Geeks and Pop Culture

I have a friend who apparently is a finalist in some kind of comic book superhero contest. If he wins, his character and plot will be featured in a series of comic books.

Other than attending the occasional movie based on a comic and visiting Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash (the New Jersey location), I know nothing about comics -- but I can usually tell when something is a big deal. I quickly decided that my friend's contest must be a pretty big deal if he's getting email congratulations from some really big names in the entertainment industry. So, at first, I thought that his accomplishment was the equivalent of being crowned king of the geeks.

But according to the A.V. Club, my impression was dead wrong: Comic books don't even rank on their list of the 20 geekiest pop-culture obsessions. (And neither do Star Wars and Monty Python, apparently.) Being an avowed Monty Python geek and occasional Star Wars fan, I am intrigued by this list and decided to parse it more carefully in order to determine just how geeky I am.

The results:

1. Star Trek. I have seen a couple of the movies. I have seen a couple of the episodes of the original series and The Next Generation. I know who Captain Kirk, Spock, Scotty, and Captain Picard are. Other than that, nothing. Clearly this is not my thing.


2. Renaissance faires. I've been known to go to them, and sometimes even take pictures. But I don't dress up: I make fun of people who dress up. I make fun of people who spell it "faire." I do, however, like to eat food on sticks.


3. Fantasy Sports. Well, you got me there. I have been known to play fantasy sports. And win. But here's an important observation: I'm a girl. Doesn't that cancel out the geekiness of it? Well, that and the fact that I don't really care?


4. Michael Jackson. I owned Thriller once upon a time, and I have one Jackson 5 CD. I am marginally disturbed by him in general, more so by his face, and even more so because of his increasingly erratic behavior. Not a fan.


5. Wikipedia. Admittedly, this is a close call. I find Wikipedia intriguing. And for something that is public domain, it's surprisingly accurate, all things considered. But I draw the line at editing.


6. Battlestar Galactica. I think the only thing I know about this show is that it is the source of the swear-substitute "frakking." Not my thing.


7. The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I may have been known to dance the Time Warp. I know when to throw the toast. And at one point, I did suggest to my best friend that we dress like Columbia and Magenta. But I haven't seen it in years. Honest.


8. Joss Whedon. I have seen every episode of Buffy, Angel, and Firefly. I have the DVDs. I even have the movies and the soundtrack to the musical episode. I paid special attention when he directed The Office. So yeah, guilty as charged.


9. Media-specific role-playing. I don't even know what this means. Next.


10. Magic: The Gathering. Never played, and probably would laugh if someone asked.


11. World of Warcraft. Same answer. But if someone offered me the chance to play Guitar Hero, that seems like it would be fun.


12. The Simpsons. I have seen quite a number of episodes, and overall enjoy the show enough to try to catch it on Sunday evenings -- usually while doing laundry. At one point in time, I used to pay attention to the quips that Bart wrote on the chalkboard in the opening sequence, and even had a Bart Simpson t-shirt -- but that was almost 20 years ago. Sadly, despite my best intentions, I never even got around to seeing the movie this summer. Does this count as a half?


13. Doctor Who. I can honestly say that I have never seen an episode. Where do they air it?


14. Frank Zappa. I'm sure I've heard some of his music, but I don't own any of it. I know what his kids' names are, though.


15. Game Show Tape Trading. People really do this? Why would you want to see a repeat of an old game show? Lame.


16. Anime. I have a Tokidoki for LeSportsac bag with anime pirates on it that I occasionally use as a briefcase substitute. But that's about the extent of it.


17. Cosplay. The last time I dressed like a cartoon character was back in the first grade, when I was Cinderella for Halloween. Although I have contemplated being the Corpse Bride some year. But Halloween is the exception, not the rule -- so I'm safe.


18. Live action role playing. The closest I ever got to this was a week-long game of Axis and Allies back in high school. Not quite the same as Dungeons and Dragons, though.


19. Second Life / MySpace / FaceBook. I have one of the three (MySpace). I am not one of those people who tricked out their profile page with all sorts of graphics and whatnot. The extent of my use of the silly thing is to sign in about once a week to change the song to fit my mood. And I only have people I know as my friends. And yes, I am aware that everyone says Facebook is better, but I don't care enough to try.


20. Fanfic. I don't write fan fiction. I don't have the time or the inclination.

So, what does that total to? Fantasy sports and Joss Whedon, with a little bit of Renn Fest, MySpace, Simpsons, and Rocky Horror thrown in for good measure. Not overwhelmingly geeky, I suppose. To compete, I guess I'm going to have to get my own comic book.

Some things change, others not so much

With the exception of last weekend, I was away from home -- and my office -- for three weeks. All things considered, three weeks is not that long -- but it was enough time that things felt off. My commute felt different. Not wearing a suit felt weird. Sitting at my desk felt strange.

It must be the sleep deprivation.

But there were some actual changes. For example, on my walk to Metro this morning, I noticed that a bunch of stores in the mall had gotten facelifts, and that they're opening a new Harry's Tap Room to replace the icky Ruby Tuesday's. But then, on my walk back from Metro this evening, I realized that not even a Harry's Tap Room will make the mall patrons less annoying. You win some, you lose some, I guess.

So, now that I'm home for the time being, there's places to go, things to do. I'm pretty sure that a haircut is in order, since I'm pretty sure that, except for the drunken bang-cutting incident, my last haircut was sometime this summer.

Trial, day 12

Actually, forget about that. The Judge basically kicked us out of her courtroom at noon to address some criminal matters -- which was perfectly fine with me, since I made it back to DC on the 1:14 Acela.

It also meant that it was okay that I stayed up late to watch Jimmy Kimmel, and got to see this video:


For the record, this may be the first time I've ever really liked Sarah Silverman. So funny.

Trial, day 11

Actually, it was a half-day of trial. The rest of the day -- including right now -- was spent doing "prep." Which means that, as I type, I'm printing out a whole bunch of deposition designations.

But the weekend starts tomorrow, and I'd rather think about something else. So here's a list of things I like about staying in a hotel -- or more particularly, this hotel.

• Never having to make my bed or clean the bathroom;
• Room service, particularly grilled cheese and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches;
• The cookies they have at the front desk, particularly the M&M cookies;
• The Dunkin' Donuts downstairs; and
• The 42" widescreen flat pannel tv.

Still, it'll be nice to go home tomorrow.

Trial, day 10

Today, we started putting on our case, and the first witness was my witness. Now I have no more witnesses until we get to the plaintiff's rebuttal case.

Tomorrow, the judge has an emergency criminal matter to take up in the morning, so we don't have to be in Court until the afternoon.

With no witnesses and a late start, I am looking forward to finally getting a good night's sleep.

Trial, day 9

I was only in court for half the day today -- I left at lunch to go meet with one of our expert witnesses, before his testimony tomorrow. Basically, he told me what he wanted to say, and I figured out how to phrase the questions. That's pretty much backwards from how it works with a regular witness, so I'll have to see how it plays out in Court.

