"So I hear you're taking the California Bar Exam. What, one bar exam wasn't good enough for you?"
The scene was Loyola's Law School Library, and the speaker was my classmate Andrew. He was there studying for the Illinois Bar Exam, having graduated in December. Along with him were a few of my former classmates, the ones who hadn't made the switch to full-time after first year, but who had graduated 'early'.
One of them, Megan, had a friend who'd taken the Cali Bar, and she put me in contact with her, which turned out to be a lifesaver. I think I would have been totally lost without the notecards and flashcards she sent. They got regular use - on the L, at the health club - and came in quite handy when bringing along a Bar/Bri book would have proven to be too unwieldy.
But telling Megan that I was taking the California Bar was like putting a match to gasoline - everyone knew within days. I even got emails from classmates, saying "I hear you're moving to California..."
Truth is, even though I didn't have a regular Bar/Bri class to attend (here in Illinois, they only offer the California course in summer), I still put significant time into studying for the exam. Which is why I feel confident that I did well enough to pass. I won't be winning any awards for my scores, but they should be just good enough to get by - '65 and fly' in the words of one guy I met while taking the exam.
Over the next couple of days, I'll entertain you with stories of my stay in San Diego, and the exam experience. Or at least I hope you'll find it entertaining...
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Michael Vick's younger brother deludes himself...
2006’s early nominee for Over-inflated Ego of the Year has to be Marcus Vick. Apparently, having a famous brother who plays in the NFL means you can do whatever you want and still get drafted – or so Vick believes. Check out Vick’s off-field ‘achievements’, which he hopes NFL teams will turn a blind eye to:
Vick's first brushes with the law came in 2004 (from Fox Sports ): on May 14, 2004 he was convicted of three counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor and sentenced to 30 days in jail and fined $2,250. Although charged with having sex with a minor (a 15-year-old girl) he was found innocent.
Then, on July 3, 2004 he was charged with reckless driving and possession of marijuana after a traffic stop about 25 miles east of Richmond at 2:30 a.m. Police said he was clocked at 86 mph, 21 mph above the speed limit, and that the vehicle stunk of marijuana.
On Aug. 3, 2004 he was suspended from the university for the 2004 season on same day he pleads guilty to reckless driving and no contest to marijuana possession in New Kent. He is fined $300, has his driver's license suspended for 60 days and is placed in a first offender program on the marijuana charge, requiring that he perform 24 hours of community service, undergo drug counseling and random drug tests, and give up his driver's license for six months.
Finally, on Sept. 13, 2004 he accepted a plea deal, and pled no contest to one misdemeanor count of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Receives 30-day suspended jail sentence, is fined $100, ordered to perform 24 hours of community service and stay away from the teenage girls.
Although he was suspended on July 6th (and therefore, as a scholarship athlete, kicked out of school), the University apparently thought he’d reformed himself enough to re-admit him in January of 2005. But he hadn’t.
On October 1, 2005 he makes an obscene gesture to fans at West Virginia, an act for which he apologizes a day later. Then, despite the fact that his license is suspended (again, since the aforementioned suspension expired in October of 2004), he’s pulled over on December 17, 2005 and charged with doing 38 in a 25, and, of course, driving on a suspended license.
Vick still wasn’t finished. On January 2nd, he stomps on the leg of a competitor in the Gator Bowl, an act that gets him permanently booted from the team. His response? “I’ll just take it to the next level, baby,” meaning he’d declare himself eligible for the NFL draft. Of course, he couldn’t resist still playing the bad boy – a week after the Gator Bowl incident, he was arrested for pulling a gun during a dispute.
Apparently, Vick hasn’t learned from Maurice Clarett, the Ohio State running back with his own set of troubles. Clarett decided to declare early, and then found out the NFL wouldn’t let him enter. He sued, only to lose, and be forced to sit a year. By that time, Clarett was a such a negative factor that he slipped to a late-round draft choice, and wind up being cut before the season started. To date, he’s never played in the NFL.
And then there’s T.O. At least he had the good sense to have some on-field accomplishments before letting hubris totally take over. Although he’s persona non grata now, T.O. was a hot property when Philly signed him prior to the 2004 season, despite his on-field antics. There was no doubting he had talent.
Vick hasn’t even shown that he had that. In 24 career games, the 6-foot, 212-pound Vick threw for 2,868 yards, 19 touchdowns and 15 interceptions. He also ran 184 times for 492 yards and six TDs. Not exactly stellar stuff, considering that averages out to 119 yards passing per game and 2.67 yards per rush, both far below what any first-rounder would be expected to achieve. Yet he thinks that an NFL team would jump at the opportunity to snag the younger brother of Michael Vick. In ancient Greek mythology, hubris generally led to a downfall. And Marcus Vick seems primed for a very rude awakening.
Vick's first brushes with the law came in 2004 (from Fox Sports ): on May 14, 2004 he was convicted of three counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor and sentenced to 30 days in jail and fined $2,250. Although charged with having sex with a minor (a 15-year-old girl) he was found innocent.
Then, on July 3, 2004 he was charged with reckless driving and possession of marijuana after a traffic stop about 25 miles east of Richmond at 2:30 a.m. Police said he was clocked at 86 mph, 21 mph above the speed limit, and that the vehicle stunk of marijuana.
On Aug. 3, 2004 he was suspended from the university for the 2004 season on same day he pleads guilty to reckless driving and no contest to marijuana possession in New Kent. He is fined $300, has his driver's license suspended for 60 days and is placed in a first offender program on the marijuana charge, requiring that he perform 24 hours of community service, undergo drug counseling and random drug tests, and give up his driver's license for six months.
Finally, on Sept. 13, 2004 he accepted a plea deal, and pled no contest to one misdemeanor count of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Receives 30-day suspended jail sentence, is fined $100, ordered to perform 24 hours of community service and stay away from the teenage girls.
Although he was suspended on July 6th (and therefore, as a scholarship athlete, kicked out of school), the University apparently thought he’d reformed himself enough to re-admit him in January of 2005. But he hadn’t.
On October 1, 2005 he makes an obscene gesture to fans at West Virginia, an act for which he apologizes a day later. Then, despite the fact that his license is suspended (again, since the aforementioned suspension expired in October of 2004), he’s pulled over on December 17, 2005 and charged with doing 38 in a 25, and, of course, driving on a suspended license.
Vick still wasn’t finished. On January 2nd, he stomps on the leg of a competitor in the Gator Bowl, an act that gets him permanently booted from the team. His response? “I’ll just take it to the next level, baby,” meaning he’d declare himself eligible for the NFL draft. Of course, he couldn’t resist still playing the bad boy – a week after the Gator Bowl incident, he was arrested for pulling a gun during a dispute.
Apparently, Vick hasn’t learned from Maurice Clarett, the Ohio State running back with his own set of troubles. Clarett decided to declare early, and then found out the NFL wouldn’t let him enter. He sued, only to lose, and be forced to sit a year. By that time, Clarett was a such a negative factor that he slipped to a late-round draft choice, and wind up being cut before the season started. To date, he’s never played in the NFL.
And then there’s T.O. At least he had the good sense to have some on-field accomplishments before letting hubris totally take over. Although he’s persona non grata now, T.O. was a hot property when Philly signed him prior to the 2004 season, despite his on-field antics. There was no doubting he had talent.
Vick hasn’t even shown that he had that. In 24 career games, the 6-foot, 212-pound Vick threw for 2,868 yards, 19 touchdowns and 15 interceptions. He also ran 184 times for 492 yards and six TDs. Not exactly stellar stuff, considering that averages out to 119 yards passing per game and 2.67 yards per rush, both far below what any first-rounder would be expected to achieve. Yet he thinks that an NFL team would jump at the opportunity to snag the younger brother of Michael Vick. In ancient Greek mythology, hubris generally led to a downfall. And Marcus Vick seems primed for a very rude awakening.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Resolutions, what resolutions?
So the holidays have come and gone. Again. And once again, I have made lots of resolutions for the New Year. And pretty much broken them in record time.
First there was the ‘don’t procrastinate’ resolution. Done by 10:00am on January 1.
The next to go was the ‘be more assertive’ resolution. It made it all the way until noon.
Finally, the ‘work out more’ resolution died sometime today. I don’t know if it was when I was sluggish this morning (and promptly procrastinated, pushing the workout back until the afternoon), or if it officially died when I suddenly remembered to look at the application for the Federal Bar.
Good thing, too. The application for the mass admission ceremony was due at 4:30 today. Unfortunately, although I had all the materials together for the application, I didn’t have a check to pay the $150 admission fee, nor did I have the time to head up to my apartment, grab the checkbook, and head back downtown. So I opted to walk over the Federal Court Building, and take my chances. I was hoping that I could pay cash or use a credit card. At worst, I’d beg and ask them to take the application today, and payment tomorrow. That last option had little chance of success (my boyish charm having long since vanished), but I’d try anyway – I was desperate, not wanting to go back to the attorney who wrote my recommendation and ask for another copy. Or explain why, though he wrote the recommendation a month before it was due, I didn’t get around to getting the application out until the absolute last day.
In the end, they took my credit card. In nine days, I’ll be a member of the Federal bar as well. And a little bit poorer.
