Just heard this on the news:
Student in yearbook identified only as 'Black Girl'Associated Press
May. 23, 2005 11:42 AMWAXAHACHIE, Texas - A Texas school district has apologized to a student identified only as "Black Girl" in a high school yearbook photo.
All the White students are identified by name in a photograph of the Waxahachie High School National Honor Society. The teen identified as "Black Girl" is the only Black student in the photo.
A schools spokeswoman says the caption apparently was intended as a placeholder until the yearbook staff could identify the student. She tells a newspaper, the Waxahachie Daily Light, the label was a poor choice, but wasn't malicious.
The spokeswoman says the school district will reprint the yearbook pages affected by the mistake.
But let's be serious, is there really any way to correct that kind of mistake?
I got my SAT scores back today. I did well. Not terribly impressive on the math section, as we all knew would be the case, but, out of 800 in each section, I got 700 on my reading and 740 on my writing, which is good (from what I hear).
I was so relieved when I saw my essay score. That damn essay had me stressing. When looking back, I kept feeling like I'd done badly. But I didn't do bad at all! I got a combined score of 10 out of 12 (which means that each grader gave me 5 out of 6). I was very satisfied with that, after all the fretting I'd done, and since it counted for at least 25% of my overall writing score, it was a pretty big deal. So I'm not perfect, but I was close enough.
I came home and topped off the excitement by watching the season finale of 24. I love that show. It makes me so happy. I know that sounds warped, considering that it is a show about terrorist attacks and government agents, which is not exactly the most cheerful subject matter, but I love the connection that the viewer gets to have with the characters season after season. When [former] President Palmer came back this season to advise Vice President-made-President Logan (I call Logan "Limpdick;" he's a self serving, cowardly little man), it was so exciting to have Palmer back in the picture. He's the perfect image of a strong African American president. The president I dream of having in this country. While President Logan loses his cool again and again, grappling with the responsibility of becoming president after the elected president suffers a near fatal assassination attempt, Palmer is the only person who has the strength to run the country and assist Jack Bauer (Keifer Sutherland) in tracking down the terrorists who are running amuck.
This season was another intricate series of events and dramas, all played out superbly by the actors. I cannot say enough about the acting on that show. It really exceeds just about anything else on television, in my opinion. So now it's over, and we have to wait until January for another drama and action packed season. I hate to get so excited about television, but when it comes to 24, I can't help it. It never gets boring.
So I got my SAT scores and I watched the season finale of 24, and that's all the excitement I've gotten today. It's the end of a mini-era.
I don't know why I even bother checking the weather anymore. It's always wrong. It was my friend Myra's birthday almost two weeks ago. We've been trying to plan a day when I could take her to lunch at one of her favorite places. It was decided that today would be the perfect day. It was going to be sunny, her boss is out of the office, and of course, it's FRIDAY. I made a reservation at Cafe St. Bart's where they have the best white sangria in town and some great food and atmosphere. The best thing about St. Bart's is that when the weather is nice, they seat you on the outside terrace of Saint Bartholomew's Church. It has a great vibe that always makes me feel like I'm on vacation, even though I'm sitting only a few steps from the sidewalk on Park Avenue.
So I was disappointed when I woke up this morning and heard the rain coming down outside and felt the darkness all around. I woke from a dream in which I was crying uncontrollably over someone's death. I don't remember who it was that died in my dream, but I know the dread and despair that I felt was deep. When I opened my eyes, and I heard the rain falling, it didn't feel like it could be time to get up yet, but unfortunately, it was. I slipped into black jeans, a black v-neck sweater and my Adidas. The rain cock-blocked my fashion options and black seemed like the only appropriate thing to wear.
I got to work and after conversing with my lunch mates, we decided it would be best to cancel the reservation and wait for a sunnier day. Otherwise, we would be seated INSIDE St. Bartholomew's Church, which is, needless to say, not the same as sitting outside. Who really wants to eat inside a dank old Catholic church? Not moi.
Meanwhile, I would like to give the weather folks a piece of my mind. What is the point of trying to plan your life around their flimsy reports? It's foolish and I really have only myself to blame. We should do away with daily weather reports. We could all wake up in the morning and live spontaneously depending on the weather as it truly is, rather than being disappointed that it isn't what some jackass in a suit, in front of a blue screen, in a studio with no windows, had predicted.
