Glaedelig Jul!

og Godt Nyt Aar!

And Done.

I finally finished my exams...holy crap, what a nightmare. Actually, that's not exactly true. Only the last one was a true nightmare; most of them were quite fair and managable. But Crim Law was a beast. For some reason, it felt like 90% of the test was on material that we never covered. Luckily, the general consensus afterwards was the same as my observation so at least I wasn't reading the wrong test. I guess that whole 'B- Curve' thing might turn out to be a good thing, eh?

I'm 1/6th done with Law School! Woohoo. Bring on the break...

I don't know what this means

"September the 11th, 2001 required us to take every emerging threat to our country seriously, and it shattered the illusion that terrorists attack us only after we provoke them." - GWB's Oval Office Address, Dec. 19th, 2005 (emphasis added).

When did we ever have such an 'illusion'? And is it an illusion, as such? I watched the entire speech and was mostly dumbfounded. I've long since given up hearing anything even remotely specific or truthful from any politician during a public speech but this one seemed more vague and deceitful than normal. His 3-point plan for exit from Iraq is so open-ended and broad that you could insert it as a post-invasion 'strategy' for ANY invasion where we weren't simply trying to expand our actual territorial holdings. This was supposed to be a great revelation...to put us at ease? I think not...

Additionally, no attempt to explain any of the Administrations acts was made. Instead of addressing the issues and concerns raised by the recent din of challengers to their policies at home and abroad, W simply acknowledges that the challengers are out there and asks them to 'have faith' in him. And this is an improvement! Three years ago, his press secretary was warning journalists to 'watch what they say'. Unreal...

Over The Hump + Battery Woes

So, I took my third midterm exam today. Civ Pro. Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. I know, it sounds really boring but it's actually become quite an interesting class. Of course, I've a history of reading difficult books because I think they're good for me (like fiber) so I'm probably not a good weather vane. Anyway, I've only got two left and then it's vacation time. Err, resume time, rather. Seems I've got about a bajillion resumes to send out over the break if I intend on finding a job this summer. So I've got that going for me.

What I really wanted to gripe about what something that occurred today while I was mid-exam: the battery on my laptop committed a face-saving suicide. Apparently, it had shamed its family. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: 'Man, if I was taking a really big test, I'd have my laptop plugged in'. We're on the same page, brutha. I WAS plugged in. My first thought when the machine went to sleep and the little battery light started flashing was that the outlet was dead (not a surprise in our building). I raised my hand and the proctor moved me to a new table with a fresh outlet. Still no dice. Machine said no.

Luckily, I've had a little experience with what laymen call 'technology' so I knew that the next step (step 2 of 10) in my journey to killing Michael Dell was to remove the battery and kick the tires on the laptop with only the power cable attached. Viola! Machine said yes!

So, here's the weird bit. This laptop is about a year and half old. Just yesterday I ran this mean machine on battery only for over three hours before it told me to plug it in. That, my friends, is good battery life out of a laptop. So why, I ask you, did the battery not only kill itself in the prime of its life but WHY did my laptop shut itself down with a dead battery WHEN IT WAS PLUGGED IN?

I posed this question to the Dell technician this afternoon. Her answer: "Sometimes batteries die in this fashion and I've seen this happen before". So helpful. To her credit, she did try to 'make banter' with me during the whole 20 minute transaction. 'Banter' is described in appendix B of the Dell customer service handbook. Oh, and since Dell only warranties the batteries for a year, so, yeah, you'll be buying a new one. Woohoo! By the way, Dell wants $150 for a new one. Shaun said no.

I googled the model number and found a distributor online that sells them for $100 with an 18 month warranty and ships for free (I could have gone as low as $59 but the warranty wasn't as good and the shipping was murder). I'm sure it'll all work out but the whole ordeal left a bad taste in my mouth. Dell's customer support is turbo 'process oriented' and if a part will fix it, they'll over-night it to you. This makes me happy. The problem, like all customer service lines I've experienced, is that they are so damnably 'process oriented'. To the extent that they're instructing their employees on 'modes of banter' and no one who answers the phone actually knows anything about computers. This is not good.

Ok Enough griping. My battery is on its way and I've only got two exams left. Hurray for breaks!

One Down, Four to Go

Well, the Contracts midterm is behind me and, truth be told, I feel pretty ok about it. It was a fair exam and we were provided with a myriad of practice tests that prepared us. I'm pretty sure I hit a majority of the issues and explained them with sufficient detail. I feel pretty good about it, really. Of course, I felt good coming out of the LSAT last year too and look how that turned out. Well, best push such thoughts aside and plow on. The next exam (Torts) is this Saturday, after all.

We were told that 'The Fear' associated with law school exams would diminish significantly after the first one and I can now confirm that that is the case. I think it's partly the fact that the exams are no longer an unknown quantity and partly the fact that, provided you felt like you did ok, you actually trust yourself to retain all the pertinent information that they've drilled into you. A few days of prep work prior to the exam and, indeed, the Atari game cartridge that is Contracts is comfortably seated in the console that is your pre-frontal lobe.

Anyway, it's good to know that I can do it. There were a few harsh moments where I thought I might not actually be up to it. Contemplating failure along with a $35k tab at the end of the year isn't exactly heart-warming. I'm feeling much better now. I just hope it's not a false sense of semi-security.

All Finals' Eve

Well, we're down to it. Tomorrow is the first final of my legal education. Technically, it's a midterm but I hate splitting hairs. Incidentally, that characteristic may make me a bad lawyer some day. We'll see.

Anyway, I've been alternating between fear of failure and a general sense of comfortability with tomorrow's subject matter: Contracts. It's probably our most 'knowledge intensive' class. Outside of Criminal Law (which I'm sure you'll hear me flame about in a week or so), it's the only class I have where it's just not physically possible to know 100% of what you need to know. That said, tomorrow's exam is a crap shoot. I might go in there an know exactly how to analyze the fact pattern...or not. The problem is this: Even though every professor will tell you that your analysis is what matters, if you miss one issue and come to the wrong conclusion, you're screwed. Sure sure, they all give lip service to the quality of your analysis but professors are human and they want you to come to the same conclusion they would. This isn't Good Will Hunting, after all...and even if it was, none of us are savants; least of all me.

Anyway, there's some stress. If you read all those 'succeed at law school' books, you'd think that every test and every moment is both a determining factor and a milestone in your life. Lovely, but I fail to see how any other moment doesn't also meet that test. In general, law students are an anxious lot, even at my fourth-tier school...and we generally purchase such b.s. wholesale. Hence, knowing myself, I've done my best to avoid most of my compatriots in the last few days for fear of getting the anxiety sickness that I know someone's carrying. I just ask questions when I have them...and answer them when they're asked. But I don't get involved...and the folks that confer with me don't either. It's for the best really...or perhaps it's what they're really teaching. It's hard to say at this point.

Regardless, I served myself a last meal tonight just for laughs. Well, sort of. I splurged and bought all the fixin's for a wicked salad (feta, out o' season tomatoes, etc) and a very respectable chocolate ice cream. Oh, and I finally got the bulb for my selzter bottle so I've been drinking fresh-made soda most of the day. The last glass had a splash o' scotch in it for good luck. Scotch brings good luck, in case you were wondering. Mostly, it'll just be luck with the nodding off...but it's a start.

Good night, all...S.

Insomnia: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

At least with this round of sleeplessness, I got something done: I finally replied to the backlog of emails that have piled up in the last few months. Again, for any of you that 1) I just got around to replying to and 2) actually read my blog, I'm sorry. I used to be good about replying. Then law school started and my response time has gone to crap.

Anyway, there isn't really anything to report. I hope that you all had a lovely turkey day. We hosted a small soiree. Good company, tasty holiday food and plenty of wine. One of our guest brought some excellent mulled wine, even. It was a good time. Oh, and I brined a turkey for the first time and I highly recommend it to anyone with a bucket big enough and some time to spare. Best turkey I've ever made.

Ok, perhaps I can get some sleep now that I've emailed everyone and alleviated my conscience...just a bit.

I Miss My Dad

For those of you that don't know, my father died in February. It was the first family death of my adult life and the first 'viewing' I'd ever attended. He died rather suddenly, mostly thanks to half a century worth of smoky treats. I have never really talked much with folks outside of my immediate family about it. It was ugly business, probably of the ugliest sort, and I generally keep it close and quiet. All the same, I just wanted to put it out there tonight that I miss him. I seem to go a few weeks without thinking about it, then have a bad night.

What's most frustrating is the most banal absences. For example, I walked home and noticed the brick work on a particular house and got to thinking about the summer I worked with him in Torrance when we built a three-foot retaining wall when I was 15. Even though he was suffering from emphysema even then, he could work circles around me. Everything was manual and I couldn't mix the mortar fast enough for him. If I had been able to keep up, I might have had enough extra time to learn more about laying brick. Though I may never have a need to lay bricks in my life, I'd have given damn near anything to call him tonight and ask about that summer. About laying brick, setting a level line and all that jazz. Retarded, eh? Retarded but true.

Brooke's dad says that the first year after a parent's death is the worst and I can only hope that's the case. Because this really sucks.

Who Would Have Thought?

I write about all sorts of silliness and the crickets chirp nonstop. I scribble a little rant about crappy North End pastry shops and the flood gates of commentary open wide. Never underestimate the power of sweets, I guess.

In non-pastry related news, I might be in a bit of trouble with the Dean of Students at my school. I've been trying to get a feel, as the SBA section rep, for what issues are pressing in the minds of my constituents. I sent out a short survey asking what people are concerned about and listing two issues that have been bothering me about our school: 1) security (several folks have had laptops and books stolen out of their lockers in the last few months) and 2) the cafeteria (specifically the food, service and food service). My email surveys go out to everyone in my section, along with the Dean and a few other administrative folks. Today, the Dean emailed me asking me to set up an appointment to see her regarding the 'issues raised' in my email. Call me old-fashioned but being called into the Dean's office is never a good thing, right? I'll be confirming or denying that one tomorrow at 3:30.

Admittedly, I was probably a bit to glib with my descriptions of the issues. I believe I made reference to our security staff 'text messaging and chewing pens' as any and all breezed by the entrance. Oh, and I might have made a few remarks regarding the cafeteria staff 'phoning it in with a smile' during the lunch rush...and the food being somewhere between prison and high school in quality. In my defense, my comments were neither funny nor completely untrue. And I'm nearly positive that there are things that we as students can do to affect change on both fronts. Hopefully, the Dean will see my good intentions and spare my head...

