Illinois Bar

Over the last couple of days, I finally decided that I am going to take the IL bar exam. It is a good plan, take out the 15 grand bar loan, live in DeKalb, which is about 45 minutes from my parents house, save over half that money, because it is a farm town with nothing in it other than one of my favorite bars (Otto's), and attend BarBri classes at NIU.

I have never been worried about passing the bar; I know that I am going to spend two months doing nothing but studying, becoming paranoid, and freaking out on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I am confident that I will pass.

No, my concern has always been with the character and fitness portion. However, I never expected it to be with getting the requisite references for the character and fitness portion. I examined the IL bar app. last night, and apparently, one needs two undergrad professors as references.

This, to say the least, is going to be a huge problem for me. Huge in the way that I am rethinking the idea of taking the IL bar.* In four years of undergrad, the only time I ever talked to a professor was when he or she called on me. Much like my law school career, I never visited office hours, never engaged a professor outside of class, and never even joined a club (whether or not there was a faculty advisor).

I think that the reference is only for an objective inquiry into ones intelligence, an inquiry which is probably not generally necessary, but given my, ahem, colorful past, I think that the character reviewers may be interested in more information.

I am at a loss as to what to do. Not many people from my school are taking the IL bar, and those that are are nerds, so they know people. If anyone out there has any thoughts on how to jump this hurdle, I would appreciate it. Additionally, what the hell is a non-traditional law student supposed to do, the one who is 40 years old and all his professors from undergrad are probably dead. This fucking requirement has thrown me for a fucking loop.

My plan, for lack of anything better, is to start sending out letters to the four professors that I actually remember having, and hope that they take pity on me, and not necessarily remember that I was the kid who got an A in their class six years ago while looking incredibly bored. I hope that I have a good chance, assuming I can butter the Prof. up. My top choices are my business law prof. (you are the reason I went to law school!), and an accounting prof. (I am going to do Tax!), and convince them that all of my career decisions were all thanks to them and had nothing to do with the opportunities that actually presented themselves.

God this fucking sucks. I also need six references. If I knew six people, I would probably have a better job and not be a fucking tax lawyer.

__________
*MD, for instance, requires five references, none of whom are married to each other (killer for me, my best friends from college married each other), that you have known for five years (another killer, most people who have known me for four years choose not to know me anymore).

My sister is getting married soon. To a Bears fan. As such, this is their wedding present from me. To put in their garage. Right in front of where he parks every night.

I am not sure if that answers this inquiry though.

Fun Fact of the Day that I did not Previously Know Because I do not Care About Guys Like Him

You all probably know this, but I did not. John John failed the bar twice. That gives me hope, and not just hope that I will someday screw the girl who went on to become Fraiser's Dad's maid.

Information like this is why I read sport's blogs.

Paul Harvey Presents . . . The Rest of the Story . . .

So, a while ago I told a story about going to a strip club. But I never told the story of how we got there. This here then, is the rest of the story:

I was shitfaced. I had been drinking all day. The Packers were on TV that night, so I had to drink more. Except they were playing like they had Turk's $40 dome gel on their hands and fumbling everything they almost touched. This made me upset. This made me drink more. I really do not remember the second half of the game. I was that drunk.

My friend put $150 on the game. Based on my recommendation. He is a fucking idiot. Over the course of the summer we worked together, I probably won one bet we had between us, and that was because there was traffic in Adams Morgan. And we would bet on everything. Always just a beer or something, but still, I never won (although I am holding out for one bet. I assert that Elliot's, from scrubs, breasts are a C-cup, he says they are a B. There is no definitive proof yet, which makes me hold on to me being right, but all signs point to me being wrong).

So the Pack lost. I was pissed (my favorite team lost) and he was pissed ($150 down the drain), but his girlfriend really wanted to go to the strip club. My friend and I were both hammered, but she only had a couple glasses of wine, so she offered to drive.

And what a drive it was. We drove around for at least an hour. Taking this road and that road. Side street? What the hell, it might be right. There were twists and turns that I could not fathom. I tried to help throughout this ordeal. My friend had an I-Phone. Surely the I-phone could help us in our time of need to see titties.

But no such luck. I asked my friend to see his i-phone not once, not twice, but thrice, at which point he yelled at me, said the fucking a few times, and belittled my knowledge of where the fuck we were.

But I knew where the fuck we were.

After a few more wrong turns and some circles where I got to see some old decrepit houses twice, my friend gave up. His almost exact words, "Fuck this, I have never been this lost before. I have no clue where we are. Let's just go home."

