I Love the Workplace Poop Break

Look, I realize. I am way late to the party on this. I am 27 years old and I have my first corporate-like office job. Many of you have worked in that type of setting for years now. But, I am new to this. Which means I am new to the simple pleasures that make your day in a cubicle bearable. For me, and I imagine for many of you, one of my favorite new daily activities is the Workplace Poop Break.

I've been at my job for just over two weeks and I have pooped on the premises a handful of times. And it... is... glorious. I arrive at work usually right around 8am and immediately get to work... reading the news on CNN.com and MSNBC.com. It gets old, because so many websites are blocked. Even within those websites, many stories are blocked because they are seen as unfit to be viewed at my place of employment. Even though I'm not getting paid because this is an unpaid externship*.

Around 10:30, I start to get antsy. It's way too early for lunch, but I can't just sit here another 90 minutes, refreshing CNN.com every three minutes, hoping that something exciting happens. I think about using that last 50-cents in my pocket to buy a candy bar, but think better of it. So, to get away from the monotony of the cubicle, I stand up and walk to the bathroom, iPhone in hand.

Yup, I bring my iPhone**. What can I say... I'm a 21st Century Digital Boy, I don't got a lot of cash but I have a lot of toys. Etc. Instead of a newspaper or a magazine, I bring my iPhone and I check all the websites I can't check on the work computer - ESPN.com, the Cal Football site, Facebook, etc. etc. It's pretty fantastic. Depending on how fast the iPhone is loading webpages that day, I will sit on the pot a good 20 minutes after I have finished my business. Because why the hell not? I deserve that solo time, you know?

If the iPhone is being slow, I might do some brainstorming. Like, just the other day, I came up with an employment idea for the Fall. Hell, today I came up with the idea for this very blog entry that you are reading. And now you have the pleasure of wasting time at work/school/home by reading it. So, when you think about it, The Workplace Poop Break isn't just quality time for ME... it's quality time for US. Separately, of course.

There is only one drawback to The Workplace Poop Break. Although I have not had the misfortune of trying to enjoy my break while someone else simultaneously enjoys their break, I have had the unfortunate experience of walking into the bathroom mid-afternoon either during, or immediately after, someone else blew up the bathroom. The last two days, especially, have been terrifying.

But I won't begrudge my fellow employees their Workplace Poop Break. That wouldn't be kind of me. So I'll just hold my breath, and my tongue, and nod approvingly.



ADDENDUM, 07/08/09: This has been a horrible week. Maybe my blog jinxed me. Because suddenly my bowel movements are not on the workplace poop schedule. Instead, all week, I haven't had to poop until the evening. And that, my friends, makes me furious. When I'm at home it is MY time, and I don't want to waste two minutes of MY time by pooping. On top of that, it keeps me from wasting that time at work. It's a lose-lose for me. I've gotta figure out how to fix this.



*In fact, I am actually PAYING FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS for the summer for the pleasure of being denied the chance to read about the latest Ricky Rubio news.
**I don't care if you think that's gross. Don't borrow my phone?

For Brett:

By Making it to 27 Full Years, Here Are Some People Who I Outlived

• Joe C - Yes, Kid Rock's midget sidekick did not make it to 27.
• Baby Huey - I included this one because I call Hewitt "Baby Huey" and I had no idea the name came from a singer. I even saw Baby Huey at Church on Easter Sunday and called out BABY HUEY before stumbling over people to say hi.
• Otis Redding - Wow. He was only 26? I think he is the quintessential Old Soul. I would have guessed he was at least 45, based on his voice/lyrics.
• Jean Harlow - One of the original starlets. Only 26? These comments are getting repetitive... what else is there to say?
• Big Bopper - The day...the music...died...
• Nick Drake
• Gram Parsons - The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers? This is only rivaled by Ryan West's resume of No Game and Shadaloo.
• Sharon Tate - I am glad Charles Manson could make my list, in his own way.  Sharon Tate... so hot. Usually.
• Brian Piccolo - !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• John Wilkes Booth - haha. My favorite name on the list by far. Also, this is funny because Lincoln died on my birthday. Spooky.

I have mixed feelings about this list. On the one hand, it's nice to know that I lived longer than all of these people and I hopefully have a long life ahead of me to continue to do something with myself. On the other hand, most of those people accomplished so much (I stress "most" - Joe C, I am looking at you) - we have actresses, musicians, assassins - in less time than I have basically done a lot of not much.

Hopefully my next 27 years will be more productive than the first 27 years. Hey... maybe someday, I'll even make a list just like this.

Special Thanks to JoJo and http://dead.atyourage.com/outlived

Things I Bought (at Trader Joe's) That I Like, Volume I

• Frozen Tortellini Bowls - I love these. They are not the most delicious thing in the world, but they are tasty, quick and easy. I think they are only around $4. They are a great quick dinner (5 minutes in the microwave), especially if you throw together a nice salad on the side.
  
• Trader Giotto's Pizza 4 Formaggi - This is a fantastic frozen pizza. One of the best I've ever had. And it is only three or four dollars. I like it plain a lot. But even better than that, I chop up some fresh red bell peppers, red onions, and then sprinkle some feta cheeze before baking. The pizza cooks quickly (about 8 minutes, but add a couple minutes if you add the veggies) and is a great meal.
  
• French Village Plain Yogurt - The best yogurt I've ever had, bar none. It has a nice sour taste. I can practically taste the live cultures as they slide into my belly. I like to throw in some seasonal fruits (apples, grapes, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, whatever you like) for a healthy and satisfying breakfast.
  
• Extra Large, Jalapeno Stuffed Green Olives - Holy Mother of God, these are delicious. So tart with a hint of spice. I just ate a whole bottle, I am not kidding.
  
• Fruit Bar Ends and Pieces - The other day I found something awesome. You know those sort of fancy, fruit roll-up type things they sell? Dried fruit bars, I guess. Well, I bought a bag of "Ends and Pieces" of the fruit bars. I guess, when they make the bars, they cut the ends off the big sheets so everything is uniform. And instead of throwing away the stuff they cut off, they wisely gathered it all up and threw it into a bag for me to enjoy. All kinds of different fruits. Mmmm.
  
• Pre-Made Salads - These are pretty awesome. They are always fresh. I usually get 2 - one for lunch that day, one for the next. I get the Greek and Southwestern salads. The greek has lettuce, bell peppers, onions, feta, and a creamy greek vinaigrette. The Southwest has lettuce, bell peppers, onions, corn, black beans, cotija cheese and another good vinaigrette with a southwest kick. They are delicious and cheap - $2.99. You can't beat it for a lunch on the go. It comes pre-packed even with a fork!
  
