Saturday, May 31, 2008

KG Love

This post is not about the Pistons. The who? I'm unfamiliar with a basketball team by that name. What a bunch of fucking disappointments. I didn't even watch the game because of the warning in my heart. And while it's nice to see my prediction proven true, it's saddening to have my cynicism double as clairvoyance.

But I am happy for KG. The Minnesotan in me feels gladness for, rather than betrayal by, Kevin Garnett. He put the T-wolves on the map and stayed with a sinking ship for a decade. But like all players he was driven in the end by his lust for The Ring.* You can't fault him that. After years of disappointment you can only stay faithful to someone for so long before you turn to someone better.

* 'Go back!' he whispered.

'The Ring! The Ring!' they cried with deadly voices; and immediately their leader urged his horse forward into the water, followed closely by two others.

'By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair,' said Frodo with a last effort, lifting up his sword, 'you shall have neither the Ring nor me!'

Friday, May 30, 2008

Oh Sister...

This morning I received an email from my sister:

In casual convo this past weekend I found out that my gf Emily has a sister in your area. Check out [redacted]'s profile! She is just finishing her residency (kind of impressive)...

There are so many things I could write about this. But I think it speaks for itself.

In case you're wondering, like a power forward boxing out beneath the boards, [redacted]'s privacy settings prevent me from viewing her profile. Kind of impressive.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Eye of the Beholder, Eye of the Storm

I love the Midwest horizon just before a storm. The contrast between cloud and sky, the gray lines where light and shadow converge. There's something beautiful in how terrifying it is. Like the Balrog of Moria. Or Ashlee Simpson. Whoops. I meant to say there's something beautiful in how TERRIBLE she is.

Monday, May 26, 2008

How To Make An IKEA Bookshelf

1. Own more books than you know what to do with.
2. Peruse website for suitable item with weird name.
3. Travel to local IKEA.
4. Transport in tiny car by yourself since your "friend" never replied to your message. Wonder if he would have been more likely to reply if you had boobs.
5. Assemble as directed. Swearing at poor structural design is encouraged.
6. Attempt to make level until you realize it is the ceiling line that is uneven.
7. Repeat as necessary.
8. Enjoy.

Just Not That Into You

This morning I read an interesting article on Yahoo. Five Reasons He Hasn't Proposed. Here's a reason: he's just not that into you, girl.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

The Double-Edged Sword

George Costanza once said he only believed in God for the bad things. Jed Bartlet called God "vindictive" and a "feckless thug." I'm not sure I entirely agree with their sentiments, but I do agree that God seems to suffer from an occasional mean streak.

People usually blame God for the obvious things. Plagues. Natural disasters. But I like to think God works with a little more nuance; that he's just as likely to use a scalpel as a cudgel. I like to think God prefers a little creativity when it comes to ways to punish us, like Stephen King or the guys who keep making those Saw movies.

Example: Acne. I think acne is a punishment from God. Not a big punishment. But as someone who grew up with acne, I can tell you that it does feel like you're being penalized for something when everyone else is walking around with faces so squeaky-clean while yours looks like the pimply equivalent of a cum shot. Oh Lord, why have You forsaken me?

The other day I woke up wondering if maybe my attachment to Dream Girl wasn't some sort of inventive punishment from God. If it is, it's very creative. He took something that should have been positive in my life and turned it against me; something that should have made me whole instead wears away at my insides. It's a double-edged sword. I can appreciate the creativity, even if the sadism is a bit much.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

The Mysterious Elevator Woman

I work on the top floor of my building, because I'm just that important. Today when I was leaving for work there was a woman already on the elevator when I got on.

She didn't get off [insert "I got her off" joke here].

She went down with me [insert "She went down on me" joke here].

I repeat: I work on the top floor. Where did she come from? What was she doing there? Where did she get her hair done? These are the questions.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

My Solution Is To Walk

Two things of import happened this weekend. First, I celebrated one full year out of law school, which is sort of like celebrating one year being sober, except law school isn't nearly as fun as alcohol. I think in reality LAST WEEKEND was my one-year anniversary since I graduated the Saturday before Mothers' Day; but yesterday was the Class of 2008's Big Day, so I'm counting it as my anniversary. More on this later.

