Firenze

I waited 'til I saw the sun
I don't know why I didn't come
Left you by the house of fun
I don't know why I didn't come
I don't know why I didn't come

When I saw the break of day
I wished that I could fly away
Instead of kneeling in the sand
Catching teardrops in my hand

My heart is drenched in wine
But you'll be on my mind
Forever

Out across the endless sea
I would die in ecstacy
But I'll be a bag of bones
Driving down the road alone

Saturday morning came with a bang. And a thump. And the incessant buzzing of a drill. The workmen were back, working on the bathroom. Didn't they know it was 8:00a.m.? Didn't they know we didn't have class today? DIDN'T THEY KNOW WE WERE ALL HUNG OVER?

Well, not all of us. Just those of us who were left behind, with no weekend plans. I was one; my roommate another. I was going to go with Lisa and Mary and Erin and company to Firenze early in the morning, so I could maximize shopping time. But the alarm found me in a dreamy mood, and I decided to sleep in my comfortable bed. I got up, showered, lazed around for a bit, and finally, after grabbing a quick mushroom omlette panini (note to self: next time, tell Rinaldo to leave the ketchup out of it), I began my journey. Marilyn, who I didn't particularly care for on my last trip here, seemed to be more pleasant this time around. She even gave me a tip on how to get to the Metro quickly. It was surreal, standing in the Italian Metro station. listening to Norah Jones.

I got to Termini station just before noon. I went up to an automated ticket booth to find and buy a ticket on the next train to Firenze (Florence). To my delight, a Eurostar train left in just over half an hour. I punched in my order for a second-class ticket. Alas, I wasn't able to get one. At first, I thought it was a problem with the method(s) of payment I'd chosen, but it soon dawned on me that it might be that second class was sold out. That turned out to be an accurate guess. First class was open though, so I got on.

Eurostar trains are generally nice, clean and very quiet, especially first class. Seating is 4-and-2, with an aisle between the 4 and the 2, so I picked one of the "2" seats. Since I was traveling alone, I figured it would be the better choice. As it were, in the section of four seats across the aisle from we were two young (about 15-16) Italian girls, very pretty, and quite fashionably (if casually dressed). They were joined by a older (mid-40's) woman who arrived breathless from running for the train. Quite generously, one of the girls offered the woman a cup of water, which made me wonder if that was because a.) she was a woman, b.) she was older (that's important here in Italy) or c.) they were always that nice. The last seat in the group remained empty. Across from me sat an early-thirties Italian gentleman, who alternatively read the paper or talked on the phone. The only thing noticeable about him, aside from the fact that the hands-free headset never left his ear, was that he had quite the lisp. I noticed, because at one point I'd had one, and after a couple years of therapy, no longer do. Anyway, the ironic thing about the trip was the topic of conversation between the two girls. One had a binder with her, with a drawing of the US on it, and words that appeared to proclaim it as a study manual about the United States. She spent a considerable amount of time reading from her manual to the other one, complete with commentary, not one word of which I could understand. I SO wanted to ask what they were discussing, particularly when they appeared shocked at something the book told them about Americans. I wound up falling asleep midway through the trip instead, dreaming that I could speak better Italian.

Firenze is a compact city. It's easily walked in a day. Filled with shops, outdoor markets, and outdoor cafes, you hear more American accents there than in Rome. It's sort of a tourist Mecca. There's plenty to see - the Uffizi museum, the Academe (home of Michelangelo's sixteen-foot-high David), Ponte Vecchio, the Boboli Gardens, and of course, the markets. People come from all over the world to shop Firenze's markets, where shoes, leather goods and jewelry rule the day. As Jeanne said later in the day, "every five booths this stuff repeats." And it does. Want a leather jacket? There's hundreds to choose from. But be careful - the prices are cheap (a hundred euro for a jacket, or about $117) but the quality may be as well. And the salespeople can be shifty. In one booth, a vendor with beer-soaked breath pointed out to me the different kind of jackets he had, all for a hundred euro and up. "These are lambskin, these are COW. If you want sommating different, I have dose (as he pointed to ugly suede jackets), or if you want sommating warm, for da cold, I have buffalo, over dere." Now, I'd never seen a buffalo coat before, so of course, I looked. And it seemed to be quite the heavy coat. But since I was looking for a nice, date-appropriate leather jacket, I passed on the buffalo.

Just before I'd met beer-soaked guy, I'd met Carmen. Tall, with big, captivating, brown eyes and long dark hair, her accent was like warm butter on toast, but her English was outstanding. She'd come over when one of the street guys had coaxed me into the off-street store to show me more men's jackets, and was trying to pick my size. She took one look, and guessed right. It was a deep burgundy colored jacket, which looked very nice with the grey Haggar pants I was wearing. She showed me all of the highlights of the jacket - the reinforcing button on the inside of the coat, the two interior pockets, and the lining. She talked about how the leather would give over time, and that's why the one I was wearing was good enough (that, and the fact that the already-long sleeves would be a bit longer in the bigger size). She talked about how the leather was made, and how to properly care for it. And she told me that if I didn't like the color, it also came in black. We spent a bit of time looking at different types (the burgundy was made of lambskin), but she wasn't pushy in the least. In fact, when I told her I wanted to think about it, she graciously wrote down the style, size and price, and her name and told me they'd be open until seven.

Then I went and looked some more. I used my cell phone to call my parents back home, and asked about prices there, to make sure I wasn't overpaying for what I could possibly get back home. They were happy to hear from me, especially Mom (Dad and I had discussed business-stuff the night before, but when Mom came on, I had to cut her short, as I was at a Pizzeria, and dinner was arriving). Eventually, I wandered to the end of the market, where another store was. I went inside, and nearly didn't get out. The salespeople combined efforts. If I didn't jump for joy at a jacket (or even said I didn't like it) I quickly got another.

"Is nice, no?"
"Umm. Well, no."
"You no like? Wait. Mario, (unitelligible Italian, spoken at rapid-fire speed)." Mario ran off. "I send him to other stores. We have lots of styles. You find one you like."

I found one there that was marginally decent. "Quonta costa (how much)?" I asked.

"One hundred forty euro." Carmen wanted one hundred seventy for hers.

This continued on for a good thirty minutes. She'd give me a jacket, I'd put it on, look less than enthused, get another. All the while, the one I'd initially shown interest in kept dropping in price - first one forty, then one twenty-five, then one ten, finally, one hundred even. But the closer I looked, the more flaws I saw. The mariginal interest one gathered when I buttoned the buttons ("that's from the cell phone you're wearing," she said), and it was kind of, well, wrinkled, at the bottom. Another had loose threads. Finally, at five after six, I thought of a way out of this Hotel California-ish situation.

"Oh, my," I said, looking at my watch. "I'm late. Can I come back? I'm supposed to be meeting my wife." No, I'm not married, and don't even have a girlfriend, but desperate times.....

"You wife? Where you meeting her?"
"By the Duomo." This, I knew, was a considerable walk from where we were.
The saleslady spoke with another woman, whom I'll call tailor lady, even though saleslady told me tailor-lady was the owner. "She'll go with you."
"Uh, I don't think that would be a good idea." Clearly, they had no intent of letting me get away without buying a jacket.
"No, no. It's okay, she help you find your wife."
"Well, that's very nice, but my wife might not see it that way."
Quick Italian conversation. "You mean, she'd fight with you, eh?"
"Right. She's a bitch that way. Very possessive."
"Ok. You bring her back." Quick Italian conversation. "One hundred euro. You get nice jacket."
"Right. I'll be back soon."


Carmen was very happy to see me. She brought out a black jacket in my size, and I tried it on. When I pointed out that the little thingy sewn into the collar and the label (ostensibly for hanging the jacket from a hook) was fraying, she looked for another. Failing to find one, she immediately repaired the damage, double stitching to make it fast. "There," she said when finished, "I fixed it. My sewing is not so pretty, but it will hold. And it is inside, so only you will see, anyway."

We made some small talk, and I found out she was from Mexico originally and had come to Europe three years before to travel. "And then I came to Firenze, and I thought it was beautiful, so I stayed for a little while. And then I knew a man.......and I stay longer." I looked at her finger. It must have been some man - she was wearing the Rock of Gibraltar. I wondered if the Brits knew it was missing. Eventually, I left with my purchase, and went to meet John, Heather and Jeanne for dinner.

It's 1:40 a.m. and I just dragged in from a three-plus hour train ride back from Firenze. I'm going to bed now, but when I wake up, I'll tell you all about it....while I do laundry. I did get a nice leather jacket, though. And a postcard for a lovely friend in San Diego...

Screen door slams
Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays

Roy Orbison singin' for the lonely
Hey, that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again I just can't face myself alone again

Don't run back inside darlin' you know just what I'm here for
So you're sad and you're thinkin' you ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty but hey, you're alright
And that's all right
Tonight

The days have developed into a routine. Wake up, and try to wipe the sleep from your eyes. Stand up and marvel that all the wine you had the night before hasn't given you a tremendous headache. Walk outside and check the line for the shower (there's a nearly equal number of men and women, but the men's bathroom only has two stalls, compared to the women's three). If it's short, make the dash. If it's long, opt for doing it later.

After getting dressed, head down to Rinaldi's, where his wife will attempt to engage you in small talk. Wonder if she's insane, or if she truly believes you understand everything she's prattling on about (ignore the fact that she's speaking in a dilect, and that most of what little Italian you know is worthless). Get a drink - iced cappucino, please - and maybe, if you have the time, breakfast. Afterward, go back up a floor to the class room. The smart people get water beforehand. The rest swelter through a ninety-minute class.