I'm pretty sure that I'm going to get a bit of a repremand, though. I'll probably be told that the security issue is 'being handled' and that the food service is provided via contract through the University, not the Law School, and any changes we'd like to see can only be initiated via the 'Comment Cards' that SoDexHo makes available to all patrons. In truth, there are a lot worse reasons to be called into the Dean's office and, if I am in trouble, at least it's for raising issues that are relevant, valid and worthwhile. It's not like I'm advocating eating babies or anything.

Never Again

Man, I'll tell you one thing that I've discovered with this recent deluge of visitors: The two famous pastry shops (Mike's and Modern) in the North End S-U-C-K. I've had both of their eclairs and, truth be told, I could build a pretty nice house out of them if I'd had a little mortar. Brick-like pastry with whipped cream cheese centers. Eclairs are meant to be light, fluffy and rich as hell. These just had the latter down pat. And tonight I had a tirimisu from Mike's...holy shit, it was 90% coffee. The bread (they weren't lady fingers but some crappy sheet cake) was soaked like a dish-sponge with crap coffee (or the wateriest espresso ever brewed) and the marscapone was whipped up like Cool-Whip and flavorless. Have we completely lost our sense of taste in this country? I'm not even a food-snob and it was awful. If you're ever in Boston, do yourself a favor and stick with the seafood. Or come to our place for some closer-to-the-mark desserts. Mine aren't the best in the world but at least they're not cut with axle grease.

S.

Who Still Writes Checks??

I'm a little frustrated this morning by the Health Services Dept. here at my school. Per Massachusetts legislation, all university students are required to be immunized for Hep B. I was aware of this before we started school but pretty much blew it off until last week when I received an email stating that my registration was 'on hold' until I started the series of shots. (Everyone else in my class that I've spoken with about it got the same email so I'm happy to know that I'm not the only one that made this the lowest of priorities.)

I finally made some time to go in to Health Services to get the first shot this morning and I'll be damned if they only accept cash or checks. Checks?? What are these "checks" you speak of? Hell, I'm part of the last generation that will know what the f*ck you're talking about if you refer to a 'bank teller' or a 'pass book'. I don't write checks any more. Why the hell would I? We have online bill paying. We roll with debit cards and credit cards. Within a decade, we'll all have RFID implants in our wrists that contain our account information so I won't even need a wallet soon. (And for those of you that fear that such technology is the harbinger of the End Times, I submit to you that there have been wacky End Times nuts since BEFORE J.C. and they've all been wrong as hell...what makes you think you're any less wacky than they were?). Checks are obsolete...they might as well ask me for a letter of credit from my feudal lord, sealed in wax imprinted with his ducal signate. Argh.

Ok, I'll stop ranting. Aside from that, school and life is good. Finals are a month away and the reading load has pretty much doubled in the last few weeks. So much for weekends off. Brooke is doing well, as best I can tell from our 1 hour of quality time a night. Oh, and I'm a real bastard for not getting my thank you notes out sooner for my birthday presents. I'm working on it...soon.

S.

Why My Wife Rules

She gave me the best birthday ever! She arranged for all my siblings to fly in and surprise me. Apparently, she'd been in collusion with them since June planning their little jaunt to Beantown to celebrate my getting a walker and dentures. She was even nice enough to give me a little advanced notice so I could get a bit ahead with the school work and have more time to hang out with them. How awesome is THAT?! She also emailed everyone on our wedding guestlist to remind them of my big day so I got a boat-load of well-wishes via email (thanks, ya'll).

In addition to getting to hang out with my not-often-seen family, the also brought me presents. Mostly, the presents came in the form of scotch but I got some clothes and a picture album from my mom with goofy old photos of me when I was a kid (apparently, getting to gang up on me wasn't enough for them...they needed photographic fodder to tease me about all weekend as well). All in all, aside from mysterious stomach cramps the night of my birthday and our power being out all day yesterday, it was the best birthday a fellow of my advanced age could hope for. Bring on the shuffleboard and cottage cheese, I'm ready for retirement!

S.

The Insomniac Update

I thought I'd take this time during a mild bout of insomnia to give you all an update from Cambridge. The most you've heard from me lately has been birthday wishes to my brothers, after all.

Things here are progressing well. As far as school goes, they've been ramping up the workload steadily. We all turned in our first legal memos last Friday only to be assigned another, longer one that's due in about three weeks. And just to make sure we don't slack too much, our 'research trail' is due this Friday...this meant that most of us spent our Columbus Day holiday parked in the library searching statutes, digests and case reporters. This, in addition to what seems like a continuously accelerating reading schedule, has become my life. Well, that and note taking. Oh, and outlining. Sometimes, I actually get to sleep. But here I am, frittering away my scheduled sleep time typing this. Silly me.

Oh, I think I mentioned awhile back that I was considering running for Section Rep of my section. I won...but only because I ran unopposed. As SR, I'm meant to represent my section at the Student Bar Association at Suffolk. The SBA puts on a lot of functions and is the wellspring from which all funding for the various and sundry student clubs and organizations. I'm told I'll be assigned to a committee at some point and will probably be involved in planning one or more events for the students. My friend Heena ran for representative-at-large and, though the polls for the election closed last week, we're still not sure who's won yet. Hanging chads, no doubt. Anyway, she had the great idea of having more of our student events be related to community issues (hosting a party where the admission is a donation to a local food bank, for example). If she doesn't win, I'm going to totally steal her ideas. She's wicked smart.

On the non-school front, Brooke's doing well. She's somehow gotten involved with an environmental volunteer group which, for those of you that know here, is rather weird. This is the girl that loathes manual labor out-of-doors and who only came to my garden in Atlanta when there was food to be gathered. This last weekend, they volunteered cleaning trays at a local community farm. And it was cold and wet outside. I know, I don't know where the woman I married went to.

Even with school stuff, we've still been able to maintain our Sunday dinner tradition. Many more things have been coming out of the crockpot, though (the original 'set-it-and-forget-it' machine). This weekend was a little different in that I somehow convinced her to let me make a full Indian dinner. It's the first time in memory that she's gone back for thirds, as well. She's recently taken a liking to beets too. Again, this is not the woman I married...

Well, I suppose I could start on some Contracts reading for class today. Today's topic: 'Remedies Where Agreement is Incomplete or Indefinite'. Exciting, I know. Makes you wish you were me, doesn't it.

Best...S.

Happy Birthday, Little Brother

I just wanted to send a quick shout-out to my little brother who turns 26 today. That's right, bro...welcome to your late twenties. I know, I'm still older than you but luckily you drew the short straw on the hair front so people should continue to mistake me for the younger one for awhile. How is the T-Top, anyway? Are you sporting a come-over yet? Man, that's awesome.

I hope you have a great day, brutha.

S.

Happy Birthday, Dirt Bag

Today is my big brother Seth's birthday. I left him a voice mail wishing him a happy 50th because, well, when you get into your mid- to late-40s, it's pretty much all 50 right? Anyway, I'd like everyone to think happy old man birthday thoughts for the big fella. In doing so, you'll be helping me make up for the fact that I didn't get a card out to him until today.

A few words about Seth: He's 14 some odd years older than me and for as long as I can remember, has referred to me as 'Dirtbag'. I don't know why because, well, I have relatively good hygiene. Anyway, he holds the distinction of being my first childhood memory. I was laying on my back in my crib and he told me to quit picking my nose because it's "just dust". He's been providing me with sage advice ever since.

He lives in Texas with his wife, Kim and my neice and nephew (Ashley and David, respectively). I've been real crap about remembering their birthdays and I'm sure they regard me as the "crazy uncle who sends unfun books sporatically". Someday, hopefully, they'll let me make it up to them.

So, Seth's a good guy. I wish we'd talk more but I'm something of a chickenshit when it comes to calling him. I'm not exactly sure why but I get a bit nervous when it comes to phoning. I'm hoping that that will change in the near future.

Anyway, my best to my big brother on his birthday...I've said it before and I'll say it again: "The USPS says I need to disassemble the walker before I ship it so your present will be a bit late".

S.

Probably Staged but Funny Nonetheless

Just discovered this little gem. 'Useless shower of bastards.' Brilliant. Sure, it's probably not a real letter but forgive it that. Just enjoy the sheer limey rage that is the letter...

Oh, and I might be running for the position of 'section rep' in the student bar association at Suffolk. Vote for Pedro.

S.

More Stuff Three of You Will Read

The dreams, they don't quit. I can honestly say that I haven't had a solid night of sound sleep since the first week of classes. Perhaps that's what's meant when they say that your first year at law school is hell. Every night, I go to sleep and into completely normal and innocuous dreams creeps The Law. Either I start applying it or the reasoning is applied to the dreams structure. Imagine having a dream where you're angry at someone for a slight. A normal person, dreaming, would do something imaginative like kill them (psychopath), pout (passive-aggressive) or go to the greatest Phish concert imaginable (hippy). The (lawyer), however, would start applying the rules of intentional tort and start building a case. Alas, I've been a (lawyer) in my dreams for weeks now....

I remember when I got my first job, which I held for all of a month, at McDonald's. Being gangly and zitty, I got saddled with the fryer and the clam-shell grill rather than the 'window'. It was my first experience with an assembly line and when it got busy, it sucked. After my first day working a rush, I recall having a repetitive dream about working the grill line but just not being able to keep up. I only had the dream once in that situation but I can say for certain that nearly every job I've had since then, I've always had a dream about the job and not being able to keep up after my first full day. Maybe I'm processing my anxieties? Or perhaps I'm burning a circuit into my brain in my sleep to assist me in my basic functions at work. Building a BIOS, as it were. I rather like that notion, actually.

Again, these dreams have always followed the first full, stressful day of work...they've happened once and then gone away. Now, however, I seem to be regularly burning circuits and I think that I know why. I'm not creating peripherals here, I'm soldering a new motherboard. For better or worse, I'm training my brain to process information in a (lawyer) fashion. Such retooling apparently requires a month plus of the aforementioned dreams. I hope that the plus is shorter rather than longer because I could really use some non-repetitive dreaming...

More Stuff You Won't Read

Deb's clever little ruse worked, it seems. Not only do you get the joy of a missive-free inbox, ya'll get the guilt-free pleasure of completely ignoring me. If you're not doing either (and you're not my mother), how about hitting me back with a little feedback. Otherwise, this feels like I'm keeping an online diary which is about as cool as acid washed jean shorts. That's why I liked emailing you all...even if it was angry, I still felt like there was a dialog. Now it's like I'm monologing and we all know that is only cool if you're a supervillian.