• Fresh sourdough baguette - Oh man. These are fantastic. Trader Joe's is farther from my house than Safeway, but the trip is worth it for the sourdough baguette alone. Simply divine. I like to eat it with a nice brie for a delicious lunch. It's so much more than just a baguette. That first bite... oh what heaven that first bite is. The crust like a golden breast of an angel, gently covering the soft, fluffy bread below. The flavors mingling in a seductive pas de deux. And then the brie! The most playful, soft cheese... so exquisite. Swirling in your mouth, breaking apart, and combining again. This is no mere snack of bread and cheese. This is God... speaking to us through food.
  
  

Basically, Trader Joe's is rad. There is always something new to try and I always walk out of there happy with my purchases. What do you like at TJ's?

The Creepiest Dream I've Ever Had

*Editor's note: The following story is true (as much as dreams/nightmares can be true. I did HAVE the dream) and extremely disturbing. It is not for the faint of heart.

Last Saturday was a fantastic day. I woke up very early (for a Saturday, anyways...like 8am) on a fairly comfortable couch (thanks Phil!) and went to get my oil changed and my tires rotated. I sat in the very pleasant El Dorado Hills Town Center at The Coffee Shop Formerly Known as Habit and had a cup of tea. Later that morning, LZ and I washed our cars and then I got two (TWO) haircuts, the latter being a buzzcut. 

I went on a positively delightful twelve-mile bike ride around Lake Natomas. Bear in mind, I hadn't been on a bike for any extended period of time since the 5th grade, when my brother Patrick borrowed my bike and left it in the neighbor's driveway, whereupon the neighbor accidentally backed over it. Thanks, Pat.

That evening, I got on my fanciest clothes, including a pink (fine, lavender) shirt/paisley tie combo and had an absolute blast at Jeff and Kelly's engagement party. The day/night was action packed and almost entirely awesome.

And then I went to sleep.


In my dream, my "wife" and I decided to, for whatever reason, adopt a baby. But it was the future, and in the future you don't have to wait till a baby is born to adopt it. No, sir. In the future, you can adopt a baby before it is born. It is (annnnnd here's where it begins to get creepy) extracted from the mother's womb and then placed (annnnnd here's where it gets REALLY creepy) in a...plastic bag. This is...sealed with a light adhesive. I know. The bag serves as an incubator of sorts and the baby is not to be removed from the bag until the baby opens the bag itself. Sort of like a baby bird in an egg.

Oh, and the baby (inside of the bag, mind you) is to be placed in the refrigerator. Which doesn't make a lick of sense, of course, since a mother's womb is warm. But whatever, it's not like that makes any less sense than incubating a baby in a plastic bag, sealed shut with only a light adhesive.

Wife and I bring our unborn-but-not-in-the-womb baby home and place it in the refrigerator and go to bed. It's sort of like making Jell-O, when you think about it.

The next morning we go check on our Jell-O and, to our horror, the bag has become unsealed. We each blame the other. I quickly read the instructions on the bag. It says if the bag comes unsealed, rush the baby to the hospital immediately. But... instead of doing the sensible thing, we panic. The baby is now alive/conscious/alert and we think, "It must be hungry! We have to feed it!" So we make a bottle of baby formula for it and try to feed it, despite the instructions on the bag specifically instructing us NOT to feed it anything. I'm gonna be a great dad.

We then seal the bag back up and place it in the fridge.

A couple hours later I open the fridge and...I am horrified. The baby has regurgitated all the formula, which has turned sort of gelatinous and filled the top half of the bag.

At that point I wake up, horrified that my baby has asphyxiated on its own vomit.

I am sorry to have disturbed every person who reads this, but I felt it would be therapeutic for me if you all had to suffer like I did.

In the Words of Three 6 Mafia... Azz and Titties.

Today, I took a walk and my brain, obviously, went to the topic of boobies. And I thought of Lisa's most recent blog entry. And I remembered something.

I think the male fascination with boobies has far less to do with some oedipal fantasies as Ryan and Lisa imply in the comment section.

I suppose you could do a study about men who like breasts (basically all of them) and how many of them were actually breast fed as children (certainly not basically all of them), to find exact numbers... but I think that's psychobabble bullshit.

Of course, what you're about to read is rather psychobabble bullshit, too. So sue me.

When I was a teenager I saw this show on TLC called "The Human Animal." It was a 2 hour special, as I recall. And it was amazing. They had cameras in vaginas during sex. CAMERAS IN VAGINAS DURING SEX. Most fascinatingly, they showed how, during/after sex, the cervix basically tries to slurp up the semen left in the vagina. I mean, it looked like a sea anemone or something. It would extend out and down, and then literally slurp up the spermies. It still boggles my mind. 

Ah, the miracle of life.

Anyways, the point is they had a segment on breasts. More specifically, they had a segment on the male fascination with breasts. And how that fascination is basically universal, across cultures, etc.

And they did a demonstration. They showed female cleavage of the breasts and the ass. Like, you know, the top of the ass crack. And they asked you to guess - are you looking at a woman's ass cleavage or breast cleavage. I think I got like 3 or 4 out of 10 right. It was crazy! When you block everything else out, ass cleavage and breast cleavage basically look the same. 

And that was their point. The male fascination with breasts has nothing to do with some creepy oedipal complex*. It has to do with the fact that female cleavage hits us (MEN) in an unexplainable (except for the fact that I'm explaining it now), instinctual way - when humans were mere animals, we... um... procreated using the uhh... rear mount approach. Doggystyle. We fucked doggystyle, ok?! And when you're doin your thing this way, what you see is the top of the ass. The ass cleavage. And it pretty much rules.

So when we see breasts, we see cleavage and it reminds us, unconsciously, of ass cleavage. Which reminds us, unconsciously, of sex.

*In fact, think about it, dudes. What is more awesome - a chick with a shirt on and fantastic cleavage, or a chick who is topless. Ignore the implications of what being in the same room as a chick who is topless means (you're so getting laid, bro) and just think of simply the image in front of you.  It's the cleavage, I am telling you. Cleavage effing rules.

Post-Script: I went to great lengths to find this, and I am glad I did. I hope you carve out an hour or so of your day to watch it all. In case you can't, you should specifically tune to about the 40 minute mark to see the cervix slurping the semen. Also, at around the 45 minute mark, they show that, while some sperm's task is to seek out the egg, other sperm have a different job. KILLING OLD SPERM. It's intense. Watch it. All.

More Thinks I Think

-When you flick an ant, why doesn't it kill them? I have flicked this same ant on my desk 3 times. Hard flicks, too. I mean, I really got that guy. And he keeps coming back. He is like the Terminator. But a flick from my middle finger, to an ant, is like me being hit by an 18-wheeler at 200 miles per hour. Ants, amazing creatures.

-If I turn on the TV, and a soap opera is on, I rush to change the channel like it's porno and someone is knocking at my door. I don't know why. I just feel dirty.