I said nothing. I was pissed at him. Sure I was drunk, and he was drunk, but fuck him, why should I help him now. He thinks that I cannot help just because this is the first time I have ever been in this city before, then fuck him. Fuck them both. No strip club for my boy or the girlfriend.

I thought that, but I am not that evil. After a few twists and turns, we approached an intersection. From the backseat I said, "Turn left here."

"What?" the girlfriend said.

"Turn Left!" I replied.

She looked at my friend, who shrugged his shoulders and said, "Fuck it, do what he says." His body language, voice inflection, everything about him said, I am so pissed off right now, this fucking kid thinks he knows my town better than me, then fuck him, let's do what he says. Let's get more fucking lost. Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him.

We winded around the curvy road for a bit (the road I said to turn onto), and lo and behold, there was our mecca of debauchery.

I left out some details. He had called this place twice to get directions. Based on those directions, he could not find it. I listened to those directions, and knew where the place was. Bear in mind, this is a city I have never been to in my life, yet I knew how to get to where we wanted to go.

In an attempt to trivialize my great achievement, I spent three years driving around at night. You learn to memorize signs (at least the smart ones do), and always know where you are going. I knew where we were going. I tried to explain it multiple times, but he would have nothing of that. I know streets, I know streets I have never been to, and I know how to find them. He almost missed out on the best sex of his life because he was too stubborn to listen to me.

Just a lesson for you all out there.

And THAT, is the rest of the story.

Trying to Help

Over the past week or so I have noticed some odd keywords leading folks to my blog. Most of them are written in a question type form, so I will now attempt to answer these questions.

--how long do call backs take?

I assume that you mean when they take you into the office, how long should you expect to be talking. You will usually meet with four people, and each interview is generally about 30 minutes. That means about two hours. When you interview with a big firm, you will talk to two partners and two associates. My advice, lawyers love to talk, but do not let them monopolize the time. However, make sure you are not 20 minutes and both of you have nothing to talk about. That is a death knell.

I have never had any of those crazy group interviews where three or four lawyers talk to three or four interviewees. And I thank my god for that.

-- lawschool & how long to wait before call back?

The easy answer to this is the same answer to every question in Law School. It depends. Some firms will get back to you in a week, some will take a couple months. Just be patient. If after a month you have not heard anything back send a respectful e-mail to your interviewer (the internet has some fun not so respectful e-mails, but I am too lazy to find them unless you pay me) or call the interviewer on a Sunday evening so you can leave a voice mail, and hope he gets back to you. I would not reccomend calling during normal business hours because the last thing an attorney wants to do is spend 20 minutes trying to figure out who you are and he will just transfer you to HR anyway. I never did any of this by the way. This is all speculation, but I stand behind my advice.


--1st year law school cannot finish case brief

You cannot even finish a damn case brief? Get the fuck out now. You do not belong here. Seriously though, this happens to everyone. Do not sweat it. This is why you should always read a case before you start briefing it (HAHAHA!!). By this time next year, you are not even going to be briefing cases. I did it through most of my second year, but now I just do not care anymore. Can't finish a brief. Do not sweat it (unless your school does that stupid on call thing), there is a 1 / however many kids in your class that you are going to be called on. You should like those odds.

--the pain of law school oci

OCI's suck. But having a job after you graduate most decidedly does not suck. So if your CSO is good for anything, they should give you an opportunity to practice with the people there or with local attorneys. Be self-aware. Practice. Call your mom on the phone and have her grill you with questions. Whatever you have to do to be ready. Even if it means not finishing a case brief.

--rod and todd's dad?

Flanders, Ned Flanders.

What are friends for?

Went of town this weekend to visit a kid I worked with over the summer and attend a football game. The weekend is pretty much what you would expect. There was a lot of drinking. I gave some shit to a guy on a street corner playing guitar and he called me an "asshole." There was the cab ride from hell back to my friend's place on Saturday night because neither my friend nor the cabbie could figure out where the hell we were supposed to go.

There was waking up at nine on Sunday, after four hours of sleep, and immediately cracking a beer. There was the cab ride to the pre-game bar where the cabbie called me a "vagina." The bar had the nicest bathroom I have ever been in, which is impressive considering it was a football Sunday. Then the game. Which was great, even with the $7 beers and 90 degree heat. Then there was some shit bar, which was quickly followed by a trip back to my friend's place to recover (mmmm, black coffee) and watch the Packers.

