Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Some Observations

So no ideas on who "Roy Spivey" is? I suppose I should stop kidding myself by assuming anyone actually reads this. Care.

-- I loathe lowest common denominator CNN-type stories regarding missing blonde teenage girls, missing suburban moms, and the passenger with TB who got on a plane, but after I read what felt like the 10th headline about the "TB lawyer" or "Lawyer with TB," it finally got to me. If this guy was not a lawyer, would he be identified in the media by his profession? Let me cut to the chase -- what burns me is that the propensity to identify TB guy as Lawyer TB guy is a subtle reference to the popular opinion that lawyers are evil, selfish, disgusting people and that this bastard who apparently got on a plane of people when he knew he had a highly communicable and drug-resistant strain of TB only confirms that all lawyers are indeed evil, selfish, disgusting people. I can just hear the cocktail party/water cooler/train conversation -- "OF COURSE he was a lawyer!" "Fitting!" "Bunch of disgusting bottom feeders."

-- Yes, most lawyers are asshole-ish, immoral, smarmy rodentia, but I bristle at people who just make that blanket assumption of lawyers, particularly because most people who do make these kinds of blanket assumptions do not know or have had experience with a single lawyer. This comes after years of people meeting me at parties, finding out what I do, then immediately saying something with obvious disgust like, "You're not one of those plaintiff's lawyers, ARE YOU?" What if I am, douchebag? The next time some corporation or insurance company fucks you over or some doctor amputates the wrong leg or fails to diagnose you or your loved one for cancer, or your kid is born with multiple birth defects because the anesthesiologist was fucking some nurse when he was paged, don't come crying to me. Yeah, the legal system sucks, it's annoying, lawyers are annoying, most are douchebags, but it's as good a system as there is. Parties pay for their own fees, and most of the time the system will eventually weed out the bullshit lawsuits or meritless claims. The corporate lobby, whose client's legal fees pale in comparison to what their executives get paid in a year, is far more powerful than the trial lawyer's lobby.

-- My el stop is closing for A YEAR. Are you kidding me? This is definitely one of the most popular stops on this line. There is no fucking way it will take A YEAR to finish construction. How come this doesn't happen in New York or Paris or Seoul? ARGH!

-- I was out this past weekend, and upon reviewing the receipt I received from a bar (all right, it was Schuba's), I discovered that they upcharged me for ordering something on the rocks. WHAT?! An upcharge for ICE?! WHAT?! Yes, it was $.50 but that is an absolute OUTRAGE. Are you fucking kidding me? Your shitty-ass booze is being watered down by ICE and you CHARGE ME for it? Had I realized it at the time (okay, I was drunk), I would have REFUSED to pay it. I actually called them the next day to bitch them out about it, but no one answered and I stopped caring (sort of). To the extent that I have any say in it, I am never going there again, and you shouldn't either, nonexistent reader! Fucking upcharge for ICE?! WE'RE LIVING IN A SOCIETY!

-- Finger update (because you care): there is no doubt that I should have gone to the ER when this happened. Over a week later, my index finger is still swollen, I really can't bend it, and the cut on my middle finger is still open. SMART. Is stupidity one of the 7 deadly sins? IT SHOULD BE.

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Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Roy Spivey, v. 2

Okay, this is driving me crazy. Who in the world is Roy Spivey? I was reading a story today about a woman who sat next to what she described as a famous movie star/heartthrob with a V in his first name who played a spy and was married with kids to a well-known Hollywood starlet with an eating disorder. It was a great story, but setting that aside for a moment, it's driving me nuts that I can't think of who she must be referring to. I think he was famous in the 1980s, based on the time passage in the story, and she said "now," which probably really is now, he has his own TV show where he plays the father of 12 unruly kids. And "Roy Spivey" is almost an anagram of his name. I hate anagrams. Can't do them. It has something to do with why I suck at math and anything that involves conceptualizing numbers or letters. Anyway, WHO THE HELL IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?! Any ideas? The "v" is throwing me off. All I could think of was Steve Martin, but he's no movie star heartthrob, sorry. Good story, though. She's one of those female writers that manages to show her brilliance and her insecurity all at once, kind of Nora Ephron-ish.

It wouldn't be summer if I didn't get myself into some kind of freak accident, would it. The very morning I thought to myself, "wow, it's been almost a year since I've been to the emergency room," I mangled two fingers on my right hand. How did I accomplish this? Let me tell you. I was lifting weights in the weight room and alternating between those back/tricep extension thingies and push-ups, and I was smart enough to place the 20-lb dumbbell (a round one, mind you, not one of those octagonal ones) on the bench while I was doing push-ups right next to the bench, and the mother fucker rolled off and fell directly on my hand and left two disgusting gashes. Yes, it hurt. It happened so fast that I didn't realize what was happening until blood was pouring down my hand. And seeing as I LOVE unwanted attention, I did everything I could to wrap my hand up quietly and run downstairs and try (unsuccessfully) to get the bleeding to stop.

Monumental stupidity.