Rainy days make me miss being in gradeschool and playing heads up seven up and having the teacher read a story outloud during recess instead of going out to play. Of course, I was raised in California, where a rainy day was a rare thing that inspired a buzz of excitement all around, whereas here in NY, the novelty taps out pretty quickly.
But it's still FRIDAY! I'm going to march on Sunday from Manhattan to Brooklyn to stand up for the rights of gays and lesbians to marry. If you're in the area, you should join in the fight for equal civil rights!
You can't win with the Catholics. They don't believe in birth control OR abortion, but if you choose not to use birth control and not to have an abortion, you are ostracized for being unwed and pregnant. (Though I assume that even if this girl was married, she still would have been treated in the same manner). I am miffed.
There are several things that anger me about the below story. Most notably, the fact that the guy who got this girl pregnant was permitted to attend graduation, while the girl he impregnated was to be excluded from the ceremony. What era is this??? Why is sexism still so prevalent in our world, especially in religious circles? And how can you expect to teach young adults not to use condoms and expect that none will become pregnant, punishing them when they do? It is the greatest catch 22 imagineable. And for some reason, some people think this shit makes sense.
MONTGOMERY, Alabama (AP) -- A pregnant student who was banned from graduation at her Roman Catholic high school announced her own name and walked across the stage anyway at the close of the program.Alysha Cosby's decision prompted cheers and applause Tuesday from many of her fellow seniors at St. Jude Educational Institute.
But her mother and aunt were escorted out of the church by police after Cosby headed back to her seat.
"I can't believe something like this is happening in 2005," said her mother, Sheila Cosby. "My daughter has been through a lot and I am proud of her. She deserved to walk, and she did."
The school's guidance counselor delivered Cosby's degree to her house earlier Tuesday, but she still wanted to participate.
"I worked hard throughout high school and I wanted to walk with my class," she said.
Cosby was told in March that she could no longer attend school because of safety concerns, and her name was not listed in the graduation program.
The father of Cosby's child, also a senior at the school, was allowed to participate in graduation.
Normally, I wouldn't start a new entry this late at night when I have to work tomorrow, but I happen to have a story that urgently needs to be told.
I went to dinner with my good friend Ivette tonight. We had some Mexican food and drank a pitcher of sangria and walked her precious little Maltese through our neighborhood, enjoying the temperate weather and the moderate exercise. I came home and did dishes and called Rob to say goodnight. I figured I'd watch a little tv before heading off to sleep. As I sat there staring sleepily at the television, I saw a sight from the corner of my eye that sent my heart into my mouth. It was a Gigantic, Brown, Bug. A cockroach, if you will.
Now you must know that I have seen a few strange things since moving into this house a few years ago, but not that many, and most I have just attributed to the fact that I grew up in California and Oregon and this is just a different region with different bugs. Bigger. Bugs. The first summer I lived in this house I saw a couple of giant black beatles with wings that would fly through my kitchen occasionally when the door was open. I've also seen silverfish in my house. You know, the flat silver worms with a zillion legs that move at the speed of light across your floor, throwing your cat into a total tailspin? I've also spotted the occasional spider. But never a roach. Now I couldn't tell you positively that this was a roach, but to me, it looked and acted very much like a giant cockroach.