Even when you factor in the the Cubs getting swept on Saturday night (which resulted in more drinking than it should have) and the Packers loss on Sunday night (nolo perfecto), it was still a good weekend.

However, Monday around 1:30 a.m. it became great. Probably one of the best weekends ever. I should write to VH1 and try to get consideration.

See, after the Packers game we went to a strip club. Which, in and of itself, is really not that impressive, but we went because my friend's girlfriend wanted to go. She had never been before (to be fair, this was only my third trip (total, not just to this location)). We eventually got there (the story of how we got there is one for another day), and it was surprisingly pretty empty. I guess most people work on Mondays or something. They did have beer though. $1 for a cup. Free refills. And the cover was only $20. Not a bad deal. Figure three beers and I am even with what I paid at the game. But that is not the story.

The girlfriend had to get acquainted first. The two of them sat next to the stage while I hung back at the tables (all the view, none of the annoying expectation of money or talk). They come back over to me and are talking with a girl and want me to come up and get lapdances with them (not really with them, you know, I know you do). I do not really like lap dances (let us just say I do not gamble for the same reason I do not go to strip clubs), but I made a big deal about not wanting to get one, and yada yada. After getting the stink eye from them, I ran away to get a beer. But, I had a plan. The stripper girl they liked was over there, and when I went for my beer I asked her if she would do me a favor. She readily complied.

After the stripper grabbed her hot friend, the five of us headed to the "special room" (I would not call it VIP). So we get there, I hand over the money, and the strippers wisk the girlfriend away. My poor friend, a little slow on the uptake, was unable to understand for a minute why he was not getting lap dance.

Then he understood, and walked over for the close-up of two naked girls grinding on his girlfriend. I swear the smile on his face moved each of his ears back an inch.

But the best part, the girlfriend came back and said, "Oh my god! They touched my boobs in a way that I did not think they could be touched. I am a little wet right now." Then, sheepishly, "And I am not wearing panties."

I am a good friend.

Law School Picks

In a new weekly column, I help you figure out what to place money on this week. Oh, and I am blatantly ripping off this idea from With Leather

Moot Court over LAW REVIEW--These are the big two. Get one on your resume and you have your ticket written. You would think anyway. The truth of the matter is, those who can talk a lot and sound smart while saying nothing will always do better than those who can just write well (like me, All writey no talky). No one cares about the proper way to cite an SEC no action letter, just if you can quickly respond to an irrelevant question without insulting a judge.

Believing What You See over Believing What You Hear--No longer do you have to give any credence to the crazy stories your friends tell you. Unless it shows up on youtube, it's a lie.

Church v. Sleeping: Even (pick 'em)--On the one hand, you better to get work on saving your soul before it is too late. On the other hand, if death row inmates think Jeebus will save them hours before they get fried, you can make up for a life of lying and deceit with a death-bed conversion too. Of course, those death row guys know the minute that they are going to die, you do not.

TAKING THE MPRE over not taking the MPRE--The deadline for the November MPRE is coming up this week (Tuesday). Just a friendly reminder if you are planning on taking it.

Survivorman Even Dog Whisperer--My two new favorite shows. I find myself watching a hell of a lot of Discovery Channel and National Geographic Channel lately. That might just be because I watch a shit ton of TV these days. I really need to start reading.

Talking About Most Anything Else over Talking About A Great Parking Spot You Once Had--I was just outside smoking a cigarette and this dude walked by with some chick and he was telling her how he got this great spot once down a couple blocks (I live by a lot of bars/restaurants). I heard about five seconds of the conversation and I was bored. Seriously, I hope that was a date, because he is screwed (I would think, granted I know nothing about women).

CUBS over Brewers--This is our year. I know it. Last time the Cubs were in the playoffs I spent a lot of money to see Mark Prior beat Greg Maddux. A lot has happened since then, but I bet that I could get some extra bucks from the student loan people at school if they knew it was for a Cubs World Series Ticket.

The Coolest Thing You Will See All Day

Has not been posted yet. But keep checking this Link to see when Mute Math's performance on Kimmel from tonight is added.

Once it is added, I will post it in here, you know when I get up.

Update: Here it is.

Update #2: A better looking version of the video, plus . . .



Watch it in reverse, I mean go forward, I mean, whatever, watch it. Now.



And, if you were curious, this is just like the video for the song. Pretty much the same type of thing OK Go did with the treadmill video and the performance at the VMAs (or whatever award show it was). It still kicks ass though. And Mute Math rocks, buy their album, go see them live, and credit me.