The classrooms are small, and are nearly filled to capacity. The only airflow is provided by two ceiling fans which spin at such speeds you expect them to fly away at any minute. The seats are tiny, and cramped, and interlocked, so when the guy two chairs away from you crosses his legs, you have to stop writing lest you scribble something unintelligent. The desks, if they can be called that, are of a type you haven't seen since high school - and even those were bigger writing surfaces. You have a standard casebook, a 3-subject spiral binder, one red, one black and one blue gel pen, your water, and room enough to set maybe one of them on the 'desk'/writing surface. And it angles down toward your legs. The room is lit by three lights, two fluorescent and one luminescent. The walls are a pale green, and in bad need of painting, and the blackboard at the front of the room is the 'old fashioned' chalk kind. There are maps of Italy in various political climates scattered about the room, and the only natural light streams in through windows high upon the wall across from the split door which neatly bisects the its wall. But since the sunlight's heat outweights the breeze created by keeping the window open, the windows are closed, and the wooden shades are nearly shut. No air circulates through the room, so that after ninety minutes, most of the students are near passing out, and the sweat is beading up on the instructors forehead. In the back of the room is a clock which is one hour and five minutes slow, so that classes start on time but end late. This is because the instructor looks at his watch as he enters, but not again during class.

On sunny days (which is a description of most days here), those lucky enough to have Comparative Criminal Procedure get to sit outside for their class. Class is held in the center courtyard, with students sitting on a concrete wall surrounding what was, ostensibly, a fountain at one time, though now it is just an overgrowing bush badly in need of a trim. Since the wall isn't big enough for everyone, some students take to sitting on the fountain's edge, while others purchased small folding chairs, and still others pulled the benches which were located elsewhere to spots outside the circle. Shade is provided by a large tree, which delights in dropping sap on the students as they attempt to write. The uninitiated at first think it's raining, but they're soon corrected by those who know better.

At noon, after second class has ended, most people trudge upstairs to sleep off the previous nights debauchery. Others stay outside to add a nice tan to the list of things they picked up in Italy. Still others head to the lab to check email, and others head down to Rinaldi's for lunch.

That little routine gets repeated every day. But today, workmen appeared on our floor, and began ripping up the bathrooms. Well, actually, only one bathroom - the men's. And at five o'clock, when it was time to go home, they stuck a sign on the door: "Do not use. Aut. Broken."

This is not good news for the women. Fortunately, it won't have it's biggest impact until Monday morning, as many people have left for the weekend. Some went to Florence, some to Venice. Others headed out to the cute haven of Cinqueterre, and still others slipped off to other hideaways. One went to Bern, Switzerland, to meet a friend. I am one of the few who elected to enjoy the peace and quiet of Rome. Hopefully, I'll be able to catch up on homework.

The first week hasn't been bad; most nights, we've enjoyed a nice dinner, some wine, and good conversation. Most nights, we haven't strolled in before 1:00a.m., which makes getting up at 7:15 kind of difficult. People are beginning to learn the same lessons I learned when I was here with the MBA group: going out with 10 or more people overwhelms restaurants, and draws attention from everyone else. You never get to talk to everyone, so why bother? Instead, it's much better to pick four or five people, and enjoy a nice meal. Same goes for sightseeing.

Last night I took J and JW to dinner at the Ristorante where the MBA group had their going-away dinner. J and JW enjoyed the atmosphere (the view overlooking Rome kicks ass), but they had no idea they were being insulting by only ordering a 'first course' at an establishment used to serving four or more courses. I didn't have the heart to tell them. Instead, I enjoyed my swordfish steak, pinot grigio, and the good conversation. We watched as a group of mostly women spoke with an older gentleman in Italian, and tried to discern what exactly was going on. Our best guess is he was retiring, and they were taking him out.

No sightseeing yesterday. Wednesday had more than made up for it, with the tour that took us through St. Paul's, the Catacombs of St. Benedict, the Forum, and the Pantheon, before dropping us in Piazza Navrona. All that walking, combined with my run in the early afternoon, was enough sightseeing for a while. Besides, if I see it all this week, what will I do the next three?

Time for some coffee. I didn't get that nap this afternoon, and I'm starting to get sleepy.

I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
that hold me inside
I wanna reach out
and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name....

Rome is a challenging city in a number of ways. The most obvious, of course, is the language. I'm slowly remembering more, but I never spoke it well to begin with. Italian has a lyrical quality about it. Kind of a sing-song rhythm which sounds like music to your ears, even if you have no idea of what's being said. Actually, that's better, because if you do, it's likely a mundane conversation.

Everyone here is getting used to being abroad. This trip is markedly different from my two trips to Europe with the MBA program. For both of those, people had managed to travel pretty extensively (except me, of course, who didn't have that kind of vacation time). By the time they arrived in Athens or Rome, they were veterans, and able to get around. Here, they're still getting used to the idea of a language and custom they've never experienced before. Not that they're all wet behind the ears. There's J, of course, who's been to Germany. And S and L, who've both lived here for extended periods of time. Not surprisingly, people have clung to them like small children to their mothers at a mall. And there's a smattering of others who've been abroad and can competently handle themselves.

But there are others who have a lot to learn. There are three divisions of students here - the law students, who stay for a month; the MBA students, who get a two week blow-through; and the undergrads, who stay all summer. Some of the undergrads have been here all year. Unfortunately, I'd like to say that the undergrads are the worst-behaved, but I can't. They're immature, sure, and loud (especially at night, when it's quiet), but there are some MBA, and, unfortunately, law students, who rival them. Rome has great food and great wine, and despite the efforts of the staff to ensure that we are all 'cultured' Americans, we lapse into stupidity almost nightly. Not the same people, but different people every night who come in drunk, make lots of noise, and wake somebody up, who'll spend the next day whining about it.

And the intrigue. Take seventy people, put them together, and watch what happens. Le Grande Grande Fratello - the Big, Big Brother. There's T who likes Gr, and J who says "nothing" is going on with H, and all the guys who are scamming on all the girls. And yes, I admit, I like someone here, too. E is her name, at least to you it is, and she's absolutely adorable. And twenty-five, outgoing, nice, intelligent......and I have absolutely no chance here. But what an enjoyable way to spend a summer.....

Right now, the scramble is on. The most popular question here is "what are you doing this weekend?" as everyone lines up their weekend trips. I'm hoping to head to Florence, Firenze here, and get the leather jacket I wanted two years ago, but didn't have the cojones to buy. Now I have the cojones, but not the dinero. I just don't know who I'm going with - the Firenze-only group, or the Firenze-Venezio(Venice) group. I've heard the canals stink to high heaven, but....it's Venice, how can I not go? And then there's the trip to Interlachen. And Paris. And.....oh, man, so many side trips.

There's good news, and bad news as well. The bad news first. I didn't do very well in Contracts. C-plus. Not what I'd expected, but then what did I expect, with all I'd juggled this semester. I've sent an email to the professor, requesting an accounting on my grade. We'll see when (if) she responds. The good news is Professor Civ Pro is now Professor Bus Ops. This made me very happy, as it opened up my entire morning, and made it possible for me to do some clerking work part-time. It also gave me Fridays off......

Well, it's 8:45. Dinner time here in Roma. I think I'll get the pasta.

London calling-and I don't wanna shout
But when we were talking-I saw you nodding out
London calling, see we ain't got no highs
Except for that one with the yellowy eyes

"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of American Airlines, I'd like to welcome you to London, England."

With those words, I started the full-time chapter of my law school career. It had already been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

I woke up about nine, thinking of all the things I seemingly had to do before my parents came to take me to the airport. My parents wound up coming at one-thirty, a full hour and a half earlier than originally planned, and half an hour earlier than they'd told me only hours before. Fortunately, although I'd gone out to lunch, I'd gotten home sooner than expected (which turned out to be good, although admitting to going out to lunch when your parents think they're taking you to lunch is a bad thing).

Despite it being a Holiday Friday, there was hardly any traffic, and we made it to the airport in record time. The flight from Chicago to London was uneventful, and although J had told me we were seated across the aisle from each other, it turned out we were next to each other (and I was the lucky one on the aisle). J was supremely disappointed that American was charging for alcoholic drinks, since he'd hoped to get plastered on the plane (a policy I've come to appreciate more in recent days). I was disappointed in the movie selections. While I'd read that the airlines, in a cost-cutting mood, were getting away from first-run features, I didn't realize that it meant that far away. Evelyn, starring Pierce Brosnan, was the only one I was familiar with, save Doctor Who, but that film little resembled the TV show I'd watched in high school with some fascination (and a healthy dose of detachment from reality, since the special effects were often lacking). Thank God for multiple Spin City episodes and a good book. I even tried to sleep, but found I still can't sleep on an airplane.

The time I like is the rush hour
'cause I like the rush
The pushing of the people
I like it oh so much
Such a mass of motion
Do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and
I have the touch

I love London - the smells, the sights, the sounds - the whole city has a cosmopolitan character unlike any other. Walk through Leicester Square on any given evening, and you'll think the whole world has stopped by. Pass by the Official Half Price Ticket Booth and listen to a woman from Germany babble on to her girlfriend while animatedly gesturing. Whatever she's talking about, it's certainly worked her up. Keep walking, passing the All-One bar, and marvel at the lengths and types of skirts (mostly short & leather) on the myriad of women waiting to get in. Close by, there's a couple arguing in French, and even though you don't understand one word of what's being said, he's losing. Ahead is a building marked 'Switzerland', and you tell your companion that when you first came to London, it was a glockenspiel store, with a gigantic glockenspiel outside which chimed on the hour. Leave out your disappointment when you'd noticed on a later trip that it had closed. Turn right, and two Americans debate whether or not they should see a movie, or head to a play. Further along, the Muslim couple walks - she covered head-to-toe in burka, and walking dutifully behind him - neither of them speaking, just looking around. You wonder what they think of the hustle & bustle. Around, in front and behind you are all sorts of hucksters, from the various buskers to the robot-man, from the shills handing out concert leaflets, to the guy informing everyone in a loud voice "Returns! Returns! We've just had some returns for this evening. We've just had some returns for this evening!" In between all this is a cacophony of languages of every kind, and manner of dress to match, from the formal right down to the informal. From rich to poor, everyone seems to have come out to Leicester Square.

