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Monday, January 31, 2005


Today everyone looks pink! Equal opportunity bad makeup, hooray.
I had a post about how lackluster this season was and how the ugliness of the cast makes it really hard for me to care about what happens to them.
I was going to say how I think the character of Heller was dreadfully miscast, the man's voice is too pitchy and he looks too rolly-pollyish (I debated the hyphen on that) for me to take him seriously as the secretary of defense.
Maybe I would have thrown in a few jabs at Paul and his pathetic attempt to win his wife away from the man who just saved her life with his skillful knife throwing.
Ooh and I might have noted that if you ever hear Jack say the words "I will call for help, just tell me everything I need to know first," you should spit in his eye and say "that will go with me to the grave, Bauer" (wheezing and sputtering as much as your bullet wound requires, of course.)
But I forgot all that after the final three minutes.
And it's not just cause he's hot.
I won't ruin it for those of you waiting to see it. But WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
Ok, I'm going to post my spoiler filled chanting in the comment section now, so don't go look if you don't wanna know.



Have you ever driven to a stop under a bridge, looked around, and thought: 'hey, this is where the trolls should be?'

On Life and Death
I've shaken the hand of an inmate on death row.
Like most of the people on death row, he was poor, uneducated and his victim was white.
He had killed a college student, a few years older than himself, during an ill-conceived carjacking after an even worse conceived armed robbery of a convenience store.
At the time, he was high.
And drunk.
Needless to say, he and the three other guys were arrested minutes later by police. He was the oldest of the four and despite persuasive evidence that he had significant mental deficiencies and likely wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, the police decided he was the ring leader and he was charged with capital murder, convicted and sentenced to death in less than four months.
When I met him during my third year of law school, he had been on death row for five or six years.
His was the third death penalty appeal I had worked on, but he would be the first (and only) defendant I actually got to meet.
The Supreme Court had overturned his original conviction, and we were in trial court for a pre-trial hearing for the retrial.
My first dose of Southern hospitality was when the D.A. objected to our pro hac vice motion because "one New York lawyer was enough to defend a murderer in a waste of time retrial."
The judge overruled that objection but cautioned us all to remember that his was "not a New York court."
I was seated in the courtroom galley, so I didn't meet our client until later.
I was nervous.
Scouring trial transcripts for mistakes and researchng nuances of constitutional law was one thing (well, ok, two things) but being locked in a room with a convict was an entirely different matter. Sure, there were four other members of our team and two armed guards with me, but still.
I lingered outside with the first year associate on the case until the partner called us in.
"After you," I said hanging back.
But when I finally went in, there were so many people there that I couldn't see him anywhere. Then, I caught a glint of sunlight reflected off a shiny object.
I peered through the people and saw handcuffs, attached to a chain around his waist, attached to another chain attached to shackles around his ankles.
He sparkled all over with silver and sunlight.
The most startling thing about him was that he was white.
I don't know why, but for the six weeks I had been on the case, I pictured a black guy in my head.
He was very skinny, and tall, but with the tug of the ankle chains pulling down from his waist, he was in a bent posture the entire time.
The partner introduced me.
"Bennie, this is Dawn. She's a law student."
"Nice to meet you, miss" he practically whispered as he held out his handcuffed hands to me.
I leaned in and took the left one in my own.
His hand was soft, but extremely cold.
"I hope you can learn something good for school from all this," he said quietly. I smiled nervously and stepped away from him.
How had he come to this? We were practically the same age (although I have gotten younger since then, so now he's quite a bit older than I am) and yet the great state of Virginia was set to execute him.
Two of my other death penalty cases also involved teenagers convicted of killing white people. The murder charges were dropped in one case and the other has been appealed and awaits a decision.
It's a sad thing that the United States has led the world in so many ways, yet lags behind with the likes of Cuba, Rwanda and Iran on the issue of state sanctioned killing.
One can only hope that the supposed Christian revival and triumph of the "moral majority" will mean an end to the death penalty. And it will finally go the way of the firing squads and electric chairs of the past. Even today's sterile, "lethal injection" and gas chambers trigger a horrifying death of suffocation and simulated drowning.
It's simple really, there is no humane way to take a healthy, living, walking, speaking, thinking, breathing adult and turn him or her into a corpse.
It's an old bit Karol and I have. She says something like "so and so is pro-life."
"Really?," I reply "A Republican that's against the death penalty? Sweet."
Of course, nine times out of ten, I'm mistaken and so and so is not against the death penalty at all.
I interviewed the warden at one of the most notorious death houses in the world about his job. He was as emphatic and bible thumping a Christian as one finds in the backwaters of Louisiana. (When asked why he puts a cross on the grave of every inmate who dies at Angola even though some are Muslim or Jewish who don't believe in salvation through Jesus Christ, with a straight face he replied, "well, they sure believe in it now." Presumably, as they burn in hell.)
I asked how a Christian could kill a man. Both testaments seem pretty clear on this one. It was the only time that he faltered.
"It's hard," he admitted, "but the bible says render unto Caesar's what is Caesar's," he recovered.
Hmmm, using a tax law to justify the death penalty, pretty smooth.
Some fairly brutal killers have been executed. I suppose it's true enough that they "deserved" it. But what about us as a society?
What do we deserve for calmly, deliberately, methodically taking the life of another for no other purpose than vegeance?
No person on death row today was deterred from murdering, kidnapping, raping or robbing because of the death penalty. Most of these crimes are perpetrated by fools who think they'll get away with it or sick individuals.
There's no rehabilitative purpose served by the needle.
Putting a societal pillow over their faces until they are dead, just makes us criminal.
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for punishment.
I've also held the hand of a mother whose son was shot to death in a tragic case of wrong place/wrong time, I've seen the face of a close friend in the hospital after she was raped and attended the funeral of a kid killed by people "sending a message" to her father.
I know there is terrible evil in the world.
But does the death row warden ending Bennie's life end the evil or further it?
I have been following the seemingly never-ending Michael Ross saga and finished watching Court TV's 'The Exonerated,' that I taped on Saturday, the death penalty has been much on my mind these days. It's been almost eight years since my first visit to death row and five years since I met Bennie, but since it's been four years since federal executions came roaring back after a 40 year hiatus with Timothy McVeigh's lethal injection in 2001 and the tri-state area is about to have its first execution in 45 years, I get the feeling things are only going to get worse, before they get better.