First there was the ‘don’t procrastinate’ resolution. Done by 10:00am on January 1.
The next to go was the ‘be more assertive’ resolution. It made it all the way until noon.
Finally, the ‘work out more’ resolution died sometime today. I don’t know if it was when I was sluggish this morning (and promptly procrastinated, pushing the workout back until the afternoon), or if it officially died when I suddenly remembered to look at the application for the Federal Bar.
Good thing, too. The application for the mass admission ceremony was due at 4:30 today. Unfortunately, although I had all the materials together for the application, I didn’t have a check to pay the $150 admission fee, nor did I have the time to head up to my apartment, grab the checkbook, and head back downtown. So I opted to walk over the Federal Court Building, and take my chances. I was hoping that I could pay cash or use a credit card. At worst, I’d beg and ask them to take the application today, and payment tomorrow. That last option had little chance of success (my boyish charm having long since vanished), but I’d try anyway – I was desperate, not wanting to go back to the attorney who wrote my recommendation and ask for another copy. Or explain why, though he wrote the recommendation a month before it was due, I didn’t get around to getting the application out until the absolute last day.
In the end, they took my credit card. In nine days, I’ll be a member of the Federal bar as well. And a little bit poorer.
Monday, January 02, 2006
In court - Greg v. Microsoft
All rise!
Hear ye! Hear ye! The court is now in session. The Honorable Roy Bean presiding. All those with business before this court come forward and make yourselves known.
Our first case today is Greg v. Microsoft.
“You honor, I am Greg appearing pro se. I am here today on a complaint containing numerous items in controversy, first and foremost the claim for Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress.”
“And what is that claim based upon, counsel?”
“Your honor, on numerous occasions, various Microsoft products – most notably Excel and Word – have ‘crashed’ (a technical term, I’m told) without warning, resulting in the loss of untold hours of work, and often resulting in the duplication of effort. On this claim, your honor, I’d ask that the court certify class representation.”
“And you say this is intentional?”
“Yes, your honor. According to the book Bill Gates Rules The World, And You Are His Slave, the programmers at Microsoft deliberately added bugs so that we would capitulate and be assimilated.”
“Objection, your honor! Hearsay!”
”Overruled. Are you sure you haven’t watched one too many episodes of Star Trek: TNG, counsel?”
“No, your honor. I also read it in Playboy, and more importantly, The New Economist. Moreover, I have recent evidence of this claim.”
“And what is that evidence?”
“Your honor, I was attempting to access the Internet today, when my MSN service told me it didn’t have any numbers to dial. This despite the fact that it had accessed the Internet without complaint the day before. I was forced – forced – to sit for over an hour attempting to dial into their ‘toll-free’ number to get new connection numbers. Once I got through, I discovered that all the 773 numbers – my area code, for the record – had disappeared, replaced by – gasp – 847 and 630 area code numbers.”
“And this has caused you emotional distress?”
“Yes! My God, your honor, have you seen the price of a phone call over 15 miles? And now, with this SBC-AT&T merger, it’ll be broke inside of a week. How am I supposed to get a job?”
“Your honor, we renew our objection to this whole proceeding.”
“Overruled.”
“Your honor, we strenuously object – “
“You strenuously object?”
“Yes.”
“Then I strenuously overrule.”
“Motion for recess, then, so that we may engage in discovery.”
“Granted.”
One, day. I swear, one day. I’ll do it, then you’ll see. I’m not crazy, but I’m getting there. In the meantime, I’m gonna go try and find some local numbers I can dial.
Hear ye! Hear ye! The court is now in session. The Honorable Roy Bean presiding. All those with business before this court come forward and make yourselves known.
Our first case today is Greg v. Microsoft.
“You honor, I am Greg appearing pro se. I am here today on a complaint containing numerous items in controversy, first and foremost the claim for Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress.”
“And what is that claim based upon, counsel?”
“Your honor, on numerous occasions, various Microsoft products – most notably Excel and Word – have ‘crashed’ (a technical term, I’m told) without warning, resulting in the loss of untold hours of work, and often resulting in the duplication of effort. On this claim, your honor, I’d ask that the court certify class representation.”
“And you say this is intentional?”
“Yes, your honor. According to the book Bill Gates Rules The World, And You Are His Slave, the programmers at Microsoft deliberately added bugs so that we would capitulate and be assimilated.”
“Objection, your honor! Hearsay!”
”Overruled. Are you sure you haven’t watched one too many episodes of Star Trek: TNG, counsel?”
“No, your honor. I also read it in Playboy, and more importantly, The New Economist. Moreover, I have recent evidence of this claim.”
“And what is that evidence?”
“Your honor, I was attempting to access the Internet today, when my MSN service told me it didn’t have any numbers to dial. This despite the fact that it had accessed the Internet without complaint the day before. I was forced – forced – to sit for over an hour attempting to dial into their ‘toll-free’ number to get new connection numbers. Once I got through, I discovered that all the 773 numbers – my area code, for the record – had disappeared, replaced by – gasp – 847 and 630 area code numbers.”
“And this has caused you emotional distress?”
“Yes! My God, your honor, have you seen the price of a phone call over 15 miles? And now, with this SBC-AT&T merger, it’ll be broke inside of a week. How am I supposed to get a job?”
“Your honor, we renew our objection to this whole proceeding.”
“Overruled.”
“Your honor, we strenuously object – “
“You strenuously object?”
“Yes.”
“Then I strenuously overrule.”
“Motion for recess, then, so that we may engage in discovery.”
“Granted.”
One, day. I swear, one day. I’ll do it, then you’ll see. I’m not crazy, but I’m getting there. In the meantime, I’m gonna go try and find some local numbers I can dial.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
The late-night call...
It was late when my phone rang.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“You up?” the voice asked.
“I am now. What’s up?”
“You’d better get over here.”
“Why?”
“He’s taken a turn for the worse. I don’t think it’ll be long now.”
I struggled with what I should do. Sure, there’d been good times, but there’d also been the bad times. And in thinking things over, I was beginning to believe that the bad outweighed the good.
But could I be so cruel? Could I just let him go, without so much as a ‘fare-thee-well’? This is what I was struggling with, trying somehow to find a reason to make the trip. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to clear the fog from my brain and decide what to do.
Some things are better left in the past, left to slowly wither away, forgotten in the mist of years. Some things are best kept with us, brought out when needed to cheer us up, or give us hope. It was with this that I struggled – to find reason to keep him around, for just a little while longer.
In the end, I decided to go back to bed. I knew the voice was right – he wasn’t long for the world – and I didn’t care. Because for all the good he brought me, he didn’t do anything spectacular that made it worth the effort to keep him around. In the end, after all the early promise, he disappointed me by the end.
So goodbye, 2005. You started out with so much promise, so much that you didn’t deliver on. And even though you brought some good memories – passing the bar, the White Sox winning the World Series – in the end, you were just a disappointment.
You’re not long for the world – in a few hours, you’ll be gone, replaced by your youngest sibling, 2006. Let’s hope he does a better job than you.
Happy New Year! May the new year fulfill the promises the old year left undone.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“You up?” the voice asked.
“I am now. What’s up?”
“You’d better get over here.”
“Why?”
“He’s taken a turn for the worse. I don’t think it’ll be long now.”
I struggled with what I should do. Sure, there’d been good times, but there’d also been the bad times. And in thinking things over, I was beginning to believe that the bad outweighed the good.
But could I be so cruel? Could I just let him go, without so much as a ‘fare-thee-well’? This is what I was struggling with, trying somehow to find a reason to make the trip. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to clear the fog from my brain and decide what to do.
Some things are better left in the past, left to slowly wither away, forgotten in the mist of years. Some things are best kept with us, brought out when needed to cheer us up, or give us hope. It was with this that I struggled – to find reason to keep him around, for just a little while longer.
In the end, I decided to go back to bed. I knew the voice was right – he wasn’t long for the world – and I didn’t care. Because for all the good he brought me, he didn’t do anything spectacular that made it worth the effort to keep him around. In the end, after all the early promise, he disappointed me by the end.
So goodbye, 2005. You started out with so much promise, so much that you didn’t deliver on. And even though you brought some good memories – passing the bar, the White Sox winning the World Series – in the end, you were just a disappointment.
You’re not long for the world – in a few hours, you’ll be gone, replaced by your youngest sibling, 2006. Let’s hope he does a better job than you.
Happy New Year! May the new year fulfill the promises the old year left undone.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Dave v. Oprah
Ever since the 'Uma-Oprah' comment at the Acdemy Awards ten years or so ago, they've been intertwined in TV history.
For the last few years, she's famously refused to come on his show, no matter how he's begged. It's become a running joke, and among the most talked about celebrity feuds in memory.
The feud is over. Oprah, as I write this, is talking to David Letterman!!!
I'm wondering: is anyone watching Leno?
The irony is that at one point in time, when Letterman came to Chicago, Winfrey went to L.A. and guested on Leno. Now, Winfrey's on Letterman, and Leno's got...Ebert & Roeper. Well, they are from Chicago, even if Roeper is a gadfly and a tool.
We now go live to the Ed Sullivan Theater in New York:
Dave opens with an uncharacteristically short, Oprah-centric monologue. As the crowd cheers his entrance, he attempts to quiet the audience: "Shh. You'll scare Oprah."