So anyway, I see this thing out of the corner of my eye, coming out of my bedroom and scurrying into the computer room. Not allowing myself a moment to let the horror sink in, I went after it, grabbing the first thing I could get my hands on which happened to be the latest People Magazine with Renee Zelweger and Kenny Chesney on the cover (WTF?). I brought the rolled up magazine down on the bug with a giant whack. It did not even phase the beast. Not in the least. He kept moving, finding shelter behind one of Rob's demo boxes. I left the room, turned off the lights, closed the door and went to the couch where I dialed Rob and immediately told him of the monstrosity that was hiding in the computer room. He expressed genuine pity for me and relief that he didn't happen to be here at my house on the one night when there was vermin running through the place. Vermin that he might otherwise be expected to aid in annihilating. (When really, I've already learned that I am the tough one in this relationship when it comes to the killing and/or removal of scary bugs.) Sometimes I save the bugs and take them outside to deposit them, sparing their lives in the way that I was always taught to do as a good little Buddhist growing up. But sometimes I can not bring myself to allow them to continue living. I have a hard time letting mosquitos live. When they are sucking the blood from my ankle, my murderous instinct overcomes my compassionate conditioning. I smash them. If I see a spider, daddy longleg or mosquito-eater in my house, I will capture it and put it outside. If I see a cockroach in my house, I will kill it with a vengance like you have never seen before. (I have a special dislike for cockroaches.) So this thing had me feeling psychotic. I knew that I could not sleep in my own house knowing it was alive in here somewhere.
I kept Robert on the phone, fretting wildly about what I was going to do. Suddenly, the beast emerged from underneath the crack in the office door. I shrieked, grabbed the newspaper again and lunged like a maniac, hitting the thing repeatedly, yet it escaped unscathed and scurried beyond my reach and into my closet. Yes, my fucking CLOSET! Knowing this thing was in there, hiding amongst my shoes and clothes was almost enough to make me faint, but I couldn't give up. I was still screeching, Robert was still on the phone trying to say something encouraging and helpful and the fucking roach was still in my closet. I grabbed a big, heavy book and poised myself, waiting for the hideous bug to come and face me. As my eyes focused on my shoes all lined up inside the closet, I saw him hiding, snuggled between a pair of brown, strappy, leather sandals, almost the exact same color as his hard, shiny back. He thought he was slick. He thought I couldn't see him there. My heart was beating like a thousand tons against my chest. I hung up the phone with Rob to free both hands. I raised the book as I simultaneously lifted one highheeled shoe, gently, to make room for the murder weapon to hit its mark. Of course, he began to move instantly, I missed, and he retreated further into the back of my closet. I opened the other door and pulled every piece of clothing off the lower rack so I could see the floor clearly. I didn't see him anywhere. But I did see the hole in the wall where he came from. The telephone line was wired to the bedroom and they snaked it in through a small hole in the back of my closet. This looks like a good entry point for any small devil. I sat there staring at the hole for awhile before I slowly started removing shoes one by one. Then I saw him again. I waited until he was on flat ground and I brought the book down on him hard. He was smashed. I had him. I called Rob again. He said "just because it's under the book doesn't mean it's dead....god I'm so glad I'm not there." I thanked him for being the valiant protector that every woman secretly desires and told him I would save the roach for him in a jar so that he could revel in what a stud I am and wallow in what a wimp he is, since we both know that even if he were here, I still would have been the one to catch the motherfucker.
I went to the kitchen to retrieve an empty olive jar from the cupboard. I went back to my closet where the Dilbert Principle sat crushing my victim. I lifted the book slowly and saw movement. The sonofabitch was still alive! But only partially. This is where I started to feel bad, because I'd never done such a thing in all my life. I scooped the bug into the jar, sealed the lid, and watched it struggle for about a minute or two until it died. And there it lies. At the bottom of a Garlic Stuffed Olive jar, on its back, legs frozen in midair: the thing that just a little while ago had my heart racing faster than it's ever raced before. it's true. I've rarely had as much adrenaline pumping through my body as I did when I was chasing that creature. Now that it is dead, it is not the least bit frightening.
I feel sad that I killed this animal tonight, but it had to be. I know it was just living its life, doing what a big ugly brown bug does, but he visited the wrong girl. I cannot rest knowing that a scary bug may run under my covers at any moment. I have enough things to psyche myself out about while falling asleep. Though I must say, I still do have the heebie jeebie creepy crawlies all over. *slaps self up and down*
My dad has a new blog. Of course, it's fantastic. Look at me the little amateur next to my dad who just blows me right out of the water! ;o)
Seriously, though, you don't get better commentary than the stuff that comes out of Charles Carreon.
Take for example, his latest entry titled "What Howard Stern Needs to Learn from Laura Bush."