Friday, January 28, 2005


Hi. I hope you don't mind me calling you Oprah, but I figure since I've been writing to you for thirteen years, have seen all your movies (including 'The Women of Brewster Place', but I assume you got my letter about how that movie changed my life -I spit on every cut now), buy every book you tell me to, subscribe to your magazine, give subscriptions out as Christmas presents, and endorsed you for President (even though I suspect that you are a Republican, not that I wouldn't switch parties if I thought that would please you) it would be alright if I addressed you in the familiar.

Anyway, the reason I'm writing to you this time is I just wondered what I did to anger you. What have I ever done but admire you and aspire to someday have you adopt me?

I mean, I have racked my brain for the last few hours since finally finishing Anna Karenina, and I cannot figure out why you would do that to me.

To say that the book sucked, would not really capture the irritation of wondering how Tolstoy could still have 81 pages left after the title character has been crushed to death. It hardly seems fair that she should escape the misery of her own tome, while the reader suffers through yet more mundane explorations of European agricultural philosophy.

Why would you force me to walk back and forth with that 850 page book when you knew how awful it was? And I know you knew, no good novel would mention Schopenhauer in passing. No, no this was some sort of medieval punishment, but I can't for the life of me imagine for what.

Now, I know you have never responded to any of my letters before (or read them on the air), but I hope you answer this one, so that I can know my transgression and avoid upsetting you in the future.

I hope you, Stedman and your dogs are all well. You look fantastic by the way, this season has been one your best.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Dawn Summers

P.S. As always I would love an autographed picture if you could send me one. Thanks!


This week, in a closed meeting with African-Americans, Mr. Bush asserted that Social Security was a bad deal for their race, repeating his earlier claim that "African-American males die sooner than other males do, which means the system is inherently unfair to a certain group of people."

From Little Black Lies

Thursday, January 27, 2005


Because, well, it needs to be said. Again.


Cooley said the complaint would be amended to add another count to refer to the 11th victim, found in the wreckage late Wednesday night. And he said the defendant's suicidal intent didn't make any difference to him.

"He's not going to engage my sympathy because he was despondent. His despondency doesn't move me," the district attorney told The Associated Press.

Arraignment was planned for Thursday afternoon but could be delayed depending on Alvarez's medical condition.

Alvarez, 25, got out of his green Jeep Cherokee before the two commuter trains crashed Wednesday morning in this Los Angeles suburb. He stood by as the gruesome chain-reaction wreck scattered wreckage and bodies over a quarter-mile of track.

The SUV was stuck between tracks away from a crossing and once there, he could not have moved it even if he had tried, Metrolink CEO David Solow said. The southbound train that struck it bolted skyward, hit a parked Union Pacific railcar, then clipped the northbound train.

For the love of.