The Top 10 list is centered around tonights famous guest: 10 Messages on Oprah's answering machine:
- Oprah, This is Nick. Have you seen Jessica?
- He thinks you're coming. This is going to be the best Punk'd yet!
- Regis here. Letterman's all hands during the commercial breaks.
- Julia Roberts here. Letterman's all hands during the commercial breaks.
- This is Dubya. If you need a pardon...
- Paul Shaeffer here. Letterman's had a lot of work done since you've last seen him.
- Martha Stewart here. I left a pair of box cutters in the guest chair if you need them.
A couple more Oprah-related (self-deprecating) jokes, and out she comes, to huge applause.
Oprah just gave Dave a double-autographed photo of her and Uma Thurman. According to Oprah, the Uma-Oprah reference on the Academy Awards a few years ago wasn't "a problem" to her: "I thought it was funny." Dave's reply? "Not for me."
Now she's talking about old Marcus Welby episodes about amensia, in reference to a time when she broke her glasses and went to the hospital. Oprah feigned amnesia, claiming she was hit on the head and couldn't remember what happened. Mom, of course, wasn't fooled. With usual motherly aplomb, she asked the doctor to leave, then began the interrogation. Oprah caved.
And now, a word from our sponsors....
Dave's now asking Oprah about the Tom Cruise Incident. Oprah seemed a little surprised, calling Tom an interesting guy. Dave followed up by asking if she was sick of anyone comeing on her show, to which she said "I pretty much get to do what I want". (Yep, she does.)
Dave follows this by asking Oprah about her start - "you knew what you wanted...it's gotten to be more than just a television show; it's a goal, a pursuit, a mission..."
This leads to Oprah's rehashing the story of Christmas when she was 12, when her mother told her "Santa's not coming". Oprah wondered, "you have to pay Santa?" "Yes," replied her mother, "and I don't have money, so he's not coming." The day was saved by three nuns, who came over, bearing gifts. This incident inspired her to give back, so she's going to Africa to do the same for poor children there after she leaves New York.
Another sponsor break
(Note: on Eric & Kathy [mornings, WTMX 101.9FM] the producer of Dave's show indicated that Oprah would get the bulk of the time on the show. She's been on for about 20 minutes so far.)
The topic, after the first break? How a station in Baltimore wanted to change her name to 'Susie'. Dave, fawning and trying hard to suck up to Oprah, compliments her on the name Oprah, saying it's "beautiful, and she shouldn't have changed it."
They move on to Oprah's work in Africa. "I think of my take on Africa...is it in dire shape?" Dave asks. "I think there are enough people on the planet who could change Africa...but we sit back and have another cappucino," replies Oprah. Oprah, taken aback, says "I can't believe you're being this serious. Do you want to really know?" Dave says yes, and Oprah outlines her plan for a girls academy in Africa. She's heading there to interview principles and build the school - she believes 'education is freedom' (to audience applause). After another comment about how serious Dave is being, it's time for a commercial break. We're up to 25 minutes now. Bonnie Raitt won't get much time at this rate.
Commercial, in which Craig Ferguson quips while sitting next to Dennis Quaid, "Tonight on the Late Late Show, Oprah Winfrey."
After the break, Dave thanked Oprah for coming on, and said "I guess we'll pencil you in for another 16 years." "No, it was time, I was across the street, and we were practically neighbors."
With that, Dave offered to escort her to the theatre, which she accepted. And thus, the most anticpated meeting on TV in the last ten years came to an end.
Poor Bonnie Raitt. She barely gets enough time to do one song as her reward for forever being half of an answer to a trivia question (the other half being Tony Danza. The question? Name the other guests when Oprah Winfrey settled her long-standing feud with David Letterman.
Oddly enough, the Oprah love-fest continues on the other side of the country, as Craig Ferguson's entire opening monologue is also dedicated to Oprah. She may be on ABC, but today CBS loves Oprah.
photo by Dima Gavrysh for AP. Used without direct permission, but with credit.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
I'm signed up for the California Bar. No, I'm not. Yes, I am...
Right before I left for SoCal, I got a letter from the State Bar of California, indicating that 1) I hadn't paid the proper fee (I paid the 'general' fee of $464, not the 'attorney' fee of $674), and 2) I should call the eligibility department.
When I called the eligibility department, they informed me that they hadn't gotten my certificate of good standing. You're right, I said, because when I'd applied, I hadn't yet been admitted, and you can't get a certificate of good standing unless you've been admitted.
"Listen," I attempted to explain, "I'm in California right now. I'll be back in Chicago next week. Can I send them to you then?"
"No. By then your registration will be terminated for being incomplete."
"So when do they need to be in?"
"Well, yesterday. You had 10 days from the day you submitted."
"But that was the day I was admitted. There wouldn't have been any way I could have gotten such a letter. I wasn't entered on the roll of attorneys for a week. I just checked. They only put me on there on Friday."
"Well, that's the rule. 10 days. And you need to get that letter here ASAP."
I hung up the phone and began to wonder how the heck I was going to get this letter. First stop: the ARDC website. They register & discipline attorneys, so they'd be the logical place to go, right? Wrong. One phone call later, I'm getting the phone for the Clerk of the Supreme Court. Soon, I've got someone on the line, telling me that they'd be happy to send the certificate. All I needed to do was send a letter requesting the certificate, and enclose the fee - one dollar (so Blues Brother-ish). Once they got the letter and the fee, they'd happily send the certificate - in a couple of weeks. That wasn't going to help me, I said, I need it sooner. My only choice was to send the request FedEx, and enclose a pre-addressed FedEx label.
So I told Joanie that we needed to go to Kinko's before we did anything. Ten minutes later, and my package was on its way. Problem solved.
Except it wasn't.
On Monday, I got three letters from the State Bar of California: one was a receipt for the additional funds, the authorization for which I'd sent out a while I was in California. the other two were letters. One, dated November 22nd (the day after the conversation above) said they still needed my certificate of good standing. The other, dated November 23rd, said....my application was being terminated. Because the registration was incomplete. Because the certificate hadn't arrived.
In a panic, I called the State Bar. No certificate had been received, even today, Monday. I sifted through the pile of numbers in my cell phone, and found the Clerk's number.
"Yes, well, I was on vacation last week, and although we did get your request, no one did antyhing with it, " she explained.
Deep breath. Remain calm...
The woman at the State Bar of California had told me that there was still a chance to save tehe application, provided we got the certificate and the $50 late fee in by close of business on Wednesday.
"...but," the Clerk continued, "I see your letter here. I sent that one out this morning."
Partial relief. If it gets there tomorrow, I'm OK.
The next morning brought no news. Nothing would be opened until 11 a.m. PST - 2 p.m. in Chicago. Call back then, she said. I called at 3. No answer - away from her desk, probably still at lunch. Finally, at almost 5, good news: they'd gotten the certificate. Now all I needed to do was send a letter authorizing an additional $50 on my credit card.
I sent the fax first thing Wednesday, with a request to call me if I left something off. I got no such call.
So I guess I really am taking the California Bar Exam in February. Wish me luck.
When I called the eligibility department, they informed me that they hadn't gotten my certificate of good standing. You're right, I said, because when I'd applied, I hadn't yet been admitted, and you can't get a certificate of good standing unless you've been admitted.
"Listen," I attempted to explain, "I'm in California right now. I'll be back in Chicago next week. Can I send them to you then?"
"No. By then your registration will be terminated for being incomplete."
"So when do they need to be in?"
"Well, yesterday. You had 10 days from the day you submitted."
"But that was the day I was admitted. There wouldn't have been any way I could have gotten such a letter. I wasn't entered on the roll of attorneys for a week. I just checked. They only put me on there on Friday."
"Well, that's the rule. 10 days. And you need to get that letter here ASAP."
I hung up the phone and began to wonder how the heck I was going to get this letter. First stop: the ARDC website. They register & discipline attorneys, so they'd be the logical place to go, right? Wrong. One phone call later, I'm getting the phone for the Clerk of the Supreme Court. Soon, I've got someone on the line, telling me that they'd be happy to send the certificate. All I needed to do was send a letter requesting the certificate, and enclose the fee - one dollar (so Blues Brother-ish). Once they got the letter and the fee, they'd happily send the certificate - in a couple of weeks. That wasn't going to help me, I said, I need it sooner. My only choice was to send the request FedEx, and enclose a pre-addressed FedEx label.
So I told Joanie that we needed to go to Kinko's before we did anything. Ten minutes later, and my package was on its way. Problem solved.
Except it wasn't.
On Monday, I got three letters from the State Bar of California: one was a receipt for the additional funds, the authorization for which I'd sent out a while I was in California. the other two were letters. One, dated November 22nd (the day after the conversation above) said they still needed my certificate of good standing. The other, dated November 23rd, said....my application was being terminated. Because the registration was incomplete. Because the certificate hadn't arrived.
In a panic, I called the State Bar. No certificate had been received, even today, Monday. I sifted through the pile of numbers in my cell phone, and found the Clerk's number.
"Yes, well, I was on vacation last week, and although we did get your request, no one did antyhing with it, " she explained.
Deep breath. Remain calm...