Though I did see snippets of Laura Bush's knee-slapping antics and was thoroughly embarrassed for every last person in the United States at the moment those "jokes" escaped our first lady's lips, this was something I failed to comment on, along with many other things that I've failed to comment on recently. I was disgusted when I saw that the press applauded Laura Bush's "thrilling sense of humor," while I found her jokes beyond tasteless coming from a woman who you would hope would have more class than that. This woman is a far cry from dignified. I think I have a pretty raunchy sense of humor, but her jokes struck me more in the gag reflex than in the funnybone. The very thought of her and Dubya trying to have sex (limpy limpertuns) and her and Lynn Cheney watching Desperate Housewives (as George Carlin once said "you can talk about fucking as much as you want on TV, but [according to the FCC] you can't say the word 'fucking'.") and going to Chippendales (isn't this administration against steroid use?), not to mention the most horrifying image of our dimwit prez "milking" a male horse (apparently, neither killing, nor lying, nor beastiality are against their religion), was enough to make me genuinely queasy. It also disturbs me that those who are presiding over the most somber issues of our world have the time to make those kinds of jokes. These imposters in the whitehouse have humiliated this country enough. I can never get over the feeling that they have hijacked the whole system. And what do their evangelical, right wing constituents think? Do they turn the other cheek in typical hypocritical fashion and pretend those remarks were never made, or are they disgusted and embarrassed too? It could be one of the few times we might agree on something. Is this what Dubya meant when he said he was going to restore dignity to the office of the president? Looks like it's working out famously.
But my dad points out the greatest irony of all:
First Lady Talks About Horse Penises, Harvests AccoladesWho has Laura Bush been talking with, that she is now able to toss off one-liners suggesting that the president gave a horse a handjob when he thought he was milking a cow? And who was she talking to, that they didn’t choke on their rubber chicken? If I had attempted to deliver a joke about my wife masturbating the livestock at any venue other than the seediest bar in town, my taste, even my sanity, would probably be called in question.
"Bill Berkowitz at TomPaine.com“The most outrageous joke described the president’s early arrival at the ranch in Crawford, Texas: As a graduate of Andover and Yale, which “don’t have real strong ranching programs,” the president was ill-prepared. He was so out of his element that he tried to milk a horse—a male horse.
The first lady’s string of one-liners have been widely repeated in the weeks since the event. She started by interrupting the president—as per the script—and seizing the platform. Then, she mixed some light-hearted lines—”I am married to the president of the United States, and here's our typical evening: Nine o'clock, Mr. Excitement here is sound asleep, and I'm watching 'Desperate Housewives', with Lynne Cheney“ —with several sexed-up jokes — ”Ladies and gentlemen, I am a desperate housewife. I mean, if those women on that show think they're desperate, they ought to be with George. One night, after George went to bed, Lynne Cheney, Condi Rice, Karen Hughes and I went to Chippendales,"—the home of buffed male strippers.
Answering the first question, where did she learn to talk like she needs her mouth washed out with soap? I think she’s just been hanging out with the Cheneys too much. Mrs. Cheney’s bodice-ripper novel, Sisters, about horny sluts in Renaissance outfits, is currently out of print after the administration nixed the reprinting deal, because the book wasn’t Mrs. Cheney’s “best work.” That’s an interesting reason for pulling the publication, I’d say. Graded on that basis, most writers wouldn’t have more than one book in print, and I’m not sure what her “best work” might be, but I bet you it wasn’t on a par with Don Quixote. Perhaps we should put all her work out of print if none of it turns out to be better than “Sisters.” Of course, unlike most other authors, she doesn’t have any pressing financial need. Oil sells better than books.
Answering the second question, Laura let fly her bon mots at the annual White House Correspondents' Association dinner late last month, and according to the toadying press, the First Lady’s crudity hit their funny bone. You'd think they'd be jealous. The President's wife gets to say stuff they'll lose their jobs for trying. Loose talk about penises is what caused the FCC to fine Howard Stern off the air for, right?