In the meantime, I have decided that, but for the Kids' Menu, eating a steady diet of this hotel's room service (and the cookies they put out at the front desk) would be intolerable. I mean, some things sound good -- Lobster Ravioli, BBQ Ribs, Fish & Chips -- but they're too heavy to eat in my room, late at night, while I'm working. And, other than the burger, the sandwiches are not particularly attractive. Plus I can get a Philly Cheesesteak or a Turkey Club just about anywhere and not have to spend $10.95, plus tax, tip, and $3.00 room service charge. So, Kids' Menu it is -- except for the Spaghetti-O's.

And, for the record, the only thing better than this hotel's Grilled Cheese is the Peanut Butter & Jelly. Mmmm.

Trial, day 8 -- and most of a weekend at home.

Friday was a good day. My cross-examination went just about as well as it possibly could have -- especially considering how late I had been up working on it, and how little sleep I had over the several days leading up to it. And it was really good to end the week on a high note. I actually used the word "Boo-ya!" to describe it.

Then I got in the car to drive home. I decided, though, to stop along the way to have dinner with my Aunt, Uncle, and little cousin.

When I walked in the door, they took one look at me, and decided that they weren't letting me drive the rest of the way home that night.

So, I got back on the road at about 10:30 Saturday morning, and walked in my front door just after 2. I then did laundry, caught up on Rock of Love and Project Runway, did a little bit of work, and went out to dinner. I spent today in the office, and now I have to go pack my suitcase. My train back to Newark leaves at 8.

At least I got to sleep in my own bed.

Trial, day 7

Not like anyone is still reading this, right?

Last night, I was up until 2 a.m. working. And today, I started my cross-examination of their main expert witness. Who is pretty much a professional expert witness. And it sucks, because this guy can't answer a yes-or-no question with a simple "yes" or "no."

Tomorrow, it'll be more of the same. And in the meantime, I have to make the big decision as to whether I'm staying here or going home for the weekend. Because, as much as I hate Newark, I hate the thought of driving 3.5 hours and then having to turn around and get back here even more.

Trial, day 6

I stayed up late last night working on my outline for today's cross-examination. In retrospect, I think I should have taken the "simpler is better" approach, since I made all the points I would have made even without the last-minute revisions, and now I just have another witness to prepare for anyway, and less time to do it with.

But forget about all that. The most interesting thing that happened in today's installment of the kabuki theater that is trial involved a bomb threat. And the requisite bomb-sniffing dogs.

The officers were wandering around the halls of the courthouse, flashlights in hand, accounting for all of the stray bags and boxes. The dogs were especially interested in our paralegal's leftovers from lunch. And, when we asked, one of the officers said that the dogs' sniffing and barking was meaningless -- but that if the dogs suddenly sat down, the officers would run.

Then one of the dogs sat down.

No one ran, though. And nothing exploded. Yet. My head is still a prime target.

Trial, day 5

The trial started off great today. I had two witnesses on cross-examination, a fact witness and an expert witness. I kicked ass on the expert witness. I made all my points, quickly and effortlessly. And the best part was that it was over and done before he even knew what happened to him.

In the afternoon, I had the fact witness. It was going so well. And then, I made two mistakes -- and in the process, did three things that a lawyer should never do.

First, I violated the "one question too many" rule. It's a pretty basic concept. You work real hard to set everything up perfectly, and the witness is going along with it, agreeing with everything you say -- and then you ask the one question that clues the witness into where the questioning is going, and he starts to rethink and backtrack from everything he said previously.

At that point, the judge needed to take a break to take a phone call. So, instead of taking the break, I rested, which was bad on two levels. First of all, taking a break instead of resting would have given me the opportunity to confer with my co-counsel to go over things I may have missed. And second, it was stupid to end on a note that wasn't great. I could have redeemed myself.

Rookie mistake. I'll have to make up for it tomorrow.

Weekend in Newark

Things I did for the holiday weekend:

• See my brother (Friday, Saturday and Sunday!);
• Work;
• Drive into New York via both the George Washington Bridge and the Lincoln Tunnel;
• Park in Manhattan;
• Eat dinner on the Upper West Side;
• Walk around in layered polar fleece;
• Eat paella in the Ironbound;
• Watch football while working;
• Get the sniffles;
• Work more.

Right now, I'm leaning towards going home next weekend, even if it's only for a day. I don't know how how much more hotel living I can stand.

Trial, day 4

I'm already tired of blogging about my trial. And today was all about accounting, which even bored the accountants in the room.

Instead, I could write about how they threatened to take away my internet access for running too many computers -- but that's because I have more than one computer with me.
Indeed, right now, as I type, I have three computers and a printer in this hotel room. Imagine how many we'd have if we were sharing hotel rooms.

So, suck it, wireless people. Just because most people only bring one computer to a hotel room. . . .

Trial, day 3

The bed in the hotel is comfy. Me, not so much -- but at least I'm keeping down some food -- mostly soup and some mashed potatoes for dinner. Which is good, since my brother has decided to come to town late tomorrow night, and he probably couldn't handle it if I'm all barfy and grumpy.

Of course, the fact that I'm not still throwing up is all thanks to the magical cure-all that is red Gatorade. Or, as I emailed my coworker this morning, "The Gatorade has indeed aided this former Gator." It's a wonder drug.

As for the trial, it's going sloooooooowly. Which, on the one hand is good. On the other hand, I'd like to leave Newark sometime soon. Because it totally sucks here. And, as comfy as the hotel bed is, I'd rather be sleeping in my own.

Trial, day 2: puke and funerals

I would blog about trial today, but I was only there for a couple hours. Apparently, when you've been puking for hours, your co-workers really don't want you sitting at counsel table with them.

Yesterday, we told our opponents what was going on, and they said that none of my witnesses were going to come up today, so I could take off for the funeral. This morning, one of their attorneys cornered me on one of my frequent trips to the vomitorium (aka bathroom) and smarmily told me that, "Well, I guess we'll have to readjust our schedules, and you'll have to hope that we don't have to call {your witnesses} while you're out."

I told him that we had cleared the schedule with his co-counsel the day before and that had been assured that there was not going to be a problem. I then ran off to puke, and when I came back, relayed the prior episode to my co-counsel. The only word we could think of was "Dick," but feel free to add your thoughts on synonyms below.

So, when the judge got back, my co-counsel asked the judge that I be excused to attend my grandmother's funeral. She agreed. And while I didn't need for it to be on the official record, it was a good protection against them pulling any shenanigans.

Then I left the courthouse, puking all over beautiful downtown Newark on my way back to the hotel, where I tried to drink some red gatorade, puked some more, and went to my grandmother's funeral. Conveniently enough, the cemetery is only about fifteen minutes away from my hotel. Then, everyone went back to sit at my aunt's friend's mother's house, and I stopped in, drank some more red gatorade, and scurried back to the hotel, for another round of puking.

I am hoping to be done with the puking by the morning. And on that note, I'm going to sleep.

Trial, day one

For about five minutes, I thought it would be fun to blog about my trial. Every day. But then I thought that, even though it may be interesting for the lawyers out there, it would totally ruin the whole mirage for the non-lawyers. I mean, everyone should think it's like an episode of Law & Order. Otherwise, it's just a bunch of people in suits belaboring small points about whether or not a document is being used to prove the truth of the matter asserted.

