Poppin' Fresh? Not Exactly . . . (Part One)

Way back in the dark ages, I worked at a large law firm in Phoenix doing litigation. One of the senior associates there was a fellow named... well, let’s just call him B, ok? (Because his name started with “B” and because “Bastard” also starts with “B” and so it just sort of "matches.")

B was ... well ... round. Not fat, exactly. But he had a round belly. A round face. The overall effect was just sort of ... round. And he was sort of pasty white, too. And he liked to wear white shirts. He did not believe you could be a lawyer and wear a blue or yellow or striped shirt. It had to be starched white. He always took off his tie and jacket in the office. So the overall effect was a little like Poppin’ Fresh (you know, that sweet giggly Pillsbury Doughboy character that stands for all things good and delicious?)... All he needed was the chef’s hat.

But his demeanor was not smiley and chuckley like Poppin’ Fresh. In fact, B was about as opposite of Poppin’ Fresh as a person could get, personality-wise.

Every firm has one like him. The junior associates are terrified of him because he likes to yell at them randomly and assign impossible tasks at 4:00 p.m. to be handed in to him “by tomorrow morning.” The senior associates admit he’s a jerk, but they don’t have to work for him so they ignore it. The partners all think he’s brilliant (thanks to the fantastic work provided to him on short notice by the junior associates), so he is immune to any complaints the junior associates might have about him.

The junior associates develop coping mechanisms. They warn each other when he’s on a rampage so that they can all go hide in various conference rooms and dark recesses of the library, hoping not to be his next victim. They help each other with research when necessary, so everyone can meet his impossible deadlines. They listen to each other rant about how awful he is, and they laugh together about how stupid he can be.

And then they cry alone in their offices at 3 a.m. when all the other associates - heck, the entire huge firm full of lawyers, legal assistants, paralegals, and even the housekeeping and plant-watering staff - have all gone home, and the impossible project remains unfinished and it has become clear that not only will the associate not get any sleep, but also will be lucky to finish the project by 5 p.m. the next day, forget the morning deadline....

(to be continued - but right now I have to do some actual work - now don't get sarcastic on me, yes I do actually work sometimes)

Totally Awkward Tuesdays

Has anyone seen Tova Darling? She has been MIA, as far as I can tell, since the beginning of September. Does anyone know if she has started blogging elsewhere? Or did she simply grow tired of blogging?

I miss Tova, and one of the things I miss most (besides her relentlessly upbeat and entertaining style) is her Totally Awkward Tuesdays. I loved the opportunity to laugh at myself. Even more than that, I loved the opportunity to laugh at others! So I've decided to revive that tradition here on my own blog.

For those who may have forgotten the rules, here's how it works:

1. First, write a blog post about an awkward or embarassing moment that you either participated in or witnessed. Include a link to this blog post in your blog post.

2. Use the Mr. Linky widget at the bottom of this post to link to your blog post from mine. Leave me a comment, too, and include the URL for your blog post in the comment. That way, if for some reason Mr. Linky doesn't work properly (I'm new at this), at least everyone will be able to find your post through the comments.

3. Come back later and read everyone else's awkward and embarassing stories.

4. Laugh a lot!

See, it's simple and fun. Who could resist?

And, to kick things off, here's my totally awkward moment for this week:

When I was about 15, my friend Keri and I hung around with some slightly older (17 - 20 years old) guys who played in a band. They were a pretty decent cover band, but looking back, they were not spectacular. Nevertheless, hanging out with the boys in the band made us want to be in a rock-n-roll band, too.

So one day, Keri noticed an ad in the newspaper: "Wanted: lead singer and keyboardist for local rock band. Call 867-5309."

(Well, OK, that wasn't *really* the number, and the contact wasn't Jenny, but of course I don't remember the real number and that's the best I could come up with on short notice).

Keri and I both took piano lessons. We deluded ourselves into thinking we could sing, too. Of course, neither of us knew any rock-n-roll songs on the piano, having taken the standard "classical" piano lessons. And we didn't own a decent keyboard suitable for use in a band. (Keri had a grand piano and I had an upright.) Did we let that stop us? Heck no! "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" and "What have we got to lose?" we asked ourselves. (Answer: Our dignity.)

So, we called the number. I think I made Keri call, actually. She talked with the guitarist / leader of the band, and explained that neither of us had a car (I think we "forgot" to mention that neither of us was old enough to drive), so we asked him to come to my house for the "audition." The band must have been desperate because he agreed to bring the bassist along and come see us.

And then we were in full panic mode. How could we convince these guys that, even though we didn't know any rock-n-roll songs, we'd be willing and able to learn whatever songs they wanted us to play?