"Roman Bystrianyk and Meryl Barr at oped.com“On February 26, [2005] Clear Channel Communications pulled Howard Stern off its six stations that carry his syndicated show as part of the radio giant's new “zero tolerance” policy against indecency on the airwaves. As a reason for the action, Clear Channel cited Stern's interview on Tuesday with Rick Solomon, the man who was filmed having sex with hotel heiress and Fox reality star Paris Hilton in a video widely distributed on the Internet. According to a transcript released by Clear Channel, Stern asked Solomon about his sexual practices and referred to the size of certain body parts. Using a racist term, a caller asked Solomon if he had ever had relations with any famous black women. “It was vulgar, offensive and insulting, not just to women and African-Americans but to anyone with a sense of common decency,” said chief executive officer John Hogan.
What Howard Stern Needs To Learn
Stern was run off the air by Clear Channel because he talked about human penises. As an attorney, I'm not advising you to start a bestiality website, but in the search for a principled legal distinction, I'm forced to say that there appears to be greater tolerance for jokes about animal sex. Clearly it would be off-base to suggest that different standards of ”decency“ might be applied to the First Lady's words than those of a ”Shock Jock“ like Howard. As for whether it's safer to discuss having sex with a horse than having sex with Paris Hilton, perhaps we could ask Alberto Gonzales for guidance — he's helped so much to legitimize bondage by raising the bar on what consitutes torture, perhaps he can help us to develop some bright-line rules on where to draw the line on bestiaility.
Looking at business opportunities here, as I always do, inquiring minds want to know: Does this open the way for celebrity sites showing pictures of the First Lady indulging in a little revenge sex with her groom — a male who isn't asleep at 9 p.m.? Is it open season for photoshop projects showing a clueless president ”milking a cow," i.e., masturbating a stallion? Are these the next Hot domain names: PresidentHorseFucker.com? BestialPresident.com? FirstPerv.com? Ah, for that kind of advice, you have to pay!
Now go read the rest of what he's got to say! You might even learn something. This man means business.
My boss sent me this article about the finger in the Wendy's chili. You have heard about this, yes? The woman who alleges she found a finger in her chili at Wendy's? Old news.
Well, authorities have found out where it came from and this asshole has been arrested and arraigned.
I just have a couple questions for this woman:
How the hell did you think you were going to pull off a con of that magnitude, proceed with a lawsuit, procure ill-gotten funds from the Wendy's corporation and go on with your life as normal without ever getting caught?
Did you really think Wendy's would just shrug at the idea that a finger was found in their food, not question where it came from, and settle with you for some fantastic sum of money?
Do you smoke crack, ever?
...........
Stories like this one astound me. Every day of my life I am confronted with the reality that most people are either stupid, crazy, driven by greed, or all three combined, as in this case. What kind of person does something like this? Does this woman have children? I hope not. The thought that people of this kind breed at all is cause to weep for the future. As if the present is not frightening enough...
What pisses me off about this story is the idea that people lost their jobs because of this nut. Wendy's lost so much business that they had to lay many people off of work. The damages that this woman has caused are enormous. If they thought the infamous "runaway bride" cost law enforcement a lot of money, what about this creep with the finger larceny? And as far as the severity of the crime goes, I think this one is up there.
P.S. How weird is it that this guy really did find a finger in his food? Custard, no less! That's freakin' horrible. But I started to feel less sorry for the dude when I read about him refusing to give the severed digit back to the man to whom it originally belonged so that he could have it reattached. Instead, the victim of the finger-in-custard chose to keep the finger and put it in a freezer, at which point it became inviable. What a dick.
I am one truant son-of-a-gun lately. Don't have an excuse. Just haven't felt that pull to sit down at the computer when I come home. Work has been hectic and I haven't found any moments to steal from my busy days. I'm a hard worker, and a slackass blogger. I'm having this mercifully low-key day at work today though, so I'm snapping up the opportunity to check back in to blogging.
Last night we went to the Hook. Frannie's brother Nick's band, "Donkey Claw" performed. Nick is the drummer. I thought they were a lot of fun. You may recall that the last time I went to the Hook was for the "No Fun 'Noise' Fest." While Donkey Claw was nowhere near as excruciating on the ears, for me at least, they struck a good balance between hard rock and total noise. Rob and I both thought they were great. Could use a dab of polish on the vocals, but the love and conviction was there in the sound.