****
On a personal and unrelated note, my grandmother died this morning. I found out during the lunch break at my trial. I'm sad, but ultimately okay with it, I guess. I mean, it's not like it was unexpected. And she did make it quite convenient for me, since I'm already up here and all.

Travel day

Today was a travel day. Actually, today was a (1) go to the office; (2) get computer fixed; (3) pick up car from body shop; (4) drive to New Jersey in crappy weather; (5) get settled in conference room; (6) get settled in hotel; (7) visit Grandma in hospice; (8) eat a sandwich; and (9) meet brand new baby cousin day.

Trial starts tomorrow, for realz.

Planning in advance

Come hell or high water -- or in this case, car or no car -- I leave for New Jersey sometime before noon tomorrow, for what looks to be at least three weeks of trial. Which means three weeks in Newark, New Jersey. (If it goes any longer than that, I'll come back for the weekend. And actually, I may come back for the weekends anyway. Depends on how I feel. But I digress.)

While packing, along with trying to figure out how many pairs of shoes to bring, I spent some time trying to figure out what I would need for two weekends stuck in a hotel in Newark -- understanding that the best thing about Newark is that it's a fifteen minute train ride into the middle of Manhattan. (The second best thing is that I have a significant amount of family in the vicinity.)

It's good to have a plan, and the New York Times gave me an idea: A library-themed weekend. Every time I've ever gone past the Library Hotel, I've thought about it: A vacation of books, books, and more books. Sounds like it's totally up my alley. So, that's what I'll do. Maybe. Or maybe I'll just do work, and go to the gym, and read, and watch t.v., same as I do when I'm at home -- only with none of my friends around.

But that's the weekend. There's a ton of work to get through between now and then. First things first.

Presidential Candidate Quiz

Found this quiz on Kimmie's blog:

89% John Edwards
89% Barack Obama
87% Hillary Clinton
87% Chris Dodd
85% Dennis Kucinich
85% Mike Gravel
80% Bill Richardson
78% Joe Biden
43% Rudy Giuliani
29% John McCain
23% Mike Huckabee
23% Tom Tancredo
22% Mitt Romney
16% Ron Paul
14% Fred Thompson

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Pretty much confirms what I already knew.

Feminism vs. Individualism

First, let me make this abundantly clear: I am, in all likelihood, voting for Barack Obama in the primary. I've hinted at it before, and I've said it, quite plainly, on Twitter.

My mom, my Nana, and my aunt are all ardent Hillary Clinton supporters, as are some of my friends -- who assume that I'm one too. And they all seem to express surprise, shock, and/or disappointment when I let them know otherwise.*

Recently, I twittered that "On some innate level, I feel guilty for not supporting a female candidate." Justin gave me some grief over this sentiment, and I explained, "I feel like it's a tiny betrayal of my gender, the whole sisterhood thing. It's not going to make me change my mind, though," and that "I would like to one day see a woman president."

It's hard to work through this cognitive dissonance, but in reading an article in the Post, I think I'm starting to figure it out.

Do you vote for a woman to shatter the glass ceiling and further the cause? Or do you make an empowered, individual decision that is not confined by gender?

***

"It's like I'm ruining this great opportunity for women by not voting for her, but honestly I'm not too worried about that," Keller said. "I don't think gender is a good enough reason on its own to vote for or against anybody. I'm sure there are going to be other women in my generation, soon, who are able to run for president. This isn't like our only chance."

Her stance is what some professors on campus refer to as an "inevitability attitude," and they say it marks a generational divide. Women who experienced Wellesley in the 1950s and '60s, such as Clinton, enrolled at a time when some Ivy League schools still refused to admit women. They believed, intrinsically, that they would have to scrap and claw for every opportunity in an unfair world. Wellesley functioned as their cocoon, a place for camaraderie and support before they were sent off as graduates to break barriers and challenge stereotypes. As feminists, they were linked by a cause.

The women of that generation now vote resoundingly for Clinton, poll numbers show, as if still bound by the urgency instilled 40 years ago. It's an urgency that their daughters, products of a less-sexist time, sometimes lack.

So, I'm not the only one who is torn. But having company doesn't make it any easier.


*Don't get me wrong: If Hillary wins the nomination, I will undoubtedly vote for her in the general election. There is no Republican running that would make me change my mind, and, after the 2000 election, I came to realize that voting for a third-party candidate is essentially a waste.

Only in New York

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 6:00 am, to catch a train up to Newark, New Jersey. This morning, I woke up at 5:30 am in Riverdale, New York, and, before the sun rose, was on a shuttle flight back to D.C. By 9:30, I was sitting at my desk, in my office, just like any other day.

It's been a whirlwind.

Anyway, I mostly slept on the plane. But I did stay awake long enough to read this story in the New York Times:

After Mr. Cintron recently died, Mr. O’Hare, 65, and another friend, David Daloia, also 65, whose last known address was in Queens, tried, without success, to cash a Social Security check of Mr. Cintron’s, the police say. They realized that they needed their dead buddy’s help.

So on Tuesday afternoon, the police say, they dressed Mr. Cintron’s corpse, carried him down a flight of stairs and heaved his body into a computer chair with wheels. Outside, they rolled him over the uneven sidewalk, pulling the chair toward Pay-O-Matic, a check-cashing shop on Ninth Avenue.

My last thought, before I drifted off to sleep was, "Hey, I saw that movie before."

Where I'm at

Six days to trial . . . and eight hours until I have to make a 36-hour long trip up to New Jersey to, among other things, attend the pretrial conference. But my head's not in the game right now -- it's about 17 miles away from the courthouse, in the hospice in Hackensack, with my grandmother.

Surreal

I was going to write something personal, but I can't do it. Suffice it to say that my stress level is close to unbearable.

Instead -- mostly to amuse myself -- I'm going to share with you my weirdest work email of the day, sent at 9:40 this evening:

"On an unrelated matter, I am currently on a Metro train surrounded by hoardes of Hannah Montana concertgoers. It is quite surreal."

The madness to my method

I don't know why I don't really write on Fridays or Saturdays or even Sundays (until it's dark outside) or on most federal holidays. It makes no sense when you think about it. I mean, I purportedly have extra time on the weekends, what with the days off and everything.

Well, then again, it's not like I don't work on weekends. (At least right now, until my trial is over.)

But whatever, the point still stands. On a typical busy weekday, I should have less time to spend lost in my own thoughts, typing away at the computer. The weekend should present more of a leisure opportunity -- not to mention more stories to tell, more clarity, and more time for reflection. Like now, for instance. It's not hard to type away while the laundry is drying.

I hope it doesn't mean that subconsciously, I feel like writing is an adjunct of my job, and therefore, something I can only do on school nights.

Dear Pat Robertson

Dear Pat Robertson,

Once upon a time, while I would disagree vehemently with everything you stand for, I would have to grudgingly acknowledge your brilliance in managing to unite evangelical Christians for political purposes, i.e. electing Republicans, and turning it into a largely influential political movement. Hey, Mike Huckabee won Iowa today, and he's one of your guys, right?

But word on the street is that you're back to your old shenanigans, making random predictions and thinly-veiled threats of chaos and violence.