And so it was this evening, as I dragged J out for dinner. We'd managed to waste the day shopping for SIM cards on Oxford street, and even though it was early by European standards for dinner (7 pm), we still had to wait at the pseudo-Mexican restaurant we chose. Forty-five minutes of standing around, beer in hand led J to conclude that no pretty women existed in London, save foreigners. I noticed two women near us, one cute, the other average, and just as I did, two blokes made a lame pickup attempt using the old "it's my mate's birthday, don't you 'ave a kiss for him, love?" line. It got them conversation, but no kiss. Later, after we'd been seated, the same two girls were seated next to us. I managed to strike up a conversation, and an unexciting evening turned out very enjoyable. As we went back to the hotel, I looked forward to finally getting some sleep.

Little did I know the fire alarm would go off three hours later.

So much to do, so little time....

Ever notice how things don't seem all that daunting until half an hour before you're supposed to leave? I thought I'd done a decent job cleaning up. Turns out I should have taken all week to do it.......

Well, let's hope the flight across the pond is uneventful. Next stop: London.

Arrggghhh...

If this is the "new" blogger, I'm not impressed.....

I live on a chain
and you had the same last name
As a joke I sent a bottle of whiskey
As you choked, you said it made you feel dirty....

Bought two Pete Yorn CDs today. What a day. My first true day of being unemployed, though I have yet to talk to HR. Every time I call, I get voice mail. I am starting to get very annoyed.

The general consensus about the Civ Pro exam was that our professor was able, in only 11 questions, to be more comprehensive than our Contracts professor was in 23 questions. Amazing. I wrote like a banshee, winding up writing 16 double-spaced pages. Compare that with a mere five for Contracts, and you get what I meant. I was better organized for this exam, so hopefully I did better.

The exam mentioned 11 items, but I had written about four motions, and was about to start the fifth when I looked at the clock. It was 7:30, and I hadn't even written about half the questions. I panicked, and looked again at the test - and that's when things looked odd. I could only readily identify nine motions. So where were the other two? When I broke things down again, I realized my motion four was actually three items, so instead of being on number five, I was really on number seven. I was ahead of schedule. I relaxed - a bit.

My classroom normally holds about 110 people, but because of the every-other spacing of the finals, there was only about fifty people in the classroom, and, unlike last semester, the first person didn't leave until 8:50. In fact, a good ninety percent of us were still writing at nine. But the cool thing is that we got the honor of having our prof in the class as our proctor for both exams - fall and spring. Now if I could only swindle my way into his Business Org class.

After the exam we again went out. This time we only managed to close two bars, and never made the third. But I did have the honor of piling seven people into the Bravada, and chauffering them to bar number two (and no, I was not drunk). A good time was had by all, even though M and I didn't get to eat until 2am. I drove M, JM, and C home after bar number two, and when JM found M lived by one of his favorite burrito stands, he began incessantly cajoling me to stop. Personally, I didn't care, but I was wondering about C, and whether he wanted to stop. Eventually, we all went inside and ate, and I drove everyone home. Somehow, we managed to avoid all the heavy rain - every time we needed to go outside, the rain stopped. I finally crawled in at 3am.

Today was spent inside, cleaning up three months of mess. Most of the papers are gone, I've made headway into the shirts, and all that remains is some dusting, tax extensions, and packing. The highlight was when I went to the post office to have my mail forwarded while I'm gone. Most of the post offices I've been in have little stantions, and you know where the line is. Not in this place - they had a take-a-number. Even better, the couple at the front desk had brought six months of mail, loads of questions...and their dog. Who brings their terrier into the post office? Sheesh. Forty minutes later, I finally was able to mail my two envelopes, and turn in my change-of-address. Three more days, 'til we hop the pond.....

I was just 34 years old
and I was still wandering in haze
I was wondering why everyone I met
seemed like they were lost in a maze

I don’t know why it seemed like I should have
some kind of divine right to the blues
It’s sympathy not tears people need
when they’re the front page sad news…

There is always a wind outside my apartment. All around me could be still, and there would still be a wind. It’s from the tollway. The movement of the passing cars pushes the air up and over the noise barrier fence (which should be fired for failing at its only purpose in life). The moving air then gets forced between the two apartment buildings, creating a wind vortex that is non-stop.

It’s always ten degrees colder, too. It could be 90 degrees on my balcony, but out the front door it’s 80. And windy.

Such were the conditions this morning when I stepped outside for my first outdoor run since March. And that run had been a disaster. Seeking to take advantage of a fifty-degree day in a string of below-thirty weather, I’d decided to run along the sidewalks on Washington Street instead of in Herrick Lake Forest Preserve, my usual outdoor running path. Mistake. Big mistake. I’d assumed that the sidewalks would be clear of snow, but they weren’t. And the warm weather just turned what snow was there to slush. The low sections of the sidewalk were either deep piles of slush, or deep puddles. Before long, my feet were soaked.

And then it happened. Tired of running through slush and puddles, I had seen what I thought was dry ground below me at street level. The only problem was navigating down a steep slope to get there. But since the ground on the slope seemed dry as well, it wouldn’t be a problem. You should take note of the word ‘seemed’ in that sentence – because although it seemed dry, it wasn’t, and I took a nice, public tumble down the slope. Covered in mud, I walked the rest of the way home, and spent a good hour trying to clean the mud out of the Sports Walkman and the stopwatch.

Wake up, stop dreaming
The sun is in the sky again
There’s a hole in the ocean
The water’s pouring through

Wake up, stop dreaming
Wipe the sleep from your eyes
Are you frightened of heights?
Are you falling?

Today, however, was different. Although it was cloudy, it hadn’t rained in a few days, so the ground was dry. The wind was still there, and still cool, but not as frigid as that day in March. I walked to the Herrick Lake entrance, and WXRT did me a favor by playing Pete Townshend’s Slit Skirts, a nice start to an early-morning run. It was followed up by Bruce Springsteen’s Brilliant Disguise, and when XRT went to commercial, I went to tape.

When I got to the entrance of the Herrick Lake Forest Preserve, I clicked the stopwatch and started running. My best time ever was around twenty-four minutes, but since I really had done little running the last five months, I had no illusion that I’d be approaching my personal best. Still, I hoped to clock in under thirty minutes.

I ran the short distance to where the entry path t-intersects the main path, and turned left. To me, this route is harder, since it requires you to climb three hills – one at the beginning, one near the middle, and one smaller one at the end – all of which are fairly steep. Go the other way, and the hills are more gentle and sloping. By going left, you also have to endure the tenth of a mile that is nothing but uncovered open space at the end of your run, instead of the beginning. This makes it harder, because there is no shade, and usually no breeze, depending on the time of day you choose to run. Or, conversely, there could be quite a stiff breeze. Today was a no-breeze day.

It’s also nice to run early; the trail can be heavily used by runners, walkers, bikers and horseback riders. Running early means that the only scenery you’re likely to see is that provided by nature, but it’s an even trade.

Wake up stop dreaming
There’s more than just two steps to heaven
Oh, if you want to go to heaven
You’d better wake up

I clocked in today at twenty-six minutes and twenty-eight seconds. After cooling down, I went to church, then to Bob Evans for breakfast. I sat where all the single people sit – at the counter – and read the Chicago Sun-Times. Rain clouds threatened to the south as I entered church, but by the time I left Bob Evans, they’d all but gone, replaced by a late morning sun. All around me, people were getting into the summer mood, driving with windows open and tops down, even though, at sixty-five degrees, it was still a bit cool. I thought briefly of hopping on the motorcycle for a ride, but decided to wait until I could actually get the license plates renewed, which is likely Tuesday or Wednesday. And that lingering thought of those tax returns on extension, my pig-sty of an apartment, and getting ready to leave for Europe means that this week is going to be one busy week.

I’d better get started.

Pretty little hairdo
Don’t look what it used to
Can’t disguise the living
All the miles you’ve been through

Looking like a train wreck
Wearing too much makeup
The burden that you carry
Is more than one soul could ever bear

So sad
Don’t look so sad Marina
There’s another part to play
Don’t look so sad Marina
Save it for a rainy day

I am now unemployed.

That just sounds weird. Actually, I don't think I am officially unemployed yet. I tried to quit, but no one was around to quit to. I felt like a general who wanted to surrender his army, but didn't know just who to surrender to. Part of this is my own fault - I wasn't really desirous of packing up my things with everyone watching, so I deliberately waited until the end of the day to take care of business. Of course, by this time, it was after 3:15, and the timekeeper had left for the day (she leaves promptly at 3:15 - the benefit of being union, I guess). Then I went upstairs to see the HR rep, only to find she'd been (and still was) in a meeting all afternoon, and not available. I certainly wasn't going to security or IT unless I'd been properly checked out, so I left her a note to call or come see me when she got out of her meeting. At 6:00, she still hadn't, and I'd heard zip by the time I left at 7:00.

So I don't think my resignation is effective yet. I'll have to call Monday, and try and track down some answers. All I know is, I'm not surrendering anything until I've gotten all my paperwork, including COBRA. And I don't think I need to point out the obvious flaws in our outprocessing system - I have to go to HR, Security, IT, and our department timekeeper before I'm out of the system. Forget (or deliberately ignore) to do something, and I still have access to building, network...and maybe even, like Milton in Office Space, still get paid.

Either way, it still doesn't change the fact that I have a Civ Pro exam on Monday to study for. Then I'll really be able to let all this sink in.