-I keep seeing this commerical for Assurant Health. This one woman keeps saying, "I'm healthy. I just want to see my personal doctor once a year." The way she says "personal." She means her gyno, right? How often do girls see the gyno? Once a year doesn't seem often enough. Then again, I don't have to put my legs in stirrups and have a big metal tool spread me open. Once a year is probably more than enough. I would never go.

-Reminds me. I would be a terrible girl. I am just not good at keeping schedules. I would get toxic shock syndrome at least a couple of times a year. Can you die from that? Wow. You can.

-This is also why I worry about living much beyond, say, 55 years old. I am going to need to be a big time attorney with a couple of assistants to keep track of when I need to get my colon checked and all that stuff.

-Sticking with the subject. I have never met a single woman that sees a male gyno. I guess it's not like I ask every female I meet. But still... why would you? And, unless you are just a huge gold digger, if you're a girl and you meet a dude and he is a gyno, isn't that just a huge red flag? If I met a girl and she was a urologist... I mean. You might as well be a stripper. Or even a hooker. You get paid to handle wieners all day long. It's basically the same.

-Annnnnd, that's my cue to change the subject.

-I wish I watched Scrubs from the beginning. Solid show.

-You know you've been in law school too long when someone points out that you speak in "outline form" a lot, and you realize that they are right.

-I just realized that Pushing Daisies must have been cancelled. That is a damn shame. Terrific show.

-I am tired of this Kobe/Lebron debate. Laker fans are insane. Kobe is a better shot maker. Lebron is the better player. Period.

-I think the best intro to any two movies, in terms of getting me excited for the film, are: (1) The opening seconds of Back to the Future (with all the clocks ticking in Doc Brown's office), and (2) Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory (with all the chocolate being made. Mmmm).

-This commercial popped in my head just now. It's a classic. Note Alex Mack's older sister escaped the secret world.

-About...5 years ago, I finally saw Say Anything. Now, don't get me wrong. I am a huge wiener and that is a great movie. But... after years of seeing clips of the iconic scene where Cusack is holding the boom box up for Ione Sky in the rain while it played "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel, and assuming that Ione heard the music, came to the window, and then sprinted down for a passionate kiss in the rain (EDIT: It was not raining)...I felt entirely cheated by what actually happens in the movie. Ione IGNORES Cusack's romantic gesture and turns over to go to sleep. Granted, this is realistic as hell. I think most girls would even go so far as to scream "TURN OFF THE FUCKING MUSIC" and never talk to poor Lloyd again. Still. I mean, Pop Culture made me believe it was this great moment where Lloyd wins back the girl. Honestly, I felt betrayed. By Pop Culture.

-Having a brother named Sean, I have always taken notice of the many interesting ways that people spell that name. In my almost 27 years on this Earth, I thought I had seen just about every variation possible. Sean. Shawn. Shaun. Shon. Shonne. I thought I had found the winner a few years back, when I first heard of a baseball player who pronounces his name Sean but spells it "Chone." Yes, Chone. Clearly, a scholar. But today, via the power of Facebook, I came across a new one. I'm not sure if it tops Chone, but it gives it a run for its money, at least in terms of uniqueness. Schaun. Ok, it definitely does not beat Chone. But I still like it.

-I get pretty territorial about "my" holidays. "My" first holiday is St. Patrick's Day. As someone of Irish descent, I get...not quite irritated, but a little less than thrilled about people turning "my" holiday into a marketing bonanza/an excuse to get drunk. I am sure Ryan feels the same about Cinco de Mayo. As does Lisa. Since she is also Mexican. Looking. But I also am just not into Mardi Gras. As a raised Catholic, Mardi Gras has always seemed a bit crass to me. 1) I think 85% of people have no idea what it is for. 2) I've always felt that bingeing before a fast is cheating (I'm looking at you, Jews). 3) Frankly, I am not into the public-boob-flashing culture that has emerged. I always kinda feel bad for the girl. And I think about the fact that that is someone's daughter/sister/future mother/possibly current mother. I always just kinda shake my head (after wooing in excitement, natch). But so yeah. Back off of my holidays, bro. They aren't an excuse to get drunk. They MEAN something to me. Ok? Note: If you were unclear what I meant by "speaking in outline form," you got an example in this paragraph. Dangit.

-There's nothing funnier to me in politics today than the term "stimulus package."

-I wish I could give Michelle Obama my stimulus package. Hiiii ohhhh!

Greatest Game I've Ever Been Apart Of? I Say Yes.

Ok, so perhaps that doesn't mean much. But still. It was awesome.

So, tonight I decided to go play basketball. I hadn't played since before Thanksgiving because I hurt my knee. But last week I went to the doctor and got an x-ray and he said it was clean, and my knee felt good structurally. So without an MRI, I basically needed to just push it and see if maybe I can't just work through it and get it stronger. Or, it blows out and I need surgery. But I had to push it and see what happened.

So after class tonight, I went to the gym around 7:30. Lots of undergrads for pickup games. I got in a game on a good team. I was pretty tentative at first. The whole night I think I drove maybe twice. Just trying to move laterally, see how it felt. It felt kinda weak...probably from having not run or jumped for 2 months. I played about 4 games, finally losing the 4th, and decided to call it a fairly successful night.

As I'm walking off the court I see this dude named Luke from my Law School League basketball team. Yeah, it's a league of all law school people. In my 5 semesters here, I have lost exactly zero times. But I suppose I'm like Robert Horry. I just managed to get on two separate good teams and we pretty much clean house. He says some of the guys from my law school team and a couple guys from another law school team have an intramural game in an undergrad league starting in a few minutes, at 9. He says he thinks they could use me, so I figured what the hell. I was pretty tired and a bit worried about my knee, but I gave it a shot. I only played about 15 minutes. I think my line was 15 minutes, 0-1 FGs, 0 points, 2 or 3 rebs, 1 turnover, 1 assist. So yeah, I'm at least the 8th or 9th worst on this 9 man team.

Anyways, the other team is a bunch of undergrad dudes with like... 7 or 8 Scholars. We're down 50-44 with about 45 seconds left and start fouling. We manage to tie it up at 54 and have a decent final shot for the win, no good. In overtime, we are up 3. We get hosed on a horse shit call that I won't go into, and then they hit a 3 to tie. We go to double overtime. Lots of interesting to me, but not interesting to you, stuff happens to put us down 1 with 2.8 seconds left. We call timeout, but we still have to inbound the ball full court.

And then, essentially, this happened.



I'm not kidding. We threw it the length of the floor and somehow my teammate, Chris, catches it on the right wing. He takes a couple dribbles toward the baseline, shoots it from kind of behind the backboard over 2 guys, and buries it as the buzzer sounds.

The shot itself was kind of like this.