On the plus side, at least you're not trying to predict the weather or terrorist attacks, sans computer models or highly-classified intel. And guessing that there's going to be a recession and the stock market is going to crash when there's a "downturn" in the market isn't really putting yourself that far out on a limb.

Still, a word of advice: Evidence has shown that people who claim to hear the word of God are either (1)lying, (2) crazy, or (3) high. Sometimes they're a combination of more than one.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is keep quiet.

Regards,
Dara

Stupid camera phone

On Metro earlier this evening, I wound up sitting directly behind a woman in a fuzzy royal blue coat.

I looked at her and did a double-take. It looked like her coat was made out of Grover.



Or maybe Cookie Monster.



Heck, maybe it was both of them.

Seriously, though, wearing fur is a fashion faux-pas. But wearing Muppet fur? Ridiculous. (Not to mention challenging. I mean, what kind of shoes would one wear with a Muppet-skin coat?)

So, of course, I tried to take a picture.

Lo and behold, my camera phone picture was totally crappy, a fuzzy-blurry mess. So you're just going to have to take my word for how funny this coat was.

But, while waiting for my dinner, I tried to fix the problem. After several tries, I managed to get one halfway decent picture of this sign:



Eh, it's still not that good. Clearly, my camera phone is shit.

Leisure sickness

During law school, I would get sick almost immediately after exams. It was as if the second I stopped being busy, the germs would take hold, and I'd be incapacitated for a couple of days. And not just the sniffles. Really honest-to-god running-a-fever can't-get-out-of-bed non-functioning sick.

At the beginning, my mother was frustrated by this phenomenon. Then she started thinking that it was funny. She'd make comments like, "Well, I'd plan on doing {insert activity here}, but you're going to be sick anyway. . . ."

When I started working, it was like that whenever I had a major deadline or a trial -- as soon as it was over, I'd be sick. And right now, I'm about 98% sure that it'll happen after my big trial this month.

So, last week, in The Washington Post, they had a whole article on the phenomenon of leisure sickness. Apparently, I'm not the only one who gets sick the second she relaxes.

Ad Vingerhoets, an associate professor of clinical health psychology at Tilburg University in the Netherlands, calls it "leisure sickness." Just when you take a break from your busy schedule to enjoy a little relaxation, your leisure time becomes anything but -- full of aches and pains, cold- and flulike symptoms and other health complaints.

***

The underlying cause of the problem, according to Vingerhoets, appears to have a lot to do with stress.

***

But Esther Sternberg, a researcher of neuroendocrine immunology at the National Institutes of Health, disagrees. Sternberg, the author of "The Balance Within: The Science Connecting Health and Emotions," calls leisure sickness a real condition, tied to the release of hormones under stress and their interaction with the nervous and immune systems.

In times of stress, the body's adrenal glands release adrenaline, which makes the heart beat faster and causes you to feel sweaty and anxious. Adrenaline gives a boost to the immune system, the body's defense against infection, Sternberg said. But while adrenaline is pumping, so is cortisol -- a potent anti-inflammatory hormone also released by the adrenal glands.

"The reason [cortisol] works as an anti-inflammatory is because it's turning off the immune cells," Sternberg said. ". . . You're no longer able to effectively fight infection."

The two hormones are timed differently, with adrenaline starting up and shutting down within milliseconds, much faster than cortisol, which takes five to 10 minutes.

"What happens when you stop doing what it is you were doing that stressed you is that the adrenaline shuts off first," Sternberg said. "You are left with this cortisol floating around. And if at that moment someone coughs in your face, you get sick."

I feel vindicated. Take that, Mom!

Resolved

Last year, around this time, I dismissed the notion of New Year's resolutions. This year, I'm taking a different approach. I'm going to resolve to not make the same mistakes in 2008 that I already made in 2007.

So, in true obsessive-compulsive fashion, here's a list of things that I am going to try my hardest to NOT do again:

• Lose my MP3 player
• Take fewer than 10 days off of work
• Be overly bossy and overbearing
• Sleep in my contacts
• Get in a fender bender
• Dwell on the past
• Work so much I forget to have fun

I'm sure I'm missing some things, but this seems like a good start.

Reflecting back on the year that was

Everyone else is doing it -- and like last year, I'm a little late to the game -- so, without further adieu, here are my first lines for each month of 2007:

January: Maybe this is me being hypercritical, but would it have killed the folks in my leasing office to use spellcheck?

February: Over the past year or so, I had completely forgotten that most people get out of work at a reasonable hour and then -- here's the important part -- go do other things.

March: Remember how I said I'm in New Jersey for work for the rest of the week?

April: Or, "Toto, I don't think we're in Nigeria anymore."

May: I'm bummed today.

June: Memorial Day marks the start of summer -- and the start of the summer associate stories.

July: A trip to the beach would be nice.

August: I think my summer would have been so much more awesome if I had read the AV Club's Hater's Guide to Summer Fun before today.

September: Florida State plays Clemson in less than two hours, and I can already feel my heart pounding in my chest as if the game is tied with seconds left in the fourth quarter and FSU is attempting to win by kicking a field goal.

October: I just finished watching Moonlight on the DVR.

November: One of these Novembers, I will actually write a novel.

December: I almost never drink at work happy hours.


Happy New Year! Here's to hoping that 2008 is even better than 2007. And this goes doubly for Florida State's football team.

Piles

I had ideas of what to write about tonight, but instead, I had yet another late night at the office trying to negotiate my way through a pile of work, and then came home to a pile of dishes to put away, a pile of laundry to put away, and a third pile -- one of mail to go through -- all before my cleaning lady comes tomorrow.

In retrospect, I am exceptionally glad that MadHaiku recently posted a link to Catalog Choice. Here's to hoping that my mail pile will grow smaller and smaller, and that the environment will benefit in the process.

How D.C. and New York are really different

In today's Washington Post, we see an article about how the various candidates are trying to get Al Sharpton's endorsement. In The New York Times, there's a similar article -- only theirs is about Jon Bon Jovi.

Pot vs. kettle

This year, my brother did not find his Chrismanukah presents -- a pooping snowman candy dispenser and Dysfunctional Family Therapy Mad Libs -- particularly amusing.

Of course, this is the same boy that sent me this in an email.

Happy Christmas

The low point of my Christmas weekend was working 10 hours on Saturday. But the highlights were many:

• Getting to wear hair band t-shirts to my office
• Reading up on the weird origins and weird traditions of Christmas, courtesy of Cracked
• Good hair
• Catching people making out in the front of the Volkswagen parked behind mine
• Sweeney Todd
• Ratatouille
• Juno
• The episode of Entourage with U2
• Watching part of a marathon of The Hills
• Double-Chocolate muffins
• Good vodka
• Having someone understand that I say I'm grumpy when I'm really just hungry
• Winning the PH4H fantasy football league
• A fast and furious text message exchange to wish my sister a happy birthday
• Getting to tell a boy drinking light beer that "Real men drink vodka."
• In response, being told that I "look like trouble"
• Responding that such an assessment usually takes years -- and years of therapy
• Talking about crappy American beer with a Scottish guy
• Dancing
• 80's music
• Being inadvertently wished a Happy Christmas, and being aware enough to say, "That's awfully British of you."
• Telling my friends, "I may be drunk, but I'm not that drunk."