Observation:

When you show up at 9:15 instead of 7:30 on your second-to-last day, no one notices. Except for your coworker, who politely thanks you for ‘dropping by.’

This doesn’t normally happen:

Part of my agreement to hang around for an extra week was that I got yesterday off for my Contracts final. I went downtown early, getting to school at 11. I had some administrative stuff to take care of, so I did that, and finished around 11:30. My choice at that point was to just eat, or study for a bit and then eat. Rather than have to pack up once I’d unpacked, I chose to eat.

So there I was sitting in Grillers at a long table, (which really was three tables for two put together) studying for my Contracts final. When I first got there, it was fairly empty, but then the crowd started to show up. There was a woman seated at a single table for two against the window to my left, her back to me. Presently, she asked if she could share, because she was right by a heater, and she was hot. Being the nice guy I am, I said sure. Within minutes, she’d engaged me in conversation. An hour later, she left, and I had a phone number in my notebook. This will be interesting.

The rest of the day was not nearly as interesting. The Contracts final was not as comprehensive or terrible as it could have been, and I was glad I’d devoted so much time to studying. The downside to sitting for six hours, though, is that my back is still killing me today. I feel…forty.

Afterward, we went out for a few drinks, which led to us closing one bar, then another, and we were well on our way to a third when I pulled the ripcord and bailed. It was 2 am, and I had to be at work in five hours to train my replacements. When I finally crawled into bed an hour and fifteen minutes later, I was wondering how or if I’d hear the alarm at 6:30. I didn’t.

I jumped out of bed, called M. and apologized for being late. I swore I’d be there shortly, and fell like crap for being late. As it turned out, it was all for naught, as M. didn’t make it in, and I spent the day just futzing around.

Tomorrow is my last day, and I’m not really up for packing up the desk. Maybe I’ll go in real early and do it.

It's 3:30am. I just got home. Went out for a few after Contracts final. All I can say is - Contracts is over! Yay!

We'll see how I feel in four hours.

Responding to others blogs, part deux

First, read this. Then read this. Then read what follows.


"This is what happens when you let a bean counter run a creative company."

First of all, as a Certified Public Accountant, I hate, HATE, the term 'bean counter.' Nothing grates on my nerves more. But that's beside the point.

Michael Eisner is NOT a 'bean counter'. He graduated in 1964 from Denison University where he majored in theatre and literature.

Prior to joining Disney, he worked in the programming departments of CBS (1964?-66?) and ABC (1968-1976) in 1976, he became chairman of Paramount, and in 1984 he took over at Disney. When he took over, Disney was financially unhealthy, and mired in a creative slump.

I will agree that Eisner is an arrogant a-hole, whose best achievements have resulted in his ability to hire the brightest creative minds (Barry Diller at Paramount, Jeff Katzenberg at Disney). Of course, he, like Jerry Krause of the Chicago Bulls, believes that it is HIS genius that's responsible for the success of Disney the last 20 years, but it's not.

The reason that Disney is in a down period is simple - it's all about the money. And who do we blame for that? Eisner? Ok, to some extent. But what about Disney shareholders? I have worked for several large companies, and some good ideas have been flushed simply because they didn't offer the short-term, 'quick hit' to the bottom line that shareholders and stockbrokers love. What you can say, creatively, about Disney, you can say about Universal, Paramount, Columbia, and even MGM. Movies and TV today is profit driven, and until the movie-going public votes with ticket sales for quality movies, it always will be.

Like Moxie said, it's corporate hedging. What Disney is engaging in may be reprehensible to some, but it's financially smart - it wins either way, and actually, can win on both fronts. Chicken shit? Maybe. Two-faced? Definitely. Possible ramifications? Few, as most people wouldn't understand the complexity of it all, and a good spinmeister could make it work fairly well. Besides, other companies engage in seemingly contradictory behaviour, and we, the general public tolerate that, so why not this?

Please understand - I'm NOT condoning what Disney is doing. I'm just trying to balance out the discussion here. As a Chicagoan (read: Democrat) I'm not overly fond of a lot of George Bush's policies, but I don't believe Moore has a leg to stand on, either. His speech at the Academy Awards was inappropriate and incendiary, and made without factual basis. His film, Bowling for Columbine, has come under criticism for factual misrepresentations. And September 11th is a poor choice upon which to base critical analysis, since it was so unusual that it's hard to determine if Al Gore would have acted any differently in the same situation. Personally, Disney should stick to handing out the passes, and leave the asses elsewhere.

Resignation

I’ve come to the conclusion that Internet dating sites are a waste of time and money. At least for me they are. I’ve belonged, at various times, to kiss.com, match.com, matchmaker.com, udate, and lavalife. Now, I’m not desperate. Far from it. And for most of these, I’ve only belonged during the free period, ditching it as soon as I had to start paying. Only if I’d gotten some positive feedback (read: dates) did I stick around long enough to shell out money.

My dating experience hasn’t been the best. Over the years (I think it’s been about 5 years since I joined the first dating site, matchmaker.com), I’ve had about 40 dates. Of those, about 5 have seemed promising, and only one really sticks out as having relationship potential. Unfortunately for her, I had my first date with Laura the very next day. Other than that, only about two or three made it past the first date – some my choice, some theirs.

Of the women I dated on the Internet, some were truly nice, but not attractive (to me, at least). Some had serious issues, some outright lied about what they looked like, some were obviously not serious, one actually had a boyfriend, and, (lucky for me) none were psycho. There was Julie in Evanston, who I liked, but who wasn’t attracted to me (a common theme). And there was Debbie the Teacher, who kept addressing me by name every time I asked her a question:

“How’s the food?”
“Good, Greg.”
“Were you able to find parking?”
“Yes, Greg, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

This made for an odd dinner conversation. And no, there was no date two. But she’s still on match.com, if you’d like to give her a shot. She was pretty.

And that’s just it – nobody gets off of these sites. I tried to cancel my match.com account, and they told me I had to call them to do it. Why? Because I pay less - $16.95 a month – than you do. And I’m sure I’d get some pitch to stick around. After all, what’s $16.95 a month? Right? Well, when you get to live on $16,000 for the next year, it’s a lot. And if I’m spending money, it’s going to be on someone who has a genuine interest in me, and not on a gamble that maybe – just maybe – she’ll like me.

My guess (and it’s been shown in a number of articles) is that women are far outnumbered by men on these sites – and a large percentage of men on these sites are married or otherwise attached. Some of the women I’ve talked to, have told me that they’re bombarded by emails as soon as they sign up, while I can count on two hands the number of unsolicited emails I’ve gotten from women, in total, on all of the sites I’ve belonged to – combined.

It also seems like people on these sites are searching for the perfect mate – physically, emotionally, educationally, and on and on. But anyone who is or has been married knows that such a person doesn’t exist. At best, you get 60-70% of the attributes you seek, and many people fall in love with someone who doesn’t meet any of their so-called ‘criteria.’ Ok, I’ll admit to being picky. And I’ll allow you the right to ignore my email introducing myself. And I’ll even allow you to exchange emails with me, and then stop, for no apparent reason and without warning. But please – please – don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that I’m a nice guy, blah, blah, blah, but you’ve met someone that you’d like to see more of, and see where it goes, yada, yada, yada, and then sign on to the service the very next day. Because that means you are either a sleazebag of the first order, or thinking that I’m dumb enough to believe that bullshit. And I’m not.

Missed opportunities.....

Someone Googled Jeanette Beauregard yesterday, and wound up on my site, where they spent quite a bit of time. This blew my mind.

Now I'm curious who this was, and why they didn't leave a comment. Was it the same Jeanette who went to NIU with me, and who I mentioned in my blog? (And yes, who I had a crush on a long time ago, and would love to know what she's up to today?) Or was it someone else?

So if you come back here, oh mystery person, identify yourself, and satisfy my aching curiousity.......

Maybe I should mention another old girlfriend, and see what happens. After all, just because I dumped Brenda Keller in 1983 doesn't mean I don't think about her every now and then. Usually, just to kick myself for losing every picture I had of her, but occasionally to wonder what's she's up to these days, and if she remembers me....

We'd like to take a moment and welcome those of you hooking into us from Moxie's blog. Welcome, and enjoy your stay. If there's anything we can do for you, just fill out the comment card, and we'll get right on it....

Went to lunch at the Sushi House in Naperville. On the way out, grabbed a fortune cookie. The fortune?

"Soon you will encounter a whole new world of opportunity."

I'm not kidding.

Training Day

Ok, so here’s the weekend score:

Saturday, sent three emails to three ladies (duh!) on match.com. Given match.com’s past performance, that should lead to – zero – replies. Of course, the alternative is one no-reply, one reply-by-email-never-to-be-heard-from-again, and one one-and-done (dates, that is) reply. Or my other favorite – that’s where I send an email to someone who’s been on in the last 24 hours, and they don’t reappear for the next five days, or five weeks, or – ever. Not that I’m negative or anything. Maybe Bridget was right, and somehow I come off too cynical.

Sunday was Mother’s day. Celebrated by taking Mom to the Center for Performing Arts in Munster, IN. While this sounds like we took her to a play, they actually have a pretty good buffet there every Sunday. And it was packed. The food was good, though, and I got to see my aunt and uncle who live in South Bend. Their son-in-law is finishing up law school down in Texas. Originally, the plan was to move closer to home and practice in Tennessee, but now there may be a job offer in Texas, so…hold the phone.