It was god damn incredible. And don't think for ONE SECOND that I didn't run around like Thomas Hill (#12, Duke, first video) when it happened. Well, less crying and disbelief. More whooping and mobbing.

I wish it was on video. Alas.


Post Script: Just because these commercials were awesome...





Post-Post Script:

Senthil points out that, as amazing as this was, it does not surpass the time I tackled a guy and ended the game with a bench clearing brawl. Touche, Senthil. Touche.

I Smell Like Cake

Earlier this evening, I helped my roommate take his Christmas tree out to be disposed of. I should say, that thing hadn't been given water in a month (at least) and was the greatest fire hazard I have ever personally come into contact with. Probably. It weighed about two pounds it was so dry. It was like gasoline mixed with kerosene.

Anyways. In removing the tree, I predictably got sap on my hands. Not much. Just enough to prove an annoyance. I tried washing my hands with soap and that did not do the trick. I went to my google machine and found that one good way to remove sap from skin is Pam cooking spray. 

I trudged upstairs and looked in the pantry for some Pam. I found some Pam, but it was Pam "Baking" spray. Apparently there is a difference. The only difference I could tell was that the stuff smells like a baking cake. Like, it is uncanny. It smells like a cake is in the oven. The smell is really fucking intoxicating. So I spray the Pam Baking Spray on my hands and rub it all around. I then clean my hands with handsoap. It worked like a charm except for two small side effects:

1) My hands still feel slightly greasy after 3 hand washings. 

2) My hands smell exactly like a baked cake. Again, even after 3 hand washings.

I am not kidding. They smell fantastic. Unless you don't like the smell of a baking cake, in which case you might as well kill yourself because you are incapable of enjoying the great things in life.

The thought occurred to me that this could be either the greatest OR WORST diet tool ever created. It depends on your reaction, I guess. If the smell of a baking cake satisfies your sweet tooth, it would be fantastic in helping you lose weight by suppressing your appetite. On the other hand, if the smell of a baking cake makes you crave a cake so badly that you actually make and consume a cake, well, I guess it'd be pretty fucking worthless.

Great Moments in the Life of: Pat O'Brien, Vol. II

*The second in a continuing series...*

On the eve of his 25th birthday, I thought it would be nice to add to the series. So...

Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Society...I call this story:

The Tale of Gymnastics Camp and the Big, Bad Wolf

The summer after 5th grade, I went to a summer camp. I'm really not sure exactly where the camp is/was, but it was somewhere in the mountains of San Diego County. That summer, Sean went to a surf camp down there. I know, right? Why didn't I go there? I dunno. I went to a regular camp. It was fun, though. Two weeks of eating terrible food, getting filthy and not wanting to use the communal showers, playing basketball, playing aussie-rules football, playing baseball and generally having a pretty good time. 

Each week, each kid got to choose two activities...a morning activity and an afternoon activity. The morning activity I chose each week was basketball. 5th Grade Me lived for basketball. I was a really fuckin good 5th grade basketball player, let me tell you. The counselor, who played at the University of Arizona, told me to not forget about him when I'm playing college basketball one day. Yeah, I know.

After the first week of camp, my little brother Patrick came to the camp for just one week. At the end of my first week, some of the people I had gotten to know left for home, and new ones replaced them. So I was sort of a seasoned veteran at camp, and had quite a few dudes I had gotten to know. One of these guys, I forget his name, seemed like a pretty cool dude. We'll call him Lance, because that's a pretty douchey name. He was good at basketball, but not as good as me, and so we were sort of buddies. 

I was about to enter the 6th grade so I was probably not that inclusive of Pat, who had just finished 3rd grade. I mean, he was what...nine? And, to make matters worse, for whatever reason, Pat signed up for the "Gymnastics Camp." Now, as I got older I realized, gymnastics is probably pretty cool. You get really strong and chicks think you have a sweet body. But of course, most dudes from age 8-15 think gymnastics is "super gay." I think Pat's buddy did gymnastics back home and talked Pat into it. Patrick, care to chime in?

So Pat was one of "those" kids. I didn't get to see him much because gymnastics camp kids didn't get to choose an activity. Also, the cabins were split up by age group, and you sat with your cabin at meals, etc. For Pat and the gymnastics kids, gymnastics was their activity, morning and afternoon. So there just wasn't a lot of time to see him, anyways.

Middle of the week, probably Thursday night, there was a dance on the basketball courts. I mean, I was a pretty cool dude at this camp, at least among the dudes. I was talking with a group of other dudes as we awaited the ladies to make their way across camp to the dance.

I look across the court and I see my little brother Pat with some people. It appears he is sort of getting teased by Lance. Probably for being in gymnastics camp. Possibly not altogether undeserved, but still. That's my brother, and if there is one thing our dad taught us it's that you always stand up for your brothers. 

I keep my eye on the situation from a fair distance for a moment or two to see if it will just resolve itself. I should probably mention here that not only was I not inclusive of Pat during that week, but I don't think anyone other than the counselors even knew we were brothers.

Suddenly, I see Lance shove Pat. Probably not hard, although Pat can chime in on that. But just a douche bag kid trying to be a bully to the kid who wears a leotard and prances on a balance beam while we are playing basketball. Nonetheless, Pat is my brother.

Have you ever seen the cartoon "Lambert the Sheepish Lion"? If not, watch it here. It's a Disney short wherein a lion is accidentally delivered by the stork to a mother lamb. Even though he's a lion, Lambert loves his mama, and his mama loves him. He's kind of a pussyfoot of a lion, though, being raised by a lamb and all. But at the end of the movie, a wolf is dragging Lambert's mother away and something in Lambert snaps! He sheds his sheepish exterior (figuratively speaking, of course) and beats the crap out of the wolf to save his mother.

Not that I was ordinarily sheepish, but if you've seen the cartoon, I was like Lambert when his mother is being dragged away. Something snapped. Mid-conversation, I sprinted across the basketball court...probably a good 30 yards. And even in 5th grade, I was built like a little tank. Solid as a rock. I just destroy this douchebag Lance. I swear, he flew a good 20 feet into the fence surrounding the court.

In a daze, he looks up at me, bewildered.

"DON'T FUCK WITH MY BROTHER!" 

I wasn't messing around, you know.

He stammers something about not knowing he was my brother. As if that excuses his being a douche to some kid 2 or 3 years younger than he was. I think he then began apologizing profusely. He was probably crying. I don't know.

Pat seemed stoked and everyone else was pretty stunned. There were no counselors around, so not one got in trouble. And whenever the story is told, my dad beams with pride.

Ok, so maybe this is more of a story about me than it is about Pat. But so what... it's my damn blog.

This Won't Be Terrible Exciting, But It Should Kill A Couple Minutes of Your Otherwise Jobless Day (Lisa, Ryan...I'm Looking at You)

Sooooooo.