All in all, the positives outweighted the negatives - which I guess is the point.

A fan letter

Dear Johnny Depp,

I loved you as a pirate and strangely-pale cookie-hearted guy with bladed fingers. Today, I can say, without hesitation, that you are the absolute best serial-killing barber ever. The movie was even better than when I saw the play in London.



And, not only do you wear guyliner better than most, you sing surprisingly well.

In conclusion: You are absolutely perfect. I could probably be convinced to buy a ticket to watch you reading the phone book -- particularly if Tim Burton directed.

Love,
Dara

What I really want for Chrismanukah . . .

Forget all the other Hanukkah presents. What I really want is a Tim Gunn bobblehead.



Carry on.

For the office party

I started out by making snickerdoodles, but I didn't like the way they looked, so I made gingersnaps too.

Guns and commas

I stumbled across a New York Times op-ed piece parsing the grammar of the Second Amendment -- a comma, in particular -- in relation to the case overturning DC's gun ban.

According to the court, the second comma divides the amendment into two clauses: one “prefatory” and the other “operative.” On this reading, the bit about a well-regulated militia is just preliminary throat clearing; the framers don’t really get down to business until they start talking about “the right of the people ... shall not be infringed.”

The circuit court’s opinion is only the latest volley in a long-simmering comma war. In a 2001 Fifth Circuit case, a group of anti-gun academics submitted an amicus curiae (friend of the court) brief arguing that the “unusual” commas of the Second Amendment support the collective rights interpretation. According to these amici, the founders’ use of commas reveals that what they really meant to say was “a well-regulated militia ... shall not be infringed.”

This is like porn for lawyers and grammarians.

Doppelgangers

While watching the commercial for the DVD of Balls of Fury, I noticed that Christopher Walken looks an awful lot like Jon Voight:




I'm not that wrong, am I?

But then, this evening, I walked past a large poster for P.S. I Love You, which, from a distance, looked like it was starring Sandra Bullock, but apparently it's Hilary Swank -- who looks an awful lot like Jennifer Garner:



So, to all the casting directors out there, next time you're looking for people to play siblings, I have some suggestions.

Bah humbug

Even though the mass media would have you think this time of year brings out the best in people, my personal experience is that it does exactly the opposite. Everyone is rushed and busy and striving for some kind of perfect holiday, and in being that way, they inevitably wreak havoc on everyone and everything that gets in their way.

I'm not any different.

Take last week at work. We're planning the office party, which happens to be reviving an old tradition -- the gag gift secret Santa. The tradition had been all but extinguished because at various times, feelings had been hurt by insensitive and occasionally inappropriate gifts. But this year, we got the go-ahead to try again -- a probation of sorts. Everyone wants this to work, to keep the tradition from dying out for good.

One of my friends decided to be in charge of the process, but it became clear that he didn't have some of the organizational details down -- such as how participants have to both give and receive gifts, and that it's not "secret" if you are both on the list and making the list. So, in a way that was probably less than diplomatic, I interceded and said that I'd be in charge of the list. Admittedly, the way I went about it was undoubtedly bossy and overbearing, but in my head, I just was trying to help.

I sent an email announcing that I'd be in charge of the list. In a joking way, I referred to it as a "bloodless coup." Another co-worker got offended by my tone and, apparently, the fact that I took over in a bossy manner. So, she cornered me and proceeded to lecture me about how horrible I was. At first I thought she was joking, and then, once I realized that she was, indeed, serious, I got offended by her tone -- which I would later describe as "essentially calling me a bitch without actually using that word." I did, however, understand her point that I might have stepped over the line. So, I apologized to my friend. At the end of the day, I thought it was over and done with.

The next day, the coworker who lectured me came into my office, purportedly to apologize. Of course, she did this by first telling me that we're still friends, then by telling me that she never actually used the word "bitch" to describe my behavior, and third, by telling me how wrong my behavior had been. She repeated the third point four times. The first time, I said, "I got your point. I was offended by your tone yesterday, but I got your point. And I apologized, and it's over now, so let's move on."

The second time, I said, "Alright, I get it, it's done. Can we stop now?"

The third time, I just said, "Can we stop? Please."

When she continued, I said something offensive, taking her lord's name in vain and using a very bad word, one that's not allowed on television. She then said, "Now I'm offended" and stormed out of my office.

Clearly, I shouldn't have gone for the nuclear option. But I was pushed.

Damn holidays.

'Tis the season for ignorance, I suppose

I am often astounded by the stupidity of others. But nowhere am I more aware of it than when I'm riding public transportation and I am subjected to other people's conversations. Sometimes I chuckle to quietly, sometimes I shake my head -- but I never ever say anything out loud. Because, like my rule about not honking at people while driving on highways in places where people are known to carry guns, you never know what people are going to do next.

For example, on the New York subway, some people got the crap beaten out of them for responding to a "Merry Christmas" with "Happy Hanukkah." According to the CNN article:

Two women who were with a group of 10 rowdy people then began to verbally assault Adler's companions with anti-Semitic language, Hellerstein said.

One member of the group allegedly yelled, "Oh, Hanukkah. That's the day that the Jews killed Jesus," she said.

When Adler tried to intercede, a male member of the group punched him, she said.

No, you idiot, Hanukkah is something completely different -- and, according to Slate, totally misunderstood. But I digress.

For the record, Jews don't celebrate the birth or death of Jesus -- except to the extent you're talking about Jews for Jesus, who are not really Jews. Plus, you have the seasons all wrong -- the Jews purportedly killed Jesus on Good Friday, and he was resurrected two days later, on Easter. You know, in the spring. Heck, I'm a Jew and I know that much.

So, maybe you should like learn your own religion before you go making uninformed comments about others. Or at least watch the Mel Gibson movie.

Eighth night of Hanukkah

When my siblings and I were kids, my mom always varied the way we got our Hanukkah and/or Christmas presents. Sometimes there was a big pile, and every night we got to take something off the pile -- or there was a bag that we weren't allowed to look inside, and we had to reach in and grab something. Other times, she had what we would get for each night mapped out, and the presents were all hidden away out of sight -- and each night she would hand us the gift that she wanted us to open.

Sometimes the big gifts were for Hanukkah, sometimes they were for Christmas; some years there was more than one major present, sometimes the major present was something that we had to share; and sometimes the biggest and best present came in the tiniest of boxes. The only things we knew with certainty were that there would be a tangelo in our stockings on Christmas morning, and that at least one of the gifts would be something VERY SPECIAL.

Tonight, I got my special present. I was a little bit bummed that I had to buy it for myself -- but it was something that I knew that I really truly wanted the moment I read about it. My siblings or my friends -- or heck, or any regular reader of this blog -- probably could have walked into a store and seen it and wondered whether I had gotten it yet.

So here it is:



The 20th Anniversary of The Joshua Tree box set -- with remastered CD, bonus CD, DVD, book, and 5 pictures. Of course, this makes the fifth edition of this album that I have owned in my lifetime -- the first tape that I wore out, the record, the second tape, the first CD, and now this new CD. It really is the small things that make me happiest.