Of course, the big focus is Wednesday. Contracts Finals day. I feel like there’s SO much to know and so little time. I tried my best to study at the apartment, and for the most part I did well, but not as well as I could have. I kept looking around at the mess I live in, the shirts lining the doorways, waiting to be ironed, the dust piling up on the furniture, and well, I started to clean. Not a lot, just a little. Clean, read, laundry, read. Saturday was not as productive, study-wise, as I’d have liked. Maybe it was because I wasn’t supposed to be at work today, and I’d originally earmarked Saturday as recover-the-apartment-day. Or maybe it was because I tend to procrastinate, and need to work on that. Whatever the reason, I was able to really focus on Sunday and get a lot done. I’m now down to two days, and I don’t know where to focus my energy, since I missed the review session last Wednesday.

To top things off, I start training my replacements today. Miguel is pretty sharp, and so is Jose, so I don’t anticipate any real difficulty. It’s just trying to tell them what they need to know in the four workdays I have left, and not leaving anything out. I know, I know – you’re leaving, what do you care? But I do care. It’s my work, and I’m proud of what I’ve brought to the job. I’ve put a lot of myself into it, and I want to leave here on good terms, so that when the day comes that I need a reference, Rob, or Ken, or whomever. I want them to be able to say, “yeah, when he left, he hung around to help out when he didn’t have to” and not “yeah, he gave notice at the worst time of the month and left the company without doing any turnover.”

Check this out.....

Ang has been nice enough to complement my writing, so I'm improving my blog by adding a link to her. Most of the people who drop in here come from Sua Sponte, or from The Paper Chase, or from liable, or from moxie. All of these blogs are great reads (check out liable's comments on today's post), and I think they deserve a thank you from me for their support.

But I would be remiss to ignore fish, whom several of my friends like, or a mad-tea party (listed as Alice on the links page), who was recently listed as one of the top 50 interesting newcomers on Technorati, and for good reason.

There's more good stuff.....just check out the links page.

People are funny..

There's a lot going on around here in the Finance Department. Today is T's 50th birthday. Tomorrow is D's birthday.

T is rather nonchalant about the whole matter. Every day T goes to the company cafe for lunch, and buys a salad. But today is a big occasion - the big 5-0. So T is celebrating by taking a half day, and having a quiet dinner with the wife.

Not D. She had to let everyone know that tomorrow is her birthday, and they all must go out for it. God forbid anyone cancelled, because the full pouting mode would begin. In fact, her boss, P, was in a meeting with his boss, R, and she stood at the corner of P's cube, waiting for him to finish. Finally P looked over and said "go ahead, I'll catch up with you." After they were done, he told R that he was going to lunch, which prompted a wry, I-feel-sorry-for-you smile from R. D is one obnoxious person, who more than once has interrupted a co-worker's meeting with R for some issue that she just had to deal with at that moment. The funny thing is she makes numerous derogatory comments about me, but no one here really likes or respects her, for obvious reasons. I can't stand her, but it's mostly because of what went on between my ex-roommate and her, which I may blog about someday, but not today.

On another topic....

We are at T minus 5 for Contracts finals. I've resorted to pulling out my CPA review tape and listening to Harry talk about Contracts. It's from 1995, but remarkably, still accurate. Eight years hasn't changed much in the law. And Harry Wright is much more entertaining to listen to than Professor Contracts. Several of my classmates, who lack full-time jobs, went to a review course for the day students, and came back talking about how poorly Professor Contracts had done in instructing us. Of course, Professor Contracts has to compete with Professor Civ Pro (who would have been Professor Bus Org, had I not forgotten to register until 11 a.m. yesterday), who is one of the most dynamic professors I've had. He ranks up there with Harry in teaching style, engagement of students, and ability to make you remember even the most mundane details about filing a pleading. I'm still trying to change my Bus Org class, and if I can't get in legally, I may just go anyway...

Responding to others' blogs.......

Dawn argues that "[t]he safest family environment for a child is a home in which the biological parents are married. Contrary to current theory about the effects of marriage on children, recent research demonstrates that marriage provides a safe environment for all family members, one in which child abuse and fatality are lowered dramatically." Joanie counters that "90% of the children brought in to the hospital [where she works] suffering from child abuse are from homes where mom and dad are married and living together."

I have no experience in being a husband or a parent, but I'll still say this: You live what you know. I recently went out for drinks with a few classmates, and came to a realization: all four of us had parents who were involved in our lives cared about what we did, and encouraged us to pursue our dreams. And for the most part, we all turned out well.

No one is perfect, and we all have our flaws, but my guess is that both Dawn and Joanie are right. Where the biological parents are still married, and had happy childhoods, the children are well adjusted and happy. But those parents never wind up in divorce court, and are usually successful. Hence, no social issue.

But where there have been problems in the parents childhood, those problems will manifest themselves again when the parent has their own children (clear as mud?). If you're abusing your children, they'll abuse theirs. If you smoke in front of them, they'll smoke. I could go on and on. This is a subtle form of addiction, breakable only when someone makes the conscious decision to break the cycle. Until that happens, the behaviour will continue. We've all known children afraid to talk about sex, because that's "dirty". Usually, these people either meet enablers or become enablers themselves, so the cycle continues.

I agree with Dawn. There is a social problem out there. But there is no one cure-all panecea which will solve the problem, no metaphorical bomb we can drop to make it all go away. It has to start with the parents themselves - get involved in your children's lives, and don't be afraid to discipline them when they need it ("Honey, please don't do that" is NOT discipline - be firmer). But know when to back off, and know the difference between discipline and abuse. Teach them morals and values, and exhibit the behaviour you want them to exhibit. If you show respect for others, they'll learn to be respectful. And yes, you'll make mistakes; we all do. But if you feel the urge to punch your six-year-old, see a psychiatrist.

Limited time offer......

Today H took me out for some drinks, because he's leaving tomorrow on vacation and can't join the drinkfest. His boss came too. I like them both, and have a lot of respect for both of them. I've kept in touch with someone from every job I've worked at, and hopefully they'll stay in touch.

Speaking of which, one of the eight Jens I know called me today - after a year of not hearing from her. She called to invite me to her wedding, but unfortunately, it's after I leave for Rome, so I won't be able to go. Too bad. I haven't seen her in a while, and it would be nice to see her.

Yesterday was the oldest nephew's confirmation. It went fairly well, and the bishop was actually entertaining. He was a Chicago boy through and through - right down to his mannerisms and the way he talked. The church is a new church, just built in the last year, but the pews were damn uncomfortable, and it was very stuffy inside - they obviously forgot ceiling fans to generate airflow. Afterward, they offered refreshments. I thought we'd get some, chit chat a bit then head back to my sisters, which we did, but not without my oldest nephew becoming Oscar the Grouch. Man, did he get pissy. It was embarrassing. I just wanted to leave. It was too bad. Mom wanted to get ice cream or rice pudding, but he spoiled the fun mood. Which made me sad and angry - sad because my Mom was just trying to make a nice evening, and angry because he had no good reason for this.

I start turnover tomorrow. Six more days.

Tick………tick………….tick…………..

Well, things are winding down. There are now eight (not counting today) days left in my career here (though I could wind up like Milton in Office Space if I don’t remember to tell HR I’m leaving). And school is all but over except for finals, which are the 14th and the 19th. Oh sure, there’s a Contracts review session tomorrow, but I won’t be there because it’s the oldest nephew’s confirmation.

When I was a teenager, I used to think that my parents didn’t understand me. But now that I’m older, I realize that it’s the other way around – teenagers don’t understand what it’s like to be an adult. And they never will, because it’s an understanding that you don’t get until you’re there, and then it’s too late to go back. Only then do you appreciate the benefits of ignorance.

My oldest nephew lacks motivation. He’s perfectly content to do nothing. One of his classmates, upon noticing the instructor had misspelled his confirmation name, asked my nephew to get the attention of the girl in charge fixing such errors. My nephew called this girl’s name out in a voice barely audible to me, sitting right next to him, much less someone three rows away, as she was. The classmate finally got help from someone two rows in front of us, who overheard him asking for help and called the girl over.

I feel sorry for him, because I think he’s greatly influenced by his father, who brags about his third grade education, and how well he’s done for himself. Let’s review that, shall we? He lives in a house he doesn’t own, drives an on-its-last-legs car because he (a) can’t afford and (b) can’t get a loan for a new one, has twice been cited by the city where he lives for having vehicles rusting away on the lawn in front of his house (and complained that they ‘have it in” for him as a result), has promised to by a car for both kids when they turn 16 (and told the oldest that the beat up, rusting deathtrap 1989 MR2 was for him, but then traded it for a tractor, and said he’d get that instead), and works as a maintenance man for a grocery chain, because he lost every other job he had and his own business ‘never took off’ (which it won’t when you make 8 a.m. appointments, and don’t show for them, or when you don’t answer your pager).

My nephew won’t hesitate to tell you his plans to play college and pro football, but apparently he missed the requirements that you (a) pass your classes, (b) stand taller than 5’9” and (c) actually make the teams. Kind of like the tax client I had this year who told me that she inspired her boyfriend to go back to college. When I asked her what he went back to do, she told me “he’s gonna be an NBA player.” Again, the fact that he was 5’8”, 28 years old, and playing on a juco team didn’t seem to be a deterrent, because “he’s got some real good moves.” Yeah, so does the 12th man on every NBA team.

Anyway………

It’s strange to be winding down. When you go to law school open houses, they tell you that you really bond with your classmates, and to an extent it’s true. But there are barriers. The suburban people (like me) are limited, since they have to drive back out to the suburbs, and can’t hang around like the city people do. Take last night, for example. John, Heather, Christine, Aaron, Mark and I all went for drinks. Heather left when her stalker showed up (according to her, they’re just friends, but from what she told me, she’d better be careful). I left when I realized (a) it was getting late (b) I’m still gainfully employed, and needed to be at work somewhat close to on time (c) I had a thirty-five minute drive home and (d) I was getting tired. The others were still there, rehashing their briefs, agonizing over trivial errors (I can’t imagine that in practice all briefs are perfectly written) and rationalizing that the Moot Court committee won’t notice that they didn’t underline a case name, or missed a period, or spelled behaviour with a ‘u’ as the British (and I) do.