Exam Day! Such a wretched/blessed feeling. How is it possible to loathe and love the same thing so much at one time? I think the loathing part is clear. Who likes exams? Especially law school* exams. But, I also love exam day. My long national** nightmare finally ends. Four months of frustration, reading, procrastination, studying, procrastination, not reading when I should be, attending class, skipping class, and feeling miserable for skipping class all comes to an end in three*** short hours.

I think but am not sure that today is the first time in my law school career that I managed to sleep the night before my exam. Usually, in a manic state, I am up for at least 24 hours before the exam. Of course, I know it's not helpful. Nor healthy. By the time I get to the exam, everything is a blur and I am ready to tear my eyes out.

Today, though. Oh, today. Today would be different! With some helpful encouragement from a certain boo, I got a good night's rest. I took some NyQuil**** and fell soundly asleep at 1am.

Sweet dreams were had all around.

I wake up at 6am sharp. Shower immediately. For breakfast, I had some yogurt and granola, and boy was it delicious. Finally, after much procrastination, I decide to download the exam taking software I need. 

Why put it off to today? No idea. But, to take the exam, you have to use this program called ExamSoft. Basically, it's a word processor that keeps you from accessing ANYTHING on your computer besides the exam program while you are taking your exam. You start it, begin the exam, it reboots your computer, and when it reboots it boots directly into the ExamSoft program and your exam begins. 

The trick for me being...you can't use Mac OS with ExamSoft for whatever reason. But you CAN get a real copy of windows installed and use that. So at Thanksgiving, the brother who didn't bail on his family that he's known for almost 29 years****** installed Windows on my new Mac. 

I boot to Windows, plug in the ethernet cord... and there is no internet. No internet means I can't a) Download the ExamSoft program; b) Download my exam; c) Turn in my exam.

I have no idea how to fix this. It's 7am and my exam is in a few hours. OH EFFING HELL.

I jump up and head to campus. I get there around 7:15, but the Internet Help Desk is not open till 9. So I head to the library and get online to seek Pat's guidance. He says I just need my Mac OS boot disk to load some drivers. Well...I don't HAVE the freaking Mac OS boot disk with me because I had no idea I might need it.

I am flippin pissed. It's now like 8:30 and I decide to head back over to the Internet Help Desk to see if just maybe they opened early. So I walk back across campus...

Lights are on! Yay! 

Door is locked! Booo. 

But the guy comes walking out and says, "Oh sure, no problem" when I explain my sitch to him. 

And then I pull out my Mac. "Oh...this is the new one. I don't think I have all the right drivers on this Disc because it's for the old one."

My head starts spinning. My knee******* did not love the walk here this morning and it surely won't like a walk back home and back to campus even more. He decided to give it a shot... and whaddayaknow... the damn thing works. Phew. I download the program, download the exams, run the test...and everything seems to be working.

Crisis averted!

The moral of this story is simple. No matter how much sleep I get before an exam, something is bound to almost go horribly wrong for me.

The most important question out of all of this, though is:

Tommy, why are you writing this blog when you have an exam in less than four hours instead of studying for Constitutional Law? You are still unclear on the nuances of Procedural Due Process. You still don't understand when and how to apply the O'Brien Test********. 

Touche, my dear self. Touche.

*I am most certainly sticking my nose up in the air as I type this sentence

**Ok, personal. I just like the phrase Long, national nightmare. Don't you?

***God, help me get out in 2.

****Yes, I AM sick, but damn...that stuff is straight from God's lips to mine own.

*****Can I just say...that Trader Joe's French Village or whatever yogurt is the BEST!!!!!! It's got a sharp bite that I oh so love.

******Sean, I don't think you read this, but I'm kidding. Kind of.

*******Stupid god damn knee.

********Isn't it ironic, don't ya think?

The Faces of Wall Street

The economy is in turmoil! The financial system is crumbling! Capitalism is doomed!

That's true. But, alas, I am an optimist. I like to search for a silver lining, no matter how dark and ominous the cloud. So, over the last couple of weeks, nothing has amused me quite like looking at the ever-horrored faces of Wall Street traders. Call me cruel, but taking delight in the self-created misery of others is one of my favorite past times!

Here are some of my favorites. If these don't cheer you up, I don't know what will.





"I'm thinking I might take that new chick from Logistics. If things go well I might be showing her my O-face. Oh... Oh... Oh! You know what I'm talkin' about. Oh!"


What is his mother going to say? She loved that full head of hair.


Guys, guys. This isn't golf. Lower numbers are BAD.


Poor Christopher.


We only wish you (all) had before you screwed up this badly.


I think this unfortunate fellow just found his daughter on a porn website.


Hand over the mouth is pretty standard. But, look at the guy way in the back. What the hell is going on with his tie?


I...have no idea.



That guy belongs in movies. Such a great conveyance of emotion.


You'd think there was another 9/11.



Gosh...where have I seen that photo before? Oh, right!



See? It could be worse. Keep that in mind.

A Serious Moral Dilemma

I'm at a coffee shop in EDH right now (called Habit) and there is a potentially disturbing situation going on. I'll copy and paste a convo to make things quick. If you've never seen the movie Hard Candy, you should. But if you haven't, the opening scene is a 30-something photographer and a 14 year old girl talking online and agreeing to meet up at a coffee shop. They flirt and it's creepy and the movie only gets creepier from there. With that said...
(1:53:13 PM) Me: so
(1:53:15 PM) Me: im at a coffee shop
(1:53:34 PM) Me: and there are two people at another table that creepily remind me of the opening scene of Hard Candy
(1:53:53 PM) Me: the guy is a bearded redhead...maybe 25-30 yrs old
(1:53:56 PM) Me: and the girl looks...13
(1:54:02 PM) Mikey: how great is that movie
(1:54:04 PM) Me: and they are talking about how muscular she likes guys
(1:54:08 PM) Mikey: hahah
(1:54:09 PM) Mikey: ew
(1:54:14 PM) Me: im creeped out
(1:54:17 PM) Mikey: so am i
(1:54:20 PM) Me: it's a coffee shop just like the one in the movie, too
(1:54:43 PM) Mikey: lol
(1:55:08 PM) Me: looking at her....im not sure if 13 is too old. could be 12
(1:55:16 PM) Mikey: ask her
(1:55:20 PM) Me: oh gosh, they are talking about how she's in gymnastics
(1:55:25 PM) Mikey: hahahah
(1:55:25 PM) Me: he could be her super creep-o coach
(1:55:30 PM) Me: hard to say
(1:55:32 PM) Me: but this is wrong