What did we come up with? This was our plan: Keri could play "Sounds of Silence," by Simon and Garfunkel, on the piano. She would play that, we would both sing, we'd wear sexy jeans and shirts, and they would hire us, at which point we would devote all of our free time to learning actual rock-n-roll songs! Good plan, right? (No, actually, it's pathetic!)

So, how *did* that work out? I hear you asking.

About as well as you would expect, I guess.

Two guys showed up. They asked what equipment we had.

Uh, equipment?

Yeah, you know, what kind of keyboard, what kind of amp system, what kind of mic's?

Oh, well... uh ... we have this piano.

You can't bring a piano to a bar for a concert!

Uh, well .... if you hire us, we'll buy a keyboard! (Yeah, that's it, we'll buy one!)

The guys exchanged skeptical glances and then said, "Well ... uh ... why don't you go ahead and show us what you've got."

So Keri played Sounds of Silence reasonably well, and we both sang awfully badly.

The guys said, "Uh, thanks. We'll be in touch." And high-tailed it out of there.

I am guessing they laughed about us for *years*!


Ok, now it's your turn! Share your awkwardness so we can all laugh with (at) you, too!

National Blog Post Month - November

I missed the craze last year, when it seemed everyone was doing this. I was too new at blogging, and too busy, to even think about it.



Typical for me - late to the party - but this year I'm going for it. A blog post every day in November, no matter how busy I get.

I have lots of things in mind that I want to write about. But I figure with a blog post every day, there is lots of room to address things you want to hear about, too. So:

Is there anything I've mentioned here before that you'd like to hear more about?
... any legal topic you'd like to see me address?
... anything you'd like to know my opinion about? (Believe me, I've got opinions on just about everything....)
... anything you'd like to know about me?
... anything at all you'd like to see me write about?

Leave a question or suggested topic in the comment section, and I'll see what I can do to satisfy your curiosity this month.

Contest Winners

I promised to announce winners of the contest / giveaway on Halloween, but I was too busy, so I'm doing it today instead.

The tag line contest was tough - there were several very good entries! Nevertheless, decisions must be made, so, without further ado....

The first place winner of the tag line contest is Sillyak, with his entry, "I be a lawyer, you be the judge."

I like it! It accurately sums up what goes on with blogging, as in "I am me and I write what I write, and you get to judge whether you think it's any good and whether you want to come back for more," while adding that nice legal twist on things with the whole lawyer / judge dichotomy.

Second place goes to Sklyer's Dad, with his entry, "A lawyer you will swear by, not at."

I very much appreciate the sentiment, SkyDad, and it is a goal - to have people "swear by" my words instead of swearing at me. But I've had too many people swear at me recently to adopt it as my slogan...

Third place in the tag line contest goes to Jane, over at Gaston Studio, for her entry, ". . . for a spray of reality."

I like the reference to the "Mist" part of the blog title. I originally intended the "Mist" to refer to the fact that I'm somewhat anonymous - you know, shrouded in a Mist or some such poetic nonsense - as well as the idea that many things in the law, as in life, are less than perfectly clear. But I like the idea of expanding that concept to incorporate new layers of meaning - a more deliberate Mist, if you will.

As I said, it was a tough choice. Who knows? I may use one for a while, then use another later, when I get tired of the first one!

Thanks to all who entered!

Sillyak, you have three days to send me an email (to my Legalmist at gmail account) with your shipping information, and then sometime soon I will drag my lazy butt down to the post office and mail your chocolates and mints!

Happily for me, no one entered the giveaway portion of the contest, so I get to eat those chocolates myself, guilt-free!

Friday Feature - Diary of an Old Fart

Today's featured blog is "Diary of an Old Fart." When I first began reading it, I thought it was a real diary. After a while, I realized it was fiction.

The characters are well-drawn, and the author does a lot with just a few words. He captures a lot about personality, attitudes, and relationships with just a few lines of dialogue.

After the main story (set forth in Days 1 - 88) was completed, the author moved on to writing "preludes" and "epilogues."

So head over and start with Day 1, work your way through all the days, then go to the preludes and epilogues. If you can restrain yourself, it would be fun to read one day at a time (as I did when I started and he was posting only a day at a time of the diary, making it seem like the story was happening in "real time"). But you probably will find yourself hooked and unable to avoid reading all the days at once.... Good luck with that.


Happy reading, Friday feature finders, happy reading!