Seventh night of Hanukkah

Today's gift was U2 videos.



In all honesty, this is something I had bought -- and promptly forgot about -- some time ago. I'm hoping to get to watch it soon.

As for the leftover cookies, well, I brought them in to work, and next thing I knew, they were all gone. I'm kind of surprised by how fast four or five dozen cookies could disappear.

And finally, this Twitter is for my dad.



It's thoughts like this that make him proud.

Sixth night of Hanukkah

For Hanukkah tonight, I got the new Killers CD. More importantly, earlier today, I finally got a new space heater for my office -- with a remote control.

Fifth night of Hanukkah

Tonight, there was no present, but there was a party with a white elephant gag gift exchange.



And, as noted yesterday, I made five different types of cookies -- gingersnaps, snickerdoodles, oatmeal chocolate chip, shortbread, and chocolate star cookies -- I even drizzled white and milk chocolate on top of the last two.

Ultimately, it was cookie overkill -- and now there are way too many cookies in my apartment. I guess I'll have to share them with the folks at work.

Fourth Night of Hanukkah

Today's Hanukkah gifts aren't so much presents as they are utilitarian. You see, it's that time of the year -- Chrismanukah cookie time. So I got me some Hanukkah cookie cutters, a new (and heavy!) rolling pin, and a pastry mat.



In addition to making the usual this year, I'm trying out two new recipes. (If they turn out well, I'll post them over the weeekend.) That'll make 5 (five!) types of cookies in 24 hours. I've already started some of the dough; I'll be waking up early tomorrow to get a head start on the baking before the party.

Third Night of Hanukkah

Tonight, for Hanukkah, The Underachiever's Manifesto and a pooping snowman, to go with last year's pooping Santa and the pooping reindeer from the year before that.

Second Night of Hanukkah

Today's present to myself is a South Park Christmas ornament -- Kyle holding a menorah -- and three volumes of Adult Mad Libs.

First Night of Hanukkah

Tonight, for Hanukkah, I got a Goo Goo Dolls CD and a call from my Nana.

Good news, bad news

Today was kind of a good-news/bad-news day. Actually, it was the very definition of a good-news/bad-news day.

Exhibit A: You won your motion! Now you have to go to trial!
Exhibit B: Remember how you asked for a trial date of January 28? Nope, that's doesn't work. How about January 15?
Exhibit C: You get to be out of the office for at least three weeks! Holed up in a hotel in Newark, NJ.

So, that's the sum of it. Three weeks (or more!) in Newark in January. At least it's not somewhere really cold -- to go along with the crappy.

This afternoon, my coworker sent me a lovely e-mail. In sum, he told me that I get to be the quarterback for the trial team. Of course, I took the metaphor too far. "Great," I wrote. "Hope I don't get intercepted too often -- or sacked." Heh, heh.

So, that's the sum of it. It's a good thing I'm Jewish, because otherwise, my Christmas plans would totally be screwed. I've got a ton of work to do between now and mid-January. And, despite leaving early tonight, I brought work home. It's going to be that kind of winter.

Things you should never do after drinking

I almost never drink at work happy hours. I have a number of reasons for this general policy, but really, they all boil down to one: By not drinking, I can curtail (somewhat) my ability to say or do something stupid.

Yesterday, for some reason, I decided to have a beer. Just one, mind you -- not even enough to be close to drunk -- and yet, the conversation still managed to veer dangerously towards the embarrassing. But that's not really the problem.

The problem is that I got back to the apartment, changed into a t-shirt, went into the bathroom, and cut my hair. All before dinner.

Yep, I gave myself bangs.

I had been thinking about it all week, mostly because when I was at my parents' house, I found some cute pictures of me, as a kid, with bangs. Maybe, I thought, my mom was right for all of these years, and I really do look cutest with a little pixie cut.

Apparently, Katie Holmes's new 'do didn't dissuade me. And neither did all of those years of bad school pictures -- especially the ones where I had cut my own hair, much to my mother's chagrin.

At least now I can cut straight, mostly. And, thankfully, I cut them dry, so I didn't cut them too short. And, as long as you don't really look at it, it doesn't look that bad. What it does look like is that I'm going to have to go to a professional to see what she can do to fix it.

Coincidence

Some days the world seems like a very big place, and everywhere you go, you are surrounded by strangers. Other days, you leave your office late (and in a foul mood) and, on the way to Metro, run into your friend on the street -- and wind up going to grab dinner and watch football. Those are the good days.

The black hole of doubt

At first, I was nonplussed by last week's phone call -- by how we somehow managed to behave like old, dear friends. Like grownups. But that was before the reality of it all sunk in.

And before he sent me the Thanksgiving text message, opening the floodgates.

Of course, it's exactly how he wanted to play it. At some point he made the decision to call me out of the blue, to have a superficially pleasant conversation, to talk about work and then to segue into telling me that he's possibly coming into town in the next few weeks and would like to see me -- and then, when I politely inquire about some happy news he passed on several months before, it opens the door for him to tell me how everything has fallen apart. Which makes me feel sorry for him -- sorry for how the events in his life have not gone according to plan. Which then makes me start feeling a tinge of guilt for the way we left things all those years ago. The same way he made me -- and eventually everyone else -- feel like I was the bad guy all those years ago.

Now I'm confused and bewildered and feeling badly, on so many levels. And it's snowballed to the point that I can't get it out of my head.

And I'm left asking questions, trying to figure out why he felt the need to talk to me. Or why he waited to spring the news on me the way he did? Why can't he just say what he wants to say -- to tell me what's going on, without the whole setup, the whole bait-and-switch conversation.

And why now, when this time of year is filled with so many lingering ghosts of our past?

Jokes that live on: The gift that keeps on giving

For a birthday, today was below average. I mean, it was a Tuesday, a work day. There was no yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and I didn't even go out to dinner.

For a work day, however, today was pretty good. I got a lot done, I got to watch some court, and, at the end of a long day, I had a good laugh.

The story is this: I have a coworker, a friend, who is somewhat absentminded. I've known him long enough to have several stories about him, but, until tonight, the best one happened on a case that we were both on, where he had locked documents in a briefcase and forgotten the combination -- which he did not discover until we were in the midst of a hearing. After some physical comedy (and a trip out into the hallway), he managed to open one side of the briefcase and pull the documents out through the side -- and we handed very crumpled exhibits up to the judge.

Today, at about 6:45 this evening, he called my cell phone for the travel agency's after-hours number, because he had left his hotel reservation in the office that he was working from, and had left his BlackBerry at home. Lucky for him, I was still in the office, and we decided that the quickest answer would be for me to log in to his email. So we did -- and it turned out that he had forgotten to make a hotel reservation when he booked his flights and rental car. He then confessed that, prior to calling me, he had argued with the hotel desk clerk because he thought the hotel lost his reservation.

So, I left the office with a smile on my face. Not just because the story was funny, but because the end result is a joke that will be told at work happy hours for years to come. Ultimately, this mocking will last well into the future. It's a gift for posterity.