(2:06:09 PM) Me: omg omg omg
(2:06:10 PM) Me: im not kidding
(2:06:18 PM) Me: the 12 yr old and the dude are talking about condoms
(2:06:20 PM) Me: WTF
(2:06:24 PM) Me: i feel like i should call the police
(2:06:39 PM) Mikey: uhh
(2:06:52 PM) Mikey: this just took a very disgusting turn
(2:06:53 PM) Me: she's talking about how she found some "at the warped tour"...i cant hear much, but it is an inappropriate conversation
(2:07:17 PM) Me: i need to know how old she is. i suppose she could be a young looking...15. 15 is the oldest i can imagine
(2:07:25 PM) Me: if i wasnt right in her view i would take a pic for you
(2:07:27 PM) Mikey: either way, not legal
(2:07:29 PM) Mikey: lol
(2:07:35 PM) Mikey: very kind
(2:07:37 PM) Me: because then I'D be the one going to jail
(2:07:37 PM) Me: haha
(2:07:51 PM) Mikey: nah...you can just snap a pic in a few days of the MISSING poster
(2:08:07 PM) Me: hahap


So, serious question...I suppose I should and have and will mind my own business...but this just seems so wrong. I am curious about what you would do in this situation? What if it was your daughter or sister? Would you want me to say SOMETHING?


UPDATE: They are now talking about she works at Posh Punkins, a baby store a couple doors down. Which means she must be at least 16. I guess gymnasts do look young, but damn. Sixteen, of course, would be illegal to have sex with...but having coffee with a 16-year old is less creepy than a 12-year old.

FINAL UPDATE: Creepy 20-Something Gingerbeard just left. A flamboyant gay 30-something guy who she apparently knows came in and sat down next to her and took over the conversation. Finally Redbeard got up and left. They hugged when he left, but at least he left alone.

I suppose it's still a valid discussion for future reference. This is a weird fucking coffee shop.

I Might Have the Plague? Or Maybe I Just Saved the Bay Area from The Black Death...

As I walk into the legal clinic I "work" at, I was not terribly excited. Thursday nights are a "classroom" type of session. No clients, just boring lectures and questions.

I proceed to the end of the long table, where I always sit, and place my bag down behind my chair. I turn around and stop dead in my tracks.

This guy, I shall call him Utah, has a...rodent. In his hands. And he is feeding it a coffee creamer.



I stand there, not wanting to sit down and put myself closer to the rodent until I have more information. I survey the scene. There are about a dozen people in the class, and I am the second to last person to arrive. Everyone else seems perfectly comfortable with Utah holding a rodent. I think to myself, "Well...maybe it's his pet?" I look around and see no cage. "And why would he bring his pet to the class?" I ponder.

I am still standing and I try and determine what kind of rodent it is for sure. My initial reaction was, "It's a freaking squirrel. A SQUIRREL." But I think to myself, "No, no one can possibly be that retarded. Maybe it's a rat? Definitely not a rat. A guinea pig? Nope. A...squirrel. It has to be a squirrel."

"Is that...a...squirrel?" I ask, incredulously.
"Yeah," Utah says, still feeding this squirrel the creamer.
"Is...it...your squirrel?"
"No."
"Where did you get it?"
"I found it in the parking lot. He looked super hungry."


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"So you picked it up and brought it in here?"
"Yeah," says Utah. He seems confused at my reaction.

After pondering my next move for a few minutes, I have to admit to myself that the squirrel is pretty cute. No. No! It's a squirrel! A vehicle for the black death!

Utah puts the squirrel into a small cardboard box once the lecture starts, and I can hear it scurrying around.

Finally I say, "You realize that you could get the plague from that thing if it bites you?"
"What plague?"
"The...bubonic plague."
"haha yeah right."
"I'm...serious."

I proceed to explain how I grew up in Tahoe and how campgrounds were routinely closed down due to outbreaks of the plague. He starts to get worried. We get quiet and continue on with the lecture.

During a short break, Utah asks me again about the plague. I tell him I have no idea, but maybe they transmit the plague by biting you? His face goes cold as the guy on the other side of me tells me, "Whoa, that thing was gnawing on his finger." A girl who came in after I did, and seems equally confused by the presence of the squirrel, chimes in that she believes they just carry fleas with the plague, and the fleas will jump off the squirrel and that is how humans can contract the plague. Now Utah is really freaked out. And actually, so am I.

"Dude, I had no idea. I was going to take it home to my kid."

That's right. He was going to take it home to his kid. A wild freaking squirrel. I have no idea how old he is...maybe 30? And he not only picks up a wild squirrel who is too weak to move, but he is going to take it home to his KID. Later, as I thought about the ridiculousness of the situation, it occurred to me that there is actually a pretty good chance the squirrel has rabies. I remember being taught that if a wild animal like a squirrel or a bat allows you to pick it up because it is so weak, it probably has rabies.

So maybe the Bay Area is safe from the Black Death. But Utah's kid is definitely foaming at the mouth as I write this.

Why Can't I Be More Like Cheez-Its?

Forewarning: This will be somewhat depressing and self-deprecating.

And by somewhat, I mean very.


I wish I was a Cheez-It. I am sitting at my computer in my cramped new room (woo!), surrounded by boxes and blank wall space*. I am clandestinely eating these delicious Cheez-Its** and a thought occurs to me, "Man, I really freaking like Cheez-Its. I love them, in fact." I have loved them since...well, I can remember loving them when I lived in Newport Beach, which means I was around 5-7 years old. That's a long time. In all that time, Cheez-Its have stayed the same. They never let me down with their salty, Cheez-it-y goodness. I mean, I can eat Cheez-Its until the cows come home. I have to be careful, or I'll eat the whole box***. I can eat Cheez-Its and eat 'em and eat 'em and not get sick of them. A little bit of water if it starts to get pastey in my mouth, and I am good for another handful. Or five.

Unfortunately, I am not like a Cheez-It. I am like a Triscuit****. Now, don't get me wrong. I love Triscuits. But I can't eat a whole box of Triscuits like I can a whole box of Cheez-Its. When I first open that box of Triscuits, I am super stoked. "Triscuits...sweet." Sometimes I throw some cheese on there. Sometimes I eat them plain. The other day I dipped them in cottage cheese and it was delicious.

But, inevitably, the Triscuit cracker begins to wreak havoc on my mouth. They are quite the abrasive cracker. Sharp edges. Rough sides. Large. The roof of my mouth gets cut up. The salt begins to dry out my salivary glands, and coupled with the Sahara-like dryness that is the Triscuit, I am soon gasping for water. I usually end up choking on some loose, dry Triscuit fibers, and it takes me a while to recover.

I love Triscuits, but I pay the price for a Triscuit binge for a few days. I wish I didn't have to go through that. I wish I was a Cheez-It.