I am not a proponent of the death penalty under any circumstances, but this case hardly seems to serve any of the death penalty's ends.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005


Senators who voted against confirmation of Dr. Rice for Secretary of State

Barbara Boxer, D-Calif.
Robert Byrd, D-W.Va.
Edward Kennedy, D-Mass.
John Kerry, D-Mass.
Carl Levin, D-Mich.
James Jeffords, I-Vt.
Jack Reed, D-R.I
Mark Dayton, D-Minn.
Daniel Akaka, D-Hawaii
Evan Bayh, D-Ind.
Frank Lautenberg, D-N.J.
Tom Harkin, D-Iowa
Richard Durbin, D-Ill.

Very disappointed this list isn't longer and doesn't include either of my Senate representatives. Punks.

via Lucianne


Tons of secretaries are black women.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005


Sorry that posting has been so light and more random than usual. I have been obsessed with the ipod and the seeing how many of my CDs it can hold before it bursts. Turns out, lots. We are now on Disc three of Les Miserables the Symphonic version.


Would you rather have your spouse back from Iraq mentally fine, but physically mangled or physically fine but mentally ruined?

Monday, January 24, 2005


Ummm...should I be worried that as soon as I heard a random beeping from my computer, I immediately clicked on the unknown flashing icon on my taskbar?


I've just got to catch bin Laden.


Why are all the black people on the show orange tinted? And now the white people are excessively pink.

Is this a make-up thing or have I developed the ability to see through pigment?

Sunday, January 23, 2005


"I've tried poor but happy, guess what? It wasn't that happy." - Gabrielle Solis

While we're at it, let me be the first to call the "she resumes her affair with John gets pregnant because Carlos tampers with her birth control pills, but then isn't sure who the father is" storyline.

Saturday, January 22, 2005


Due to the promise that New York City would be covered in snow by the end of tonight, I decided to stockpile food and supplies (read: enough chewy chocolate chip cookies to last the week) for the white-out to come.
Since I was still feeling a little queasy from a bad lunch on Friday, my mom insisted on coming with me to the grocery store. I called a taxi, pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt and we went downstairs to wait for the cab. The street was already covered with a few inches of snow. A 1976 Lincoln pulled up to the door.
“You go in first,” my mom said as she carefully walked with her cane toward the car.
I opened the door and slid all the way over.
My mother limped inside.
“Good afternoon, we’re going to the Shop ‘N Stop.”
No answer.
“Flatbush and Snyder,” my mother said more loudly.
The car took off.
“Sir, do you have a card? We’re going to need a car to pick us up in an hour.”
Again, no answer.
A few minutes later he made a left on Synder.
“No, this is not it, it’s the next block.”
“You said Synder and Flatbush,” a gruff voice sneered.
He stopped the car and turned around: “This is Synder and Flatbush.”
“I made a mistake, it’s the next block up,” my mom said.
He blurted an expletive and pulled out again.
At the next corner, I knew my mom was wrong again, the Shop N Stop was on the next street up.
“No, it’s one more block up – make the left on Tilden.”
No answer, but the car kept going.
Unfortunately, when we got to Tilden, he still kept going.
“No! Wait, left here. Left here!”
He pulled over to the far corner.
“The road is too bad.”
He put the car in park.
“The road is bad.”
No kidding, Sherlock. Why do you think I called a cab to go six blocks?
“So, what does that mean?”
He unlocked the doors.
“Look, if we have to get out here, you’re not getting paid.”
“I don’t care if you pay me. The road is bad. I am not going around again.”
My mom opened her door. She put the cane down and swung her legs out.
“I am going to report you,” she said as she began to stand out of the car.
“Well, I’ll just take you back home.”
I felt the car move into gear.
“Well, I’m not going back home,” my mom yelled as she walked away from the door, “and you’re not getting a penny.”
I began to slide over to open door, when I felt the car moving.”
No answer.
The door was still open and he was about to pull into traffic.
Now, you see people jump out of moving cars all the time on TV or in the movies.
But doing it in real life is an entirely different thing. For instance, on TV you never hear the debate between the little voice in the jumper’s head saying jump and the brain saying are you crazy?
The brain says: “He’s not really going to keep driving with his door open and us here in the backseat.”
Yes, he is, you idiot, he’s just waiting for that sedan to pass him and he’s going. Get out now, the voice orders.
The voice is right. I scrambled over to the open door and put my feet out.
“Surely, he’ll stop,” reasons the brain.
My feet scraped the pavement as the moving car made its way into the left lane.
“Did that feel like a car stopping?”
You’re right, shut up brain.
“Wait, let’s think this through. You can’t jump.”
I said shut up.
My mother was staring in horror as the vehicle pulled further away from her.
I jumped…. Well, more like tilted all the way forward and tumbled to the ground.
It’s an odd sensation going from 8 or 10 miles an hour to zero in one forward lean. My legs gave out under me, I fell backward and my head hit the pavement.
My mom hurried toward me.
I was lying face up in the street, covered in snow and had lost a shoe.
“Are you alright? Dawn, are you hurt?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
By now a few passers-by were watching. I stood up and dusted my coat off.
My mom went looking for a police officer.
I bent down to put on my shoe and find my hat, which fell off in the scuffle between head and pavement.
She went up to a parked patrol car, but no one was inside.
I looked up the street and saw the beat up car, with its right passenger door swinging open, stopped at a red light.
“See, we could have just gotten out at a red light…but no we had to jump. No one ever listens to the brain.”
Shut up.
“Mom, just forget it. I’m fine.”
When we came back home, she immediately called the citywide complaint hotline to report him.
I went straight to google to find out the early symptoms of a concussion.
I went straight to google to find out the early symptoms of a concussion.
I went straight to google to find out the early symptoms of a concussion.
I went straight to google to find out the early symptoms of a concussion.
I went straight to google to find out the early symptoms of a concussion.