And then there was eleven.........

Or zero. Depends on if you're counting classes left, or workdays left. The first is zero. Tonight's it. The last Contracts class, ever (thank God!). We've all suffered enough.

Not that class was all that bad, but it could have been better. A little less emphasis on the minutiae of each case, and a little more emphasis on things to know when you practice.The most helpful comment came when Professor Contract's husband taught, and corrected a classmate who said the price of an item should be $76. "You'd never say that in practice," he chided, "because you'd be admitting the price was $76. The price is $44, and you don't know where $76 came from." An important insight easily overlooked by a new attorney. And if one were unfortunate enough to be matched with a saavy, older attorney - you'd be toast, and your client would be pissed. This is the kind of stuff we all wanted to know, but never really learned.

As for workdays, well, we're down to eleven. And today wasn't half bad. Hopefully, my journals will clear tomorrow, and I'll be able to book something. Otherwise, it will be a lousy weekend. But the promising thing is that I can now run reports and get information, which is a marked improvement over last night.

The downside to this quitting thing is that I know a lot of people around here. In fact, if they all come out next Friday (my original last day), there will be almost 80 people at my going-away party. That's not a bad turn-out. But I digress. I've gotten lots of emails and phone calls, not to mention people stopping me in the hall, in the coffee room and elsewhere to ask me about this.

I've learned there are three types of people:
The ones who wish you well superficially, while questioning your sanity.

The ones who wish you well sincerely, smile, shake your hand or pat you on the back and say keep in touch (and mean it).

The ones who wish you well with that look in their eye - the look that says they wish they were you, getting out and finding a new (and theoretically better) life, and not stuck in a job they are handcuffed by salary and/or benefit to. I feel sorry for these people. They feel trapped in their lives, and ultimately are miserable, punching the clock every day until retirement, when they hope to be able to do all they really wanted. But what if they're not able? What if arthritis robs them of the ability to walk? Or a heart condition confines them to limited activity? Or worse? What then?

The worst three words you can say consecutively are I should have. I know, because I've said them. I should have never broken up with Brenda Keller back in high school. I should have called Jeanette Beauregard that summer between my junior and senior year at NIU. Foolish me.....

I've said I should have enough in my life. I'm trying not to say it anymore, but I know I'll fail somewhere along the line. Right now, though, I can pursue my dream. I said I should have for ten years, between the first time I took the LSAT, and the second. That's long enough.

What are you saying I should have to?

And the countdown continues…….

Things around work are getting frustrating. I keep running report after report, and get nothing that I can use for month end. I’m at the point of saying that I’m not doing any accruals, simply because I can’t find the info I need. I’m not alone on this, either. None of the other support accountants can get anything they need, either. And the level of annoyance just builds. This month end is going to be horrible.

As for the countdown, I should be on seven, as in seven days left. But it’s now twelve, after the Director of Accounting asked me to extend my stay here by a week to help in transitioning stuff over. Since I have no desire to burn bridges, and since I harbor no real ill will, I chucked the plans for finals study marathons and said ok. The one caveat is that I am taking the 14th off for my Contracts final. Besides, who am I to complain about getting an additional week’s pay?

The sad thing, really, is that I’m not being replaced. Miguel and Ron get more work, as does Jose, and no more thanks for the effort. When I told Lois who was replacing me, her first words were “what does he have?” And when I told her that Jose has Projects, she quickly mentioned that he’d never have time for her department. Probably true, which is too bad, because in the year I’ve been their accountant, they’ve gotten a good understanding for what’s going on.

In other news…..

Well, my lucky streak ran out. I’ve never been called on in Contracts, simply because I believed (correctly) my last name was a bit of a challenge for Professor Contracts. As it turns out, I was right, but she gave it a shot on Monday. Two other people have passed in her class (by saying “pass”, as a matter of fact) and have been the first people called on the next class period.

So on Monday, when the prof called on me, I wasn’t prepared. And I said so. Well, actually, when she asked me to give the facts of the case, I said, “I have no idea. I didn’t read that case.” After class, everyone was warning me that I’d better read up for tonight’s class. Too bad that it’s month end and that I’ll likely be late to class, if I go at all. Right now, leaving on a good note is much better than leaving on a bad one. Who knows when I might need a good word.

Putting in a good word…..

Speaking of putting in a good word, I’ve noticed a few other blogs have linked me, which is always appreciated. However, I’ve only noticed by tripping across them on my travels elsewhere. If you want to link to me, feel free. I won’t object. But send me an email so I can return the favor. Tomorrow, I’ll feature some of the fine people who’ve thought enough of what I write to include a link to my site. Don’t miss out – send me an email, or post a comment, and I’ll give you a plug too.

You know how it is. You see things how you want them in your mind's eye, and then....reality sets in. Case in point: Saturday's oral arguments at the Daley Center. I envisioned myself as eloquent, knowledgeable, and able to field every question. Things didn't quite turn out that way. As evidence, I offer the following (we spoke in front of a two judge panel):

Judge A (to Chad, counsel for plaintiff): Thank you counsel. At this time, I'd like to rebuke counsel for defense (me) for failing to ask for rebuttal time......

Me (thinking): Holy Shit. Holy Shit. How did I do that? I swore I asked for rebuttal time. And here I've been, like a fool planning my rebuttal! And Chad cited Lindgren v. Moore, the facts of which almost perfectly dovetail the facts in this case, and I need to distinguish it! Oh no.........how can I be so stupid......

Judge A (continuing): .....and you won't make that mistake again, will you counsel?

Me: No your Honor.

Judge A: I imagine you'd like rebuttal time right about now, wouldn't you?

Me: Yes, your Honor, I had thought I'd asked for it. An oversight on my part.

Judge A: Would two minutes be sufficient?

Me (surprised at all hell that I'm getting this huge break): More than sufficient your Honor.

Judge A: You may proceed then.

Me (with volumes of gratitude): Thank you.

In the feedback section, the judges both pointed out my error, and used it to highlight the importance of asking for rebuttal time. On the positive side, Judge A commented my rebuttal was 'perfect' and did exactly what it was supposed to do - defeat Plaintiff's arguments. Judge B did chastise me for invoking sarcasm when I mentioned biofeedback, reminding me that you never know what the judge is into, and if his wife was big into biofeedback, I could have just blown a perfectly good argument. Both Chad and I earned marks for being the last to go, and handling the tough questions they asked with grace and poise and showing a real "mastery of the law." Afterward, Chad, Jen (a classmate in another section of legal writing) and I celebrated at Miller's Pub.

Onward and......upward?

I announced my resignation today. Two week notice. Well, not exactly two weeks, since May 9th is my last day. My boss said he was shocked, but understood. He said I'd probably shock a few other people as well. If I do, I'll be surprised. I told him that I was flexible, that I didn't want to put him in a bad spot. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and I was nervous as hell all day. I told Mark on Friday, and Jim today, figuring that since I've been friends with both of them for 8 and 18 years, respectively, and knew both before they worked for the company, that they deserved that much. Jim was dying to find out how Ken reacted, figuring Ken would ask him when he know. I also told my old boss, and the two main people I support, before I worked up the courage to tell my boss.

We'll see what happens now. Any suggestions for living on $20K a year welcome.

Ok, when I saw this article I thought that the picture was taken at the wake, and I was wondering why her eyes were open. Then I read the caption........

I don't know if I want to be that old, if that's how I'll look.......

A rare day off....

Ok, so I should be doing homework, or laundry, or......any number of a thousand things. And in a way, I did. I went to the tax office and cleaned up some extension stuff. But more remains. Funny how things tend to drag after tax season. Clients no longer have the sense of urgency to get things done. And actually, that's probably why they got extended in the first place.

Easter was nice. I won't bore you with details, because nothing happened of note, but it was nice to spend time with my family in a relaxed, sort of, atmosphere. I think it has to do with the semester winding down; I still feel pressure to be doing 'something', even when I'm trying to relax. I think I'll finally relax on May 19.

One nice thing about tax season ending is the gift of time. With that, I was able to turn in a draft for the first time all semester. A full draft, no partials. How nice. Even better, I was able to horn in on my fellow classmate's oral argument practice last night and get some of my own. I'll get more tomorrow when we argue a faux motion for summary judgment. My big moment comes Saturday. The fun part will be arguing in the Daley Center. I'll have to grab the classmates who argued tonight (hence my day off) and find out how it went. Of the five of us who practiced last night, I think I was the only one who was going on Saturday. The rest went tonight. I was going to try to write on for the Consumer Law Review, but they only gave us a week to write a 15-page article, and I didn't get that much time as a gift. So I'll shoot for Moot Court tryouts on May 2nd. Of course, that's the day of my Mom's b-day party, but she'll understand. I'll just arrive a bit late.

Happy Easter, everybunny!

Nerve-wracked

Had dinner last night with the parents. They expressed concern over my switching to full-time. Primarily, they're worried that I am biting off a big chunk - possibly more than I can chew. My Mom's biggest worry, of course, is whether I'll have enough to eat. My father's worried about the debt load. And me? Well, the list of things I'm not worried about is much shorter than the list of what I am worried about. I'm worried about taking a huge risk that might not pay off. I'm worried that, in my effort to give myself more time to dedicate to school, I'll find that I'm still stressed out over time. I'm worried about moving yet again - this time into the city. I'm worried about where the hell I'm going to store the motorcycle. I'm worried about having enough money. I'm worried about being able to find a part-time job. I worry about how much the COBRA insurance is going to cost. I worry about whether the school's health insurance will cover me in the summer next year, or if I have to sweat out an entire summer without insurance. The list goes on.