*I REALLY could use a Beatles painting/mural thing. Hinthint.
**Clandestinely because the landlord/roommate has a rule against food in the room. Shh!
*** Looking at the Nutritional Facts, that would amount to around 2700 calories. That would not be good.
****I realize this analogy isn't perfectly apt, because Cheez-Its do start to give me a stomachache after a while, but I am taking creative license here and limiting the analogy to the Cracker-In-Question's effect on my mouth only.

The Thinks I Think

• Dr. Seuss might be my favorite author. And, yet, I feel like I could write those in my sleep.
• Los Angeles isn't as bad as I thought it was. I guess it depends on the company you keep.
• I miss Todd Packer on The Office
• My fantasy baseball team is suddenly struggling. Not good times.
  
• School loans are NOT sweet.
  
• Whoever gave the greenlight to "The Bill Engvall Show" that I keep seeing commercials for should be fired. By a firing squad.
• It really bugs me when people use the word "nite" - it can't possibly be correct. Why is it accepted?
• You know it's bad when you side with PETA - Why DO jockeys still whip racehorses?
• And why can't they figure out how to save horses that break their legs instead of just euthanizing them?
• How long do you suppose it takes to break in a pair of new basketball shoes? The blister (really, it's now an open wound) on my toe really hurts.
• I'd like a daily massage. Just putting it out there.
  
• Hillary Clinton is a selfish bitch. I was kind of neutral on her before. No longer!
• Dude. Seriously. Chicken salad? So damn tasty.
• I don't care what you say, Jeff. I think Andy Bernard is funnier than Michael Scott.
  
• But Dwight is the funniest of all.
• The Epic Question of Our Age: Robin or Lily? I'm not into redheads, but Lily almost makes me choose her. Robin is sometimes bloated or something. I'd go with Stella over either of them, but I guess I'll maintain my longtime redheadhatred and go Robin.
• Indiana Jones - if you didn't like it, I don't like you. Not really. But I don't get it. Look, have you SEEN the old Indiana Jones movies in the last fifteen years? They are cheezy and they have horrible dialogue, "I HATE snakes!" "No time for love, Dr. Jones!" etc. etc. They are hokey. George Lucas has got to be one of the worst dialogue writers of all time The Stars Wars films have absolutely terrible dialgoue. But we saw them when we were 8, and we loved them, because they were fun films. If you can't go to see the new Indiana Jones and pretend like you are eight years old again, I feel sorry for you. I had a blast, personally.
  
• I try and get into soccer, I really do. I want to like it. I especially want to like international soccer...I like the passion and nationalism involved. So yesterday I decide to watch the U.S. play England. What happens? The same thing that happens every time I watch the U.S. soccer team play (at least, every time since the 2002 World Cup) - they play lazily and get their asses handed to them 2-0. It should have been like 6-0.
• Why can't I shake the feeling that Hillary Clinton is going to somehow connive her way into the nomination? This Florida/Michigan shit is getting ridiculous.
• On my dentist's recommendation, I flossed today. Ow. My gums are all sore.
• Seriously, have these been the worst NBA Playoffs in recent memory? What a letdown. I thought the West playoffs, especially, would be EPIC. Instead, we've had like 2 good games. There have been very few close games. And other than the first day of the playoffs with that double-overtime game between the Suns and Spurs (which I didn't even get to see because I was at a wedding), there has not been a single "one-for-the-ages" type game. The media tried to play up last night's Celtics/Pistons game. Sorry. That game sucked.
• Alright. The album "In Our Bedroom After the War" by Stars is one of the best albums I've ever heard. I can't get enough of it. No homo.
  
• CBS is showing How I Met Your Mother twice a week this summer, starting with the beginning of Season 2, to try and build the fanbase. I like that. I wish they'd start with Season 1 and go 3 times a week, though. Season 1 is one of the greatest season's in TV history. Yes, I said that.
• One thing I always liked about sports was the descriptive terminology. For example, a wounded duck in football. What a perfect way to describe the thing it describes.
• Crap. I have been neglecting the book I'm reading, even though it is very good.
  
• Hey did you hear? The LOST season finale is tonight! Aren't you excited??? Yeah, me neither.
• Just for kicks: "It's a Wonderful Life" - and it is!
  

Great Moments In the Life of: Pat O'Brien

*The first in a continuing series...*

The Tale of B.J. Cohen and His Capgun


When young Patrick Liam was just a wee lad, a kindergartener in fact, we were roaming around our neighborhood, as children are wont to do. We were with this half-retarded* kid named Alex Detarr ("Detarr's a retard!"), and we came across this older, grossly overweight dude named B.J. Cohen. His name is B.J...enough said.

B.J. Cohen is 3 years older than me and thus 5 years older than Pat. B.J. lives behind our house, sorta, and we are over near his house when he comes walking up. B.J. is carrying a capgun! Guns weren't really allowed in our house, and certainly not capguns. Oh, those liberal parents! Pat and I ask B.J. if we can shoot his capgun. B.J. considers this for a moment and says that we can shoot his capgun only if we climb this tree we were standing next to.

Keep in mind. This is a freaking pine tree. And the Lake Tahoe area was in the midst of a long drought, so many trees were dead or dying, and all were very dry and brittle. You can probably tell where this story is going at this point, but I shall forge on.

Wisely, I pass on the offer. Those are little branches, and I was a muscular 2nd grader:




Pat, however, did not have my foresight. And after ignoring my repeated warnings, Pat begins to climb this pine tree, determined to get his hands on the capgun**. Pat was a feisty little kid, and he got pretty fuckin high, truth be told. I'd say he was a good 20 feet up. Maybe 25. I dunno. I mean, I was like 8. But it was really high! I kept telling B.J. that Pat had gone far enough. "No, he has to go higher," B.J. kept repeating.

Suddenly, Pat takes a step and *SNAP*

And down comes Pat. Wisely, although painfully, Pat has the wits about him to hug the tree. Had he fallen backwards, he perhaps would have died had he landed on his head or something. He definitely would have broken bones. Unless he'd landed on that fatfuck B.J. Cohen. That would have been like jumping on a waterbed.

So yeah. Pat is sliding down the tree, hugging it with all his might. Was he shirtless? I don't remember. But his entire torso and thighs are torn up by the time he gets to the bottom. He's like 5 or 6 and he's bloody and crying. Like any good brother, I tell Detarr the Retard to run and get my parents whilst I hoist Pat into my arms and begin carrying him like Forrest carried Bubba.




Oh. And of course that douche bag B.J. Cohen ran home instead of helping me. So Alex, the retard he is, slowly moseys his way ahead of me to my house. My parents would later say that when he got to the front door, he knocked half-heartedly, and slowly said, "Pat got hurt." My parents run out the door and The Retard points them in the right direction. By the time they are to the sideyard, I have carried Pat's bloody, lifeless*** body all the way to the house. My dad grabs Pat out of my arms and I sorta collapse, exhausted from carrying that dude over 100 yards.