Thursday, January 20, 2005


Be of good cheer, we made it through the first term!!!


Republicans are pretty much awesome. Thanks Jake!

We will now return to your regular program, already in progress.


Simpson, Lachey Return for 'Newlyweds'

Wednesday, January 19, 2005


"Star magazine reports that 18-year-old Sydney Simpson is enrolling at Boston College against the wishes of her mother, Nicole's, alleged murderer. O.J. Simpson, the mag reports, wanted Sydney to stay close to home in Coral Gables, Fla. "It took a lot of heated arguments before Sydney was able to win her dad over," the mag quotes a family friend as saying."

Just sayin'.

In other news from the Simpson family, Sydney has been arrested.


At the not-at-all-conservative-blogger party, Ken Wheaton said that he had been roped into a charity Hold 'Em tournament. Given that this is the guy that was too scared to play Hold 'Em with the girls for $5, my advice to him was basically just try not to be the first one out. In true Cajun style, he replied that he'd prefer an early exit because then he could hit the open bar for the rest of the night.


He won!

Well played old man, well played.


Alaska, Colorado, District of Columbia, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, New Hampshire, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin, or Wyoming.


So, I asked for a fun game of Hold 'Em with no smoking and no animals, last night I got it.

Unfortunately, I forgot to specify that it be a cash money game, so that once I doubled up, I could scoop all my chips in my hands and get the heck outta dodge.

The game was a tournament of mostly corporate lawyers who had been playing together for about a year. One other girl, who had never played Hold 'Em before and I were the newbies around the table. About twenty minutes before game time, Karol decided she wanted to play and brought along "sweet-faced" Lisa the shark.

All started out well, when with A4h I flopped a 2h 3c 8h. I called the bet of the other guy in the pot. The turn was 5s. We both checked and then the Jh came on the river. He checked. I bet 300 and he called. I took down the first pot of the night with an Ace high flush. He didn't show his cards. (I hate that, by the way. I thought the rule was if you pay, you see the cards. I paid, I wanted to see.) Anyway, I remember the hand pretty well because it was the last winning hand I had for an hour and half. Lisa the Shark began to dominate the table, getting deadly river and turn cards.
"The thing with Lisa," Karol would say to the table, "is that she could have anything in the world."

I watched significant numbers of my chips make their way over to her growing stack, until I decided to stop playing if she was in the pot.

That strategy had its limitations as I got blinded down and finally busted out (thankfully Karol busted out first, lessening the humiliation of a rebuy.)

With my second set of chips, I decided to play more aggressively, I bluffed quite a few pots, including a monster hand against the Shark.

However, once we entered hour two of the tournament, I was exhausted. I had made quite a bit over my two rebuys, and wanted to cash out and go home. However, evidently, I was required to stay until I had lost all my money -- which I did shortly before the start of hour three.


Tournaments are a lot harder than they seem on TV and I think the strategies for playing them are different from cash games -- but I can't tell yet how to adjust. Should I play cards more aggressively than in cash games? Bet more agressively? It seemed like after the second hour, people would just go all-in with anything and I couldn't figure out what they had, so I was laying down low pocket pairs and even QJ,A10 because I couldn't put them on a hand.

Were they just going all-in so no one would call or did they really think they could double up? The uncertainty crippled my game, I was folding hands that I would have won and going all-in on craziness hoping I could scare others, the way I had been scared away. It no happen and I busted out on A9d facing Big Slick. He hit the king on the flop.


"That's poker."