The other thing was, I went to the Aids Walk (unlike certain parties, who slept in past 11. Good job). It was a beautiful day for it. Last year's was dark and cold and miserable; the day came gray like smoke and left in pretty much the same fashion. But this year it was sunny and warm. The experience left me with a warm fuzzy feeling inside that I usually find so distasteful when experienced by other people.

A couple years ago I questioned the mentality behind the Aids walk. Your solution is to walk? And I still stand by some of my earlier criticisms. When I told my mother I had sponsored someone she asked, "So, what does that mean? Like she has to finish within a certain time?" No, she could not show up for all I know. If there was a competitive aspect maybe I'd have given more, because that's just how I roll.

BUT there was something touching about being at the event. Some people wore t-shirts that bore testaments to those who had fallen - "In memory of John, 1978-2003" - and it's hard not to be moved when faced by the human element of the statistics. And even though I spent most of the time circling the tents like an outlier I did find something about the event to be wonderful in all its bleeding-hearted simplicity. Even when the prancing fitness guru whose job was apparently to get everyone pumped for the walk started preaching "Isn't this a wonderful day to be alive? This is the best day of your life! Every moment is a blessing!" I permitted myself to overlook some of the various logical fallacies (and they were myriad) in his statements and accepted his good vibes into my heart.

My point is this: This is life after law school. No more anger (except when I'm driving). No more sadness (except over She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named). Yes, it was a wonderful day to be alive.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Work Is Never Gayer

I love this video:

I can't get enough of it. I think it's even better than the original. The only thing is, it's really gay. I mean, really gay. "So what? What's wrong with that?" I didn't say there was anything wrong with that. I'm just pointing out that a duck's a duck, even when it's wearing "cute shoes." You're the one who assumed there was something wrong with it being gay. Who's the REAL homophobe, hmmm?

I think I most enjoy the comments section. Here we get an insight into masked insecurities and repressed desires. The dancers in the video claim, "I'll probably disappoint some of you but we're not gay... sorry guys :D [:D = very straight] In this video you can only see two brothers have fun." Totally. Me and my friends much prefer to strip down to the tiny, tight-fitting underwear we of course own and write on each other's hard, muscled, hairless bodies before we film ourselves performing choreography to a Daft Punk song. I can think of nothing straighter. Beer? Nah! Chicks? Who needs 'em? Sometimes we blow each other, but it's totally not gay. It's only two bros experiencing savoring reveling in each other's glorious, unbridled masculinity.

If this video isn't gay, it's definitely had a gay experience.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

The Canada of Parking Lots

If you don't work at my company, you probably won't care about this. But parking at my office is ridiculous. There aren't even close to enough parking spots. Everyday I feel like I'm the victim of a cruel jest. I imagine my bosses watching from the top floor, smoking cigars and laughing as I go in circles around the parking lot, "The fool! He wants to come to work but he can't find anyplace to park!"

My company's solution to the parking (or lack thereof) problem has been to pave ever more satellite parking lots around the main campus, with shuttles constantly running back and forth (for which the environment thanks them). Nowadays I have to park in what I have dubbed the "Canada lot," since it's so far north I feel like I should have my passport with me.

When I first started working I asked why we didn't just build a parking garage. Apparently there's some tax issue that wouldn't make it economically feasible. We can afford to acquire one of the largest news organizations in the world and in the middle of a recession our Q1 profits are up 12% from last year (apparently one of the secrets is to not pay your lawyers very much). But we can't afford a fucking parking garage.

Sunday, May 11, 2008


Today I invented a new word. Amphrodisiac. Amplify + Aphrodisiac. I think it's when your love-life needs something to kick it up a notch. Or maybe I got the etymology wrong and it's an aphrodisiac for amphibians. Either way, I encourage you to use it in your everyday conversation. Ten points if you use it in a meeting. It's sure to synergize.