Check that scale. A good 100 meters or more! Pat goes to the hospital where he is cleaned up and whatnot. I am given a Congressional Medal of Honor for being such a Good Brother, and B.J. Cohen probably overdosed on cocaine at age 20. So all is right with the world!

*Note: He wasn't actually half-retarded. He was just one of those idiot kids. You will see what I mean as the story unfolds.


**To this day, I am convinced that B.J. Cohen was such a fat asshole that he would not have let Pat shoot the capgun, anyways.


***Ok, not lifeless.

Ode to an Old Friend

"Earlier this week, I started putting stuff in a box. And that box was labeled 'Stuff I Have No Use For Anymore' ...Maybe you belong in that box."
-Theodore Evelyn Mosby

From the first time we met, years ago, we got along famously. You weren't glamorous or shiny, but neither am I. We just fit each other. Since that day, you have been there for me through so many ups and downs, so much sweat and so many tears. Trusty, comfortable. You never let me down. Well, maybe once or twice. But we recovered and together did our best to make things work. Long after others would have cast you off, I kept you around. I didn't care what people said. I ignored their questions about why I continued to keep you around. We had a bond that I hoped would never be broken.

But that day finally came. I kept putting it off longer and longer. I made excuses for why I should continue to keep you as a major part of my life. But...you became practically dangerous. I'm still not embarrassed by you, on the contrary... your foibles are endearing. I know all your little peccadilloes. "People call these things imperfections, but they're not. Ah, that's the good stuff."

Nonetheless, I cannnot in good conscience keep you as part of my daily life any longer. You are, quite literally, a threat to my health. The buffer you served to protect me from the outside world has grown too thin. So, yesterday, I finally found your replacement. It pained me, but it had to be done.

Do not fret. I won't throw you out on the curb. As the song goes, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other's gold." Though the harm to you has been irreparable, I'll keep you around. We can say hi every so often if we bump into each other, and I'll fondly remember all the time we spent together. But for now, you've been replaced...sadly.


Goodbye, old friend.

Subcultures.

This will be rather short but sweet.

It is interesting to me all the little subcultures that develop in our society. As a kid I always got a kick out of the fact that other Jeep drivers (my dad had an '87 Wrangler) would honk (or perhaps it was a flash of the headlights or a wave, I forget) at my Dad as we drove by. My dad would return the gesture. Some sort of unspoken, "We drive Jeeps. We drive offroad. We are not being suffocated by collared shirts and ties," acknowledgment.

I see the same things with motorcycles. The motorcycle gesture is a little more low-key, but keep an eye out for it. They kind of point downwards, but a little bit out towards the other motorcycle. I have not yet determined if crotch rocket types are included in this ritual, or if it is strictly a bad-ass motorcycle thing. Perhaps there is a hierarchy in this subculture (as there should be). I shall report back.

What prompted this thought was a dude coming up to me just now and trying to bum a cigarette. Now, I have never smoked (anything) in my entire life. So I politely told the dude, "Sorry, bro. I don't smoke." So he asked the bartender and she politely gave him a cigarette.

Does this happen with ANY other marketplace good? I mean, I don't walk up to a dude in a bar and ask for a beer because I'm out of cash. I don't go to In N Out and say, "Hey, dude. Can I bum some french fries off you?"

Right? What is it about cigarettes, or perhaps more accurately...smokers, that makes them so generous. Unless it's their last cig, smokers always give someone a smoke. Now, I realize...they think, "I've been there...no money left, or not in a place I can get a cigarette, and I badly need one right now." But why doesn't this work with other products? Is it the physical craving? When I'm hungry I don't NEED french fries (specifically) when I walk by In N Out. But if I was a smoker, nothing can satisfy my craving but a cigarette.

I just find it fascinating.


Post Script: It would be kinda cool, in some futuristic Gattaca-like world, if smokers had a little tally above their head, a +- number to notate how many more cigarettes that person has bummed off of someone else versus how many they have given away. That way, a smoker could know, "Hey, this dude is an asshole and obviously never buys his own cigarettes. He's a negative-1,315!!!" Or, conversely, "This guy is a +1853, I should give him a few to let him know I appreciate his contribution to our kind."

Just a thought.

Thomas and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

ALEXANDER AND THE TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY

by Judith Viorst

I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast Anthony found a Corvette Sting Ray car kit in his cereal box and Nick found a Junior Undercover Agent code ring in his cereal box but in my breakfast cereal box all I found was breakfast cereal. I think I'll move to Australia.

In the car pool Mrs. Gibson let Becky have a seat by the window. Audrey and Elliott got seats by the window too. I said I was being scrunched. I said I was being smushed. I said, if I don't get a seat by the window I am going to be carsick. No one even answered. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

As school Mrs. Dickens liked Paul's picture of the sailboat better than my picture of the invisible castle. At singing time she said I sang too loud. At counting time she said I left out sixteen. Who needs sixteen? I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I could tell because Paul said I wasn't his best friend anymore. He said that Philip Parker was his best friend and that Albert Moyo was his next best friend and that I was only his third best friend. I hope you sit on a tack, I said to Paul. I hope the next time you get a double-decker strawberry ice-cream cone the ice cream part falls off the cone part and lands in Australia.

There were two cupcakes in Philip Parker's lunch bag and Albert got a Hershey bar with almonds and Paul's mother gave him a piece of jelly roll that had little coconut sprinkles on the top. Guess whose mother forgot to put in dessert? It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

That's what it was, because after school my mom took us all to the dentist and Dr. Fields found a cavity just in me. Come back next week and I'll fix it, said Dr. Fields. Next week, I said, I'm going to Australia.

On the way downstairs the elevator door closed on my foot and while we were waiting for my mom to go get the car Anthony made me fall where it was muddy and then when I started crying because of the mud Nick said I was a crybaby and while I was punching Nick for saying crybaby my mom came back with the car and scolded me for being muddy and fighting. I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I told everybody. No one even answered.

So then we went to the shoestore to buy some sneakers. Anthony chose white ones with blue stripes. Nick chose red ones with white stripes. I chose blue ones with red stripes but then the shoe man said, We're all sold out. They made me buy plain old white ones, but they can't make me wear them.

When we picked up my dad at his office he said I couldn't play with his copying machine, but I forgot. He also said to watch out for the books on his desk, and I was careful as could be except for my elbow. He also said don't fool around with his phone, but I think I called Australia. My dad said please don't pick him up anymore. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

There were lima beans for dinner and I hate limas. There was kissing on TV and I hate kissing. My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my railroad-train pajamas. I hate my railroad-train pajamas. When I went to bed Nick took back the pillow he said I could keep and the Mickey Mouse night light burned out and I bit my tongue. The cat wants to sleep with Anthony, not with me. It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. My mom says some days are like that.

Even in Australia.