Test your knowledge

It's been a busy night and I still have to fold laundry. So here are two links that will either frustrate you or make you smarter: Free Rice and The Almost-Impossible Rock & Roll Quiz.

How I spend my vacations

Despite my best intentions, I'm simply no good at relaxing. I can't just sit around with a book or the tv and nothing to do. I need to keep my hands busy, my mind busy -- at least while I'm not taking naps and eating cookies.

So, when I come down to visit my parents, even when I tell them how tired I am, and how I need a vacation, and they promise me that I can sleep in and watch tv and sit out by the lake with a book, there's still always some project they need me for. Like the time that my mom needed me to figure out where to hang her artwork. Or the time she needed me to help clean out her closet. Or the time we needed to buy a new computer. Or the time I needed to try fix my dad's laptop. Or the time, two years ago, when I took care of my mom after surgery, and as a result, had the crappiest 30th birthday ever.

Well, you get the picture. So, this week, I told my mom how exhausted I've been from work, and announced my intention to not help with Thanksgiving dinner. And I kept my promise. But then the restlessness set in and instead of relaxing, I've spent my vacation time cleaning and organizing my mom's office, moving furniture, re-organizing some stuff in my dad's office/the guest room, and going through some boxes of my mom's uncle's things that made their way into our house since my mom had to move him into assisted living over the summer. If I'm lucky, tomorrow I'll get to move my mom's computer around, and clean out the office closet.

I wish I had the luxury of time to do these kinds of things in my own house.

Domestic bliss

I took a nap this afternoon, and, after dinner, my mom baked some cookies.

Full-disclosure: What I actually did was sit down to read while my mom watched General Hospital, and somehow managed to sleep for ninety minutes. And what my mom really did was place pre-shaped refrigerated cookie dough on a cookie sheet and put it in the oven for fifteen minutes, but honestly, it's the most baking that she's done in years.

Still, all else being equal, sleep and fresh-baked cookies make for a good day.

Countdown to vacation

I'm not sure I have the words to describe how good it feels to be sitting on my own bed typing this right now. Of course, this feeling is going to be short-lived, as twelve hours from now, my flight will be landing in West Palm Beach and I'll be sleeping in my parents' house for the next five nights.

I'm excited about the prospect of a vacation. No, scratch that -- what I'm really looking forward to is the prospect of relaxation. Time away from work, time that I can sit back and read or watch tv or -- egads! -- do nothing.

My mom told me to bring a bathing suit, and I'm actually considering it, to the extent it means that I can sit by the pool and sleep.

Of course, that's not going to happen. You see, my mom always tells me to bring a bathing suit, and I almost always ignore her. Because what she really means is, "You can come to water aerobics with me!" and very few things scare me more than the thought of being in a swimming pool doing exercise with a bunch of fifty-something to seventy-something women.

She will also invite me to play cards or bingo or mahjongg with her friends, and I will politely decline.

I'm just glad she's over the shopping at 5:30 am on the day after Thanksgiving. Because nothing puts a crimp in my relaxation like having to set my alarm to go to the mall.

Whatever the opposite of customer satisfaction is, part 2

For lack of a better word, today's trip sucked.

It started out innocently enough: A quick trip into the office, followed by a flight to Houston. And the rumors of crowds and lines at the airport were highly exaggerated.

But then my flight was delayed. And then my direct flight -- with the one stop in Dallas -- turned into a situation where I had to change planes, and had about five minutes to do it in. And then, when I got on the new flight -- which was purportedly a continuation of the last flight, someone else had been booked into my seat, and all that was left were window and middle seats in the back of the plane.

And somehow, in the midst of all this madness, I lost my .mp3 player somewhere between getting off the flight from DC to Dallas and getting settled in my seat for the flight from Dallas to Houston. Which caused me to call the stewardess flight attendant on the new flight to tell her about it -- before the doors were even closed and everyone was on board. Of course, she was less than helpful. I asked if there was any way that she could call the other plane to see if it was there, but she told me that it was probably hopeless and I should just wait until we got to Houston. So I got frustrated with her, and in the petulant tone of voice that drives my mother bat shit crazy, along with a flippant little wave of my hand, I said, "Yeah, right. Whatever."


Now, before everyone harps on me for overreacting and being mean to a poor overworked flight attendant, let me explain: I understand that my little problem was, well, little, in comparison to all that must go on in the course of a routine day of being a flight attendant, but to the extent that her job is customer service, she could have been a little more helpful. For example, she could have checked to see if, perhaps, my little electronic device fell out in the aisle of our plane, without my asking her to do it, and without the end result that she stepped away, gave a cursory look up the aisle without moving, and reported back that she didn't see it anywhere.

See, as far as I'm concerned, if you're in customer service, either try to be helpful or admit that you have no intention of being helpful and get the fuck out of my way. Anything else is just a colossal waste of both of our time.

So, anyway, I got to Houston and reported the thing missing, and the guy at the desk -- who tried to be both helpful and honest -- admitted that it was highly unlikely that I will ever see it again. But he told me that my best chance of seeing it again is when both planes are cleaned in Dallas tonight. He then gave me the number of the lost and found in the airport, and told me where to go to try to hunt it down on my flight back tomorrow afternoon (if I make it in time, natch).

Three phone calls to mom

Last night, I had two birthday parties -- one dinner, one at a bar. And I was tired before I even left the house. So, at the bar, at about 11:30, I hit a wall of sorts. All of a sudden, just I felt so tired. I guess all the work, all the traveling is really getting to me. And it's not getting better any time soon -- I leave for yet another trip in the morning.

So, after the night of parties, this morning I woke up with a stuffy nose and a scratchy throat -- and a cold sore on my bottom lip. I haven't had one of those things in years. A doctor once told me that I got them from stress. Go figure.

Later today, I found out my Thanksgiving flights had been changed, again. I called my mom to tell her the new times -- just in case I actually manage to make my flight back from Houston in time. I wound up in tears -- and I'm not usually someone who cries.

After bawling on the phone to my mother, I left to run some errands and pick up dinner. While I was getting dinner, my phone rang, and I didn't recognize the ring tone at first -- well, I knew the song, but I didn't remember assigning it to anyone. Then I saw the caller ID. It was someone that I haven't spoken with in months, and honestly, wasn't sure if I wanted to talk to anymore.

So, I grabbed my dinner and ran home, where I promptly called my mom again to tell her about the phone call. She said that it would be rude of me to not call back. I told her I wasn't in the mood. She wasn't having any of it.

Once I decided to follow my mother's advice and be an adult about it, I called him back. It was a surprisingly good conversation. Actually -- it's more correct to describe it as a surprising conversation, but pleasant. And it left off in a good way, even if I did wind up having to apologize for not calling him when I was in Chicago last week. Things being what they are, I guess I got off pretty easy.

Then I called my mom again to tell her about the conversation. It's a good thing my mom loves me, because some days, I'm a total pain in the ass.

Politics and Computer Quizzes

I found this nifty little political quiz, courtesy of Arjewtino.

The test results indicate that I should vote for this guy:



It also told me that this is how I feel about everyone else:



Which leaves me with one question: How did people know who to vote for before computers told them who their ideology best aligned with?