…And then we proceeded to get tore up. Our visit to the Hook ground to a halt when everyone started lamenting about how tired they were and we realized that the guy on stage playing his acoustic guitar and "singing" was so godawful that it was suddenly imperative that we get as far away from him as possible. Kimberly and I were so consumed with our belligerent conversation at the bar that we didn't even realize we were shouting over a musical catastrophe. I regret having to say this about anyone who has mustered the courage to get on stage and attempt to entertain an audience, but sadly, tis true: That guy has a long way to go before I'd recommend him stepping onto a stage again. Don't know his name and it's probably better that way.
Kathleen sent a hilarious email this morning to announce the extent of her and Kimberly's collective hangovers and the hijinks which have ensued since our parting last night. While at the bar, the bartender was "kind" enough to give us many free drinks. If I had a nickel for every time I, or someone else, said "the bartender is so nice! He's our friend." Kathleen quoted Kimberly's first words this morning as: "That bartender is NOT our friend!" Hahaha. I guess it was pretty bad.
I woke up a bit parched and with a slight pounding in my skull, but a big glass of water and a partially awake roll in the sack with my darling cured me enough to drag myself into the shower and out of the house and into work reasonably within my scheduled arrival time. And can I tell you? For someone who is rapidly approaching yet another round of PMS, I am in a fabulously good mood. And to make the day even better, Robert is going to come and have lunch with me by my work, Kathleen and Charles are coming over for dinner (if they've sufficiently recovered) and the fucking PHARCYDE is playing at the Hook tonight. I must see them.
See ya later mastabatas.
Go TEAM! So today was the big day. SAT day. It's one of those things that feels so weird once it's over. As most already know, I've never studied really hard for anything in my entire life.
I feel like I come at life from an odd angle. It seems like nothing has taken place in what I imagine to be "the normal sequence of events." I have just done things as they happen, without a lot of thought to what should come first. Most people seem to go to college when they get out of highschool and then, after college, they seek a career. I was the opposite. I was seeking a way to make money early on in life. Of course it's never money that we all want as much as the freedom to do what we desire, facilitated by money. Getting my first job at 15 years old was pretty exciting, even if it was in a bed & breakfast in Ashland, Oregon, cleaning guest rooms and doing dishes for people that I didn't like. I've had many jobs since that first job. I worked for my dad in his law firm; for a snowboard apparel company called Soopkich'n; for a mail order music store called "Musician's Friend"; for a clothing store called "Red's Threads"; and for a nice man named Peter Carini in his small criminal defense/family law office. I even worked briefly making cold calls for "All Natural X-Terminators." That was really the lowest I ever went as far as employment goes. Nothing worse than calling people up and asking if you can come over and look under their house for rodents and termites. Working for the law firms of course, really helped. The skills that I learned gave me the confidence to move to New York without ever having been here before, and to succeed in ever better jobs once I got here.
I was even able to go to New Orleans for a couple months to hang out with Darcie and supported myself by working temp jobs in law firms there. Those administrative skills turned out to be invaluable. I would never take any of it back. But, time flies, and before I could say "school" I was 26 years old, living 3,000 miles from my roots and heavily reliant on a 9 to 5 job.
Taking this SAT today was a landmark in my adulthood. I decided to do it, I studied for it for weeks, and I showed up in the gym of Brooklyn's Poly Prep School at 7:45 this morning to take the sonofabitch with at least a hundred high school kids. I think I did okay. Of course, I will not know until I get my scores how I really did. The math sucked. The reading was not horrible, but not exactly fun either. It feels exceedingly strange to sit here now, knowing that I no longer have to study for that test. I am free of it. And in a sense, I conquered my fear of it with a force I didn't know I had.
The best thing about taking this test was getting a taste of what it feels like to be challenged and determined to break through an obstacle. It had more to do with the challenge itself than the final score.