Uncle Rene

My Dad is heartbroken about the loss of his favorite Uncle Rene, who died last week. Uncle Rene was the “last link” to my Dad’s father’s past. My Dad’s father, Fred, died around 1980 (I’m ashamed to admit I don’t remember the exact date), when my Dad was in his 30's. My Dad’s grandfather died before Fred married and before my Dad was even born (in the early ‘40's). There were other brothers, too, besides Fred and Rene, but they also died a while back, so Uncle Rene was the repository of all the remaining history from that side of my Dad’s family.

He was also a charming man with a wry sense of humor and a great memory for details.

When my cousin got married in New Orleans quite a few years back, my Dad, stepmom, step-siblings, and I attended the wedding. It was around the same time that the Super Bowl was being played there (in the Superdome, which Uncle Rene fondly called the “stainless steel wart”). Of course, the Super Bowl has been held in New Orleans 9 times, so it’s a little hard to avoid getting married around the same time the Super Bowl is being played in New Orleans, so I don’t blame my cousin for that unfortunate timing. (I also won't mention which time it was, since this is a sort of anonymous blog and all that.) [See Footnote 1]

Sadly, my Dad waited too long to book a room at the "Taj Mahal" hotel where the wedding reception would be held, and was forced to look at other options nearby. And, due to the massive number of rooms booked for the Super Bowl, affordable and decent hotels were hard to come by in New Orleans.

My Dad, bless his heart, tried to book a decent hotel, but this was before the internet was popular - that is to say, before one could actually look at photos of the place and read reviews about it easily. One was forced to rely on less accurate sources of information, such as the minimum wage worker who answered the phone when you called the 800 number that you looked up in the telephone book (do any of you still have one of those?), who assured my dad that the motel he booked was a fine motel, and was in a safe and nice part of town just a couple of miles from the "Taj Mahal."

I can’t remember if it was a Travelodge, or Holiday Inn, or some random unaffiliated motel, but I am thinking it was a chain, because I remember thinking it was something that you would expect to be somewhat decent, if not exactly the Ritz.

It turned out to be an extremely dumpy and disgustingly dirty roach motel right next to the freeway overpass in a crappy part of town, complete with pubes in the bathtub and gun-toting gangsters in the parking lot. And I’m not kidding about either one of those.

We checked in, but stayed only long enough for my Dad to use the telephone (this was also in the days before cell phones were ubiquitous; and at least the awful room had a working telephone) while the rest of us stood around trying not to touch anything. My Dad called Uncle Rene and asked if he knew of any hotels available near his home, because this one clearly wasn't going to work. Uncle Rene graciously offered to let us stay with him instead, and so we checked out and drove to Uncle Rene’s house.

That was the best decision ever.

In addition to enjoying an immediate welcome with wonderful iced tea and snacks, and clean bathrooms and linens, and my charming great-Uncle Rene, we were treated to tales of the family’s history, complete with a driving tour of historical homes of New Orleans that were built by my great-grandfather.

You see, my grandfather’s (and Uncle Rene’s) father was a home builder in the early 1900's in New Orleans. He was quite successful, apparently, due to some fantastic yet relatively low-tech innovations that he built into his homes.

The first fantastic innovation was to build very large and wide eaves on the house. This did two things in pre-air-conditioning early 1900's New Orleans: (1) it provided shade, thereby helping to cool the home; and (2) it allowed the homeowner to open the windows even if it was pouring rain, which it did frequently in the summer in New Orleans, to keep the house cool even during the hot, humid, summer days with storms. In a more typical (at the time) New Orleans home without such large eaves, the homeowner would be forced to close the windows to keep the driving wind-blown rain from soaking everything in the house. Then the house would be hot and humid and extremely uncomfortable. Wide eaves kept the rain out, thereby allowing the homeowner to open the windows and take advantage of the breezes and the evaporative cooling effect from the rain.

The second fantastic innovation was to “bug-proof” the homes. He accomplished this in two ways. First, most homes in New Orleans are built up on pillars, or "pilings." That way, when the City floods (as it inevitably will - can you say “Katrina”?), the house is (hopefully) sitting high enough off the ground that the water won’t come in. So my great-grandfather put metal “caps” on top of the pilings, that stuck out a couple inches from the top of the piling, with the edges angled downward. This prevented bugs such as termites, carpenter ants, and roaches from entering the home, because they couldn’t climb up to the wooden part of the house. They could climb up the pilings, but then they’d hit the metal sheet. Some bugs could even crawl upside down on the metal sheet to the edge of it, but they couldn’t make it around the edge to the other side to enter the home. Instead, they would fall back to the ground and presumably go bother someone else.

In addition, he put boric acid inside the framing of the walls before installing the plaster (this was before the days of drywall, of course). That way, if any bugs did start to get in, they would hit the bug poison and die before infesting the home. [See Footnote 2]

In hot, humid, bug-infested New Orleans, these were welcome inventions indeed!