The woman at the State Bar of California had told me that there was still a chance to save tehe application, provided we got the certificate and the $50 late fee in by close of business on Wednesday.
"...but," the Clerk continued, "I see your letter here. I sent that one out this morning."
Partial relief. If it gets there tomorrow, I'm OK.
The next morning brought no news. Nothing would be opened until 11 a.m. PST - 2 p.m. in Chicago. Call back then, she said. I called at 3. No answer - away from her desk, probably still at lunch. Finally, at almost 5, good news: they'd gotten the certificate. Now all I needed to do was send a letter authorizing an additional $50 on my credit card.
I sent the fax first thing Wednesday, with a request to call me if I left something off. I got no such call.
So I guess I really am taking the California Bar Exam in February. Wish me luck.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Doctor, doctor, give me the news....
"I know that I'd never have given it back to you with it running like this," my friend Joe admonishes me from a chair three feet behind me. He's attempting to fix my laptop, which not only has been running slow, but doesn't like showing video lately. Which made for a fun plane ride as I attempted to watch The American President and Ronin. So here I am, at the 'computer doctor's' home, hoping he can solve whatever it is making my computer run funky.
Could it be the damn Spy Sweeper? The Study Smart Bar Review? Or is it something else? Hey, that's what I have him for. But the early call is that my computer is definitely hosed...
Au Revoir, Mr. Miyagi
Pat Morita, who played Kesuke Miyagi in The Karate Kid, has died at 73. Although most people will remember him more for that role than any other, I can still recall his portrayal of Arnold in Happy Days. When he left, the show didn't seem the same.
And let's face it; The Karate Kid did wonders for Morita's career (he was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, but lost to Dr. Haing S. Ngor for The Killing Fields. Talk about insults; Ngor had never acted before, and only did 16 more forgettable films in the next 12 years before he was murdered, while Morita's career spanned 40 years plus), but it tarnished Ralph Macchio for life. Not that he was any threat to be a great actor, but outside of My Cousin Vinny, Macchio really didn't get many roles (or much respect) after TKK. It's ironic, that if you look at the cast of The Outsiders, many of them have gone on to considerable success. Some, like Tom Cruise, are leading actors, while others, like Matt Dillon, have made decent careers as character actors.
And now, back to our program....
Dr. Joe has confirmed that he can't find the cause. The only solution: reformatting. That means backing up. That means work. Yuck. He did get the computer to operate faster, but the video is still hosed, so something is hosed and finding it has proven more difficult than anticpated.
Could it be the damn Spy Sweeper? The Study Smart Bar Review? Or is it something else? Hey, that's what I have him for. But the early call is that my computer is definitely hosed...
Au Revoir, Mr. Miyagi
Pat Morita, who played Kesuke Miyagi in The Karate Kid, has died at 73. Although most people will remember him more for that role than any other, I can still recall his portrayal of Arnold in Happy Days. When he left, the show didn't seem the same.
And let's face it; The Karate Kid did wonders for Morita's career (he was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, but lost to Dr. Haing S. Ngor for The Killing Fields. Talk about insults; Ngor had never acted before, and only did 16 more forgettable films in the next 12 years before he was murdered, while Morita's career spanned 40 years plus), but it tarnished Ralph Macchio for life. Not that he was any threat to be a great actor, but outside of My Cousin Vinny, Macchio really didn't get many roles (or much respect) after TKK. It's ironic, that if you look at the cast of The Outsiders, many of them have gone on to considerable success. Some, like Tom Cruise, are leading actors, while others, like Matt Dillon, have made decent careers as character actors.
And now, back to our program....
Dr. Joe has confirmed that he can't find the cause. The only solution: reformatting. That means backing up. That means work. Yuck. He did get the computer to operate faster, but the video is still hosed, so something is hosed and finding it has proven more difficult than anticpated.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Back home....well, sort of....
The flight back to Chicago touched down at 3:57, two minutes ahead of schedule. But like everywhere else in Chicago, there was traffic. So we didn't arrive at the gate for another 15 minutes.
I'd planned on having my parents (who picked me up at the airport, and saved me $40 in cab fare) just drive me to their house, where I could spend the weekend. I'd even told the secretary at BigLaw that I'd see her on Monday.
"But we've got stuff for the apartment," my Mom argued.
So we decided to drive into the city. At 5:00. The height of rush hour. We stopped briefly to use the bathroom, check voicemail and get my mail from my neighbor (note to self: buy case of Sam Adams as thank-you), and then it was back on the road. The trip had taken an hour and twenty minutes.
"Well, at least it's late enough, we shouldn't hit much traffic," Mom chimed in.
Funny thing, traffic. People who hear I'm thinking about moving to SoCal tell me about how bad the traffic is. Indeed, I got to experience it firsthand last Friday, when it took over an hour to get to Rancho Bernardo from Miramar MCAS on I-15/163. And that's just a five or six mile drive.
But Chicago's gotten bad as well. The Eisenhower Expressway (I-290 for nonlocals), is essentially a parking lot no matter when you're on it. And the Kennedy (I-90 - or what you take to get to O'Hare from Downtown) is often just as bad - witness our 80-minute ride. So it was no surprise that we sailed down Lake Shore Drive and down the Dan Ryan Expressway (I-94) past the now-quiet U.S. Cellular Field at Comiskey Park, only to stop dead at 55th. We crept along until 95th Street, when the Dan Ryan splits into I-57 and I-94. Only then did the road open up. By the time we got home, it was well past 8:00. Needless to say, it was a long day.
But the nice part about coming to my parents a few days early was spending an afternoon today with my dad and some ex-coworkers bowling. Now, if I could only bowl as well as I used to.
Here's hoping you and yours has a very enjoyable holiday with your family and friends this weekend. In other words, Happy Thanksgiving.
I'd planned on having my parents (who picked me up at the airport, and saved me $40 in cab fare) just drive me to their house, where I could spend the weekend. I'd even told the secretary at BigLaw that I'd see her on Monday.
"But we've got stuff for the apartment," my Mom argued.
So we decided to drive into the city. At 5:00. The height of rush hour. We stopped briefly to use the bathroom, check voicemail and get my mail from my neighbor (note to self: buy case of Sam Adams as thank-you), and then it was back on the road. The trip had taken an hour and twenty minutes.
"Well, at least it's late enough, we shouldn't hit much traffic," Mom chimed in.
Funny thing, traffic. People who hear I'm thinking about moving to SoCal tell me about how bad the traffic is. Indeed, I got to experience it firsthand last Friday, when it took over an hour to get to Rancho Bernardo from Miramar MCAS on I-15/163. And that's just a five or six mile drive.
But Chicago's gotten bad as well. The Eisenhower Expressway (I-290 for nonlocals), is essentially a parking lot no matter when you're on it. And the Kennedy (I-90 - or what you take to get to O'Hare from Downtown) is often just as bad - witness our 80-minute ride. So it was no surprise that we sailed down Lake Shore Drive and down the Dan Ryan Expressway (I-94) past the now-quiet U.S. Cellular Field at Comiskey Park, only to stop dead at 55th. We crept along until 95th Street, when the Dan Ryan splits into I-57 and I-94. Only then did the road open up. By the time we got home, it was well past 8:00. Needless to say, it was a long day.
But the nice part about coming to my parents a few days early was spending an afternoon today with my dad and some ex-coworkers bowling. Now, if I could only bowl as well as I used to.
Here's hoping you and yours has a very enjoyable holiday with your family and friends this weekend. In other words, Happy Thanksgiving.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Last night blues...
I hate when fun trips end. Even with the interview, the past week has been pretty enjoyable. Today was no exception.
I woke up and headed out for a run, th third since I've been here. Unfortunately, I'm in no better shape than I was a week ago, and my legs felt like butter after just 15 minutes of running. I plodded through a full 30-minute run, still following the 15-3-15 strategy. But the crux of that strategy is to run further in the first 15 minutes than the last time. Technically, I did that. But on the way back, I forgot that I'd turned up Rancho Bernardo Drive on Thursday to avoid waiting for the light. Oh well. I still think I got in a full 3 miles if not more.
After coming back, I took a quick shower, then headed out for breakfast. When I got back from breakfast, Joanie had finally woken up. She got ready, and I called the California Bar to make sure everything was in order. It wasn't, so before we could head out for the day I had to stop at Kinko's. The nice thing was checking the ARDC website, and seeing my name listed as an attorney "authorized to practice law". Now if only I could actually do that.
We headed downtown to the Balboa Park area (named, apparently, for an explorer, not for the Sylvester Stallone character) and dropped in on the San Diego Airspace Museum. It's an interesting place, filled with plenty of aircraft from WWI and WWII. The chance to see an F86 Sabre Jet, among other well-known aircraft, up close was worth it.
Afterward, we headed over to the San Diego Automotive Museum. It's a small museum, with about 50 cars in total, more than a few of which were race cars. There was a Tucker, though, and a DeLorean. And the museum has quite the collection of motorcycles. Still, it was small enough that we were able to go through it in about an hour.
We walked out, and the sunset was increadible. Joanie said we needed to head down to the waterfront and try to get some pictures. I was able to, but I've had no luck emailing them to myself, probably because I'd decided to change the resolution to high versus lower resolution, which emails better. Too bad, because they are some incredible photos.