Yeah, you are right, this song was on American Idol:



Does not lessen its rockability though

Law School Picks

In a new weekly column, I help you figure out what to place money on this week. Oh, and I am blatantly ripping off this idea from With Leather

CRIMINAL LAW over Torts--Would you rather be a prosecutor with an outside shot at being governor or an ambulance chaser? Would you rather be a public defender who can get his loans forgiven or a guy who sues the Johnsons because they did not put a fence around their pool? It really comes down to the power to take away a man's freedom or the mere ability to bankrupt someone. Power wins. Everytime.

Bottles over CANS--Cans are just so . . ., I mean, it is the drunkness vehicle of the proletariat. We are better than that. This will make more sense with the next pick.

Drinking over STUDYING--You just got your student loan check. It is only a couple of weeks into the semester. There will be plenty of time to study in two months when you are broke. Go live it up. You earned it.

Morning Classes over AFTERNOON CLASSES--In the upset of the week, Morning Classes take it to the Afternoon classes. If you are going to be doing all this drinking, better to be out of class by noon. Then you can study until four, and drink until 11. Plus, being hungover in class makes you smarter. It is a fact.

CALL BACK INTERVIEW over On Campus Interview--Seriously, this is like the Bengals playing the Browns, a no-brainer. Wait, what? Still, the call back may mean talking with 400% more people, but at least you are on the radar. OCIs are the most nerve wracking thing in law school. With the Call Back, you do not have to feign confidence, you are actually confident. But don't be cocky you dick.

This Prank over ALL OTHER PRANKS--"Its Gold Jerry. Gold!"

Best Weekend Ever

I woke up on Thursday feeling, not so good. Not so good in that I should have gotten up at 9, but felt like such a bag of ass that I lied in bed, not sleeping or watching tv, just lying there, until 1. You are probably thinking, "Great, a hangover story," but you are wrong. This was a day that is much more rare than days when I do not have at least a sip of beer.

I was sick. I never get sick. Maybe a cold here or there, but not sick sick. Not sick like my body is trying to tear itself apart from the inside out. This character trait was always a burden during elementary, junior high, and high school years ("hey look at me, I am perfect attendance guy! Blech"). Nowadays though, I appreciate it. So when I woke up feeling like my stomach was attempting to eject its contents through two orifices simultaneously, I was unsure how to react.

So, I did what always do, after all, I am perfect attendance guy (though not so much since high school, but for entirely different reasons); I went to class, did my homework, made pointless small talk, all while wondering if my body had hit the sharp upspike in its degeneration.

By the time Thursday night rolled around, I was proclaiming to myself that this was the worst pain ever. After futilely searching my room for drugs, any drug really, and finding none (admittedly, it was difficult for me to, you know, move, which seriously inhibited my scavenger hunt), I did the only logical thing. Fearing that I may pass out from the pain at any time, though the pain would prove to keep me awake the next night, I drove to nearest place that might have drugs. This happened to be a gas station. And they only sold Tylenol by the single (two capsule) packet. I did my best to articulate to the cashier that I wanted, no needed, some Tylenol (it was kept behind the counter), and she understood, asking me, "How many do you want? One, Two?"

I responded, "No, Four." They happily charged me for four packets. So when I got home, I ripped open two of the packages, took four Tylenol capsules, and fell into a merry sleep, for about five hours.

I awoke to more blinding pain. But, I took a couple more Tylenol, took a few deep breaths, and was able to do four hours of work for my externship (which I had planned to do on Thursday) as well as attend class. I made it home around five, took the last two tylenol, and laid in bed for the next five hours, in too much pain to move. Around Ten I discovered a bottle of Nyquil, left by a former roommate, and noticing that it contained acetaminophen, chugged half the bottle. I figured this would kill two birds with one stone. Pain relief, and I would fall asleep.

Sadly, I was mistaken. The pain permeated throughout my entire body, and by this time I had developed a severe case of the chills. I did eventually fall asleep, for about two hours, waking up at four a.m.

For some reason, in this damn shit town, there are no 24 hour stores that are relatively close to where I live (other than the gas station, but I was not prepared to revisit that debacle of a pain killing attempt, I needed to bring out the big guns), so I laid in bed for four hours, watching god knows what on tv to keep my mind off the pain, until the Walgreens opened up. At eight, I started getting out of bed, and by eight-fifteen I was completely out of bed, and after a few minutes to regain my equilibrium, I dressed and drove to the Walgreens, where I picked up Aleve and Tylenol PM (the big guns, like I said). Got back home, popped four Aleve, and within an hour I was off to sleep, not to wake up until the Aleve wore off and the pain returned.