Speaking of, the new DangerDoom album will be out on October 11th and I've been told not to buy it by Brooke. She would neither confirm nor deny that she got it for me for my birthday. For those of you without such restrictions (and know who Viktor Vaughn and/or Dangermouse are...Mom, this excludes you), I highly recommend picking it up. I got Dangermouse's Grey Album on vinyl last month...one of only 3000 pressed. I think, in fact, that means that I rule. If you haven't heard, google it. Well worth the bandwidth.

How's law school, you ask? It's good. It's nowhere near as scary as they make it sound. They alternate between telling use we should treat it like a job and that we should be spending 50-60 hours a week on our studies. I don't know about you but I'm not down with overtime unless it pays and I have yet to put more than 40 hours in in a week. I go to school at 8 and I leave between 3:30 and 5 depending on the amount of reading required for the following day. The concepts aren't too terribly difficult to fathom, really and the reading, though dense at times, is pretty straightforward. Well, it's straightforward in the sense that after awhile, you start seeing patterns and you become adept at understanding the significance of aspects of those patterns...at least in regard to how they add to or modify previous patterns. Anyway, it's not bad...

Ok, it's time to spend some Q-T with Brooke. We're watching 'The Celebration' tonight. If you haven't seen it, I suggest you rent and/or buy it.

I hope all is well on your end...S.

ps- one more music note: The Bad Plus are playing near our place on October 1st. Anyone interested in catching the show with me? I promise it'll be the best jazz show you'll see this year, if not in your life...

The Consensus

So, most of this last week consisted of all the 1L's I know talking incessantly over lunch about the debacle in New Orleans. Keep in mind, none of us have been glued to the TV. It's just that CNN is the only channel broadcast on the two tvs in our cafeteria and, in an effort to avoid talking about law school, we're inclined to pick up whatever topic the boob tube has to offer. Christ, what a mess. The best metaphor that I can think of for the situation is what has happened, contemporaneously, to a pledge drive started by the proprietor of somethingawful.com (start at the bottom here: http://www.somethingawful.com/). The gist is this: Paypal, like our government, is the vehicle of our collective will. Nosh on it for a bit and tell me what you think.

My own feelings were reinforced this morning as I watched some snotty on-the-ground reporter's attempt at 'hard-nosed' journalism. Her name is Campbell something and she proceed to tear into the Mayor of New Orleans over how he handled the crisis, more or less implying that it was all his fault. Nothing like a hack pseudo-journalist raking a small-time politician over the coals for stuff that was well outside of his jurisdiction and, more importantly, his capabilities. After the commercial break, she did a heartrending spot on puppies adrift in the hellscape, left by fleeing (or dead) owners to fend for themselves. In fact, their little action news tribe had adopted and begun feeding no fewer than ten puppies. Who could worry about the dead and dying people when there are puppies to feed!?! Whatever gets you the ratings, kid...

As for who's to blame, I say the lot of them. I blame the Mayor and all the other corrupt politicians in Louisiana for their willful disregard of the pre-hurricane facts. They all knew, beyond a shadow of a friggin' doubt, that their levies and pumps were inadequate to deal with even a Category 3 hurricane, let alone a 5. And they've known this for at least a decade. This knowledge notwithstanding, I'd say that the mayor did a fairly good job handling the situation. He did what he could in the short term with the means he had. It's a given that he relied too heavily on state and federal resources that totally let him and, more importantly, the people if NO down but considering the scope of the event, it's understandable.

Ex post facto, the Department of Homeland Security is at fault for gutting and 'realigning' what used to be one of the most effective bureaucracies in the US: FEMA. Of course, by placing the blame on the DoHS, I'm really blaming the administration (I know, you're all shocked). The fact that the guy they've got running FEMA right now has absolutely NO experience with emergency management is somewhat telling. He's a monkey that got appointed as a favor because he was a Bush loyalist. Trust me, he was kicking it at his beach house, drinking Mai Tai's and collecting a paycheck before this happened. It's sick. Oh, and before I get off my soapbox, lemme just say that seeing Dubya handing out Happy Meals to those suffering in the wake of this tragedy doesn't give me the warm and fuzzies, either. A truly concerned and involved President wouldn't waste is time at a media-friendly photo-op, he'd be on the goddamn horn firing people and promoting their in-the-field, in-the-know underlings.

S.

The First Week: The Billionth 1L's Two Cents

Why, after millions of smarter, more charming and certainly more eloquent lawyers-in-training have already written all there is to be written about the first week experience, do I feel compelled to share my own thoughts on the subject? The short answer is I really don't. I'd rather tell you about my new cactus.

Actually, it's not really new. We went plant shopping couple weeks ago and I got it then. I'm not sure what type of cactus it is but I call mine 'The Yodic Trinity'. Yodic because it's nearly the bluish green that Yoda is, plus it's got fuzzy whisps of white 'hair' surrounding it's spikes. Trinity because there are three of these 'fingers' clustered closely together in the pot. It sits in the window right in front of my desk and I've found myself staring at it occasionally when I'm in the midst of reading law. If I can locate our digital camera, I'll post a photo of it. Perhaps one of you could tell me what type of cactus it is...and provide proper care-and-feeding instructions to boot?

Ok, just a snipet on the week, but not so much about law school as much as the people I'm there with: I've been really impressed with most everyone I've met in my section. The ease with which they can all go from talking about last nights dinner to deep discussions of politics, religion and the like is really amazing. Certainly, I expected that each person would come to the table with specific motivations and various experiences. What I didn't expect (and I think I should have) was that everyone would be so passionate about and well-versed in subjects that, well, the nightly news would have you believe are the sole domain of talking heads and 'experts'. And though there is a vast array of opinions and backgrounds, the common bond seems to be that underlying passion. Though the week's been a bit daunting and my head hurts somewhat from all that's been thrown at it, I have to say that being surrounded by such folks has been invigorating.

I hope all is well on your respective ends...S.

Second Official Day

Well, Day One is now under my belt. How's it feel? Bulky with reading and massive 'additional reading' packets. Two of the three classes yesterday hold promise on the 'maintaining Shaun's interest' front. The third, which shall remain nameless, will be challenging on many fronts. The professor is old school, hard to hear and spouts of statute and code numbers as though we should be writing them down. Not exactly invigorating or ease-making. It'll be hard for all of us, though particularly so for that obnoxious guy that's in my section. He's already given this professor a bad impression and of all the professor's we've encountered thus far, this is the one whose shit-list you don't want to be on. I'm not advocating eating your young here but I think we're all hoping that his mouth runs defense for the rest of us.

Though I've only got between 2 and 3 hours of class a day, I'm kicking the tires on this 8-5 routine at school. I come in with Brooke in the morning and meet her as she's heading home. I think it'll work out nicely, helping to get most of my reading done here at school. The goal is to have at least one weekend day off a week. I'm hoping it works...

Off to class...

First Official Day

It is zero hour here @ Suffolk. I'm trudging about the halls, weighed down by too many books just like so many other first years. We all have that look in our eyes like we're on a dark highway somewhere and a bright light is coming at us, mesmerizing us. I got to school early today in hopes of...hell, I don't know. I guess I figured it would be like my first day at a new job so I'd better make a good impression by showing up two hours early. Seems that everyone that's not right out of college had the same idea. None of us have class for at least an hour but we're all mulling about, chatting nervously in groups, struggling to remember names and hoping that just reading the assignment for class will be enough to keep us from looking like fools the first day.

Though I chose Suffolk in part because it doesn't have a reputation as a super competitive school (ie- students don't generally hide or steal books in/from the library, etc), I can already sense that these kids are itching to compete. I've overheard subtle boasts about the easy of the reading. Folks pretend not to worry or ask loaded questions to unnerve their fellow students. I just keep reminding myself not to listen to anyone, even the ones I'm friendly with. Jaded skepticism is, I think, is a necessary trait to have it one is to remain sane in law school.

Five highlighters and a Dictaphone

Though it's supposed to just be orientation this week, the work is already being piled on. Today, during our first full day of orientation, we were walked through the basics of writing a 'brief', then assigned a case to brief for orientation classes tomorrow. Feeling like an idiot, I'm told, is all part of the law school experience.

A brief is, as I discovered today, a way of taking all the details of a case and boiling them down into a short list of important details. The segments they have us break them down into are Case Name, Procedural History, Facts, Issues, Holding, Rule, Reasoning, and Disposition. Yes, it looks like English but it is most definitely not. And though we were walked through the process of writing a brief today, writing one solo today took me the better part of two hours. Doesn't sound like much time but considering we're going to need to brief 2-4 cases per class and there are 6 classes, you can see that it's probably going to start cutting into my drinking time. That is, unless, I learn how to speed up the process. We were told that we'll feel like retorts lost in an amusement park for the first few weeks, though, so I guess it's all part of the plan.

Aside from orientation stuff, I've been procuring a few good people to pal around with. For some reason, the three friendlies I've acquired thus far are all Boston natives. Pete's just out of the Navy (ROTC), Matt's been in San Fran for a few years but just returned to Beantown after a stint in HR and Marina is a native that's worked for the last few years in local bureaucracy. All of them have the Thirst, save Marina but she doesn't complain when the booze fairy delivers unexpectedly. They'll be good folks to share a pitcher with at the end of the week.

S.

Police Action @ Park St. Station

Last night, Brooke and I were walking from a bar on Boylston St. to the Park St. T stop. As we approached the entrance, we waded through a fairly thick crowd of folks that were being directed by police away from the entrance and across the street. They'd already put up that yellow barrier tape around the entrance and police vehicles were parked, lights a flashin', all over the place. No one seemed to know what was going on.

We decided to walk to the Downtown Crossing station to catch the Red line, thinking that maybe it was just something wrong at the entrance to Park. We got there, walked in and immediately out because of the massive horde that had already assembled waiting for the next Red Line train heading north. On our way out, we asked the station attendent what was going on and he said that the Red and Green lines were both 'temporarily shutdown' due to a 'police action'. Whatever the hell that means.

We decided to walk past Park St towards Cambridge thinking that we could either catch a cab or be lucky enough to find the trains running again by the time we got to the Charles MGH station. I called my little brother on the way and asked him to check online to see if there were any news flashes regarding this but no dice. By the time we got to MGH, the trains were running again so we hopped on for the two stops it would take to get home. Crisis averted and all is right again with the world.