After it had gotten dark, we joined Lt. Smash and his wife for dinner in the Old Town area. I was happy, because we hadn't gotten the chance to spend time with them the night before, having gotten placed at the opposite end of the table. So it was nice to chat abot current events, acting, and whatever else came up. After dinner, I suggested that we get some ice cream, so we headed over to Cold Stone Creamery. One ice cream dish later, Joanie and I made the long drive home. One last night before I head back to Chicago. But I'll be back.
After all, the Bar Exam is in February.
I woke up and headed out for a run, th third since I've been here. Unfortunately, I'm in no better shape than I was a week ago, and my legs felt like butter after just 15 minutes of running. I plodded through a full 30-minute run, still following the 15-3-15 strategy. But the crux of that strategy is to run further in the first 15 minutes than the last time. Technically, I did that. But on the way back, I forgot that I'd turned up Rancho Bernardo Drive on Thursday to avoid waiting for the light. Oh well. I still think I got in a full 3 miles if not more.
After coming back, I took a quick shower, then headed out for breakfast. When I got back from breakfast, Joanie had finally woken up. She got ready, and I called the California Bar to make sure everything was in order. It wasn't, so before we could head out for the day I had to stop at Kinko's. The nice thing was checking the ARDC website, and seeing my name listed as an attorney "authorized to practice law". Now if only I could actually do that.
We headed downtown to the Balboa Park area (named, apparently, for an explorer, not for the Sylvester Stallone character) and dropped in on the San Diego Airspace Museum. It's an interesting place, filled with plenty of aircraft from WWI and WWII. The chance to see an F86 Sabre Jet, among other well-known aircraft, up close was worth it.
Afterward, we headed over to the San Diego Automotive Museum. It's a small museum, with about 50 cars in total, more than a few of which were race cars. There was a Tucker, though, and a DeLorean. And the museum has quite the collection of motorcycles. Still, it was small enough that we were able to go through it in about an hour.
We walked out, and the sunset was increadible. Joanie said we needed to head down to the waterfront and try to get some pictures. I was able to, but I've had no luck emailing them to myself, probably because I'd decided to change the resolution to high versus lower resolution, which emails better. Too bad, because they are some incredible photos.
After it had gotten dark, we joined Lt. Smash and his wife for dinner in the Old Town area. I was happy, because we hadn't gotten the chance to spend time with them the night before, having gotten placed at the opposite end of the table. So it was nice to chat abot current events, acting, and whatever else came up. After dinner, I suggested that we get some ice cream, so we headed over to Cold Stone Creamery. One ice cream dish later, Joanie and I made the long drive home. One last night before I head back to Chicago. But I'll be back.
After all, the Bar Exam is in February.
Suddenly there's a lot more stuff here....
Yes, there is. I've been writing in my laptop for a few days (having brought it with to watch movies) and I've copied over the loose thoughts into coherent posts. Of course, the plan was to watch movies on the flight here and back, but the drivers don't want to cooperate, so that wasn't much fun. Unless, of course, you like watching a movie where the dialogue and the film aren't in sync.
Today, Joanie and I went to see Mrs. Smash in Birthday Suite, a British comedy which they are performing in Chua Vista through the end of the month (ok, December 4th, but who's counting?) . I may be a little biased, but Mrs. Smash was excellent as Kate, and Joanie and I laughed heartily at the hijinks of four people caught in embarrassing situations.
It all starts when a recently separated man checks into a hotel room rented for him by a friend, who promises to send him a girl to celebrate his birthday with him. Next door, a woman (Mrs. Smash) checks in, expecting to meet a blind date for dinner. When she walks through a supposedly locked door into the adjoining room, the man thinks she's the hooker hired for the night, and things spiral from there.
After the play, Joanie, the Smashes and I met up with the other cast members for dinner at Marie Callendars. Dinner was average, the service was incredibly slow, and the apple pie was boring, but the company was interesting, and I did enjoy talking to the cast members, even if one was a little overbearing.
Tomorrow's the last full day here. The week seemed to fly by, and even though the weather was hot, I didn't suffer as much as I thought I would with long sleeves. On Friday, I submitted resumes on several other positions out here. I don't know what will come of that, but I may wind up out west again soon - and maybe permanently. I have several friends who'd be disappointed, but then, when the weather turned cold there, they'd probably come out here in a heartbeat.
Today, Joanie and I went to see Mrs. Smash in Birthday Suite, a British comedy which they are performing in Chua Vista through the end of the month (ok, December 4th, but who's counting?) . I may be a little biased, but Mrs. Smash was excellent as Kate, and Joanie and I laughed heartily at the hijinks of four people caught in embarrassing situations.
It all starts when a recently separated man checks into a hotel room rented for him by a friend, who promises to send him a girl to celebrate his birthday with him. Next door, a woman (Mrs. Smash) checks in, expecting to meet a blind date for dinner. When she walks through a supposedly locked door into the adjoining room, the man thinks she's the hooker hired for the night, and things spiral from there.
After the play, Joanie, the Smashes and I met up with the other cast members for dinner at Marie Callendars. Dinner was average, the service was incredibly slow, and the apple pie was boring, but the company was interesting, and I did enjoy talking to the cast members, even if one was a little overbearing.
Tomorrow's the last full day here. The week seemed to fly by, and even though the weather was hot, I didn't suffer as much as I thought I would with long sleeves. On Friday, I submitted resumes on several other positions out here. I don't know what will come of that, but I may wind up out west again soon - and maybe permanently. I have several friends who'd be disappointed, but then, when the weather turned cold there, they'd probably come out here in a heartbeat.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Another busy day...
Joanie is a member of BLUESD, San Diego's blues society, and this weekend was the regional finals of the International Blues Competition. The winner of the best group and best solo/duo categories would head to Memphis in January for the final competition.
Since Joanie is a board member, we headed down to spend the day at the House of Blues (who had generously donated the venue) to watch. I saw some great acts, such as Aunt Kizzy'z Boys (who went on first, and who I thought was the best group right off) and Ben Hernandez and Nathan James, who shone as best duo. Anna Troy was also very impressive, and had several people, including Joanie, believing that she might still make it to Memphis, despite not winning (the competition is not mandatory; it merely determines who gets a sponsored trip. One can still go if one has the money or finds a sponsor).
After the event, Joanie and I were supposed to head to SDSU for the Aztecs-Wyoming game. But things got hosed up, tickets were never acquired, and we were hungry. So instead we called Lt. Smash, and he met us up at Outback Steakhouse, where we enjoyed a very nice dinner while we solved all of the problems facing San Diego County, including the ubitquitous transportation woes.
After dinner, Joanie asked if I wanted to do anything. "See a movie," I answered, not having seen one in about a month. We decided to head over to the theaters in Poway. Unfortunately, we arrived about 30 minutes too late or two hours too early, however you look at it. After having a couple of beers, however, Joanie had to go to the bathroom, so we headed over to a local Irish pub down the road. Lo and behold, who should walk in but Ben and Nathan (Joanie had mentioned seeing them as an option, but I'd decided against that). I accused - tongue firmly in cheek - Joanie of planning things as they'd turned out, but we decided to stay and listen to the first set.
Turns out that was a better decision than leaving to see Derailed. Set in Chicago, I immediately spotted at least five or six errors (for example, there's no red line Metra train - the Red Line is a CTA train; the cars used for the interior scenes on the train were of the wrong type; even though it was supposed to be November in one scene, no one was wearing a coat, just to name three) in the movie. Even worse, I figured out the plot fairly quickly, so the last two thirds of the movie were predictible. Too bad, too, because I wanted it to be much better than it was.
Combine the mediocre reviews for The Weatherman and the disappointment of Derailed, and you've got Chicago going 0-for-2 in movies this year. Hopefully, The Break-Up (featuring the film debut of yours truly) and The Lake House will do better next February.
Since Joanie is a board member, we headed down to spend the day at the House of Blues (who had generously donated the venue) to watch. I saw some great acts, such as Aunt Kizzy'z Boys (who went on first, and who I thought was the best group right off) and Ben Hernandez and Nathan James, who shone as best duo. Anna Troy was also very impressive, and had several people, including Joanie, believing that she might still make it to Memphis, despite not winning (the competition is not mandatory; it merely determines who gets a sponsored trip. One can still go if one has the money or finds a sponsor).
After the event, Joanie and I were supposed to head to SDSU for the Aztecs-Wyoming game. But things got hosed up, tickets were never acquired, and we were hungry. So instead we called Lt. Smash, and he met us up at Outback Steakhouse, where we enjoyed a very nice dinner while we solved all of the problems facing San Diego County, including the ubitquitous transportation woes.
After dinner, Joanie asked if I wanted to do anything. "See a movie," I answered, not having seen one in about a month. We decided to head over to the theaters in Poway. Unfortunately, we arrived about 30 minutes too late or two hours too early, however you look at it. After having a couple of beers, however, Joanie had to go to the bathroom, so we headed over to a local Irish pub down the road. Lo and behold, who should walk in but Ben and Nathan (Joanie had mentioned seeing them as an option, but I'd decided against that). I accused - tongue firmly in cheek - Joanie of planning things as they'd turned out, but we decided to stay and listen to the first set.
