that adults would buy, but that seemed too cumbersome. We bought it at Pier 1 but picked it up in my Dad's baby blue 1970's Datsun pickup, which temporarily broke down in the parking lot. I figure the two cancel each other out in some fashion.

Forced my wife to listen to country music.

This was in the Datsun pickup. Because what else are you going to listen to in a pickup that has a mountain scene plastered onto the rear window? It's been years since I've listened to country music for longer than 15 minutes, so I imagine my wife was very impressed when I was able to point out that Randy Travis was on. I could see the awe in her eyes.

Unsuccessfully started a letter to J.D. Salinger.

I don't have very many memories of my mom's dad, whom I became conscious of for the first time when watching the 1989 World Series on tv. That's when the San Francisco earthquake struck and my mom called her revelation/dad, who lived in the bay area, to see if he was OK. He was a good writer, a poor father, and a Salinger fan. I haven't been able to figure my grandfather out through reading Salinger, so I thought I'd try writing Salinger. I don't think this will work, but the process is a good one.

Ran.

I've been running four or so times a week in order to get my fat arse in shape before commissioned officer training. I know some of you enjoy running, but I really just don't get it. It sucks so bad. Tips on why this is fun would be welcome. I have noticed a definite difference in my endurance, however, which I guess is the point.

who it out my what?

You may remember my earlier post wherein I mentioned a choice phrase or two I was tongue-in-cheekily hoping to work into future court of appeals opinions. Well, I would like to simultaneously add a phrase and check it off the list: "Blow it out your ass."

Oh yes, you read that right. Here's to hoping the case gets cited in later opinions.

on halloween and such

Not a single kiddie stopped by last night.

Apparently they don't think the loot's going to be so good in the apartment complexes and instead go to mooch off the richies. Kommie Kids.* And I was so excited to frighten the parents with my John Mark Karr costume.

*****

And now a question. Obama recently received an endorsement from a former Reagan chief of staff, in addition to earlier endorsements by Colin Powell, Scott McClellan, and other lesser known conservatives. He has also received support from Bill Ayers and Michael Moore,** two people who, well, come from a different end of the spectrum. Why?

I read an article in Time talking about Obama's ability to effectively articulate both sides of an argument, which I can certainly believe after having watched his race speech. The article quoted a law school professor of Obama's who referred to a time in class where Obama articulated both sides of an argument so well that everyone in the class left thinking Obama supported their own view. Does that have anything to do with it? Or are people simply so tired of the present state of things that they are willing to give up some things in order to have a president with other qualities and beliefs that they believe are more important? Or has Obama been broad enough in public speeches/interviews/debates that people don't think they're really compromising that much at all? Smart people on both sides are endorsing him, so I find that third answer a little hard to believe. What do ya think?



* Yes, that would be a good clothing line for hipster children, and no, you can't take the idea.

** I'm not implying Michael Moore has ever engaged in domestic terrorism--I'm just saying he and Bill Ayers are much closer on the political spectrum than the others I listed. I'm also not necessarily saying Bill Ayers's bombings constituted terrorism, since I think the word terrorism is used much too loosely by both sides and should only be applied to attacks primarily targeting civilians and having the intent to affect governmental policies through pressure from a "terrorized" populace. I don't know enough about Ayers' actions, so I'm not going to say whether his bombings were technically terrorism. Any way, you shouldn't be reading this footnote--the point of the post is in the main body above. Go. Leave!

happy birthday

I haven't forgotten about you.

It's just that all my post ideas have to do with either work or politics, neither of which I am allowed to discuss publicly.* So I will instead tell you that I saw a beaver swimming in the pond in front of our living room window this morning and even though he was trying desperately to get to shore, the ducks and geese kept chasing the little guy away. I hope he didn't drown. Then on the way home from work I avoided a squirrel who looked like he was sleeping on his side, except he had red coming from his little squirrel mouth. It was a sad rodent day.

And on that melancholy note, I wish you a happy 100th post. Considering it's been over two and a half years since I started this thing you'd think I would have more posts on here, but this old mind works too slow. Or I'm lazy. Whatever.

*I admit that at first blush I may seem to have violated this rule in my last post. Please note, however, that I expressed no political opinion. So I'm good to go.

A political paralysis observed

Observation: I have not yet decided whom I will vote for, a fact that has elicited both shock and rage from friends on both sides of the political spectrum.

I guess the redeeming point, really, is that my state is mercifully colorfast when it comes to the national electoral map. There is some comfort in knowing your vote doesn't matter -- the warm cocoon of predestination. I, apparently, am a political Calvinist.

hello, dalai

Oh, Mr. Lama. You seemed as though you had it all together. So grounded, so wise. But now I hear news of your "exhaustion," and I'm simply crushed.

Exhaustion? Well, we all know what that means.

the b-word

I was going to write a big post about the bar, but it's late and I want to go to bed and I think if I don't post now I may never.