In the front of my mind, I tell myself there's no reward without risk. I tell myself that it will all work out, that I'll get a job, and be successful. I tell myself that I have my CPA and MBA to fall back on, that if worse comes to worse, I can go back to what I do now.

Despite my best efforts, this is going to be a long week.

I went to school today to pick up some materials for my paper. Donna was there, studying in the student lounge. At first I didn't notice her, she was so quiet. We talked for a bit, until I remembered that I'd only put fifty cents in the meter, good for half an hour, and that time had almost expired. Fortunately, no ticket. And Donna offered to help me find a place when I get back from Rome. I told Donna I was absolutely terrified of what I'd planned to do. She suggested I give notice on Monday, or first thing on Friday morning, but I want to do it privately, so I had planned on waiting until Friday afternoon. Let me tell you - Friday is going to be the most stressful day of my life so far. I told Donna that at this point, it would be much easier to get married. And despite the fact that I've never been close, I pretty much meant it. Of course, Donna would be a perfect wife, which is probably why her husband married her......

Frustrated......

(I wanted to quote the song by The Knack here, but I'm too tired to get up, pull out the album (yes, I have Get the Knack on vinyl), and play it to refresh my memory on the lyrics. C'est la vie.)

We are now fully into Easter Break. But still, I don't get anything done that I should. The best laid plans....

So the nurse has fallen off the end of the earth. I called her last night, and left a message, but no return call. She was nice, but truthfully, I don't think there was long term potential there. Too many 'odd' things about her. I won't go into them, but suffice to say, I wasn't totally comfortable. Plus, our schedules never meshed. I was available, she was busy. She was available, I was busy. But usually the former. And the warning flag was 'plans' last weekend, even though she had just come back from a week in Mexico. Maybe, I'll be surprised, but I doubt it.

So ladies, I am once again available for dating. Oh, wait, I was never "off" the market. Well, anyway, we here at Chez Greg are again accepting applications for potential girlfriends. Don't delay - this offer is guaranteed not to last long! Applicants must be able to tolerate fact that I will be gone for two months this summer, and will be unemployed (partially, at least) for much of the next two years. On the other hand.....I will have a nice job, hopefully.

I tried to book the flight to London tonight, but no luck. I had hurriedly signed up with Student Universe a while back, and foolishly forgot to write down my ID and password. Now I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for them to answer me back.

Had a conference with the Legal Writing instructor. Went well. She complimented me, which boosted my confidence. It had been lagging after writing this brief, but I feel better now.

The real issue is how tired I am right now. I am just SO not motivated. I could have slept all day, for what it was worth. And I spent most of the day at work screwing around aimlessly. I think the real issue is burnout, which I need to fight through and overcome. Otherwise, I'll get bounced before I fly away. Not a good thing. S told me she hasn't heard anything from the IBABY people either. Wonder what's taking them so long to do this background check.

Oh.
My.
God.
The couple on Blind Date is seeing a psychic. Pathetic. But then, I'm (partially) watching it, so what does it say about me? That there's nothing good on TV? yeah, that's it....

Ok, I'm having verklempt. Miracle Whip is neither a miracle, nor whipped. Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm going to bed.

A tax day story...

The scene wasn't an unfamiliar one. He was single, he lived alone. She, too, was single, lived alone. They differed in age by only a few years, and in height by only a few inches. They weren't in love, but good friends. She knew she could trust him, knew he'd look out for her, knew he'd do his best to help her out.

The ex hadn't been kind; there'd been words, volleys of hate which had signalled the death of the relationship in a violent, verbal spasm. It hadn't involved physical abuse, just a growing apart of two individuals who never grew together.

But the transition wasn't easy. He had done some things naturally, and she others. That which he did, she could do, but she could never understand them like he could, and he didn't understand them well himself. So they lingered. For years. First she promised she'd tackle them herself, then she swore she'd get them done, but all the while they lingered while time slipped quietly by.

Then she met him. And they became friends, occasionally sharing a drink, but more often an email, a phone call. Hi how are you, she'd ask, knowing that this time of year the question would be greated with a scoff, as he'd complain about the long hours, the stupid clients, and the tyrannical boss so evil, the staff ran an annual pool to see how long the front desk girl would last. This year, he'd told her he'd added law school to his to do list - a way of forgetting by punishment the woman who'd hurt him. And this year she'd needed him more than ever; her time was running out, and she needed the money.

She had called him and asked of his precious time. She only needed a night, she said, and she'd cook him dinner. Like any single guy who lived alone, the prospect of a home-cooked meal by anyone other than himself, some good company, and companionship for an evening was enough to entice him to make the hour-long drive to see her. He came over after eight, after a long day of work (even if it was Saturday), and greeted her with a smile. She started by informing him she didn't have any salad, or any bread, or any parmesean cheese. Good egg that he was (and how the women in his class described him), he offered to drive her to the store.

When they came back, she got serious about the dinner. She made sure the sauce, simmering all day, was just right - not too blah, not too spicy. She threw the angel hair pasta into the boiling water. She buttered the bread - sticking her tongue out at him when he asked how many cows she planned to kill to butter two sides of french bread. And when it was ready, she opened the oven, now thoroughly preheated, and went to toss in the bread to bake.

But she'd forgotten about the baking pans. And the knife. The wooden knife, now smoking as it had begun to singe. He laughed heartily, the laugh of someone who was under tremendous stress and hadn't had an outlet in weeks. She laughed in reaction, and tried to hide her embarrassment. But he wasn't embarrassed, he found it charming, her attempt to step out of character and be Susie Homemaker. Fortunately, the rest of dinner went well, and a few days later, he sent her a lovely present - her tax return, complete with refund. And she promised to make him steak next year. Without the knife.

Happy April 15th!!!!

The Friday Five, one day late (I'm always late, so for me it's on time):

1. What was the first band you saw in concert? Well, I won tix to see the Beach Boys when I was 13. But the first one I paid for was AC/DC. A very cool show. I couldn't hear for a week.

2. Who is your favorite artist/band now? Well, believe it or not, I still like AC/DC. But the Bon Scott version. Not the Brian Johnson version. Not any album after Back in Black. My tastes also run to Peter Gabriel, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Sinatra.......actually, they're all over the place. It depends on my mood - happy, sad, angry.....

3. What's your favorite song? See number #2. But some perennial faves: Lips Like Sugar (Echo & the Bunnymen), Blue Jean (Bowie), Under Pressure (Bowie & Queen), One Tree Hill (U2), Badlands (Bruce)....there's more, but I'm tired.

4. If you could play any instrument, what would it be? Guitar. But I'd rather sing. Singers get the girls. Accountants get the tax returns.

5. If you could meet any musical icon (past or present), who would it be and why? Elvis. Just to ask him what the fuck was he thinking?

So it's over.

But it's not.

But it is.

Huh?

Ok, so for all intents and purposes, my tax season is over. But there's those pesky extensions. Some are like P - they are actually done, but they owe, and they don't have the money, so they extend. Others are like D&C - they never give me everything they need to for me to finish. If they did, it wouldn't be an issue.

For as close as we are to April 15th, I had only 3 real appointments today. I expected more. Like, a full day. I managed to fill the day anyway, toiling away on yet another return where all the documents aren't included. Another extension, this one because the client doesn't call me back. Another client frets because we didn't include union dues, but since that's subject to a 2% floor, he won't be able to deduct them anyway. A parent is miffed because their daughter wasn't ready in time to join the parent at the office so I could do a two-for-one (two returns in one hour). Instead, she has to make a separate trip. I seriously underbill, expecting to get a tirade from the boss but it took me all of eight minutes to do her 1040EZ, so should I charge her the hour rate?

Meanwhile, the regular job has become a drag. Or maybe it's just burnout raising it's ugly head. I feel just totally lackluster this week, and don't really accomplish anything. At the tax office, I mope. At home, my apartment beckons, begging me to clean it. It's a filthy mess. I realize that it's been two years since I actually took a vacation. I want to sleep all day. I have over 100 emails in all of my inboxes, because I'm too lazy to clear them out. Blah.

I've just wasted 30 minutes surfing websites of people who are asking visitors to give them cash to pay various bills. I think I've seen everything now. Some of these people actually have succeeded. Others have gotten token amounts. I find it amazing that such a scheme works. Maybe I should start my own. Everybody send me a dollar, and help me pay for law school. Heck, I only need.......uh.......a hundred and twenty-seven thousand people to do that! Cool! So what are you waiting for? Be one of the first? Then I won't have this huge stress of HAVING to get the big bucks job, and I can do public interest law!!!

Thank god it’s the last week of tax season. I’m ready for it to be over. In fact, the weather and tax season can both take their leave of me now. I don’t need this frigid, arctic weather, and I would like my weekends back. As if it were somehow divined, I’ve suddenly come into a flood of personal tax clients. Of course, no one wants to do it early. It’s something I’ve never understood. Those who are getting their money back file early, and those who are paying not only file late, they prepare late, too. Now, I understand the wait-until-the-last-minute-to-pay thing. But it never fails that over half those people know they’re going to owe a substantial amount of money, but wait anyway, then fret about how much they owe, and “where am I going to get all this money?” It never dawns on them (even when I’ve told them time and time again) that if they prepared their return in January, the “where am I going to get the money?” question would have been much easier to answer. Sure, it wouldn’t reduce what they owe (that would have taken their thinking ahead before they take the money out of their 401(k)), but at least they wouldn’t find themselves in a cash crunch. Or better yet, like the guy, four years or so ago, who sat telling me all about the vacation he was planning for himself and his wife while I plugged away at his return. When I got done, he owed something like fifteen hundred dollars, because he’d taken a huge chunk of his 401(k) “to pay bills and other stuff” and, of course, was under 59 ½, and so incurred the 10% penalty. Of course I asked how he was going to pay for this wonderful vacation, and he responded, “with my refund. It’s my savings account.” Now, why you’d want a non-interest-bearing savings account is beyond me (although that’s pretty much what any passbook-style savings account is anymore), but plenty of people over-withhold and treat their tax refund as a windfall, instead of being a bit more prudent with their money all year long. Anyway, this guy was one of those people, and he was quite upset when I responded with “not this year. You owe.” And this guy was a big, biker-looking dude. And he was pissed. But there was nothing I could do – it was all his own doing. Needless to say, he didn’t come back the next year.