Here's what's disturbing me, though: there has been absolutely NO news coverage of what transpired last night. Nothing on the Boston Herald or Tribune websites, nothing @ the NYTimes' site, nothing on the local NPR stations site, nothing on the local cable news this morning, nothing on the Transit Authority's website. I mean NOTHING is out there. This isn't Atlanta, where no one would notice that MARTA was shut down for half an hour. This is the Red Line @ Park St; one of the central downtown stations in a subway system whose police chief recently admitted isn't adequately prepared in the event of a terrorist attack. Last night's event is News and yet no one is reporting on it. Why?

S.

WTF?

I was just sitting here at my desk, minding my own business, when a military jet flew VERY LOW at supersonic speeds over our place in Cambridge. My instincts pointed me in the direction of Fark and a few other news sites to see what was shaking but there is nothing doing at this point. Man, I hope it was just a silly oversight on the part of the military. It is, in fact, our largest bureaucracy. I'll be glued to this screen for the next few hours, all the same.

The First Year Forty

When I was at WSU doing my undergrad, much was made of the dreaded 'Freshmen Fifteen'. It referred to the 15 lbs that all students seem to put on during their first year at college. It was probably the lack of substantial exercise compounded by regular binge drinking and pizza delivery that did it. Anyway, it was dreaded and the source of much catty whispering in the cafeteria. Good times.

Well, I'd like to coin a new term for something weight-related that occurs your first year of law school: 'The First Year Forty'. In this case, however, the 40 lbs is not fat but paper. I just bought my books today. Just the required ones. Stacked on the scale, they weigh 35.5 lbs. The 'recommended' and necessary-though-not-required guide books and study guides that I'll be picking up over the next week will easily put me over the mark. One woman I met in the computer lab today told me that she had to bring a friend to the bookstore because she knew she couldn't possibly carry them all at once.

My first thought after schlepping these bad boys home was "They couldn't possibly expect us to read all this". Then I glanced at a few of the syllabi that have been published online and realized, "holy shit, we have to read all this." A note to anyone considering a visit to us in Boston in the next nine months: bring me coffee and don't expect anything more from me than a howdy during a potty break. That is all.

Also, I know I've been slack in responding to emails lately. I fully intend on replying to everyone very soon. It maybe the last you hear from me...

S.

The Slack Before The Storm

What have I been doing all week, you might be wondering? After the deluge of posts over the last two weeks, why have I suddenly fallen silent? 'Is he dead,' you might think to yourself (with your fingers crossed).

The answer is mundane: I've been doing f@%$-all for a week. I'm done painting and I've nearly run out of broken things to pester the landlord about. I've been taking occasional walks around the 'hood, shopping for groceries and playing a really addictive MMORPG. The most productive thing I've done all we has been getting a haircut. All while my wife goes to work and brings home the bacon. Good times.

While this seems like a pretty good deal, I'm glad I've only got one more week before orientation and such starts for school. Any more than that and I'd start to feel a little guilt about being such a slacker. As those of you that are married already know, a little guilt goes a long way. In my case, I'm certain it'd lead to obsessive cleaning and five-course dinners every night. There is no way I can let Brooke get a taste of that. At least not until I'm a full-time stay-at-home over-achieving Dad, that is.

A few ramblings about this week:

Sunday night we had the LOUDEST thunder storm I've ever been privy to. They happen every other day in Atlanta, it seems, and I'm quite accustom to sleeping right the hell through them. Zeus was not to be ignored Sunday, however. The flashes and booms were so bright and deafening (respectively) that no one this side of Helen Keller could have slept through them. It was like the storm was directly outside our bedroom window but the spaces between the light and the fury were such that most of the strikes were happening a few miles away at least. Are there any meteorologically inclined readers that might be able to explain why the storm was so loud and bright compared to its Southern cousin?

Not to sound like I've got completely native but, if you're a tourist in downtown Boston please consult your map prior to heading out on the Freedom Trail. Perhaps while enjoying an iced coffee in a cafe or some such. Do NOT stop mid-sidewalk with your gaggle of family to check your compass every ten feet. Hey, I get lost sometimes too but if I need to break out my sextant and get my bearings, I step OUT of the flow of pedestrian traffic. It's only been a few weeks but I know that I'm close to adopting Patrick's plow-right-the-hell-through-them tactic.

Finally, there is this guy that is on Mass Ave in front of the Bank of America nearly every day of the week hawking 'Spare Change' or 'Real Change' (whatever they call it here...the newspaper that's published locally to be sold by the homeless and down-and-out. They have to register with the publishers and it's always been my understanding that they're supposed to be transitioning off the street and to a better life). Anyway, during my first two weeks here, his consistency and resolve at selling them was enough to make me want to buy one. I just never carry cash so I had to keep telling him no.

Then, just a few days ago I was walking down Mass Ave and he was sitting with a bunch of the other regulars drinking Bud out of paper bags. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for relaxing the drinking-out-of-doors laws but this scene left a bad taste in my mouth. My first notion was that he's not 'transitioning', he's maintaining and I'll be damned if I give him any money to help him in that endeavor. In recent days, though, I've soften a bit. It was just one moment, after all, and I have no idea what the circumstances were. Hell, it's not as though I'm a teetotaler who's never tippled the bottle in public before. Even if he's a street urchin that spends the rest of his life peddling those papers for enough money to buy beer, at least he's got a pretty solid work ethic and isn't requesting something for nothing.

Cheers,
S.

Epiphanies = Being an infant at 29

This is something that, if you cook, you probably already realize. Let me preface this by saying that I've never been a short-order cook nor have I ever taken a cooking class. I love food and I love cookbooks...I've cobbled together what I know through trial and error. Today, I came to understand what must be doled out in the first day of any culinary experience of value: dual-usage.

Three days ago, we had P&M over for dinner. I decided to make pasta with a meat sauce. I tried something new (after sauteing the meat, onions and garlic, I added a cup of chicken stock with the spices and let it all simmer until the liquid had evaporated). This resulted in the best red sauce I'd ever made...and, as usual, I'd made way too much. My first thought was to make more pasta for the sauce. However, after a trip to Costco and returning with way too much meat, I decided to use the sauce to pour over some chicken. It was a Chicken Marsalas sort of dish after I added Feta to the sauce and covered the casserole with cheese at the very end. Holy crap, did it work out nicely!

But here's my deal: this is the first time that I've used a 'sauce' for two drastically different dishes like so. I was blown away by my 'innovation' at first but then I realized how my Mom used to do this sort of thing...and it was called 'leftovers'. Not in the 'I-had-Thai-last-night-and-these-are-my-leftovers' sense but as in the 'use-what-you-have' way. I'll be honest, I love cooking and have for as long as I can remember. As far back as being in my single-digits and making peanut butter cookies with my mom. But, for some reason, using what you had on hand hadn't sunk in until tonight. My Mom always seemed to have on hand what was needed to make a dish but, as I realized in a flash tonight, it wasn't that she had this or that specifically on hand; she simply used what was at hand and made do. Christ, I'm a slow learner...

S.

I'd say it's hot but I understand the rest of you are feeling it too

To recap the last few days:

The beach was nice, though it cost me $2 to walk onto a beach that was no more than 300 yards long and packed to the gills. Apparently, walk-on fees are standard with New England beaches. Sort of sullies the naturalism of the event. Sort of like paying to get into Zion or Yellowstone. Oh, wait...

Aside from the strangest sunburn I've ever gotten (it can only be described as 'splotchy', but in a very Pollack sort of way), I learned that women go to the beach to watch other women, compare themselves with those other women and either feel better or worse for wearing their own swimsuit that day. In short, not much was learned.

The following day, we rented a Zipcar for a few hours. It's sort of like a subscription car service. You pay a membership fee and then have the ability to reserve one of several cars parked in your area online for half hour increments. It turns out that the closest one to us just happens to be a Prius, a 'hybrid' sedan. This gasoline/electric bastard had its quirks, like a shifter that I swear was a rip-off of the classic Pole Position shifter of the 80s, but turned out to be a fine mode of transport for us and our stuff. Driving in Boston, on the other hand, was a pain in the ass.

Much like Italy, if the road is wide enough to accomodate four lanes of traffic, it does so without the benefit of additional painted lines. This is all well and good, except that it requires a judgement call on the part of each driver. What's wide enough for me might not be for the blue hair driving the Caddy 18 mph in front of me. Further, Boston seems afflicted with the same naming convention issues that Atlanta is stricken with: a road can only be called one thing for 3-4 blocks, then its name must change. Also, EVERY intersection is a 'Square'. There is one not a block from where we live; it's a normal 4-way stop in a sleepy residential area but it's called "Susan 'Bee' Smith Square" with the subtitle 'Dedicated Mother, Quilting Enthusiast and Public Employee'. With luck and perserverance, I hope to get it changed to "Shaun 'Tall Shaun the Prawn' Van Eyk Square' in the next few years of living here. Subtitle: 'Low Miles, New Tires/Brakes'.

Aside from those two excursions, it's pretty much just been setting up the homestead. We are officially 'unpacked' and ready for guests. I painted the bathroom today (Grape Reflection...apparently, the same people that name squares also name paints) and will knock out the hallway tomorrow. w00t.

Cheers,

S.

Boston Dispatch #10 - Creature Comforts

Oh man, do I hurt. The movers showed up around 9:30 this morning and yes they brought the semi. To my amazement, they weren't forced to move and hire a van. A cop did show up but only he only made the truck pull forward a bit to provide access to the fire hydrant across the street. It was as though the entire city of Cambridge just sucked it up and walked it off. Thank you, Cambridge.

It took them about three hours to off-load all of our stuff. As they brought boxes in, they read off the tag numbers of each one and I marked them off on a list. They pretty much just dropped stuff off in the bedroom so after marking the item off the list, I'd run it to the appropriate room. They were rather rough on our stuff. Several items, including the all-important TV, were damaged. I called our 'agent' and she gave me the number to some claims adjuster that'll come out and, well, adjust our claim. I'm not exactly sure what that means.

I couldn't keep awake long enough to finish this post last night. Brooke called me around 1:30 or so to awake me up and have me tote her bags in. I think we spoke about a total of 10 sentences to each other before we both crashed out; comfortably in a bed, I might add. It was the first thing I got assembled after the movers left. After that, I spent the rest of the evening slogging through all the kitchen stuff. What I thought was an amply cabinet'd kitchen became pretty damn tight by the time I got through all the boxes. I crapped out sometime around midnight after getting the stereo, tv and such put together. The couch and some music put me right out until Brooke called.

Today, amazingly, we got nearly the entire place unpacked. It's always a surprise to me how much more you can get done with more when there are two of you. We got just about everything done aside from hang paintings and such. In the process, we realized that we still have a bunch of stuff that we need to purge. I'm voting for more nick-nacks but I might have to give up some CDs...or electronic equipment. grr.