Tuesday, January 18, 2005


Since the weekend's not over until I go back to work, it looks like I am the last one to blog about the party, which is probably fitting because I was also the last one to show up at the party.
C graciously allowed a whole cadre of bloggers to descend upon her birthday party location for the annual Candace visit.
Ruby's was dark, loud and crowded, and guarded by a huge, burly bouncer.
The rebel, smoker bloggers were hanging outside -- in 12 degree weather - when asphnxma and I got there shortly after midnight.
Ari and Funnya were deep in conversation, so I said hi to blog-tease Yaron and introduced him to asphnxma.
"This is the guy who posted about quitting blogging, only to start blogging more than he had ever blogged before. He's worse than Jordan with all the comebacks."
"IDs!" the Burly man asked.
I handed him my driver's license, hoping he wouldn't notice that I was merely 16.
Whew, cleared!
"HEY, LET'S GO OVER HERE" I said to asphnxma who had been right behind me.
"WHAT?" replied some guy I had never seen before.
Next I saw, MKID, also known as dead money at the weekly Karol Hold 'Em games.
"HEY! Donde esta Karol?"
Why I thought Spanish would overcome the loud dance music, I'll never know.
"She's around, somewhere."
I ran into Ivan, who decided to leave the party moments after I showed up.
"What? You can't share space with a liberal?"
"You insult me," he deadpanned. At least, I think that's what he said, by now Britney's 'Slave 4 U' was blaring.
Asphnxma went off to get drinks and I continued the search for the redhead.
Along the way I said 'hi' to Esther, 'so's your face'd Ken and zapped Jessica and Lisa with my freezing cold hands.
Then...finally, finally I met Ginger!
A little starstruck, I stammered something about the long trip from New Jersey (stupid, stupid Dawn, this is why you're not invited anywhere), and prattled on about how nice it was to finally meet her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Candace drunken dancing on the bar.
"So, looks like your co-blogger's having a good time!"
Ginger smiled and I went over to say hi to Miss Candace, safely assuming that she was too drunk to make good on her promise to punch me in the face.
"Brunette, Candace! This is my friend asphnxma, he has a poker blog," and then I unwittingly made a critical error. "He speaks Russian."
Since I don't speak Russian, I have no idea what transpired next, but I assure you candiedginger are not kidding when they conclude "despite the conspicuous lack of dancing and Candace's inclination to yell in Russian at everybody who she thought might understand her, we did have a great time."While they were yelling in Russian, I went over to talk to Paul.
"So, why are you hanging out over here by yourself?'
"It's cool. I'm like a lone wolf."
Ah, yes. Very sexy.
I joined him in the sexy, lone-wolf wall lean and noticed three holes in the ceiling.
What the hell?
Are those bullet-holes? No sooner had I turned to ask Paul, who as a cop, was probably better qualified to determine the source of the holes, that I saw the assasin again!
Holy crap. This guy is either after asphnxma or...wait, I did tell those Asian women I didn't see anything, as I dashed away from their door, right?
I decided to go find Karol. She was sitting at the bar with her good friend, SMVP.
"You'll never believe what happened to me."
"What?" she asked.
"So, you know the woman from Urban Grind?"
"Well, I was talking to her and I say, 'so what's the name of your blog'? And she's like, Urban Grind. So I say: 'Oh. What do you write about? I don't think I've ever read it.' She kinda gives me a look and says 'Yes, you have. You've left comments.'
"Yeah, you know Zelda"
"Oh, the hawk girl? She said a different name. How was I supposed to know?"
"Dawn, this is why we don't invite you anywhere."
At this point, Candace had moved from bar dancing to lap dancing. As she shimmied up and down Karol's lap, under the watchful eye of all the men in a drink spilling distance, I wondered how on earth she had that much energy.
"I'm 21," she beamed, eyeing my lap
Mmm...21...they should bottle 21 and sell it on the street, but just to be safe I stood up and rejoined Paul at the wall.
The DJ started to play something by Culture Club and as if on cue, the party broke up.
Now, what happens next, I am still not clear on, but everyone tumbled out of the bar and gathered on the corner.
"Ok, let's go back to Karol's," Jessica said.
"And falafels," Lisa added.
"And cards," someone from the crowd shouted.
Asphnxma hailed a couple of cabs and Karol, SMVP and I hopped in.
"OK, see you back at Karol's. Lisa, get in. They only have three people."
Lisa got in and we were off.
Instead of going to Karol's or even for falafels, we all ended up in this brightly lit pizza chain on Second Avenue, where we paid like $12 for a slice of plain cheese pizza.
Lisa then waved goodbye, SMVP hopped in a cab and Karol and I walked back to her apartment alone.
"Um...where are the people? I thought the people were coming back here?"
"Nope," Karol murmered as we entered the elevator.
"But, Jessica said: 'everybody back to Karol's to play cards.'"
"Nope, never happened," Karol said, kicking off her shoes in the foyer.
I took off my shoes and looked around at the empty living room.
"No! One more word about people and you're getting the cat sheets to sleep on."
I was quiet, but still fairly certain that any minute now, throngs of card playing, falafel eaters would be ringing the bell.
It didn't happen.
"Karol, but what about MKID and Jessica..."
But the night was over.
And now I had to sleep on the cat sheets.
And had a nightmare about a devil in a bearsuit.
The rest, is history.