To me, Aleve is the best of the bunch. Naproxen Sodium beats acetaminophen any day of the week. I was knocked out for six hours (though sheer exhaustion may have played apart).

So to cut Saturday a bit short (you earned the respite), more chills, probable fever, Tylenol PM did not put me to sleep, Michigan Lost Again (yay), sharp pains running throughout my body whenever I moved (though breathing was painless, small favors), and once wondering if putting a bullet in my head would be more painful than this (I mean sure, I was in pain, over a long period of time, but a bullet to the brain has to cause excruciating pain, if only for a moment. Is there a way to chart various pains by severity and duration?).

So by Sunday morning, around 6, I finally had enough. I decided I needed to figure out what was wrong with me. So I logged onto WebMD. I have always been skeptical of WebMD. There are all of these arcane diseases on there, and virtually every entry ends "Consult with your local Physician Immediately." To me, it always seemed like a racket in order to scare the shit out of people, and force them to schedule appointments with doctors because they think their cold is encephalitis. But I was at my wits end. Apparently, my body was not going to take care of this one on its own.

So I wrapped myself in a blanket, and began surfing around the webmd site, then shed the blanket and cross referenced what I had found with wikipedia in my boxers, then re-wrapped myself in the blanket and did a few google searches to confirm that my self-diagnosis was correct. All the signs pointed down the same road. I had to go to the emergency room.

It is not that I do not like Doctors, it is just that Doctors represent mortality. As Dr. Cox from Scrubs put, Doctors are only there to delay the inevitable. As such, other than routine physicals, I have never been to the family physician. I have, however, been to the emergency twice before. Once when I thought I fractured that protruding bone on one's ankle (caused by a hockey puck, and it was not fractured), and once when I got side swiped nearly flush on the driver's side door, while I was driving, and spun off the road (I got to ride in ambulance, but the only damage was a black bruise about the size of Shaq's handspan). Really, I just like to think of myself as indestructible.

My primary concern with all of this is the fact that I have no insurance. (First time in the ER, I had insurance, second time I did not, but the crasher's insurance paid my bills). ER visits can be expensive, and I am not sure if I can get more student loans to pay outstanding hospital bills. You are probably thinking, hey, why didn't you just go to the Student Health Clinic like a normal person? Well, two reasons. First, the doctor was going to have to cut me. I do not know if the clinic cuts people. Second, there was no way I could make it through another day without taking ten Aleve at a time, every two hours (and I am very conscious of not overworking my liver). The last thing I needed was to head over to the student clinic, only to be told I had to go to the emergency room.

So I went to the ER, and they took care of me. I am perfectly healthy now, with only slight residual pain. I find it odd that they wrote me a prescription for Vicodin, considering the pain I am feeling now is not even in the same stratosphere as the pain I was feeling over the course of three days. I have never taken a Vicodin before, and I am a bit scared too. I might enjoy it too much. But anyway, fret not, I will be fine. And I suppose this means that I am not due to be sick again until 2033, when lung cancer and liver disease launch a two front attack on my innards.

Oh, and if you made it this far, let me share a quick story from today. It is very odd to say "Thank You" to the first man who has ever stuck a finger all the way up your asshole. I appreciate what he did for me in curing my disease, which was what I was really thanking him for. But when I saw him as I walked out the ER and croaked a thank you, I could not help but think that he took my anal cherry. (oh and ignore these next paragraphs, I know this long and I do not want to give the satisfaction of hearing that anecdote to those who only skimmed).

[The Rest of this entry is all fiction. I was going to delete it, but what the hell. Probably the best fiction I will ever write. 5/21/06]

The little hospital bedroom is a lonely place. It was in the ER, so no tv, no beer, and nothing on the walls to read. There was a computer, but it did not accept my pathetic attempt at a login and password (seriously, Hippocratic and Oath not working? WTF?). They had already dragged me through every fucking room they had in the ward, despite my repeated protests that I had no insurance. The Doctor was a surly fellow, likely hitting the tail end of his 36 hour shift. He did not have time for me and my problems and I sure as hell did not have time for them imprisoning me here for seven hours. Shit, I could have done a weeks worth of homework with all the downtime that Dr. Surly had bestowed upon me. Yet here I stood, bored from sitting, my ass showing through the back of my gown because I was too pissed off to bother to tie it again for the umpteenth time. Let them see my ass, serves them right. God I hate doctors.