Ok, this is getting boring. We're going to the beach tomorrow with P&M. Perhaps we'll get lost and have a Scooby-Doo quality adventure that'll share tomorrow.

Cheers,
S.

Can't Sleep

I've been awake for an hour now. I woke up to the sound of the window A/C unit kicking on and I haven't been able to get back to sleep since. I've scanned the usual websites (fark, slashdot, nytimes, etc) for any interesting tidbits. Not much to report, other than Krugman's curiosity about what may happen now that China's unpegging the yuan from the dollar on the Times website. Could mean good things for manufacturing and textiles here in the US (but I doubt it) and it could mean the housing bubble will burst soon (which it should). I doubt we'll see a dramatic effect on our manufacturing sector because, though a stronger yuan might make China less competitive, there are more than a few poor developing countries that'd be happy to pick up some of their slack.

Speaking of US manufacturers, one of my favs is American Apparel (www.americanapparel.net). They pretty much just do shirts and undergarments but I hope they'll expand their line as they grow. They're based in LA, pay all they're workers a living wage and are moving toward using organic cotton exclusively. Plus, their shirts are cut like t-shirts are supposed to be (ie- like they did in the 70s before we became significantly heavier). I was introduced to them when I lived in Seattle and they've pretty much become my sole source of t-shirts and 'leisure shirts'. Man, I hope they start making dress shirts before I'm done with law school.

Alright, time to try sleep again.
S.

Tuna: A Question

Has anyone noticed a severe degradation in the quality of canned tuna lately? I generally buy the 'whole white albacore' tuna which not too many years ago used to be 1)whole and 2)white. I've noticed that the last few cans of said tuna I've purchased have been semi-whole but totally pink like your standard chunk tuna is. I know world fish populations have declined significantly but my expectation would be that the price of tuna would go up to compensate for this. Instead, they seem to packing all cans with chunks of some sort of non-white non-albacore fish and just mislabeling half of them. Any thoughts?

Boston Dispatch #9 - Cash Money and Thick Accents

So much for painting today. I just couldn't muster the will to do another room so I decided to go easy on myself. I had a few holes here and there that I patched and painted over to finish up the kitchen, living room, study and bedroom. As you can probably guess, that took all of an hour to do so I spent the rest of the day wandering and leaving successively meaner messages in Pat's vmail. Bastard doesn't like to return phone calls because he's 'studying'. What a monkey.

I wandered up to Harvard today and all around the back streets off of Mass Ave. There are almost no houses to be found around here. All you see are older apartment buildings like ours or massive old houses that have been split up into condos. The occasional semi-high-rise is thrown in for added populations density. If you consider all that living space coupled with 95% of the roads being barely two lanes, you'll see why mass transit is a major part of life here. It's not just some wasteful mockery of public transit funds (ie- MARTA in Atlanta), it's the real deal. It has to be.

Speaking of transportation, I've gotten a couple of calls in the last two days about my car. It's sitting on a lot down in Atlanta right now trying to get itself sold. The asking price for the Naughty Vic is 3200, which is the high blue book value in Atlanta. Considering how much I paid for it and how much work I've done on it in the last two years, it's probably worth it. But I think we'd go as low as 2800 in a pinch. Anyway, the two people that have called me were guys with very thick accents. The first guy sounded like he spoke Spanish natively; the guy today had a very gravelly slavic accent. Being difficult to understand wasn't the only thing they had in common. Neither were interested in knowing anything about the car or the maintenance that's been done on it. More importantly, both of them offered me '2000 dollars, cash money' for the blasted thing, as though the fact that they were offering legal tender should be enough to entice me into dropping the price by more than 1/3rd the asking price. Hell, I've got the title...it's not like I'm trying to fence the damn thing.

So, I told them both that the lowest I'd go was 3k and they both got off the phone rather quickly after that. Seriously, who would accept such an offer? These guys were both swindling bastards, I'm sure of it. I'm positive they were looking for a rock bottom price so that they could flip it and make some coin. They didn't even ask anything about the car...bastards.

Finally, tomorrow the movers are coming and I'm not very happy about the circumstances. I told the driver of the 18-wheeler that there was no way in Hell that he'd be able to maneuver our street, let alone park when he picked up our stuff in Atlanta. So, dude calls me tonight around 6, after the 'office' has closed, to tell me that no shuttle (ie- smaller moving van) has been scheduled and he's just going to try to come by between 7 and 8 am tomorrow. I'm not sure what part of 'not physically possible' he doesn't understand but lemme explain how tomorrow is going to play out. I know this because it's exactly how it worked out when he picked up our stuff in Atlanta. First, he'll show up, park his g-damned Semi out in front and effectively block traffic on our street until he's threatened by the police. Since we're two blocks from city hall, this will take less than fifteen minutes. Then, he'll call in to the 'dispatch' where they'll inform him that he can get a shuttle, but not until Noon. He'll go park somewhere and a shuttle will finally arrive with our stuff some time around 2 and they'll take 4 hours to unload it. Brilliant! I've already left messages for the dispatch and the corporate moving person that's been our contact all this time. I can only hope that someone gets in early, checks the messages and gets it sorted out before dude tries to drive his golfball semi through Cambridge's gardenhose streets.

Cheers,
S.

Boston Dispatch #8 - grrr. grrr, I say!

So I just found out that the movers aren't coming until Friday now. I just finished up painting the living room and had cleaned all the painting stuff in anticipation of putting it all away for a bit. I've only got the hallway and the bathroom left and I figured I'd do them sometime next week while Brooke was at work. Instead, I've got to bust it all out again tomorrow and paint the bathroom. That, and I've got one more night of sleeping on the floor like a squatter. Brilliant.

Instead, perhaps I'll just hang out on Mass Ave all day drinking an adult bevvie from a paper bag in front of a paper cup. Who knows, my winnings might even cover tuition. There are several dozen (I'm serious) 'regulars' that frequent the nearest 4 blocks of Mass Ave. Some of them hawk Spare Change, some argue with people that aren't there and others just sit quietly on a city bench and stare off into the distance. There is this one guy that is always outside the B of A hawking Spare Change. At some point, I'll probably give in and buy one from him just out of exhaustion. His conviction and consistency deserve at least a dollar, to say the least.

A few observations. First, my own ignorance. The day I arrived, I hit the local CVS for some necessary supplies. Dig this ratio: I bought three rolls of toilet paper and one roll of paper towels for a week. Mind you, this made total sense at the time. I've been married going on four months now and Brooke and I have been 'living without the benefit of clergy' for over a year and a half. This ratio made total sense...were she here. I've since discovered that there are not, in fact, toilet paper gnomes that come out at night and eat your TP. In fact, it'll be a week tomorrow and I haven't even broken the halfway mark on the first roll of tissue. And I'm regular. And I've been eating Indian food. This begs the question: what the hell does Brooke do with 2.5 rolls of TP a week? Anyone care to get me up to speed on that one?

Second, I've just discovered that there are three liquor stores within five blocks of our place (suddenly, dozens of street urchins makes sense). I went into Supreme Liquor tonight and, truth be told, it was supreme. It was huge, for one. For another, the woman that rang me up was turbo friendly. I asked about Yeungling Lager, a beer from PA (fun fact: it's the oldest brewery in the US) that ex-girlfriend Beth introduced me to. It's phenomenal beer, trust me, but I can't seem to find it anywhere. The cashier'd never heard of it but she promised to keep an eye out for it the next time they order stock. Awesome! Now, if they'll only start stocking it prior to school starting perhaps I'll get a chance to enjoy some.

Finally, I can't praise Aqua Teen Hunger Force enough. I've been recording Adult Swim for the last few nights and enjoying ATHF a great deal. Brooke doesn't get it and I can't blame her. It's total geek humor, by and large. But I find it hilarious and I highly recommend you check it out (except you, Mom...you definitely won't find it funny). It's done a great job of getting me through the evenings these last few days.

Cheers,
S.

ps- The new Danger-Doom album is coming out in October (thank you, Adult Swim, for reminding me). You should all purchase it. A collaboration between Danger Mouse (who brilliantly remix Jay-Z's Black Album with samples from the Beatles White Album last year) and MF Doom (who is, as far as I can tell, the cleverist lyricist alive)...what's not to like? In fact, I'll be a poor college student at that point so you should buy the album twice and mail me a copy. Vinyl, plz. S.

pps- Whoever signed their comment to the 'stache picture as 'god' needs their head examined. Anymore like that and I'll make you all register to comment.

ppps- Strike that last sentence. What I should have written is 'please keep your comments relevant and rated PG-13'. Remember, my Mom reads this. I really don't feel comfortable deleting comments but if it's really offensive, I will. I won't, however, turn on the registration requirement to post since I think that allowing you to post anonymously is beneficial.

Awesome Foreign Signage #7

These were all over Capri. I think they're akin to the 'Obey' tags you see all over the place (ie - guerilla art). Or they're laser-show protest stickers. You decide.

Awesome Foreign Signage #6

This one was on all the train doors on the train to Pompeii. I think that 'non appoggiarsi' means 'this door will friggin eat you'. What sucks is that there was actually a better one that I didn't get a photo of that has the little black dude straddling the doors, one leg in, one leg out. That one said 'this door will eat your nuts', I think.

Awesome Foreign Signage #5

It is my belief that this sign translates as 'Talk to the Hand!'

Awesome Foreign Signage #4

The way of propaganda. Need I say more?

Awesome Foreign Signage #3

Ok, this isn't a sign but it's funny. Everywhere you walked in Rome, there were street vendors selling guidebooks in any language you could think of (except Esperanto). I think the third one down in this photo is Polish. But every time I saw it, all I could think was 'Nice to see they've translated the guidebook into Wu Tang Clannish'. This joke is probably not funny to anyone who is over 30...sorry.

Awesome Foreign Signage #2

This was a sign we found while wandering the Cinque Terre with Tido and Baton Rouge. It's funny because it's point at me. Get it?

Awesome Foreign Signage #1

I've been meaning to send out a few photos of awesome Italian signage. Instead, I think I'll just post them in the blog.

This particular sticker was posted, appropriately, at the entrance to the hotel bar in our first hotel in Santa Margherita Ligure. There was a slight step down as you exited. Plus, you'd be drunk.

Dispatch #7 - All your rugs are belong to us!