Buffy has introduced new slang terms and phrases in nearly every episode, many of them formed in the usual ways, some of them at the crest of new formative tendencies. The show incorporates familiar slang, too; the familiar and newly coined slayer slang together compose a particularly vivid snapshot of current American teen slang. Undoubtedly, most slayer slang will prove ephemeral, not that there’s anything wrong with that; indeed, short-lived terms and tendencies are often significant in their time and can influence the course of American English, though once they disappear, we may not see the connections between them and what follows them. Some items of slayer slang, however, steadily intrude on everyday speech and may be here to stay, not only as slang, but as standard American English.

PBS Explores the Language of Buffy. You heard me, PBS.


You Are 16 Years Old


Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

So's your face.
via Big Orange Michael

Monday, January 17, 2005

Dawn’s Night Out - Part I

(All events occur in real-time, except to the extent that they do not.)

Overuse of airquotes, excessive Jennifer Garner butt-crackage, assasins, and full body bar dancing, if I never left the house again I’d still be telling stories about Saturday night. So, we have our first attempt at serializing a story since I unsuccessfully attempted to serialize my Arizona trip.

First, Karol asked me to pick her up from her parent’s house. Well, it turns out she lives in an alternate universe through a portal that can only be reached by circling Brooklyn three times counterclockwise. Having finally reached Narnia (hours after I began the quest) and picked up her majesty of the too long bangs, we headed for Manhattan where I was meeting the former Buffy watching crew for dinner and a bad movie – as is traditional and then planning to attend the highly popular blogger party.
“Take the tunnel.”
“No, I don’t like merging on the left side.” (I never explain this phobia when talking to passengers in my car – but when sliding into a stream of oncoming traffic I prefer more than just the driver’s side door for protection. You know, like the passenger side door and...well...the passenger…)
“Well, we’re at the entrance of the Expressway, so tunnel it is.”
She was right, I could turn across three lanes of traffic or…
“OH! I’ll get on the Expressway and get off on the first exit.”
“No, you’re not exiting. I’ll help you merge. Geez.”
Fine, but if I die, I’m coming back for you.
Luckily, early Saturday evening traffic was rather light. I waited at the mouth of the fork for two cars to speed by and then turned sharply into the lane. The final merge to get into the lane for the tunnel was even easier since the two lanes were empty. As soon as I was safely in the tunnel lane, fireworks exploded over the Battery Tunnel.
“Hey! They’re rewarding me for merging! I guess there must be cameras on the expressway.”
“Yeah, I bet that’s it.”
“Shut up.”
I decided to garage the car on the Upper Eastside and stay with Karol, rather than circling Downtown in vain for 90 minutes looking for street parking.
On our way to the garage, Karol called Peter to get the number for her building’s manicurist. (In addition to parking at meters for free, and having a post office in the basement, upper east side residents have on-site salons (and, I suspect, on-site brothels, but that’s another post.))
As we walked up the stairs toward the elevator bank, she knocked twice on an apartment door. An Asian woman opened the door and looked at me, then at Karol.
“I know, but is ---“
“Hello!” exclaimed another Asian woman in the back upon recognizing Karol.
“Hi. Do you think you could…it’ll just take 10 minutes.”
“10 minutes?” the new woman looked at me.
“Oh, it’ll just be me,” Karol said, walking into the apartment. The door closed behind her.
Ok…um…I’ll just head on up to your apartment….
Peter opened the door when I got there.
“Where’s Karol?”
Search me.
I called Kaz to find out where dinner was going to be.
“We’re going to meet at Joe’s Burger. It’s on 18th between 5th and Park. It’s a block from the theater.”
I noticed Peter still standing by the door.
“Ok, so I’ll meet you guys there at 9.”
“Cool. The naughty little vixen and Alceste said they would be there at 9.”
Peter was now looking out the peephole.
“Ok, I’ll see you then.”
I hung up the phone.
“So, where’s Karol?” Peter asked again.
“Don’t know.”
“Did you kill her?”
I smiled.
“You just spoke to her.”
“Yeah, but you could have been impersonating her voice.”
Somebody’s been watching too much TV.
I left my bags and hat in the foyer and headed for the door.
“Wait, where’s Karol?”
This is funny.
“Stop worrying so much, you can swing the rent on this place by yourself.”
Poor, poor Peter.
I left the apartment and took the elevator downstairs. I knocked on the magic door that had swallowed Karol.
The first Asian woman opened the door a crack.
“Hi…is Karol there?”
“Um…the girl?”
“She leave.”
Oh, ok, bye. I didn’t see anything by the way…you take care.
I stepped out of the doorway and dashed out into the street.
So cold.
Very, very cold.
I ran for the bus to the Eastside subway.
I didn’t catch it.
I then spent the next fifteen-minute, uphill trudge across two avenues cursing Karol and her brothel...er manicurist stop.
When I got down to the subway trains, a young woman was screaming at the top of her lungs.
“You’re a punk ass bitch cop. MOTHA-FUCKA. You’re nothing but a phony and a punk. You think you can call a teenage girl a bitch and then flash your badge? FUCK YOU. Why don’t you go home and call your mom a bitch, call your wife a bitch, call your daughters and future daughters bitches. Don’t be all up in here calling me a bitch. I will fuck you up.”
Dear Lord.
Her boyfriend kept apologizing to the police officer – who I assumed was the pudgy black man in the sweat suit nervously pacing and covering his face.
“L.A.P.D., N.Y.P.D. nothing but pigs, y’all nothing but fat fucking pigs.”
“I’m sorry, man. Look, she don’t mean nothing. I’m sorry man.”
Pace, pace. He was starting to sweat.
The platform was crowded with people because all the trains were running local – and there were significant delays on the line.
“Fucking pig.”
The cop, who must have acted inappropriately to calmly take all this abuse, leaned over the platform to see if a train was coming.
The abuse continued. Whatever he did to piss this girl off, she was relentless.