Because I'm a cheapass I didn't go to the ER. I ain't payin' no $1,000+ in out-of-pocket costs, AGAIN! In retrospect, probably a dumb thing. But Swati was nice enough to look at my hand and apply her doctor skills to bandage it up and make sure it wasn't fractured or broken. I'm a little disturbed because the gashes still look kind of hideous, 3 days later, and my index finger still hurts like hell when I bend it the wrong way. But what the fuck would the ER doctor have done anyway, other than exactly what Swati did, and maybe put it in a splint? If it's fractured, it's fractured. There's not much they can do. And if there's a scar, so what? It's just my hand. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So yes, I'm just a mess right now -- I have these sexy, totally -- what's the opposite of inconspicuous? spicuous? -- bandaids on my hand, I definitely can't swim or lift weights or do anything other than spin, really, I'm still hacking and all congested, I'm having some kind of allergic reaction to this new lotion I tried, and I still can't really run because my foot is all fucked up. How old am I, again? Christ. It makes me feel for my mom and her myriad health problems.

And, my job sucks. Shit, something has got to happen really, really soon.

Edit -- I see that a side effect of insomnia is RANK STUPIDITY. Yes, I know the opposite of "inconspicuous" is "CONspicuous." I could say that this was my attempt at humor, but really, I'm obviously not 100% with it these days. I hope this isn't reflected in my actual work product (though I re-read a brief I wrote on Monday and found about 4 or 5 errors. Ugh. Cringe. It's a good thing judges don't have time to read things carefully).

I'm also beginning to suspect that the Roy Spivey mystery has no answer because her description of this person may be somewhat ironic, sort of a slap at idiots like me who have an inexplicable fascination with celebrities? Though, the tone of her story was actually self-effacing because she did derive so much strength or fascination or whatever you want to call it with her special connection with a celebrity.

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Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Yes, Everyone...

...it's rant time again. My current rant is against frozen margaritas.



FUCK YOU, FROZEN MARGARITAS.

I don't even know why I do it, but every once in a while I read Metromix, Chicago's home for the banality of the mouth breathing masses and the "Beer Garden Guys," the "Margarita Mamas," and the latest creatively-titled "review crew," the "Beer Garden Guides." Anyway, one of today's articles, "Feelin' Salty" (it's true, complete with the oft-used vernacular, "Feelin'") was about how to score a good deal on a margarita or rather, "5 Margaritas to Rock Your Week." YES, that's actually the title of the article. Ya' know, 'cuz 'itas have ice, and it's summer lovin' time n'all.

The article covered five different restaurants, each offering a different margarita special. It pained me to see that of those five, four of them featured frozen or flavored margaritas.

Props to one of my favorite restaurants, the tasteful, delicious Zocalo, for featuring a real margarita, that is 100% agave blanco tequila up, with triple sec and fresh lime joice.

I don't know what idiot decided that frozen margaritas were acceptable, but this must be the same person who created Captain and Cokes.

I have many problems with the frozen margarita. Allow me to list them one by one.

(1) As a lover of cocktails, I must say, A FROZEN MARGARITA IS NOT A COCKTAIL. It is, however, a sweet, syrupy concoction made mostly of margarita mix, which itself is mostly corn syrup or sugar and food coloring, and really, really bad tequila. You'd be lucky if it's Jose Cuervo, but it is likely Jose's Undistilled, Cheap, Low-Grade Tequila That Probably Is About 10% Tequila and 90% Additives/Grain Alcohol for $5.99 a bottle. This is the same tequila that makes people say, "Oh, tequila. WHOA. Gross. No thanks. I had a bad experience with tequila in college. Never again." Etc. Yes, well, doing 8 shots of Jose's Undistilled, Cheap, Low-Grade Tequila That Probably Is About 10% Tequila and 90% Additives/Grain Alcohol will do that to you. RUBES.

(2) Secondly, it is generally women who proclaim to love margaritas, i.e., "Girls night! Whoo-hoo! Time for margaritas! AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS THEN, wink wink." Yeah, Ladiezzz, your margaritas have at least 500 to 600 calories per "margarita," which when you are sharing a pitcher of them using those gigantic 10 or 12 oz. margarita glasses with The Girls, can equal up to 2000 calories alone, or at least 1 hour on the elliptical, reading that week's Us Weekly and not sweating. I guess my point is, I hate the damn hypocritical, stereotypical girl who professes a love for margaritas. They usually mean frozen or flavored cheapass margaritas when they say "I loooooove margaritas! They make me do crazy things!" and once again, ladies, FROZEN MARGARITAS ARE NOT MARGARITAS.

Well, I guess that's it. I compounded those two. But really, man, a margarita is such a great drink, and it has been bastardized, ruined, and destroyed by The Banal.

I can't seem to find the recipe or article I was reading earlier this month about the proper margarita recipe, but it should involve only three ingredients:

100% agave blanco tequila
Cointreau
Fresh lime juice

It should be served up (I prefer a martini glass) and can be lightly salted with coarse salt on the rim if you prefer (I prefer rubbing the lime wedge along the rim, but to each his own).

THAT is a cocktail. Happy drinking!

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