I was Capitan Productive today. I got the bedroom completely painted (two coats), started around the trim in the living room (a tasteful grey with the naughty name 'Satin Sheets') and bought a rug! That's right, kids, no more caveman living for this fellow. I've got me a rug to sleep on tonight! I found it at Economy Hardward which, strangely enough, is neither economical nor do they have much in the way of hardware. It's this furry shag rug, very simple and so much more comfortable that polished birch. After the last few days on the floor, it'll be like sleeping on a bed of Charmin' toilet paper.

I think that all this painting is starting to catch up to me, though. I noticed some unfamiliar stiffness and soreness today. Not that 'I've been working out' soreness I'm occassionally accustom to...it's more of a workin' man's ache. I'll be honest, it feels good. There is something to be said for vigorous physical activity that is productive (ie - not performed at a gym). It's satisfying in a truly visceral way. Perhaps I got a little of my Dad's 'frustrated farmer' gene...

Pat and I grabbed a drink at this awesome local tavern called 'The Peoples' Pub'. The outside is painted Soviet red and gold and one side has a painting of Elvis in one of those furry ear-flap hats. The inside is plastered with Soviet-era propaganda posters. (Clint, this is YOUR bar.) The place has a totally local feel to it and they only take cash. I felt like a VIP there because one of my best buddies is a Commie who lived in Cuba for a spell. When Brooke gets here with our camera, I'll post photos of this place.

Finally, I'd like to add some commentary regarding liquor stores in Boston. First off, I'm glad to be living in a state that doesn't let booze take Sunday off anymore. Especially since I usually do my weekly cooking on Sunday and I can't tell you how many times in the last few years I've had to pass on a recipe because it required sherry or a dry white wine. They don't open until noon on Sundays but at least they friggin' open! Second, they're all about the value when it comes to wine here. You'll walk into a liquor store and they'll have bins of wine that are labeled '2 for 10' or any variant therein. I walked by one tonight that listed '3 for 12'. Obviously, I'll need to stop by there tomorrow. Hurray for value!

It seems like I'm forgetting something but I'm done racking my brain. I'm headed for the fluffy goodness of a newly purchased rug, if you'll excuse me...

my stache rules, Richie,
S.

Boston Dispatch #6 - Humidity and the Hard Sell

Holy crap was it muggy today! It rained a bit in the early afternoon which pushed the water vapor to saturation. Then the friggin' Sun came out and wrenched the temperature up to the mid-80s. Not, I might add, as bad as Honduras in June but still pretty miserable when you're stuck painting in a house with little air circulation. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm not genetically predisposed to this sort of climate. I'm custom built for cool northern climates. Like the Artic or a Fridgeair.

I know this because of science...and my own personal observations. I remember reading a few years back about a study done on mitochondrial DNA (which, as I'm sure you all remember from biology, is passed down from your mother untouched by dad's genetic material. I think there are only 24 different types that have been identified, but I'm not 100% on that). The study found that people whose ancestors lived primarily in northern climates had a mitochondrial 'defect' built in that made the powerhouse of the cell less efficient than the mitochondria found in those whose predecessors kicked it near the Equator. Lack of efficiency means it requires more fuel to perform the same actions but also means more heat is generated in the process. As my wife will attest, I'm one very warm running dude. I can sit completely still and generate enough heat to warm a 8'x10' room from 60 degrees F to near-body temperature in a very short time. That said, you can imagine how freakin' hot and nasty-sweaty I was this afternoon in the kitchen when it was already an ambient temperature of 85 degrees with nearly 100% humidity. Now you see why I chose Denmark over Togo for my study abroad...

Enough science. I have two bits of weirdness to report today. First was a fairly ugly accident that occured on my corner this afternoon. I was working on putting up my second coat in the kitchen when I hearded this squeal and crash out the window. My first thought was 'awh, shit, I bet that was the electric motor in the A/C unit' since the bedroom is right next to the kitchen and that was the closest mechanical thing to me. Also, because that's just my freakin' luck. This thought was fleeting though, since I could still here the A/C unit plugging away (bless it's freon heart) so I ventured down from the ladder and to the living room window to see the carnage. It wasn't too bad, from what I could see, and there were a ton of folks on the street so I didn't feel obliged to run down to check pulses or call the police. Within minutes, every public service that cares to put lights and sirens in their vehicles was represented on the scene and the whole thing was mopped up in under 45 minutes. Tre impressive. In Atlanta, it would have taken at least an hour to get a tow truck...or a police officer, for that matter.

The second oddity occurred while I was out hunting for a rug and a liquor store (found the latter...not the former, though). I got stopped by a young Irish girl who was tried to get me to sign up to sponsor a child through Plan USA (http://www.planusa.org/index.php). To say she was persistent would be like saying it was slightly humid today. It took me the better part of ten minutes to get away from her (yes, without signing up to sponsor a kid). I felt really badly for her because this is her 'job' and, though I asked for the website for more information, she doesn't get any credit if I decide to sponsor a child via the site (which is bull-hocky, if you ask me). She spends 9 hours a day hawking kids on the streets of Boston, so she tells me. Her quota for a day's work: 6 kids. That's one kid for every 1.5 hours. I told her I appreciated her passion but I'm not in the habit of supporting organizations that I'm introduced to on the street. I was honest about wanting to know more about Plan USA and I figured that the website would be a great start in finding out about it. But the fact that she doesn't get any credit for it if I decide to sign up online totally stinks. Now that I've come home and actually taken a good look at their bio, I probably would sponsor a kid. I encourage you all to consider it. Me, I'm waiting until I see her again so she can get credit.

Finally (I know!), I went to the same Indian restaurant tonight. P&M came over tonight and we had a lovely dinner (hurrah for Taj Mahals!). I didn't get the option of Nineth-Circle-of-Hell hot tonight but it was tasty nonetheless. I tryed the Chicken Mushroom dish because Brooke loves mushrooms and I'm desparately trying to find an Indian dish that she can't live without so that I can justify going more often. Sadly, I don't think she'd care for it, though it was friggin' awesome. I'll try again tomorrow, I guess.

Cheers,
S.

Is that a sweet mustache or what?!?

Boston Dispatch #5 – I might need a chiropractor

I do believe I’ll be getting to bed at a more reasonable hour tonight. I slept in until 9 this morning and shuffled around, fiddling with my damnable homemade Tivo until around 2. Mel, Pat and I had talked about getting a car and heading to Brookline to Costco/Home Depot today but the car fell through. I ran out of patience with the computer so I decided that it was time to get cracking on some painting. I walked to my neighborhood hardware store (where I’m a nigh-celebrity nowadays) and got a couple of gallons of paint, color ‘Sun Mist’ or some such. It’s a pale yellow for the study, kitchen and probably the hallway. I came home and set to task painting the study.

It took me the better part of four hours to get the room paint with a first coat. Not exactly record breaking, that. But, I did it the right way…and I didn’t tape off anything so I had to be precise. In the silence and movement, I got to thinking about my Dad. I remember doing a lot of painting with him and I’m really glad that he taught me how to do it right. Of course, were he alive and here today, I’m sure he would have found a ton of flaws in my work. All the same, I had my Dad-approved Purdy paint brushes and though I wasn’t ‘cutting in’ perfectly around the trim like he could, I’m sure he would have given me an ‘E’ for effort. Man, I miss that old codger.

I wrapped up the paint around 7. I’ll need to put a second coat on tomorrow but that should go fast. My goal is to finish the study and the hallway tomorrow. Tuesday, I’d like to get the kitchen and bathroom done. Wednesday will be a long day since I’ll need to get the living room and the bedroom done and they’re by far the biggest two rooms we have here. Thursday, the movers are slated to arrive and then, gloriously, I’ll be able to sleep and sit comfortably once again.

Since Brooke isn’t here yet, I got too eat Indian food at one of the dozen Indian restaurants near by. Sooooo tasty! And reasonable, too. For $11.50, I got appetizer, soup, chicken korma (officially, the world’s tastiest dish), dessert and tea. Plus, when I said ‘I like my korma hot as Hades’ they actually listened and put a little bit of the devil in the dish. It’s been my experience recently at Thai and Indian restaurants they completely disregard my requests and instead make spiciness decisions based on my ethnicity. The ‘5 stars’ I’ve been getting lately have been ‘white-man spicy’ (2 or 3 stars, generally). Well, I’m happy to report that the fine folks at Gandhi Restaurant are color blind. My nose is still running.

Seeing as I’ll be painting pretty steadily over the next few days, I’ll try not to bore you with too many painting-related stories. I fully intend to take daily excursions to places other than the hardware store so, hopefully, that’ll make for some good copy. Perhaps I’ll get mugged? Perhaps I’ll drink booze from a paper sack with a few other bums on Mass Ave? Who knows…stay tuned.

Cheers,

Shaun.

Boston Dispatch #4 – Another Short One

Fenway. I went there tonight; not for a game, mind you. For a charity concert. Besides being a wicked conversationalist and a lovely woman, Mel also has what the kids call the ‘Hook Up’. She got us ticket to see a concert called ‘Hot Stove, Cool Music’ at Fenway Park. Before arriving, I’ll be honest, I was more excited about being at Fenway that I was to be at the show. Buffalo Tom was headlining, for godsake! But the opening acts made it totally worth it. The opener was Ben Kweller, who, I’m sure we’ll all agree, rocks like a force-five hurricane. Then came Julianna Hatfield…then Dennis ‘friggin’ Leary! It was awesome.

It was honestly down hill after that. A band comprised of several Red Sox played a bunch of country-billy covers and Buffalo Tom was mediocre, as they’ve always been. The highlights were really the insane bids being made by members of the audience for jerseys, shoes and boxes seats autographed or occupied by Red Sox. I’m not kidding…I saw a man bid sixteen thousand dollars for four seats sitting in the general manager’s box with the man himself. Yes, yes, yes it was for charity and we were all drinking but what kind of mofo is rolling around with that sort of excess capital just waiting to throw it down at such an event. It was humbling while at the same time sick and wrong. Perhaps that’s just the Marxist in me…

Ok, it’s time for bed. Did I mention I’m kicking it solo on a hardwood floor…and I miss my wife? I know I should be thankful for having a floor (and a roof) as well as a lovely, understanding wife…I just wish she was here right now…along with our bed. Man, that would rock…

Night…

S.

Boston Dispatch #3 – Deaf Cyber Punks on the T

Ok, this one I promise will be short because it’s already 1am. Nothing too exciting to report today, truth be told. I finished all the doors in the apartment (they’re all sparkly bronze now) and did my first load of laundry in the basement. Mundane, yes, but first nonetheless. I wandered around the ‘hood for a bit this morning as well, walking west on Mass Ave until I reached Harvard square. Much to Brooke’s dismay, there is either an Indian restaurant or a record store on every block for a good ten blocks. I have a feeling I’ll be spending what little spare time and money I have over the next few years either stinking like curry or filling out my collection of sweet rare vinyl.