Dr. Surly finally returns, the frown permanently embedded on his face. He beckons me to follow him, and we take off on another jaunt down the now familiar hallway. I wonder why a guy like this ever wanted to be a doctor. There is no bedside manner at all. Must be why he is stuck doing the ER rounds. He probably dreamed of a successful general practitionership, only to see it dashed in a few months when Dr. Nice Guy from across town starting requesting all of his patients' files. Serves him right I guess.

He leads me to a room you see all the time on the medical shows. The X-Ray room. Not really the X-Ray room I guess, they already X-rayed me four times. I suppose this is the X-Ray viewing room. With the bright hot lights the size of a a good Monet. He sticks my four X-Rays up into the the little clasp at the top and begins mumbling some nonsense. I am checked out (not literally) and ready to go home.

Then, he looks at me, and the sadness I see in his eyes snaps me back to attention. My body goes numb, my eyes blur, I feel like I am going faint. I know this is serious, I can tell by his eyes. He is not Surly, just a little depressed. He points to something on one of the X-Rays and circles it with a red writing utensil.

"Son," he says, "I am very sorry. I think you might have cancer."

My world goes black.

Yay, I Have a Job

So, the next nine months are pretty much pointless. Hazah.

(except to my loan providers, they are very happy)

Rapture

I saw this bumper sticker today: "Caution: In case of the rapture, this vehicle will be unmanned."

I think that this is mighty presumptuous of the driver. Now, I am not one who knows God personally, or pretends to have any sort of relationship with him, but does God like this kind of arrogance? The driver is basically saying, yes I am perfect, or if not perfect, I understand God well enough to know what he will deem acceptable my behavior which will allow me to be accepted into heaven for the afterlife.

Shit, I have never been that confident about anything, let alone knowing with certainty that I will not spend eternity burning in the hell-fire.

My understanding of the Bible is sketchy at best, but I am fairly certain that only one man ever lived a sinless life, and it sure as hell was not the driver of that truck. Granted, from what I have been told, you can be the most philanthropic man on the planet, but the gates do not open unless you believe in God and that his son Jeebus died for your sins.

But what is belief? Does one moment of doubt in the existence of God disqualify you? Does cursing God once on your worst day disqualify you? Are aboriginal tribes that stick their historical beliefs denied in the face of their rejection of Christian missionaries?

I am not attempting to debate religion, I already know what the answers are to those questions. I was just surprised that anyone would presume to anticipate what God would or would not do. Sure you can hope, but do you ever really know?

Besides, the rapture occurred in 1983, right after Lotus 1-2-3 was released.

(oh, and I have never read the "Left Behind" series, but I did read a book called 666 about 10 years ago. Very fascinating and filled with untoward hilarity.)

Rapture

I saw this bumper sticker today: "Caution: In case of the rapture, this vehicle will be unmanned."

I think that this is mighty presumptuous of the driver. Now, I am not one who knows God personally, or pretends to have any sort of relationship with him, but does God like this kind of arrogance? The driver is basically saying, yes I am perfect, or if not perfect, I understand God well enough to know what he will deem acceptable behavior to be accepted into heaven for the afterlife. Shit, I have never been that confident about anything, let alone knowing with certainty that I will not spend eternity burning in the hell-fire.

My understanding of the Bible is sketchy at best, but I am fairly certain that only one man ever lived a sinless life, and it sure as hell was not the driver of that truck. Granted, from what I have been told, you can be the most philanthropic man on the planet, but the gates do not open unless you believe in God and that his son Jeebus died for your sins.

But what is belief? Does one moment of doubt in the existence of God disqualify you? Does cursing God once on your worst day disqualify you? Are aboriginal tribes that stick their historical beliefs denied in the face of their rejection of Christian missionaries?

I am not attempting to debate religion, I already know what the answers are to those questions. I was just surprised that anyone would presume to anticipate what God would or would not do. Sure you can hope, but do you ever really know?

Besides, the rapture occurred in 1983, right after Lotus 1-2-3 was released.

(oh, and I have never read the "Left Behind" series, but I did read a book called 666 about 10 years ago. Very fascinating and filled with untoward hilarity.)