Sadly, my great-grandfather fell on extremely hard times during the depression, and was unable to recover his fortune before he died in the late 1930's or so.

But his legacy lives on in the homes he built that are still standing today. And you can tell his homes by looking at them - large eaves, and little metal strips sticking out from the pilings.

And my Uncle Rene’s legacy lives on, too, in the memories he provided for me that day in New Orleans, and for my Dad across his lifetime, as well as for his own children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

We miss you, Uncle Rene.



* * * * *
Footnotes (Because I'm a lawyer, that's why!):

Footnote 1: Did you know that, although the Super Bowl has been played in their hometown NINE TIMES, thus giving them more opportunities than any other team has ever had to actually play in the Super Bowl at home, the hapless New Orleans Saints have never played in any Super Bowl game in any location? Then again, they are on a roll so far this year - maybe they'll finally make it to the big game!

Footnote 2: Note that boric acid is practically harmless for humans - barely more toxic than table salt - yet a small amount kills a lot of bugs. My great-grandfather had his kids (my grandfather and Uncle Rene, and the rest of them, too!) assist with the boric acid installation, among other aspects of the house-building process.

(Of course, these days if you tried that, you'd have OSHA and Child Protective Services and possibly a whole host of other government agencies breathing down your neck and threatening you with fines and jail time. But back in those days, having your children install bug poison was a viable option!)

A Tough Week in New Orleans

My Dad’s favorite uncle, Uncle Rene - his father’s brother - died last week. His mother’s sister, Aunt Betty, died last week, too. Rough week for my Dad.

My grandmother’s sister had been fighting cancer for most of this year. When it was first diagnosed, it already had metastasized, so there was not a lot of hope of a cure, even from the beginning. She lived longer than they expected her to live (about 9 months after the diagnosis), and she lived with grace and joy and a sense of the wonder of life, determined to experience what she could, enjoy what she could, and be with family as much as she could, while she was able. However, she had been under hospice care for some time. She was awake and alert and happy to receive cards and visits for her 84th birthday on October 16. Since her birthday, though, she had not done much but sleep. She died this past Friday, October 23. Her daughter was with her. I am sure she felt loved. We will miss her dearly.

My grandfather’s brother had seemed very healthy, especially given his age - he would have been 94 this week. He had a bit of fluid around his heart a couple of months ago, but they got rid of the fluid (diuretics did the trick, I think) and pronounced him healthy. He died of a heart attack last Monday, October 19. It was sudden and as unexpected as a 94 year old person's death could ever be. I hope he had a chance to say his goodbyes and to enjoy all the things he wanted in life. I hope he died relatively peacefully, and that he, too, felt loved. Because he was.

Both lived in New Orleans for most of their lives. That is where my Dad’s family is from, and where many of his relatives have lived for generations. Both funerals will take place this week. Many folks in New Orleans may not notice their passing, but my family is understandably a bit shaken.

I’ll share a bit more about Uncle Rene, and about my family history, tomorrow.

Friday Feature - I'm Not Benny

Today's featured blogger will make you laugh at least once for every post you read. I promise.

(Either that or you just have no sense of humor. One of those....)

The author is, by turns, funny, intriguing, absurd, humorous, head-scratchingly strange, and hilarious.

But he's not Benny.

Go check him out today, at I'm Not Benny.

Happy reading, and happy Friday, my favorite featured friends!

What Could Be Worse?

Have any of you watched "Nip / Tuck" (on FX)? The show is so bad, it's good.

The plots are outrageously ridiculous, shocking, disgusting, depraved even - and they completely lack any semblance of any sort of redeeming social value, so that I hate myself for liking this show - but at the same time, I can't help it. It is hilarious and entertaining. The acting and writing are good. (Really. There's no way I could keep a straight face with some of the situations and lines these actors are given, yet they play it as if it's just their reality. Amazing.) I read somewhere, though, that most of the plastic surgeries requested on the show - outrageous things like "remove the drug-smuggler's cocaine-containing breast implants" and "anal reconstruction" and "make my face look like a cat" and "amputate my leg" - are based on real-life plastic surgeries that have been performed.

Last week's show really cracked me up, though. Here's why:

Does anyone know/remember the character Matt McNamara's history through the show?

Matt has been raised as Sean and Julia's son, although Christian is his biological dad. He considers both of them his "dads" at this point. He also has some adjustment problems, apparently. Right off the bat, in season one, he smoked marijuana with a friend and was involved in a hit & run accident.