Turns out that was a better decision than leaving to see Derailed. Set in Chicago, I immediately spotted at least five or six errors (for example, there's no red line Metra train - the Red Line is a CTA train; the cars used for the interior scenes on the train were of the wrong type; even though it was supposed to be November in one scene, no one was wearing a coat, just to name three) in the movie. Even worse, I figured out the plot fairly quickly, so the last two thirds of the movie were predictible. Too bad, too, because I wanted it to be much better than it was.
Combine the mediocre reviews for The Weatherman and the disappointment of Derailed, and you've got Chicago going 0-for-2 in movies this year. Hopefully, The Break-Up (featuring the film debut of yours truly) and The Lake House will do better next February.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Striking out on my own
Joanie wasn't feeling very festive today, and Little Dude wasn't feeling very good. He'd first complained last night, before he had to go to Scouts. But it was the annual Turkey Day skit, and Joanie thought he was just feeling a little nervous.
By this morning, he wasn't feeling any better, and Joanie decided he should stay home. So I was on my own for the day. Fortunately, I'd decided to keep the Envoy for the week instead of turning it in, so I hopped into the car and headed downtown.
First, of course, came the run. I decided to go running for a second day in a row, something I haven't done in years. I soon found out why. I tried to take a different, more flat route, but I learned that there isn't one within two thousand miles. So I was reduced to more of a run/walk than yesterday, and felt it much more. My feet were sore, my calves were sore, my thighs were sore, and odly, so was my butt. "Keep this up," I thought, "and you'll have one tight butt."
After a shower, I headed out to breakfast, and a conference call. Back home, we were still trying to line up a real estate agent to represent a property of ours, and I didn't want to lose the opportunity. So while I waited for my French Toast, I sat on a long-distance conversation that involved me listening to other people talking. Fun.
After breakfast (at noon), I hopped on the 15 and headed south. I headed west on the 8, then got off at SDSU. Turning right at El Cajon, I headed toward downtown. Eventually, I wound up at Seaport Village, where I spent as much time walking around (ninety minutes) as I did sitting in traffic on the way back to Joanie's. By the time I walked in the door, I was hungry and grouchy. Thank heaven that Joanie had beer in the fridge that she offered; I needed one.
By this morning, he wasn't feeling any better, and Joanie decided he should stay home. So I was on my own for the day. Fortunately, I'd decided to keep the Envoy for the week instead of turning it in, so I hopped into the car and headed downtown.
First, of course, came the run. I decided to go running for a second day in a row, something I haven't done in years. I soon found out why. I tried to take a different, more flat route, but I learned that there isn't one within two thousand miles. So I was reduced to more of a run/walk than yesterday, and felt it much more. My feet were sore, my calves were sore, my thighs were sore, and odly, so was my butt. "Keep this up," I thought, "and you'll have one tight butt."
After a shower, I headed out to breakfast, and a conference call. Back home, we were still trying to line up a real estate agent to represent a property of ours, and I didn't want to lose the opportunity. So while I waited for my French Toast, I sat on a long-distance conversation that involved me listening to other people talking. Fun.
After breakfast (at noon), I hopped on the 15 and headed south. I headed west on the 8, then got off at SDSU. Turning right at El Cajon, I headed toward downtown. Eventually, I wound up at Seaport Village, where I spent as much time walking around (ninety minutes) as I did sitting in traffic on the way back to Joanie's. By the time I walked in the door, I was hungry and grouchy. Thank heaven that Joanie had beer in the fridge that she offered; I needed one.
Running on empty
With Joanie sleeping in (according to her, she sleeps fitfully at night, and never all the way through) I decided to put the running shoes and clothes to good use and go for a jog first thing Thursday morning.
Bad idea.
You have no idea how out of shape you are until you try to run the hills around San Diego. I started on a downhill, so it seemed easy. But then came the uphill. And the burn. And the heavy breathing. And the realization that I was nowhere near in shape. I soon settled on the 15-3-15 method I'd used a few years back. That's 15 minutes of running, followed by a three-minute walk to catch my breath, and then another 15 minutes of running. It worked pretty well, and I almost - almost - made it back to Joanie's. No, I didn't collapse, but I was pretty tired. And sore.
It's a good thing today's plans don't include doing much of anything other than dinner with Joanie and Little Dude, and hanging around. It's much cheaper that way, too.
Bad idea.
You have no idea how out of shape you are until you try to run the hills around San Diego. I started on a downhill, so it seemed easy. But then came the uphill. And the burn. And the heavy breathing. And the realization that I was nowhere near in shape. I soon settled on the 15-3-15 method I'd used a few years back. That's 15 minutes of running, followed by a three-minute walk to catch my breath, and then another 15 minutes of running. It worked pretty well, and I almost - almost - made it back to Joanie's. No, I didn't collapse, but I was pretty tired. And sore.
It's a good thing today's plans don't include doing much of anything other than dinner with Joanie and Little Dude, and hanging around. It's much cheaper that way, too.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Decompressing
After a greuling two-hour interview, I needed to decompress. I walked out of the building, only to find the car gone. Funny since I'd left Joanie inside napping. One quick phone call later, and she was driving back from the little ride she'd taken.
She announced that she'd talked to her friend Clark, and he would be glad to join us for lunch. She called Clark, and let him and I work out the directions to his home in the Hollywood Hils. And a very nice home it was. As soon as we arrived (after navigating one very twisty Laurel Canyon road), I saw the yellow Goldwing in the garage. I hopped on and checked it out, very much wanting to take it for a ride. Instead, we wint inside where Clark gave us the grand tour.
Although we'd planned to go out for lunch (Clark said it would be his breakfast), the plans changed when his wife came home. Pretty soon, we were agreeing to a homemade lunch of pasta, and watching a back episode of Judge Judy, all the while talking about law. To her credit, Joanie didn't fall asleep while Clark and I talked shop.
After a very enjoyable lunch, Joanie and I raced down to CBS, where she'd snagged tickets for The Late Late Show. I saw a rather attractive blond sitting behind us, and amazingly enough, managed to strike up a conversation with her and her friends. They were there to see Maya Angelou, only to learn that she'd be cancelled at the last minute in favor of Anne Heche. (Guess insipid holiday Hallmark Hall-of-Fame movies carry more weight than intellectual writing.) We had a very nice discussion, and I found out her name (Marie), that she was originally from Detroit, but now lived in Pasedena, and that she had, until recently, worked for GM. So we chatted until we were called by Craig's warm-up guy, Chunky B, and told to head off to the studio.
Since Joanie's back was still not 100 percent, we had to decide whether to chance the stairs, or take the elevator. The PA, upon hearing about Joanie's surgery, told us not to take the stairs. She promised to hold seats for us, but when the page showed us to the end of the line, I feared that our seats would be in back. True to her word, though, the PA had kept seats in mind for us. She moved a couple to the third row and seated u right up front. We had a bird's-eye view of the show (and the studio is very small, so we were about 20 feet from Craigs desk, and right next to the executive producer's seat. It was choice. Even better, during the monologue, we somehow managed to get Craig's attention, and at the first break he asked us what we thought of Jackson Pollock's work.
After the show, my phone rang, as if on cue. It was Marty Stark, seeing if we were still on for dinner. We agreed to meet at Lolas, just down the street from CBS. Although nondescript on the outside, inside we found a very nice place. Since Marty wasn't as close as we were, we had to hold off one very cute waitress, and order only drinks. Of course, by the time he arrived, we were feeling very good. Dinnner was enjoyable, and it was nice to see Marty again. Too quickly it was over, and Joanie and I were faced with the long 90-minute drive back to San Diego. She slept, and I wanted to. By the time we got back, I was thoroughly exhausted.
She announced that she'd talked to her friend Clark, and he would be glad to join us for lunch. She called Clark, and let him and I work out the directions to his home in the Hollywood Hils. And a very nice home it was. As soon as we arrived (after navigating one very twisty Laurel Canyon road), I saw the yellow Goldwing in the garage. I hopped on and checked it out, very much wanting to take it for a ride. Instead, we wint inside where Clark gave us the grand tour.
Although we'd planned to go out for lunch (Clark said it would be his breakfast), the plans changed when his wife came home. Pretty soon, we were agreeing to a homemade lunch of pasta, and watching a back episode of Judge Judy, all the while talking about law. To her credit, Joanie didn't fall asleep while Clark and I talked shop.
After a very enjoyable lunch, Joanie and I raced down to CBS, where she'd snagged tickets for The Late Late Show. I saw a rather attractive blond sitting behind us, and amazingly enough, managed to strike up a conversation with her and her friends. They were there to see Maya Angelou, only to learn that she'd be cancelled at the last minute in favor of Anne Heche. (Guess insipid holiday Hallmark Hall-of-Fame movies carry more weight than intellectual writing.) We had a very nice discussion, and I found out her name (Marie), that she was originally from Detroit, but now lived in Pasedena, and that she had, until recently, worked for GM. So we chatted until we were called by Craig's warm-up guy, Chunky B, and told to head off to the studio.