New Project Runway!

I was so tired when I got home from Chicago last night that I forgot that I was DVR-ing Project Runway. But I remembered this morning, and all day, I kept wishing I could get home to watch before I stumbled across any spoilers.

In the meantime, I read an article about the show -- and one about last season's winner -- both from New York Magazine.

So, when I finally got home -- and finally got to watch the show -- I spent the entire time thinking that at least the writer's strike won't be able to take this little pleasure away from me.

After watching this show for the past three seasons, I think I'm starting to be able to see the differences between (1) a pretty dress; (2) a well-crafted dress; and (3) an interesting design. Academically, I think that, at least for this week's challenge, the winning dress needed to be all three -- and that's why Rami won. But as for my personal taste, I tend to gravitate to things that are wearable, not too avant-garde, and are, for lack of a better word, pretty. For the record, my three favorite designs this week were by Rami, Kevin, and Jack, not necessarily in that order.

Better than counting sheep

After a long couple of days, I'm finally back home. And while it will be good to sleep in my own glorious bed -- I'm hoping that it's sometime in the next few minutes -- there are some things about hotels that are really nice. Like the maid service. And the room service.

One of the underratedly great things about staying in a hotel is that there's always a pen and paper handy. It's a lovely little retro convenience in today's digital age. Even the hotels that are nothing spectacular still leave a small pad of paper by the phone.

This, of course, comes in handy for many reasons.

Anyway, last night, despite my attempt at getting to sleep early so that I was bright eyed and bushy tailed for the long day of work plus return flight home, I was awakened on several occasions by a group of conventioneers having some kind of contest to see who can be the loudest, most annoying drunk, out in the common areas. The last disturbance was at about 2 in the morning (3 Eastern), and I found falling back to sleep particularly challenging. So, I grabbed the pen and paper and started writing random things down. Lists, mostly.

It started with a to-do list. And then a to-pack list. Somehow, the last list -- the one that put me to sleep -- was a list of states, divided into the following eight categories:

1. States in which I've lived [New Jersey, Florida, Virginia];
2. States in which I have spent considerable time (a sum total of at least one week) in the last 10 years [New York, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, North Carolina, Maryland, Louisiana, Texas, West Virginia, Illinois];
3. States in which I spent considerable time when I was younger [Massachusetts, New Hampshire];
4. States in which I have spent at least one night (that I remember) [California, Michigan, Rhode Island, Nevada, Missouri, Georgia, Tennessee, Colorado, Indiana];
5. States that I saw as a child, but I don't really remember [Vermont, Maine];
6. States that I saw as a child, but as an adult only sat in the car when the rest of the family went into a casino [Connecticut];
7. States I have driven or flown through (including those in which I have stopped for food) [Ohio, Arizona, Delaware, Alabama, Mississippi, Kentucky, Wisconsin]; and
8. States that I have never entered for any reason [Washington, Oregon, Alaska, Hawaii, Utah, Minnesota, Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, Arkansas, New Mexico, Oklahoma].

This exercise -- which reminds me of the map exercise from a while back -- put me to sleep quicker than you can say "Ambien." In fact, I'm getting tired just repeating it here.

Ferris Bueller, you're my hero.

My hotel, which is nothing spectacular, has a spectacular view of the Chicago River. And many of the bridges over the river are quite picturesque.

More significantly, even though I brought a winter coat to Chicago, it turned out to be an unnecessary measure. It was in the 60's today, which was perfectly lovely.

As a result, I was wishing that I didn't have to work. It would have been great to just roam around downtown and go to museums. Heck, I wish it was still baseball season -- I'd have gladly spent the day cheering on the Cubs.

It would have been like my very own version of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Anatomy of a cow

I just got back from a lovely dinner with my brother. We went to a fancy Chicago steakhouse, one with ambient lighting and fancy table settings and decorated with fresh flowers and tons of artwork.

There was one weird thing, though. All throughout the restaurant, they had sculptures of cows. Some of the sculptures showed the various cuts of beef.



Maybe this appeals to some people: People who like to know that the flank steak comes from the underbelly, and the round comes from the rear end. These are the same people that probably want to know what the cow was fed and how it was treated and whether it had a name.

Not me. I just want my steak to be cooked medium rare.

Time travel

I was out and about last night/this morning. Well, while that's true, it's imprecise. I was out people watching in a very crowded bar while sipping on a drink. Said bar was what I would describe as "too crowded" and "too loud."

Ultimately, that means only one thing: I'm getting too old.

Sad, isn't it?

But now, in retrospect, I'm a little melancholy. When I was supposed to be in the prime of my bar going years -- mid-twenties -- I was already a gainfully employed "adult." And when I was in graduate school, I was too young to appreciate how good I had it. And now, most of the time, it's the sort of thing I can take or leave.

I wish I could go back in time and fix it. I want to tell younger Dara to not make the same decisions, to not make the same mistakes. To savor the good parts of life while she's young. To make the right decisions, choose the right paths. Because all of a sudden, she'll turn around, and be in her thirties, and the music in the bar is too loud, and there are too many people, and all she'll want to do is sit on a couch and have polite conversation with the people around her without having to scream at them.

Questions presented by the New York Times

What kind of person needs to pay someone thousands of dollars to teach them enough art for cocktail party conversation, find them stylists to pick out their designer clothing and interior designers to decorate their overpriced Manhattan apartment -- and, ultimately, to introduce them to other similarly snobby like-minded people?

And exactly what kind of person would pay $25,000 for a frozen hot chocolate topped with a $250 piece of candy? (Honestly, though, doesn't getting a frozen hot chocolate defeat the purpose? If I want cold, I'll get ice cream. But that's besides the point.)

Airline schedules stink, part two

It feels like I've been complaining about airlines a lot lately. But in hindsight, it could be worse. I could have my sister's flying karma.

In September when she came to visit me, her flight back was delayed for hours because of some mechanical problem.* Well, that's nothing compared to what happened on her business trip this week.

On both legs of this trip, she had connecting flights. On the way up, her first flight was late, she was in the last row of the plane, and she had to run across the entire airport to make her connection and wound up missing it by two minutes. Her luggage, however, managed to make the flight in time.

She said she was in tears. I chalk that up to being a work travel novice.

But that's not the worst part of the story. The worst part was that on her way home today, the first leg of her flight was canceled because of a mechanical problem. They booked her on an alternate flight, through D.C., which was then delayed to the point that it didn't look like she was going to make her connection.

She called me from the airport to relay this tale of woe -- particularly the part about the luggage -- and asked to borrow clothing in the case her luggage got separated from her again. She also asked to stay on my couch, in the event that the airline wouldn't put her up in a hotel.

Needless to say, we were both sort-of looking forward to the impromptu visit. Plus, as always, I have some clothing she can have.

But in the end, she made her connection, with minutes to spare -- enough to call me. Which is great and disappointing at the same time.



*It's also worth noting that her flight up to D.C. actually arrived early, but she had to sit around at the airport waiting for me because my meeting ran late.

This sh*t is bananas

From Yahoo: Thousands of bananas wash up on shore.



Great picture, but mostly, I couldn't resist the headline.