Darcie wrote this post yesterday about never having known what she wants to be when she grows up. She says she's never had such a passion for anything that she felt inspired to persue it as a career. When I read that I thought, first of all, that Darcie is talented in so many areas that I believe amount to untapped passions - things that she is really capable of using to her advantage. It also made me think about my own passions. I have a need to write. I want to incorporate that into my career, but it's such a general interest that it's hard to know just what to do with it. I hope going to school will help me figure that out. What's the passion within the passion? Maybe I'll want to write screenplays. I love the idea of making movies. I love images and words combined and movies make it possible to bring those things together, add music, and share a vision. I think that's amazing. I would give anything to be able to accurately represent the thoughts and images that flow through my mind. I also love law. I really do. Though much as it has been a blessing to me, I have always felt that law firms have been a bit of a prison rather than a passion. I want to be with the world. But with The Firm? Not so much. It's good, but it's not the world. It's funky though, there is part of me that feels a pull towards the study of law that almost seems like it isn't worth fighting. Sometimes I indulge myself in thinking I will go to law school, and be the Carreon to carry on the family name. I think, "I should do as my grandfather did, and as my father and his brother both did. I should stand with them. Be a lawyer." It's this whole familial pride, innate calling, kind of thing. But if I am to be completely honest, I am afraid to be a lawyer. What if I find that it isn't what I want to do? (I already know I wouldn't want to be an associate in my firm or any others that I've worked at)! What if I get halfway through lawschool and decide I want to give up because it's too much hard work and I hate hard work? What if I feel that I've wasted my time and delayed the fulfillment of my real "destiny?" What if I failed the bar exam? It's silly isn't it? And then there's the part of me that just downright thinks it's the wrong thing for me and that it's going to take something else to make me happy. Like freelance writing. I love the word "freelance," don't you? It sounds so good. So.....free.
I'm pretty sure that I didn't feel this way a year ago, but I'm convinced at this moment, that in order to really discover that thing that Darcie is talking about; that certainty about what a person wants to do and to realize undiscovered passions, you have to tap into something that stimulates those things to emerge and gives you confidence to exploit your own talents. That is what I hope to get out of all of this. Anyway, I have overcome the first hurtle towards my goal of getting into school. Now I wait, and think about what's next.
It's here! Cinco De Mayonesa!
Tonight, we celebrate.
I got up early this morning to go to my chiropractor. Just as I was getting ready to turn off NY1 and head out the door, I heard this, "a small grenade exploded outside of the British Consulate in Midtown early this morning, causing a few blocks to be closed off."
Those closed blocks included the one housing the subway stop that I get off at to go to the chiro. I immediately picked up the phone and switched my appointment to the afternoon.
I felt terrible postponing my appointment, only because I've had the craziest difficulties getting to my chiropractor in the last couple months, so much that I actually stopped making appointments at all for a few weeks because I literally had a nervous breakdown about the obstacles that I seemed to face every single time I got up early to visit Dr. C. No joke, every time I tried to go there were train delays that made me either incredibly late or prevented me from getting there altogether. The last time this happened I called Dr. C from a payphone at the Pacific St. stop in Brooklyn and broke down in tears. I'd already been apprehensive when I'd set out that morning, fearing any kind of delay because of what had been happening lately. Lo and behold, as soon as I got to my first transfer, there were signs of delays. It took me 45 minutes to get as far as I would normally get in 15 minutes. I called Dr. C. and told her I was so sorry to call at the last minute again with some lame sounding excuse about the trains, but I was really serious when I said (and still believe) that something in this universe doesn't want me to make it to my appointments. I know it sounds so phony, but trust me, though I may be a little late sometimes, never as chronically and severely as what was happening every time I tried to make my chiropractic appointments. That morning in the train station I had a total meltdown. Dealing with late trains and stress over being late is something that I am not very good at dealing with. I get severe anxiety when I'm being seriously delayed and when it happens repeatedly over a short period of time, the stress chips away at me until I have a meltdown. Dr. C assured me it was all going to be okay and that she didn't hate me and she wouldn't refuse to see me as a result of my recent troubles.
After that I stopped trying for awhile. The anxiety of getting up early and facing the NYC subway system was not worth it. But yesterday I finally called and made another appointment, as my back and neck have been excruciating lately. So I got up on time this morning, had coffee, jumped in the shower, turned on the news, and felt a pang of anxiety as I saw the report about the grenade that went off at the British Consulate. I knew the trains would be delayed and I would probably have to get off at a different stop and walk several blocks to get to the appointment. I dreaded the prospect of delays. I dreaded the knot that was winding up in the pit of my stomach already. So I called and changed my appointment. This way I can just walk there during my lunch break and I know I'll be on time.