Ten minutes, 1200 paces, 95 profanities, and 37 apologies later, the 5 train finally barreled into the station.

Why does everyone use the french word for 'two' all the time, I say "Viva el espanol."

I took the train to Union Square, exiting at 14th street.
I hiked North through Union Square Park.
Yah. One block my ass, Kaz.
Joe’s Burger has a bar downstairs, with eat-in seating up a lengthy flight of stairs on the second floor.
I looked around the bar when I got there and saw Alceste on his cell phone in the back.
We walked upstairs to find the place mostly empty except for two women sitting at a huge table in the middle, a few people in a booth and a couple making out on the back wall.
“Guess we’re the first ones here.”
“Yeah, let’s wait downstairs so we can see people when they come in.”
We started back down the stairs, when I realized I had no desire to climb them again in a few minutes when the others arrived.
“Ummm…you know, I have no desire to climb these stairs again.”
So, I take a seat at the top of the staircase and see 'the naughty little vixen', who we’ll call “Scarlet” in a fit of free association, coming up the stairs.
“Hey, happy almost birthday.”
A few moments later Kaz and JCN arrive and after I assure JCN that I’m not the only one there, he decides it’s worth the walk up the stairs.
The booth that Scarlet and I were in wasn’t big enough for all five of us.
I attempted the convince JCN to use his surliness to scare the women away from the big table in the middle.
“Go. Be really surly. They’ll leave.”
“No,” he replied with a great deal of surliness as he reminds me that I am not to address him directly.
“Sorry sir,” I reply to no one in particular.
The waitress fashions a table for six, by pushing two tables together and scattering the chairs.
By the time Alceste’s girlfriend arrived, we had menus and drinks and were chatting merrily about how bad we thought the movie would be.
Kaz’s cell phone rang and I can only assume it was Lee Stevens calling to say he was on his way up the stairs to find us because she bolted out of her chair and went scrambling to find another chair to pull over.
“Quick, he’s got to think we were waiting for him!”
Seconds later, Lee arrived and Kaz had just pushed his chair to the head of the table.
“Hey, here’s your chair, Lee.”
“Yes, and I assure you it was there all along,” I added, for that extra credibility that an out of breath Kaz gripping the back of a slightly askew chair simply lacked.
Lee has made his mark by, among other things, orchestrating these grand movie outings to see comic-books-turned-film in the theater on the opening weekend. And like everyone suffering from a compulsion, I always detect a look of regret in his eye, once the ungrateful rabble is assembled.
“Didn’t I learn my lesson after the great Spy Kids disaster of 2001?” he seems to say.
Saturday’s feature selection: Elektra.
“I heard it sucks.”
“Is Ben Affleck in it?”
“No, it doesn’t suck that bad.”
Ooh, I can do I scene.
“Dying’s not so bad.”/How do you know?/ I died once.” And scene. (Insert bow and applause)
Asphnxma was the last of the Buffy watching crew to arrive, so I did the scene again to make sure nobody missed out.
Lee evidently had heard enough.
“Dawn, Please stop. No need to ruin the movie further,” he said like the stern father of ten 29-year-olds.
Heh, that was just 12 seconds, you think you’re going to make it through 97 minutes, tough guy?
I think he eyed his water glass.*
The waitress came to take our orders.
“I’d like the chili.”
“A bowl, right?” the waitress asks very casually as if this were the normal size of chili people order.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply assuming this must be the normal size of chili people order.
Everyone ordered quickly because we have to get to the theater in time ‘to get seats as far away from the screen as possible.”
Scarlet brings over a bottle of olive oil from an adjourning table.
“Dawn, this should tide you over until our meal comes.”
You think olive oil is soup, one time, and they never let you forget it.
Changing the subject I asked Lee, what he was up to.
“I was in Atlanta on business.”
Without skipping a beat, Kaz and I say suuure, “business,” complete with rabbit ear air quotes