So, his parents hire a "life coach" for him. Then he has a sexual relationship with the "life coach," who turns out to be a sexual predator.

The life coach also later turns out to be a transexual (who was also having a sexual relationship with her own biological son), which sends Matt over the edge and to a tranny bar where he picks up a woman and then attacks her when he learns she is a transexual; her friends later attack Matt. Later that season, he dates a racist girl and becomes a skinhead / racist / white supremacist. Later, he makes up with the tranny gal, who kills the supremacist gal's dad with a shovel, if I am remembering correctly. Holy cow.

But that's not all, folks. Later, Matt sleeps with Kimber, the porn star girlfriend of each of his dads at one point or another during this crazy bad show. He converts to scientology while trying to seduce her. (This was around the time Tom Cruise was being a high profile scientologist and Oprah couch-hopper, giving new meaning to the word "nuts").

Matt later tries to extort money from his dads to pay for his and Kimber's crystal meth addiction, by claiming he is broke and needs the money to pay for food for his and Kimber's baby.

And then he is burned in a hotel explosion and fire he caused by cooking meth.

And then he meets a patient in his father's office, falls hard for her, and starts sleeping with her -- only to learn she is his biological sister who had come to L.A. to find her real father, Christian.


So, when your character has been a white supremacist; a meth addict; a scientologist; a lying, cheating, thieving, no-good jerk; has been involved in at least one murder; and already has slept with his father's (fathers'?) porn star girlfriend, his transexual life coach, and his biological sister, what more can you do with / to that character? What can you do to make everyone hate him even more? What could be worse?

Why, of course! (And I can just picture the writers sitting around smoking dope and thinking up this one....)

This season, he decides to pursue his "life's dream" of becoming a ...

* * *

... can you guess? ....


* * *


... scroll down, now....


* * *

...Wait for it!...


* * *

. . . he decides to become a . . . MIME !!


(The look on his two dads' faces when he announced his new life's dream was priceless).

But, of course! If there is any single person out there who still likes this character after all he has done, this will seal the deal! This will get rid of any small amount of sympathy that still exists for this character. Because of course everyone hates a mime!

(Don't they? I can just picture this discussion in the writers' conference room...)

And the kicker is, within the hour, Matt the Mime is holding up a coffee shop with a fake plastic gun. In full makeup. And without saying a word.


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Sorry.

I'll be laughing for weeks over that one.

(And I can't wait to watch this week's episode....).

A Pet Peeve

Have you ever called your credit card company to ask about a charge you think may be incorrect?

No?

Well, here's what happens:

You dial the telephone number printed on your statement.

The phone rings.

The automated voice mail menu system picks up.

It runs through a list of options for you, none of which mention your problem. So you hit "0" hoping for a live person.

No such luck. The computer advises you that your entry is incorrect and to please select from the following menu of options, repeating the same useless list.

So you pick something remotely similar, like "To Pay Your Bill" and press "2" (or whatever number it was).

Then it gives you another menu, with none of the options matching your query. So you try again with the "0," hoping to speak with a real person.

This time, it seems to work! It says something like, A representative will be with you shortly. Please enter your credit card number.

So you enter your credit card number.

Then begins the "Hold Hell," which despite rhyming with Cold Hell is not at all similar to a "Cold Day In Hell," which would be an extremely rare event and therefore not as annoying.

"Hold Hell" is where they play annoying music in the background that keeps you from enjoying the music you were listening to at home. They also interrupt the bad music every two minutes or so with some sort of "announcement" about the bank or credit card offerings or whatever. Each time you hear the music cut out, your face brightens a bit as you think, "Finally! A person to talk to!" and then your heart sinks again as you hear the soft female computer-generated voice begin another announcement...

15 - 20 minutes later, a real person finally picks up but by then you are so engrossed in your online Sudoku game that you don't even notice until the person is saying, "Hello? Hello?"

And then you jolt to attention.

And then they ask you for your credit card number.

And so you say, "I know it has been 15 minutes, but I thought computers had pretty good memories. Didn't I just type that in?"

And the person says, "Well, but it doesn't show up on my screen, so I need you to tell it to me again."

Aargh.

So you do. And then it turns out this person is in the wrong department to help you and so you have to be transferred.

Again the computer-generated voice asks you to type in your number. Again you do so.

And then... another 15 minutes of "Hold Hell." Another online Sudoku game and a crossword puzzle and a quick perusal of failblog.org and postsecret.com and . . . .

Another person finally picks up the phone, jolting you back to the present. What's the first thing they ask you? . . .

. . . Right! [You guys are quick learners, by the way!]

"Can I have your credit card number, please?"

Aaaaargh!!