So this is it: I hand wrote the entire exam, in an extremely large room filled with people whom I presume also did not realize they needed to download the typing software several weeks before the exam took place. When the proctor announced during a break that the typers in the conference facility across the street were having technical difficulties, the entire typing room spontaneously burst into cheers and applause. When my brother-in-law asked me what year in law school they teach you how to be a bastard, I thought he was joking. Perhaps not.

janet reno's dance party

I don’t know all that much about the world of Indie music, but there are a few things I’ve managed to pick up. In a way, really, it’s not unlike a board game. Fans get points for loving bands that no one else has heard of. Bands get points for referencing small unknown diners in the Midwest. “Multiplier” cards are also available, where one’s points are multiplied and then either added to or subtracted from one’s overall score.

For instance, having first heard an obscure band at a hole-in-the-wall club in a city over 700 miles away from your current location takes whatever points you earn from knowing of the band and doubles or sometimes triples them. You also get points for being able to complain that one of your formally favorite bands has sold out (it’s best to remain vague as to what the band has sold out to – something large and corporate is generally assumed).

The “sold out” card is valuable, since if played at a time when someone has just stated that they like said band, that second person’s points are actually reduced, not back to the number that they would have had had they not made the comment, but actually below their pre-liking level, such that they would have been better off had they never mentioned the band at all. Thus, in one Indie play and counter-play, a lot can happen – Person A can gain points by saying he likes an obscure band, Person B can gain points by saying he liked them when he first heard them play in some out of the way club far away, then gain more points by saying he no longer likes the band because they have sold out. Person A then loses whatever points were gained by mentioning the band, and has his point total further reduced on account of still liking a band that has sold out. Thus, in an Indie play initiated by Person A, Person B can actually come out far ahead.

All that for this: how are points distributed when an Indie musician contributes a song to an album produced by a former attorney general? I see your first question is a perceptive one – which attorney general? For Alberto Gonzales, the answer is of course easy – all Indie points lost, game privileges revoked. But what about Janet Reno? As it turns out, Janet Reno has produced an album, a sort of musical history of the United States; it starts with a Lakota dream song and ends with a country-western written about September 11. I first heard of the album a while ago (while checking out a small club just outside the Omaha city limits), but only now got around to actually downloading one of its songs, a World War I classic sung (and whistled) by Andrew Bird. And it’s good. I don’t know whether my Indie points are added, subtracted, multiplied, or divided by listening to a song produced by Janet Reno, but something that feels this good can’t be all that bad.

anyone know what time it is?

My judge and I had set up a time for me to have coffee with her and the rest of the Court of Appeals earlier this week and all leading up to the appointment, random ways to screw up kept popping into my head. Ways that really didn't even make sense. Like once, where I envisioned myself offering to burn a copy of a song on the radio for one of the judges whom I had previously met. WTF? Like I'm going to offer to make a mix tape for a judge on the Court of Appeals. Maybe if we were in high school and I had a crush on him, but, well, no. Honestly, my mind can go the strangest places when I leave it unattended for even just a few minutes.

Point is, somewhere in my subconscious I must have been expecting to screw this up somehow. Which is likely why I panicked when deciding how to cross the street. A simple task, you might think, but not when contemplating jaywalking in front of a judge.

Needing to put more money in the meter for my car that sat parked across the street, I soon found myself in a dilemma. Does one needing to cross the street to get to his car a) Jaywalk in front of a judge on the Court of Appeals who also happens to be his boss, thus getting to his car as quickly as possible but also flagrantly violating a law, be it ever so small; b) Walk all the way down to the crosswalk, cross the street legally, then walk all the way back along the opposite side of the street, thus showing respect for the law but disrespect for his boss's time, or; c) Walk across the street while looking at his watch, pretending to be too distracted to actually notice whether there is a cross walk in front of him.

I think we all know which one I chose. In perfect honesty, my looking at my watch as I crossed wasn't consciously done to feign distraction, but it is certainly possible that my subconscious was operating independently of my conscious. Hoping she hadn't noticed, I came back to a conversation between my judge and her career clerk ... discussing jaywalking. And discussing how one of the former judges on the Court of Appeals used to get so worried over what to do when crossing the street that he would just look at his watch and feign distraction. Apparently I have a future on the Court of Appeals. Or at least my subconscious does.

well i don't like that one bit

Apparently I'm pretty...darn...white.

But even though many of the things apply to me in a subject heading sort of way, they don't apply to me in a main body sort of way. Maybe I'm just a whitey in denial. Or maybe I'm 25% Hawaiian.

At any rate, enjoy the site. And my apologies in advance to anyone whom it may offend.

(b)log from the sea of cortez

Question: What is the best course of action for one who is stressed out about the upcoming bar exam?

Answer Choices:
A) Follow the regimented schedule given to you by Bar/Bri, making sure to review any missed answers and learn from those mistakes
B) Set aside half an hour each day to engage in cardiovascular exercise
C) Make a list of weak spots and emphasize those in your studying
D) Forget it all and go to Cabo for a week with your family

Darn straight I chose D. Highlights included 1) deciding I should have been a PGA golfer upon seeing Greg Norman's giant yacht floating in the bay, and 2) eating tacos at Gordo Lele's, a stand run by a gordo man whose name I assume was Lele. If you're ever in Cabo, ask him to do Frank Sinatra karaoke for you with ukulele self-accompaniment.

I'd write more, but I have a lot of studying to do.