Since Joanie's back was still not 100 percent, we had to decide whether to chance the stairs, or take the elevator. The PA, upon hearing about Joanie's surgery, told us not to take the stairs. She promised to hold seats for us, but when the page showed us to the end of the line, I feared that our seats would be in back. True to her word, though, the PA had kept seats in mind for us. She moved a couple to the third row and seated u right up front. We had a bird's-eye view of the show (and the studio is very small, so we were about 20 feet from Craigs desk, and right next to the executive producer's seat. It was choice. Even better, during the monologue, we somehow managed to get Craig's attention, and at the first break he asked us what we thought of Jackson Pollock's work.
After the show, my phone rang, as if on cue. It was Marty Stark, seeing if we were still on for dinner. We agreed to meet at Lolas, just down the street from CBS. Although nondescript on the outside, inside we found a very nice place. Since Marty wasn't as close as we were, we had to hold off one very cute waitress, and order only drinks. Of course, by the time he arrived, we were feeling very good. Dinnner was enjoyable, and it was nice to see Marty again. Too quickly it was over, and Joanie and I were faced with the long 90-minute drive back to San Diego. She slept, and I wanted to. By the time we got back, I was thoroughly exhausted.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Walking in LA
The purpose of y trip to San Diego wasn't so much as a vacation (which my dad seems to think it's more of) than a way to keep things from being prohibitively expensive. I can't even begin to imagine trying to do a one-day trip to LA, including transportation, hotel, and a meal or two and not having it cost me the same as a trip out here for a week, including car rental. So I took the opportunity to drop in on Joanie.
And Joanie took the opportunity to hook us up with tickets to The Late Late Show starring Craig Ferguson. More on that later. First, the interview details.
This interview had come about a bit unusually. In the midst of all the emails from headhunters/recruiters, hucksters, insurance salespeople and firms who didn't bother to read my resume, I got one that intrigued me. Yet when I went to the website, all that I found in the 'careers' section were openings for insurance sales and real estate brokers. My first instinct was to blow it off; just another insurance company spamming me with ads promising big commissions.
After a bit of thought, I decided to call the person who emailed me and see what was up. Turns out that while they were looking for those positions, that wasn't why they'd contacted me. Seems my accounting and legal background were just what they wanted. Their business was growing, and they wanted someone in-house to handle the day-to-day affairs. Enter yours truly.
Still, I was cautious. I couldn't find much on the web about the firm, so I had no idea what they were like as a business, which was a concern. I knew that they were a privately-held, one-owner company, and I'd worked for one of those before, long ago. What I've found (and what I've since learned is not unusual) is that owners of small businesses which begin to grow at a good pace find themselves overwhelmed. The problem isn't finding people to help; the problem is letting go. These owners can often hold on too tightly, undermining managers as they nitpick, micromanage and change orders at whims. Employees soon learn that the manager has no real authority and begin to circumvent him or her and go directly to the owner/entrepreneur. This defeats the intended purpose of lightening the load, and things tend to get worse as the manager struggles to assert his supposed authority, only to be cut off at every turn.
The interview lasted two hours, during which I asked questions galore. At one point, the owner commented that this was less like an interview and more like a discussion on business - and then he said it made him feel very confident. We'll see how things turn out.
And Joanie took the opportunity to hook us up with tickets to The Late Late Show starring Craig Ferguson. More on that later. First, the interview details.
This interview had come about a bit unusually. In the midst of all the emails from headhunters/recruiters, hucksters, insurance salespeople and firms who didn't bother to read my resume, I got one that intrigued me. Yet when I went to the website, all that I found in the 'careers' section were openings for insurance sales and real estate brokers. My first instinct was to blow it off; just another insurance company spamming me with ads promising big commissions.
After a bit of thought, I decided to call the person who emailed me and see what was up. Turns out that while they were looking for those positions, that wasn't why they'd contacted me. Seems my accounting and legal background were just what they wanted. Their business was growing, and they wanted someone in-house to handle the day-to-day affairs. Enter yours truly.
Still, I was cautious. I couldn't find much on the web about the firm, so I had no idea what they were like as a business, which was a concern. I knew that they were a privately-held, one-owner company, and I'd worked for one of those before, long ago. What I've found (and what I've since learned is not unusual) is that owners of small businesses which begin to grow at a good pace find themselves overwhelmed. The problem isn't finding people to help; the problem is letting go. These owners can often hold on too tightly, undermining managers as they nitpick, micromanage and change orders at whims. Employees soon learn that the manager has no real authority and begin to circumvent him or her and go directly to the owner/entrepreneur. This defeats the intended purpose of lightening the load, and things tend to get worse as the manager struggles to assert his supposed authority, only to be cut off at every turn.
The interview lasted two hours, during which I asked questions galore. At one point, the owner commented that this was less like an interview and more like a discussion on business - and then he said it made him feel very confident. We'll see how things turn out.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Heading out west
With the unseasonably warm November weather in Chicago starting to turn toward the more seasonable frigid, I climbed aboard a plane bound for San Diego.
No sooner did I land than I immediately realized that Robert Burns' poem ("The best laid plans of mice and men...") still holds true nearly 400 years later. I'd watched the weather reports, and the unseasonably warm weather in Chicago had roughly been like the weather in San Diego - in the 60s and 70s. So I'd packed long-sleeved shirts. Except that a Santa Ana had blown in, bringing with it hot, dry weather and 'red flag' (high fire risk) days. So as I sat at Lindberg Airport waiting for Joanie to pick me up, I began to wonder just what possessed me to pass up the opportunity to pack cooler shirts (they were buried back in the closet) and if this was a one-day deal, or if I'd be sweating all week.
Joanie finally arrived, and we headed back toward Casa Goddess. But first we had to pick up a vehicle for the trip up to LA tomorrow. I had reserved a smaller car, but because we were delayed by events, I got stuck with an Envoy. They agreed to give it to me at a cut rate (and since Joanie isn't pain-free, even after back surgery, I figured she might be a little more comfortable) and we drove off.
We really didn't do a whole lot after that, just kind of hung out, which was a good thing since I'm fighting to stay awake. Leave it to my friend Joe to remind me that I was trying to slog through a 26-hour day (adding in the 2 hour time difference). Besides, I have to be rested for the interview, which got moved up from 1:00p.m. to 11:00a.m.
No sooner did I land than I immediately realized that Robert Burns' poem ("The best laid plans of mice and men...") still holds true nearly 400 years later. I'd watched the weather reports, and the unseasonably warm weather in Chicago had roughly been like the weather in San Diego - in the 60s and 70s. So I'd packed long-sleeved shirts. Except that a Santa Ana had blown in, bringing with it hot, dry weather and 'red flag' (high fire risk) days. So as I sat at Lindberg Airport waiting for Joanie to pick me up, I began to wonder just what possessed me to pass up the opportunity to pack cooler shirts (they were buried back in the closet) and if this was a one-day deal, or if I'd be sweating all week.
Joanie finally arrived, and we headed back toward Casa Goddess. But first we had to pick up a vehicle for the trip up to LA tomorrow. I had reserved a smaller car, but because we were delayed by events, I got stuck with an Envoy. They agreed to give it to me at a cut rate (and since Joanie isn't pain-free, even after back surgery, I figured she might be a little more comfortable) and we drove off.
We really didn't do a whole lot after that, just kind of hung out, which was a good thing since I'm fighting to stay awake. Leave it to my friend Joe to remind me that I was trying to slog through a 26-hour day (adding in the 2 hour time difference). Besides, I have to be rested for the interview, which got moved up from 1:00p.m. to 11:00a.m.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The fun of a job search, or why I hate Monster.com
Ever since I updated my resume on Monster, I've been inundated with calls and emails.
Unfortunately, as I mentioned earlier, they haven't been for anything i've wanted to do. Here are some examples:
To combat this, I've changed my resume a bit, and it seems to have worked. At least its eliminated recruiters who want to put me into staff accountant positions. Of course, I did get one email from a recruiter looking to fill a temporary position - at my old company. I passed.
Unfortunately, as I mentioned earlier, they haven't been for anything i've wanted to do. Here are some examples:
- The Clueless. These are the idiots who just don't get it. They're headhunters/recruiters who are merely looking for warm bodies to fill positions, and not good matches. Worse yet, they use robots to pull keywords out of resumes and send out mass emails. The worst transgressor of this was the idiot from two or three weeks ago. You remember her, the one who thought law and accounting was an unusual combination. Not only did she never send me contact info for the legal recruiter she supposedly knew, she called me earlier this week and left me a message. "Hi, this is J--- H---- from -----. We talked a couple of weeks ago, and I just wanted to catch up and tell you about some of the things I'm working on..."
- The Hucksters. These are the mass emails, akin to work-at-home scams, which promise impossibly high commissions (you, too could earn up to $100K!) for merely processing their overseas transactions. You see, they had a guy who did this for them, but he can't anymore, so they're sending out a mass, blind email looking for someone who could help them clear these cash transactions through their personal bank account. You don't have to do anything, just make a wire transfer every now and then. Right.
- The Insurance Salesmen. "We're interviewing in your area, and only for a limited time. Join us and make thousands in commissions in your first year. We're looking for enthusiastic individuals like you...."
- The Mass Ad. These guys are like the Clueless. However, they're different, because they send you the actual position description, then say "If you meet the qualifications, please send your resume..." Too bad that if they'd read that resume, they'd realize that I either a) wasn't qualified, or b) was overqualified. Either way, I won't be contacting them.