UPDATE: Here are some more I came up with in my spare time:


Thursday, May 08, 2008

Everybody Gets Laidlaw

At work we have a product called Laidlaw. I'm not sure what it does, but everytime someone mentions it the only conclusion I can surmise is that it is Law that gets you Laid. Somehow, someway, against all odds, some genius has come up with a way to utilize the law in such a fashion that culminates in coetus. It may be something as complex as the overarching framework for determining what the definition of "is" is or something as simple as a loophole in the consent statutes. But whatever it is. It. Gets. You. Laid. If only they'd had it when Bill Clinton went to law school.

UPDATE: I seriously just learned that Laidlaw has nothing to do with the law. Wow.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

My Pickle is Fickle

One annoying thing about being a single guy is that you end up considering pretty much every girl you meet a potential prospect for your One True Love. It's sort of ridiculous. And more than a little fickle. Everytime I go to the cafeteria I'm gauging my female co-workers on the way.

I think what makes it so bad is the criteria you resort to. I'm just gonna come out and say it: I like a pretty face. "Oh, she has aesthetically pleasing features, can I imagine the rest of my life with her?" I don't like it. I don't like keeping an open mind. I like the comfort and security that dead certainy brings.

I'm particuarly suspect of attractive women who are still single at 25. I can come up with two, and only two, reasonable explanations for such a phenomenon:

1. She just got out of a long, meaingful relationship and is still heart-broken.

2. She is psycho.

Monday, May 05, 2008

Stuffed Otter Legs

This just in:

Statute of Limitations = S.O.L.

Shit Outta Luck = S.O.L.

Coincidence? Discuss.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

This girl is too old, this girl is too young...

I've noticed an advertisement on Facebook recently for a website that promises to facilitate the process of "meeting college girls." My opinion: if you need to go to a dating website in order to meet college girls, you're probably too old to be dating college girls. It's my opinion, and I'm sticking to it.

MRS. LANDINGHAM: Josh, aren't you a little old to be leering at co-eds?
JOSH: I'm a Rhodes scholar, Mrs. Landingham; I don't "leer." Also, there'll be plenty of grad students there.

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Stuff Black People Like #17: Expensive Cars

If you have ever visited one of the "inner-city" neighborhoods that are the common adobes of many black people, you may have discovered an interesting phenomenon. While many of the buildings will have boards instead of windows, you will nevertheless see a surprising number of expensive cars, particularly Sports Utility Vehicles.

Perhaps at first you will find it confusing that in a community so seemingly dilapidated and poverty-stricken, residents are nevertheless able to afford such high-priced vehicles. You will possibly wonder why an individual would not attempt to distribute his income spending more evenly between housing and transportation, rather than consolidating such a large percentage of it in one category to the detriment of the others. Your confusion, however, should soon abate once you are armed with the knowledge that black people simply love expensive cars. They love them. So much so that, apparently, they would rather live in a hovel if the trade-off is an Escalade.

It should be noted that a similar phenomenon can be seen among middle-management white people. These individuals will frequently congregate in what are called "subdivisions." Subdivisions are self-contained communities located on the outskirts of major population centers, most easily recognized by their bland, repetitive design and mediocre-quality construction. Subdivisions will often have sweeping nature-themed names like Mystic Waterfall, despite neither being near a waterfall nor being particularly mystic. Most importantly, however, because subdivisions are self-contained communities located on the outskirts of major population centers most easily recognized by their bland, repetitive design and mediocre-quality construction, they are correspondingly cheap, thereby enabling their white residents to drive a Mercedes M-Class.

Why do black love expensive cars so much? It's basic logic. It's a well-known fact that a woman will have sex with you if you own something expensive. This is true for everything from proverbial "bling" to your summer-home in Fiji. However, in order to impress a woman with your expensive summer-home or apartment, you must first bring her to it. This is a tedious process that can involve extensive groundwork, including several beverage purchases and hours of uninspiring conversation. Black people, however, have discovered that the process can be greatly expedited through high-priced cars, which allow the user to quickly bring the expensive item to the potential mate, rather than having to bring her to it.

This method is best enhanced by rolling down the windows of your expensive automobile and setting your subwoofer several decibels higher than is normally considered necessary. This increases the probability women will get an opportunity to notice, and therefore be turned on by, you. This method has also been adopted by white people, to great success.