Two observations from today, then I’m done. First, I’ve spent the last two nights in the Beacon Hill neighborhood and as such have walked home via Boston Commons and the Public Gardens. Let me just say that if you’re trying to be inconspicuous and nonchalant about rocking the ganja after hours, Beacon Hill is not the place to do it. It’s sparsely populated, quite and dark…not exactly the Pink Floyd reunion tour, kids. Besides, winners don’t do drugs…

Second, I saw this young deaf couple on the train tonight that really got the hamsters running. They couldn’t have been older than 21 or so and both were pretty attractive. They both had the big, over-the-ear hearing aids and I was mesmerized by their communication. It was half signing, half lip reading. What was disturbing was that when the boy turned his head, attached to one of the large hearing aids was what looked like a speaker implanted in his skull directly behind his ear. Has anyone seen this sort of thing before? If so, is it possible to get laser and/or x-ray eye implants?

It’s bedtime. I hope all of you are well. Tell me if you want me to stop sending you these missives.

S.

Boston Dispatch #2 - How to Be Mistaken for Homeless

Easy. Just don’t shave for two weeks, then carry a sleeping bag and a lawn chair on the ‘T’. Insta-transient! I got some interesting looks on my way home tonight…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

First, I need to address some of the emails I’ve received from you all in response to last night’s tirade. It’s glaringly obvious that I forgot to inform some of you, my close friends, what the hell I’ve been up to for the last year. So, let me first apologize for sucking (I’m sorry) and then give you abridged version of my shenanigans: I got laid off in March, married in April and start law school at Suffolk here in Boston in August. I knew that the hammer was coming down at work about a year ago and I also knew that IT and corporate living, with its fat paychecks and hot flight attendants, just wasn’t for me. I crave a simpler life with dense reading and lot’s of crazy liberals that make me look like a moderate. Obviously, the only thing that fit the bill was law school in New England. So here I am, all by my lonesome until my lovely wife of three months arrives next week to join me in the Peoples’ Republic of Cambridge.

So, now that you’ve been apologized to and gotten the back story, back to today’s interesting tales of moving to the Big Beanie. It started at 4am when I realized that no amount of wine would turn my hardwood floor into a Sleep Number bed. I tried for a few hours to get back to sleep but it was nothing doing. I finally got up around seven, got my first of three showers of the day (did I mention that it’s humid here?) and wander down the block in search of coffee. Around the corner on Mass Ave, I discovered a nice local coffee shop that was not prepared for me. I asked for a large Americano, a drink that always does you right and is quite simple. I was greeted with ‘umm, how many shots of espresso do you want in it?’ Huh? ‘Umm, as many as are supposed to go into it?’ Isn’t there some divine law that dictates how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and the correct espresso/water ratio in a large Americano? I guessed four and, for future reference, that is the recommended dosage. Armed with coffee and a cheddar/scallion scone, I headed home to start my mini-remodeling project.

A note on remodeling: if at all possible, live within a block of a hardware store. I do and, trust me, it saved me hours of time. I went there no fewer than three times today. Of course, if I had a pen and could write down what I need before making the trek, I probably would have only gone once but that’s beside the point. Notes are for professionals and I’m decidedly amateur.

My first project was to remove all the doors and ancient hinged cabinets in order to remove the paint from the great Deco hinges and fixtures. Man, what a pain in the ass! First off, I’d like to point out that Brass is similar to Bronze…and there’s a reason that the Bronze Age was succeeded by the Iron Age. I spent a pretty penny buying screws to replace the ones I was committing genocide upon. I got the kitchen today before I threw in the towel. I know, I’m a wimp.

At some point during the day, I also bought groceries and a Vornado™ floor fan. I felt weird buying frozen dinners at Whole Foods but I don’t have any pots or utensils as of yet. I even committed the cardinal sin of purchasing plastic forks there. What else was I to do? I don’t own a Swiss Army knife and I’ll be damned if I’ll subject myself to a strict fruit and granola bar regime until the movers get here. Anyway, I hugged several trees on my way home so that was my penance.

The fan, on the other hand, is a little rock star. I’m currently using it in my ‘can a small window A/C unit cool 625sf of apartment’ experiment. So far, it’s doing pretty well. Plus, it looks tough. It’s no sissy floor fan…it’s the Vornado™!

After giving up on my restoration project, I headed to Beacon Hill and the promise of an easy chair. I went over to P&M’s, drank some wine (duh) and chilled with Mel until Pat got back home. It was nice to just kick it with the big M for a bit. We talked of much important stuff like how the difference between dating and marriage is akin to Columbus’ discovery of the New World. He landed on Hispaniola and thought it was Japan (dating). Later, Vespucci sailed along the cost of South America, after the Trans-Atlantic trek had been vetted, and suddenly, dauntingly there was so much more (marriage). See what wine leads to?

Anyway, Pat finally showed up, we ate leftover pizza and watched mind-numbing TV for a bit. Did you know that Hugh Grant knocked over some photographer with his car? I didn’t. Luckily, they kept replaying the same three second clip of it so I’ll be counting paparazzi road kill tonight as I try to fall asleep. Also, there is cleavage ALL OVER PRIME TIME TV! You may not notice it but I have an eye for it so, trust me, it’s there. Crazy.

P&M were kind enough to loan me a lawn chair and a sleeping bag until the movers arrive. Man, talk about the simple pleasures. I’m looking forward to sleeping past 4am tonight. One paparazzo, two paparazzo…

On that note, I’m off to bed. I hope you all are doing well and have something better that a hardwood floor to sleep on tonight.

Cheers,
Shaun.

P.S. – For those of you that really really want to read the Italian Dispatches (all 24 pages of them), just ask and I’ll send them in Word. S.

Boston Dispatch #1

Today was my first official day in Boston as a resident. I flew in this afternoon to little fanfare and exceptionally late-arriving luggage at baggage claim. My friend Patrick met me there, as he always has on my visits to Beantown, and we were off to the new place in Cambridge. Since no one in their right mind drives in this town, we took the ‘T’ (subway). Mostly uneventful but it did provide enough time for us to catch up and for me to tell him about my recent adventures in terrible customer service. Good times.

Arrival at #22 was where things got a little ugly. The door was unlocked and there were cleaning supplies and piles of grit and grime everywhere. I called the broker that showed us this place since I didn’t have the number to our new landlord, Paul. She called me back a few minutes later to tell me that Paul was on his way over and that the cleaning crew had just stepped out to get additional supplies. Pat and I had left just moments early to get something to eat since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, though, so I asked her to have him call me. Here is an abridged transcript of our conversation:

Paul: ‘Hey Shaun, how are you?’

Shaun: ‘Well, I’d be better if my place wasn’t such a mess.’

P: ‘Yeah, about that, the broker told me you weren’t coming in until the 13^th’

S: ‘Yeah, well, my lease started on the 1^st so regardless of what the broker told you, I’d sort of expect this sort of clean up to be done prior to that date.’

P: ‘Wait, wait, wait…that’s not how it works. I’m in constant touch with my brokers and they tell me when my tenants are moving in.’

S: ‘My lease started July one, Paul, which means I could be in there anytime from that day forward. The broker has nothing to do with it. If you had pre-move in stuff you needed to get done, it should have been done prior to that date.’

P: ‘Well, somebody’s not on the same page here. I don’t know who…well, I have a good idea. I have a good relationship with all my tenants and this one doesn’t seem to be starting on the right foot. If you want to move to another apartment, that’s up to you.’

S: ‘I didn’t say I wanted to move to another apartment. I said that my expectation is that this work you’re doing today should have been done before the lease started, regardless of the actual day I got here.’

P: ‘Listen, I’d be happy to argue this with you. I like to argue. But it’s not going to change anything.’

At this point, had I been in the same room with him, I most likely would have committed a felony. He quickly changed the subject, mentioning that the oven door would be fixed tomorrow and asking me how many sets of keys I had. I let it slide. I was tired, hungry and in no mood to either kill or look for another apartment. Truth be told, he struck me was a fast-talking little weasel of a man when we met him a month ago but we like the apartment and the neighborhood. At least I know where I stand with him now. I will say, though, that this marks yet another time in my life that I wish I was a lawyer, specifically with a solid knowledge of landlord/tenant law. Guess it’s proof positive that I’m heading the right direction…

After that debacle, Pat and I met up with his wife Melissa for dinner. It was good to see them both again but I was anxious to get home afterwards and be alone. I’ve got the moving blues. The first few days of a move to a new place, I wander around a lot by myself. I don’t miss the familiar so much as I feel depressed, really. It’s starting over, really, and though that brings with it a lot of possibilities, it also means a lot of redundancies. I’ve met people that have lived the same place their entire life. On the outside, I’ve wondered aloud how they could live forever knowing only their little sphere. On the inside, though, I’ve often envied them for their resolve and, in a way that I’d like to think isn’t condescending, their complex ignorance. They’re like specialists in Stone Mountain, Georgia or Ephrata, Washington. They may only know 10 square miles but they know them like nothing I could know.

So, anyway, I’m a little down but it’s standard issue at this point. Luckily, I’ve got a couple of good friends to keep me from getting too sad. That, and wine. I’m in good hands.

Shaun.

Italian Dispatch #8: I’ve decided to purchase Capri

I'm sorry that this final dispatch took so long to get out to you all. I don't have any near-future honeymoon/vacation plans so you can rest assured that you won't be getting this drivel from me any time soon. You will, however, receive a follow-up email with a few selected photos of our trip linked to it. That's it. I'll be going back into
my cave now....

Tuesday: Naples is crap, Capri is paradise

It was back on the train to Naples for us again this morning, though this time we needed to take a taxi to the marina. So began Round Two with shady cab drivers. This one was an 'official' cab but we discovered too late that he didn't turn the meter on. I think he was
trying to make money on the sly during his lunch. After a frightening 10 minute ride through the hellhole that is Naples, I was ready to give him whatever he wanted just to stop. I thought that the drivers were crazy in Rome but Naples is like the Wild West. No one used crosswalks; instead, they just stepped out into traffic, usually right in front of you. Our driver came close to hitting at least a dozen people, including a woman pushing a stroller. It was a miracle that we made it without killing someone.