C-Snoring

I went to go hear testimony before a subcommittee at the House offices today. If you have ever flipped to C-Span while fervently searching for scrambled porn (does that still exist?) you were likely bored by the droll monotone that was elucidated by all uninterested parties. I hit the channel up button when I get to C-Span too. It really is "sooooooo boooooooooooooring." The only two times I ever watched C-Span for more than thirty seconds in my life was for Roberts' and Alito's confirmation hearings. And really only because I was about to be or in Law School when they went down, so I figured I had some sort of CLE obligation to watch it.

But the live show of congressional hearings, is well, one word sums it up: "Damn."

Actually, it needs a couple more words: "Damn, this is so fucking boring."

If you survived my rambling post from last night, you know I was dead tired today. Hearing people talk about boring ass shit did not help. Sure it only lasted 105 minutes; wait only? I think I fell asleep for a couple minutes in the first half hour. So the point is, Seeing the shit they show on C-Span live, not really worth it.

However, in my case, once I got my little nap in, I was able to focus enough to pay attention and be interested in seeing Government in Action. My favorite part was when a Rep. would ask some probing questions, and then when his or her time was up, state, "For the record, I want to make clear I do not support [people breaking the fucking law]."

It was an hour and forty-five minutes of complete unadulterated politicking.

And I do not just mean by the Reps. Of the witnesses, three were government officials and two were "CEOs" of some type of organizations, but I will refer to them as Lobbyists because that is what they were. Hell, one of the witnesses was a forming member of the damn subcommittee. The government officials gave straight forward, non-bull shit answers, while the lobbyists seemed to enjoy waxing poetic on off-topic social ills.

If this sort of thing is news to you, I am sorry. It just made me feel like giving myself papercuts on my eyes when it was all over.

So, to make this not a completely worthless post, on a completely unrelated note; this guy is my new hero.

something?

I have been going non-stop since Wednesday. I am so tired, the only reason I am typing is because I have an unopened beer in front of me. I refuse to let it go to waste.

Last wednesday was a softball game. Lots of drinking was involved. This was exacerbated by the fact that the team we played was full of dicks. See, I play in the House Softball league. Implicit in that should be a sense of morality. Mainly because we have no umps, the team at bat puts out third and first base coaches who act as umpires for close plays or foul balls. In the first inning they gave themselves two calls, which I could tell from right center were clearly wrong. This helped them wrack up eight runs in the first inning, and when we went down in order in teh bottom of the first, it was clearly realized that they were the better team. The whole thing reeked of them being unsure of our abilities, so they tried to give themselves every advantage. I am not sure if they actually worked for a House Rep. but rest assured he is not getting my vote.

Anyway, we got demolished that game. It was humbling really (granted we were missing our two best players and I was unable to perform my usual pregame ritual of a pitcher of beer plus one with another player on the team), and even though I flat out sucked, it did not make a difference. Sure, they injured two of our pitchers with shots back up the middle, both of whom had to sit out the rest of the game and drink beer while watching, but it left us a player short. And to be fair, we were screwed going in, they just screwed us more. So after the game we enetered a new post-shellacking ritual; getting more hammered. This was a great idea to me. I love drinking. Unfortunately, I had to drive to the game, so I was faced with the choice of getting home safely or getting more to drink.

There were other things at play. My sister was flying into town that night. She had a flight cancelled then another delayed. I had no clue when she was getting in. I figured that since the bar was closer to the airport than my house, she should meet me there. So it was on. After all, she could always drive me home.

So the beer had two dollar drafts, drinking ensued, good times were had by all (it was a pretty good bar, up near the top of my list). My sister showed and she started drinking (spending 8 hours in an airport to make a 45 minute flight does that to you). And when all was said and done, I had to drive home. Granted, I was not smashed. I probably would have been legal to drive in some states. I am not sure what the deal is in DC with the blood alcohol percentage. But I had to work the next day, so I had to get my car home (completely logical at the time). It was an uneventful drive, except for one highlight. I pulled up behind a cop car at a stoplight. There was a car next to the cop in the lane to the right. With the light red, the other car just decided to go. Through the red light. If I knew who that moron was, I would send a gift basket for allowing me to not have to worry about that cop.

So my sister and I got home and talked all sorts of family matters until 2 am when I decreed that I had to sleep. With no open beds in my house, I gave her mine and took the couch. I somehow woke up on time after 4 hours of sleep and made it to work on time.

On Thursday another 3/6ths of my family flew into town. This night was not as exciting, but it involved me being dead tired and nine o'clock reservations at a great restaurant. I drank more, got to bed at one.