I can't wait to give Dr. C a big hug and thank her for being so patient with me. I miss her, I miss my treatments and I miss my peace of mind!
Tonight I'd like to get together with friends and pop open a bottle of Tequila. Not a big bottle. Kathleen, Charles, Kimberly and I went to El Cantinero yesterday to have a early Cinco De Mayo dinner with a pitcher of sangria. It was a really good time, so we don't have to go overboard tonight. Maybe I'll whip up some tacos. I hope my friends feel like celebrating!
Viva La Mexicana!
So the nine day weekend is over. It was spectacular while it lasted, but it also felt nice to see my co-workers again and get back to work. Did I just say that? yikes. Work did turn out to be a bit strenuous at the end of the day. I was happy to see that my bosses obviously missed me and had saved up lots of work for me to do upon my return. I was so busy that I never made it upstairs to collect the awesome* logo emblazoned beach chair that is the gift from our firm which we "Administrative Professionals" received for "Administrative Professionals WEEK." (Yes, we get a whole week. Take that, Christmas!) Every year the firm gift is a bit of a joke around the office. Gifts given by almost any law firm on Administrative Professionals Week are almost guaranteed to be something that can be bought at a low price in high bulk. Like the gifts that are given at our other firm events, these are almost always stamped proudly with the company logo.
Last year the company logo was absent, but so was any glimmer of extravagance. We all received a pen holder that doubled as an alarm clock which cannot seem to correctly tell time, as well as a thermostat that cannot seem to correctly perceive the temperature. Oh yes, and if you turn it around, there is a place in which to slide a photo of a precious loved one. (I left the strangers in). The year before that we received a thermal picnic bag, but not one of the fancy ones with all the plates and utensils and cups and lots of room for food and wine, but one of the lower scale ones with room for a bottle of wine and a couple sandwiches if you don't mind them being smushed to smithereens when it comes time to eat them. I wasn't at this firm the year before that, but I've heard tales of administrative professionals week gifts past.
Listen to me going on like a thankless brat. All law firms are cheap. No matter how big and fancy they project themselves to be for the benefit of their clients, they are all inherently cheap. It's almost like, a law. Hahaa. But I'm not altogether thankless. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm very thankful to have a good job. And one thing I can say for my firm is that they always do their best to throw really good parties. Amazingly, they often succeed. Maybe because the employees themselves are so eager to have fun ;o) Sometimes the parties fall short of being all that we wish they would be (that would not include last year's Christmas party, which was actually awesome), but an effort is always made to create an environment where we can let it hang a little loose. Not all law firms are like that. A lot of them are quite stuffy and prudish when it comes to throwing parties.
I missed all of the *festivities* of Administrative Professionals Week because I took the whole week off. What could have been better? But apparently the things I missed included a big staff breakfast, distribution of the proud beach chairs and, on Friday, ice cream. (Don't worry about me though. I ate plenty of ice cream while I was home. Pistachio with cherries. Bellisima.) So the firm picnic is coming up soon. Could be excruciating, could be a great time. Only time itself will tell. But don't try to tell it by my pen holder clock, because that would surely be amiss.
The big story in the office today was the rats in Grand Central. Many of us eat often in the food concourse below Grand Central, so the revelation that rats are crawling out of the subway tracks and all over every-fucking-thing, was truly disturbing. Luckily, I have never eaten at the Chinese restaurant featured in this story, but I have certainly thought about it. I've passed by and looked and contemplated the lo mein and orange chicken, but always moved on to something else instead. Something else which was probably also tainted by the presence of rats. I no longer want to eat anywhere in this city. I know I've said that before, but I'm saying it again. There is too much filth in this city to feel comfortable eating anything that you didn't prepare from scratch in your own kitchen. Unfortunately, there are times when we have no choice or when taking your own lunch gets boring, but rats are a major deterrent. I will not be eating in that concourse again. That much is for sure.
* a hint of sarcasm.