We arrived at the dock earlier than we anticipated (thanks in part to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride) and were told that we could use our boat tickets to catch an earlier ferry. Time stamps mean nothing here. A quick 45 minute jaunt landed us in Capri and, hence, into paradise. Ok, well, the city of Capri is overstuffed with overpriced clothing shops, snotty and loud Italian high school students (apparently school is optional in this country) and German tourists drinking Lowenbrau and snapping photos. Luckily, we couldn't afford to stay there and so made reservations at a cozy hotel in Anacapri, which is a frightening
15 minute bus ride away, up what looks like a shear cliff. Anacapri is paradise. The only reason the tourist make it up to this little hamlet is to take the chairlift to the top of the highest peak on the island and this is usually only done when the Blue Grotto is closed
(The grotto, being the biggest and possibly the lamest attraction on the island, is a sea cave that you get rowed into by an Italian who will then extort money from you to be rowed out). By the time we arrived and got checked in, it was siesta time but we were able to find one place still open near the burgh's church. After a quick meal we wandered a bit in search of a map and some postcards before heading back to the hotel to catch a brief nap. The map we purchased at a local shop is nearly the size of the damn island and consequently, of little use to us. Except as a laugh. We tried to get onto the aforementioned chairlift but by the time we got there, they'd stopped taking people up for the day. Since there wasn't much else open except a few little souvenir shops, we indulged in our new favorite pastime: napping. After said nap, we walked up to a recommended restaurant a few blocks away and had a great dinner. Brooke keeps
saying that there is a pattern to my dispatches: wine, food, Italian high school girls, rinse and repeat. Well, if she's so smart why doesn't she write them, is what I say. Then she hits me or gives me the frowny face. Then I make a 'pasta-butt' comment and it degrades
from there. Regardless, it was a great dinner and they gave us Lemoncello with our bill. Lemoncello is a regional liquor made from gasoline and lemons. It must be drank ice cold and very quickly. Oh, and to say it's regional is to say that every region of Italy seems to claim it as their 'regional specialty'. I only believe the Caprese, though, since they gave me some after a meal that I didn't have to pay for. Marketing executives take note. After dinner, it was off to bed for us and the rest of Anacapri. Random Vespa noises outside our window whisked us off to sleep.

Wednesday: We rode the chairlift twice, it was so cool

Today was by far my favorite of the trip. After breakfast, we headed up to the chairlift and were the second folks to ride up after it opened up. Holy crap, was it amazing. I took more photos of the landscape during our 13-minute ascent than I did of any other single venture thus far. We've seen ancient ruins, uncovered cities, gaudy grandeur and towering obelisks during this trip and NOTHING compared to my first 13-minute ride up to the top of that mountain. It had me, the nigh-atheist, making comparisons to heavenly ascent. Laugh as you might but I actually started to tear up at one point, it was that
beautiful. At the top, there are several outlooks and alcoves for sitting quietly to take it all in. There's also a café where you can get espresso (of course) and other goodies. If I had brought a sleeping bag and a tent, I wouldn't have left. Ever. After an hour or so of 'Wow' moments, Brooke drug me back down hill on the lift so we could go see Capri. The descent was even more beautiful and more photos were snapped, mostly of the terraced gardens and residents working away in them without noticing us overhead. Once we got to the bottom, we walked the 50 feet to the bus stop and shortly boarded a
bus back down the shear cliff.

We disembarked at the bus stop and into a flood of loud Italian teenagers who were either skipping school en masse or on a field trip. It's hard to tell because you never see the teachers herding them…I imagine that they're probably off getting a drink somewhere to calm their nerves. I know I would be. We wandered around the streets and backstreets of Capri for a good spell in search of a place to get bite to eat. It was still early, around 11:30 or so, and not much in the way of food is available at that hour in Italy. Many a designer shop was passed with bored and very stylish 'associates' staring blankly at their wares. Not that Brooke or I were interested in (or could afford) patronizing any of these shops but, if we were and could, I'm sure it'd be a hellish experience. For one thing, we're not even on the fashionista radar in this country. For another, most of the 'associates' scare me. Too pretty and too mean looking. Plus, mullets are IN here, for chrissake! I saw one that had been crimped even! Anyway, we walked past tons of shops and got lost in the back alleys (Brooke would like me to point this out). We wound up eating panini at this little café that we thought was in the middle of nowhere but turned out to be just over the hill from where we started. Bonus. After lunch, we did a little grocery shopping across the street where I bought a liter of top-notch olive oil and a Philly Cream Cheese snack that looked like Handi-Snacks my mom used to put in
my lunches. Rather than crackers with cheese or peanut butter, though, it was bread sticks with full fat cream cheese. If Atkins makes any headway in this country, I suggest Kraft replace the breadsticks with butter. Or bacon. Brooke got a Nutella snack pack
(she just discovered it's choco-hazelnut goodness on this trip and is now addicted) and some olives. Armed with snacks, we motored out of the market and back toward the bus, our second chairlift trip and an afternoon's residence in paradise.

By the time we got back up to the top, we were a little hungry so we found a quiet little nook to eat our snacks. There were a lot more people up there this time around and not all of them were quietly 'taking it all in' but we ignored the Italian high school students as
best we could. We spent the afternoon alternating between sheer awe and reading our books quietly at the café. When we did speak, it was to discuss the possibility of buying this hilltop and moving into the café. Brooke asked what we'd do for work; my answer was 'whatever, as long as we can telecommute'. When we were finally overcome by the
sunburns we were getting and the troop of loud high school students that arrived late in the day we descended to a less noisy, less beautiful reality. I teared up again on the way down. Man, it was amazing.

It was still early for dinner so we headed back to the hotel to relax a bit. We had dinner reservations that were made for us by the hotel's owner at a 'restaurant with a view'. Apparently, the view off of our balcony doesn't count as a real view and we had to be picked up in a small bus to be taken to where the 'real view' and a sit-down meal could be found. The bus picked us up at 7:15 and proceeded to take us on a wild ride through narrow winding streets and back alleys. Let me say again that I am blown away at Italians' ability to fit their cars around the hairiest of hairpin turns while shifting and
talking on their cell phone. We arrived 15 minutes later at the restaurant that indeed had a lovely view of the mainland and other nearby islands. Our table was right at the edge of a sheer cliff (thankfully, there was a rail), between two other couples (older Dutch
lesbians and a hetero German couple). We decided to splurge a bit since it was our last dinner on Capri so we ordered a mixed seafood antipasti to start out with before our main meal. They immediately brought us as plate of bready items that we struggled to taste seafood in. Alas, we thought we'd been ripped off and cursed Italy for messing with us sucker tourists. Then they brought out the real antipasti and we took it all back. It was a large platter with jumbo clamshells filled with all sorts of tasty seafood. I had my first raw oyster, I think. I'm pretty sure it was raw. It was cold, at least. After we ate it all except for the octopi suckers (I can't go there, no matter how hungry I am), we got our main dishes. I can't remember what Brooke had but I got a tenderloin that was excellent, if a bit overcooked for my bloodlust. After Brooke got dessert and I, an espresso, they brought us more lemoncello. This was appropriate, of course, since it was invented in Capri. It was better than the drink we were brought the night before which lead me to believe that it might actually be made with kerosene and not petrol. Anyway, I had to
drink Brooke's for her (speaking of running themes). We were motored back to the hotel after the meal and, after a little packing, fell to sleep fat and happy with our choice of each other and Anacapri.

Thursday: We didn't ride in a rickshaw but that's about all we didn't ride today

We rode, in succession, the following vehicles today over the course of 6 hours: mini-bus, hydrofoil, taxi cab, Eurostar train, airport shuttle train, and a tour bus. Yes, yes, the taxi was in Naples and little dude tried to screw us again on the fair (it went from 12 Euros when he loaded us up to 15 Euros when we arrived). I finally figured out how to beat them, though: don't carry exact change. Italians have this really annoying need for you to pay with exact change. I say it's annoying because when you pull money out of the ATM, it always gives you the biggest bills it can and NO ONE IN ITALY can make change for a 50. You have to go to a restaurant and order a few course to be able to get any change at all. All part of their clever plan to get you to spend your money, no doubt. Anyway, I only had a 50 Euro note and 13 Euro in change when the cabbie tried to raise his price. When I flashed the 50 and asked him if he could make change, he did the
previously described 'Italian Dismissal' and took the change I offered. I win.

At the end of our day o' travel, we wound up at our hotel near the airport. Rome Airport is, it turns out, nowhere near Rome. It's way the hell out in the boonies, actually, but the hotel we stayed at was very nice in that 'Let's-Host-Our-Conference-in-Rome-this-Year' sort of way. We arrived around 4 and were starving. Of course, nothing was open and the concierge rather snottily told us that room service wasn't even serving yet (though the menu in our room didn't indicate any 'breaks' between lunch and dinner). We wandered around the little town in search for an open restaurant in vain. I did find a little 'Super Mercado' that had great deals on Moka-Express espresso makers, though, so I decided to round out my collection with a 1-shot maker. After, we headed back to the hotel and called room service in spite of the snotty concierge and though he was surprised to hear from someone so early ('You want to eat dinner NOW?'), he brought us food anyway.
The rest of the evening we spent repacking and alternating between BBC and CNN to see which had the better coverage of the Pope. CNN won hands down since the BBC seems to think there are more important things to report than the Pope. Like wars and the weather. We drifted off to sleep tired and ready to come home.

Friday: The flight home and the wrap up…

Let me just say to start that check-in in Rome is light years ahead of check-in in any other airport, particularly in the US. You don't just queue up in a massive line to get to the Delta counter. First, you look at a board with all the outgoing flights for the day on it. Next to your flight number is a 'booth' number where you go to queue up for your specific flight. Brilliant! Why have US airports thought of this model? It was way more efficient, after all. We checked in and were through customs in under 20 minutes! Not only that but I got us moved to the Exit row too! When you're 6'8" and flying coach, that's like a little slice of heaven.

Our flight home was long but uneventful and when we arrived, we were glad to be home. We both had a great time, particularly on Capri, but living out of a suitcase for that long can be tiresome. Especially when you keep adding bottles of wine to it. Though we have many fond memories our trip (plus a 28 page Word document) and certainly plan on
going back again some day, it's nice to be home and sleeping in our own bed. Now that we're married, not 'living without the benefit of clergy', it's 'our bed'. Before it was just mine...it just happened to be located in Brooke's room. Anyway, it's good to be home. I hope you all enjoyed my wordy dispatches. Some of you wrote that you did...those of you that I haven't heard from, I'll assume that you simply tolerated them. Thanks for indulging me.

Ciao,

Shaun.