Friday was more of the same. Except that I had a Bar-B-Q for my folks and sisters at my house because they all wanted to see it. This involved more copious amounts of drinking. Especially considering I had four beers in the 45 minutes between the time I got home and my parents showed up. I had to prepare myself you know. Loosen up a bit. Or whatever. So Friday was just another night of a lot of drinking.

Usually I catch up on sleep on the weekends. It is not unusual for me to sleep until 1. Not this weekend. Had to get my still-drunk ass out of bed early to drive down to Charlottesville VA for a wedding. Which should have been no problem, expect that I-95 is the fifth circle of hell. Nothing like taking three hours to go 26 miles. DC Metro area, got to love it.

Wedding=Lots o' Drinking. It is a rule or something. The 13th Commandment I think. My best friend from the time you can actually have a best friend as a young person until I was about 10 was getting married. I pretty much completely lost touch with her over the years, but I still her sporadically every four or five years. It has always been a little awkward for me because I am pretty awkward. But this was great. Maybe because I realized I would never be with her, not that it was ever a possibility or what I wanted, but still, she was the first best friend I ever had, and nothing can ever get in the way of that (she was a tomboy, we used to play tackle football. It was awesome, before I realized just how awesome playing tackle football with a chick was). So I drank at the wedding, and did a lot of white-guy dancing, though I don't think I have ever been to a wedding where there was not one single women within the relative age bracket of the nuptial couple. That may have been the reason I danced. But at least I was not so drunk that I did not get a dance with the Bride towards the end of the night. All in all, it was nice, a little sad, but very merry.

But a goodnight begets a bad morning. I was not too hung over thanks to the fine pillows at Fairfield Inn (like sleeping, err, passing out on a cloud). My little sis (she is 20) and I drove back to DC in my car, and along the way we saw signs for Montpelier, the home of James Madison. We stopped, and it was awesome. I am too tired to type up the details, but they are in the process of restoring his home, so the entire thing was a construction zone. Which is much cooler than you think. They are restoring the home using the house building methods of the early 1800s. Seeing it in action was pretty cool. Plus the estate is fucking huge, and has the most beautiful view. I have not seen Monticello or Mount Vernon, and I can assume that they are similar, though fully restored. Thus I recommend checking out Madison's house in the next year or so before they finish. My lil sis and I have already decided that we are going back to Montpelier in 2009 when it is finished and spending an entire day there in order to take in everything. I suppose that means I should not bother going to Monticello or Mount Vernon unless I have a day to spend there also, but I am thinking that is not such a bad idea.

After a day of driving, I went out with my folks for more beers and eventually got home around 9. Sadly, I had no clean clothes for today, so I had to do laundry when I got home, and had to force myself to stay awake until the washing machine ran its course and I could stuff my pants in the dryer.

I was dead tired at work. Thankfully, I really had nothing to do except think. So I did the only thing that can expand my mind at work, surfed the web. That lead me to a couple of breakthroughs on a project. But then, one of my nine bosses came in to talk about a memo I wrote. I think he just wanted to see if I could bring the goods, so he had me send him a copy of the memo I was working on. I rewarded him with 10,000 words of IRAC goodness. So when he called me into his office to talk about my memo, he had not even read the damn thing. Which would be fine, except he prefaced his comments by stating that he learned a lot from my memo because he has not worked on this type of problem before (the memo is for a different attorney, he just wanted to take a look). So we get to talking, and he begins discussing something that seems sort of trivial to me, but is important in the grand scheme. In fact, it was something that I paid no attention to because it was a first draft. He was asking about if I properly framed the issue for my memo. I did not even know what the fuck I wrote for the issue, or even when I wrote it. It could have been first or last, I had no clue. Anyway, I am not going to bitch, I just want to say that critical thinking and verbal defense (I had to defend what I wrote, mostly because I am still unclear on the point he was trying to make after he explained it three times, but it is not a memo for him anyway), is not something I am skilled at when extremely tired.

Parents are still in town tonight. Guess what we did? Went out to eat and drank more beers. Then went to a bar and drank some beers. I eventually peeled away around 8:30 because I thought I had to do more laundry tonight. I did not, so I drank more.

Really, the only reason I am still up is because I have nothing to do tomorrow. Tomorrow is field trip day, and all I have to do is wear a suit and look pretty. I am confident in my ability to the former, now that I know I have clean enough clothes.

So whats the point? Hardcore drinking five days in a row without much sleep is getting the best of me. I think I will go to sleep at 7 pm tomorrow. It shall be glorious.

At least until I wake up at 11 unable to fall back asleep. But I will cross that bridge when I get to it.