Saturday Entertainment, or how I survive tax season...


Recent searches which have lead people here:

1. Blog+lawisfun (Thanks! Just mark me as a favorite...)2. Officer caught having sex
3. Bar character & fitness
4. Demon dogs + CTA (referring to the flap between Demon Dogs hot dog stand and the CTA)
5. New Lenox & ugly
6. Fun for George Bush
7. Having sex with dog is considered (this guy came from the UK. Makes me wonder about people there.)
8. Hot couple having sex (nobody I know would fit that description, me included. Sorry.)
9. Law student + smoker
10. Tax law blogs (no, no, no. This is SO wrong...what a boring blog that would be)
11.New Lenox Mustangs (go Mustangs!!)
12. Desire to fuck my mother-in-law. (I'm sorry. Can I recommend a therapist? I have one as a client...)
13. Caught having sex. (Should I be noticing a theme here??)

I can just imagine the disappointment all those who came here to find a cheap thrill, only to find this blog. No, I can't. Wonder how many of them were doing this on company time??

While I can't help on the "hot couple having sex" thing, I can recommend a beautiful, intelligent woman's blog. And if you're (1) in California and (2) hiring (and not for something sleazy, either), she'd make a fine addition to your staff.

The premiere (here, at least) of the Friday Five:

1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life? Three houses, two apartments. One house was with a friend who rented me a room. The other two were my parent's.

2. Which was your favorite and why? Apartment #1. It had a great view. I'll overlook the fact that it had no overhead cover, was located just below the elevator's ventilation shaft opening, and that that was like Club Med for pigeons, so that my balcony was always covered in pigeon crap. For six weeks, at least, I had a nice eighth floor apartment, with a great view. So what if the elevators only worked half the time? Details.

3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why? Stressful. Who doesn't? Packing all that crap up, then unpacking? Yuck.

4. What's more important, location or price? Ummm....location always costs big money 'round here. So, price comes first. Who cares if you have a great view of Lake Shore Drive if you have no furniture, and no money?

5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)? A BASEMENT! Although I'll admit, I'd also like a nice downtown place with a view. And a big, honkin', palatial house with a huge garage, a huge basement, and a yard that takes TWO landscape companies to mow. And a pool. And..........well, I could go on, but first I need the cash.......

I love my job, I love my job........

How many times do I need to say that before I truly believe it? Ok, my job isnt that bad, but it can be frustrating, especially around this time of the month. The third, fourth and fifth workdays are always stressful, since they mark the end of the month-end close period. Today was no different. As usual, I was up against the wall, having discovered a crucial issue shortly before final numbers were supposed to be posted. And as one would expect, I committed the ultimate sin - I made a mistake. Not a big one, but here in LaLa Land, all my errors are major. Fortunately, I wasn't alone, so it may get overlooked. Or else I'll get slammed in November again, as was the case last year. Got hauled into a meeting and told that a letter was going into my personnel file because I'd failed to adequately support my departments - in September. Actually, it was stuff related to August. Never mind that I was learning an entirely new position (and basically, no more knowledgeable than a new hire) or that I didn't want the position in the first place; no, the benefit to this sandbagging was that they could justify a lower bonus and merit increase, and thereby come in under budget for the year.

You know, my job is that bad.

So why do I fret over whether I should switch to full time or not?

A new beginning (sort of)

So yesterday, April Fool's Day (of all days), was the first day of our new accounting system. I was cynical - I figured there would be huge numbers of errors, mass chaos, and God knows what else. But it wasn't that bad. Yes, there were issues, but for the most part, they seem to have been minor. It'll be interesting to see how the rest of the week plays out.

Of course, hiding behind all this is the fact that we are a large (over ten million) amount over budget, and the scramble is on. The bad news is that we are only halfway there. So the guess is that sooner or later, there will be a layoff. If I'm lucky, sooner, rather than later, and I'll be a part of it. That would make my decision much easier........

In other news.........

I need the help of a computer geek. I have pictures from the barrister's ball that I'd like to post, but.........I have no idea how. Help!

Training Day...

Going to the office downtown used to be more enjoyable than this. Go to the second floor, flash the company ID, and tailgate your way in. Now, because of our buddy Osama, security is much tighter.

On the drive in this morning, I had two thoughts. Well, three actually. But two related to work. The third was figuring out how the hell I was going to return my tux from the Barrister's Ball. The first work-related thought was that I couldn't remember which floor I was supposed to be on - the 10th or the 11th. I knew one was today, the other in two weeks. I also didn't know how I was going to get up there. I'd heard about the new security gates, which required a valid ID to pass through. And even if I got past that, I'd need to get onto the floor somehow. But complicating things was the fact that it was only 7:10, and Jennifer wouldn't be in until 7:30.

I called her right at 7:30, and got her voice mail. She was checking messages, and I was fairly close to downtown. Traffic wasn't as bad as I'd thought. I'd given myself an hour, and only 32 minutes later I was about 15 minutes from being downtown. Fortunately, she answered the second time.

"Where are you? Are you taking today off?" she asked.
"No, I'm on my way downtown, and I need a favor."
"Sure. What can I do for you?" She was making light of my request, pretending to be solicitous as a way of being funny. I laughed.
"On my desk, under the org charts is my training schedule. Can you tell me where I'm supposed to be, the 10th or the 11th floor?"
"Sure, hang on."

While she went, I realized that I should have asked about the class start time and for phone numbers of the three people I knew well enough in the building who could let me in. When she came back, she had most of the info I needed without asking, and I realized I was going to be forty-five minutes early.

I parked in the Sears Tower garage, which didn't require an upfront payment like the cheaper lots. This was good, since I only had about six dollars on me. I called Jen back, and got the phone numbers. By the time I found an ATM, bought a latte (hey, some things are more important than others), and gotten through to someone upstairs, it was after 8:10. Armed with Diane's promise to let me in if needed, I went to security, and followed the right procedure. I still had to tailgate onto the right floor, but that was surprisingly easy. The person even held the door for me.

Training was relatively uneventful, as long as you don't count the three times I killed the power for the room. It wasn't really my fault; the room was laid out so that the power cords and LAN connections were at my feet, and every time I moved them, something went out. It got to be a running gag. In the afternoon, I moved seats, and took one that had opened up when the person realized they were in the wrong class. So was I, but no one told me until the afternoon. Seems all the nuclear people were having their own, special version of this class, but I couldn't recall anything in the email which said that. Oh well.

I took lunch out from the Corner Bakery in the Sears Tower. Security there was equally tight, if not greater. The entrance to the building, once fairly fancy, is now barren and marred with metal detectors. What a sad state of affairs. Maybe someday it can go back to where it was.

Training let out early enough that I could make it all the way up to Montrose and Milwaukee to return the tux, and back down to Loyola, without any problem. I even had time for a leisurely dinner. And for the first time in over a month, I felt prepared for a class. I actually was ready for Contracts, and got more out of class than I had in a long time. Well, not counting Thursday, when Professor Contracts couldn't make class, and her husband, a professor at a competing school, filled in. Would it be bad to say he did a much better job than her? Most of the class thought so....

Tomorrow is a big day. The new financial system goes live. And I'm wondering what disaster will strike. Stay tuned.......

The Morning After
Rules on going to the Barrister's Ball:

1. Remember, you have to work in the morning. Getting in at 3:00 a.m. is NOT a good idea.
2. Being nice will get you everywhere. Even in to see George Clinton without a ticket.
3. Being nice will also get you the HOB's hostess' phone number.
4. Setting up a buffet dinner during lent is not a good idea for a Catholic University.
5. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, never fear. And always eat before both.
6. Always remember, when the after party is at a bar, it's a good idea to bring your ID.
7. Bouncers are not known for their sense of humor.
8. When you are drunk, things you think are funny aren't always to others.
9. Combining #6, #7 & #8, is not a good idea.
10. The homeless guy flagging cabs will not take no for an answer - even if you try to just walk away.
11. Whoever invented caffeine is a god in my book. 'Nuff said.

For those of you who are law student wanna-bes who read this, a word to the wise: I have been pretty swamped with work lately. My trial level brief took over twelve hours to write, and I still think it sucks. Someday, I'm sure, it'll be a breeze to write a brief, but not right now. I spent Sunday catching up on Contracts, and used a day off on Monday to write my paper. It took so long, I missed both Civ Pro and Contracts. Too bad, too. Professor Contracts handed back the mid-terms. I got a check, which apparently is OK. I did get to talk to the Prof after class, and I determined that while I was on the right track, she didn't like the explanation. C'est la vie. But it's good to know I'm learning something. And that, despite being behind, I'm not clueless. Always good to know.

With the trial brief done, I can relax a bit. We did practice orals in class tonight, and I wound up going first. Based upon my classmates comments, I did pretty well. The real thing is at the end of April, and we drew names to find out who we were paired with. Originally, I drew Erin, but had to back out when the instructor said our trial would begin at 5:30, which is a pretty impossible time for me to make. So I switched with Molly (who apparently wanted to go during the week), and lo and behold, the only two guys in the class wind up facing each other. Should be interesting. I finally have gotten, in recent days, a chance to actually talk to Chad, and he seems like a really good guy. I'm actually looking forward to it.