To combat this, I've changed my resume a bit, and it seems to have worked. At least its eliminated recruiters who want to put me into staff accountant positions. Of course, I did get one email from a recruiter looking to fill a temporary position - at my old company. I passed.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Shot through the heart....
...and you're to blame...
Ok, so it wasn't the first song that Bon Jovi sang last night, it was the second. But it was immensely satisfying to hear.
About a month-and-a-half ago, my friend Cheri called me up and asked if I'd be interested in seeing the band. Sure, I'd said. And why not? Sure, Bon Jovi has a reputation of being a 'girls band,' but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy their music. Plus, there'd be tons of single women there. It could be fun.
So we planned the evening; Cheri would come in on the train, Cara & Rich would drive into Casa Greg. We'd head out to dinner, then to the concert. We chose, initially, a restaurant called Reza, which someone thought sounded good. I'd never been there, and was kind of excited to be going somewhere new. Until I realized that eating there would result in our venerable drivers having to pay twice for parking. Not a good idea in a city where parking is often advertised as "$5 for the first 12 minutes."
So we opted to go to a place called D'Agostino's instead. No problem, as it was only a short walk from the apartment, and we had nearly two hours to kill. Imagine our surprise, then, when we used the full two hours and then some. Not only did Cara's order get screwed up (she got stuffed shells instead of stuffed peppers), but the waitress appeared so infrequently at our table that we put her picture on milk cartons in order to get service. At one point a very frustrated Cara said that "we should tip the busboy instead of the waitress; he's come around more often, and at least I know what he looks like."
As we left, someone commented that we would not make it in time for the scheduled 7:30 start.
"Oh, who cares, " Cara retorted, "we'll only miss the opening act, and I don't even know who they are."
Made me think that being selected to be an opening act was definitely a double-edged sword; you get to travel with a well-known band, and get much-needed 'exposure', but what did it matter if no one saw you?
I realized that my thoughts were even more right when we walked in. Most of the people were milling about outside; inside, the seats were about half full. It wasn't until a local deejay came out onto stage and made a half-hearted plug for her station that people began to file into their seats.
But once the show got started, it was well worth the wait. Jon Bon Jovi is a man who has been making music since he was a teen; he's well beyond the point of needing to make money. He can do this because he enjoys it, and not have to worry about impressing critics. And the show showed that. The members of the band regularly mugged for the camera, and otherwise enjoyed interacting with each other and the crowd, who couldn't get enough. We spent most of the night like yo-yos bouncing up for hits like "Living On A Prayer" and "It's My Life" and sitting down for the ballads. One guy behind me complained, saing "I'm too old to keep doing this." And he was about my age. Sheesh.
So all in all, the evening was very enjoyable, and a lot of fun. At the end of the evening, I told Cara, "I've seen a lot of cleavage here tonight." And I did, not all of it good. Some of the women looked very...uh, how do I say this...bad, while others were wearing clothes that fit three sizes ago. And then there were the three moms who brought their pre-teen children, which left me wondering why they would subject them to music that I doubted they liked. Hasn't anyone heard of babysitters anymore? Sure enough, one couple's daughter sat in her seat, head in her hand, while the crowd sang along with "Living on a Prayer"."
Oh, and as far as the women went? Plenty of women, most of them married. The rest were with their boyfriends - or their kids. Oh, well. I hear John Mayer's coming soon.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Things are never quiet around here....
Oh, so much is going on around here….and there’s even some entertainment, as well.
Would you care to join the rest of us here in November?
On the entertainment side, TV Guide has taken to advertising heavily at the end of the “Fox Comedy Block” which runs here from 5-7pm. The ad promotes the new, bigger, TV Guide, mentions the feature story (this week: Grey’s Anatomy). This is followed by a plug for the Fox network shows that evening.
On Monday, the TV Guide ad said, “Tonight on FOX: NLCS Game 6: Houston at St. Louis…”
Uh, guys, I hate to tell you this, but….the NLCS ended two weeks ago. Houston won. Sorry if I spoiled things for you. I know, I know, you taped it, right? Right.
-----
Stupidity Happens – even at the best schools in the country
So someone – a white guy – had a great idea.
“Let’s have a ‘thuggin’ party!” he said.
“Yeah!” his classmates – nineteen of them – shouted in agreement.
And so it was on – the Straight Thuggin’ Party. Unfortunately, it seems that the weak attempt to ‘lampoon hip-hop culture’ wasn’t found to be too funny by African-American students. Or a lot of other students for that matter.
One girl, who attended the party tried to defend it. “We weren’t making fun of anyone, or trying to insult anyone. We were trying to make fun of the whole ghetto culture. I don’t see why people are so upset.”
Oh, I don’t know, either. Maybe because a couple of guys went out onto the street and invited blacks in, asking them if they’d like to have their picture taken and be part of the ‘ghetto’. Maybe it’s because your idea for a party was stupid and, in a way, the naïve type of party that rich, entitled kids throw, trying to be part of a culture they haven’t ever come close to joining.
What’s even funnier – in an ironic way – is that this little event happened at one of the country’s elite universities, in a neighborhood long known for its diversity: The University of Chicago, in the Hyde Park neighborhood, long a melting pot for upper-middle class blacks, whites and asians. Sadly, it’s also a neighborhood besieged by a rash of muggings of both students and residents.
It seems in a time when students should be coming together to protect each other from a very real threat, some take acts which only serve to divide even more.
-----
There is no East Coast media bias....
There really isn't. Or so the media tells us. "We report on an unbiased basis," they say. They report on how Chicagoans feel slighted by ESPN and others, who report ad nauseum on the Yankees and teh Red Sox, but generally ignore the White Sox.
The first indication that Chicago was going to be ignored or minimized was after the Sox beat Boston in three straight. Chris Berman, instead of discussing how the White Sox had shut down the vaunted Red Sox sluggers, chose to wax poetic about the Bosox and lament that they wouldn't get to repeat as champs.
The latest? Oh, that's easy. Somehow, when the Bosox break their 86-year curse, they are featured both weeks on the cover of Sports Illustrated. And the White Sox, who broke an even longer 88-year curse? They're relegated to a small picture in the upper right corner. Seems that this weeks Monday Night Football matchup is much more important. Seems one Peyton Manning is playing against one Tom Brady who happens to play for a team called the Patriots - who happen to play in Boston.
No East Coast bias indeed.
Would you care to join the rest of us here in November?
On the entertainment side, TV Guide has taken to advertising heavily at the end of the “Fox Comedy Block” which runs here from 5-7pm. The ad promotes the new, bigger, TV Guide, mentions the feature story (this week: Grey’s Anatomy). This is followed by a plug for the Fox network shows that evening.
On Monday, the TV Guide ad said, “Tonight on FOX: NLCS Game 6: Houston at St. Louis…”
Uh, guys, I hate to tell you this, but….the NLCS ended two weeks ago. Houston won. Sorry if I spoiled things for you. I know, I know, you taped it, right? Right.
-----
Stupidity Happens – even at the best schools in the country
So someone – a white guy – had a great idea.
“Let’s have a ‘thuggin’ party!” he said.
“Yeah!” his classmates – nineteen of them – shouted in agreement.
And so it was on – the Straight Thuggin’ Party. Unfortunately, it seems that the weak attempt to ‘lampoon hip-hop culture’ wasn’t found to be too funny by African-American students. Or a lot of other students for that matter.
One girl, who attended the party tried to defend it. “We weren’t making fun of anyone, or trying to insult anyone. We were trying to make fun of the whole ghetto culture. I don’t see why people are so upset.”
Oh, I don’t know, either. Maybe because a couple of guys went out onto the street and invited blacks in, asking them if they’d like to have their picture taken and be part of the ‘ghetto’. Maybe it’s because your idea for a party was stupid and, in a way, the naïve type of party that rich, entitled kids throw, trying to be part of a culture they haven’t ever come close to joining.
What’s even funnier – in an ironic way – is that this little event happened at one of the country’s elite universities, in a neighborhood long known for its diversity: The University of Chicago, in the Hyde Park neighborhood, long a melting pot for upper-middle class blacks, whites and asians. Sadly, it’s also a neighborhood besieged by a rash of muggings of both students and residents.
It seems in a time when students should be coming together to protect each other from a very real threat, some take acts which only serve to divide even more.
-----
There is no East Coast media bias....
There really isn't. Or so the media tells us. "We report on an unbiased basis," they say. They report on how Chicagoans feel slighted by ESPN and others, who report ad nauseum on the Yankees and teh Red Sox, but generally ignore the White Sox.
The first indication that Chicago was going to be ignored or minimized was after the Sox beat Boston in three straight. Chris Berman, instead of discussing how the White Sox had shut down the vaunted Red Sox sluggers, chose to wax poetic about the Bosox and lament that they wouldn't get to repeat as champs.
The latest? Oh, that's easy. Somehow, when the Bosox break their 86-year curse, they are featured both weeks on the cover of Sports Illustrated. And the White Sox, who broke an even longer 88-year curse? They're relegated to a small picture in the upper right corner. Seems that this weeks Monday Night Football matchup is much more important. Seems one Peyton Manning is playing against one Tom Brady who happens to play for a team called the Patriots - who happen to play in Boston.
No East Coast bias indeed.
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