“Can you get a jinx on simultaneous hand gestures?”
With pearatty lost to the West Coast, there was no one to answer.
Scarlet, however decided that she liked the airquotes.
A lot.
Sorry “a lot.” I mean “Sorry” “a lot”
“So” “you” “were” “in” “Atlanta?”
Stop it.
“What” “you” “don’t” “like” “airquotes?”
You just can’t airquote airquotes, it’s not right.
“I” “bet” “this” “is” “going” “to “be” “on” “the” “blog.”
But before Scarlet could pump her pair of rabbit ears anymore, our food arrived.
Lee got a hot dog platter.
Kaz got a burger platter.
I,however, received a bucket of chili and a spoon.
Umm. What the hell ---
Why is there so much? I just wanted like a cup of this stuff.
“Well, you ordered a bowl,” JCN pointed out.
Well, I assumed that a bowl would be normal sized, not enough for a week’s worth of nachos.
I put my spoon in, and the concoction of beans and ground beef swallowed it whole, pinching the tips of my fingers in the process.
I’m a little scared of my dinner.
“Um does anyone want a ladle of chili? I’ve got plenty.”
“I’ve” “got” “plenty”
Cut that out.. My chili likes fingers, and I’m not afraid to use it offensively.
At the end of dinner, the last of our merry band of movie watchers arrived.
Now, have you ever met someone for the first time who was just so wasted that you decided that you could pretty much say anything to him or her and they would never remember it?
So that’s what you do and then seven months later they show up for dinner and you realize, oh crap, I told that girl I wrote obituaries for the New York Times, I hope she doesn’t remember that?
Well “me neither.”
Luckily, I don’t think she remembered. At the end of the night she said “nice meeting you,” even though I had specifically avoided any and all contact with her until the requisite goodbye at the end of the night.
Go figure.
The lobby of the theater was crowded, so there were some doubts about whether Alceste and Dawn 2 would be able to purchase tickets.
HAHAHAHAHAHA, sorry, it’s just suddenly funny that we thought Elektra would be sold out. HAHAHAHAHAHA
Anyway, everyone got tickets. Lee, visibly happy that he avoided being in charge of buying everyone’s ticket beforehand and the inevitable task of trying to find last minute replacements and/or eating the $2 loss of people who never remember ticketmaster charges a fee to buy tickets over the phone, was all smiles at the scrambling in the lobby.
The ticket buying job fell to JCN, who don’t take no guff from no one, so he had no problem, and I think this might be a direct quote, “collecting either the money or the kneecaps.”
Oh, speaking of which I have an original ticket stub that was purchased and held in the wallet of JCN – I am loathe to part with it, but I will consider any reasonable offers to purchase it.
Our movie was showing on the seventh floor, in a theater off the side of the popcorn stand.
We took four escalators up and on each ride I noticed a solemn Asian man, in nondescript black clothing (seriously, ‘black’ is not a description. I’m looking at you 11 o’clock news people.) staring at Asphnxma.
Asphnxma was wearing his Borgata “I’m a real poker player and the rest of you are poseurs” hat.
“What did you do in AC, dude? That guy is clearly following you…I think he’s an assassin.”
Ok, maybe two people have been watching too much TV.
We got seats toward the back of the theater and I lost sight of the assasin.
Asphnxma does a pretty fair job of reviewing Elektra, but in case you think he’s exaggerating, here's my take.
Not only does Elektra borrow the with minor gender changes, the Daredevil back story, but it also has the brilliant dialogue skills of Star Wars Episode II. Plus, the black bad guy is the first one killed, and that just ain’t cool.
For those of you into that kind of thing, there is girl-on-girl lip locking, and skimpy 'Me Tarzan, You Jane' outfits.
But you will pay a heavy, heavy price for both. Including the cheesiest post make-out lines since...well ever. I believe asphnxma audibly booed.
You will laugh. Probably not where the director wants you to, though.
It is the weirdest four hours I ever spent in a Fantasy movie – however, still better than the 19 hours I spent watching Lord of the Rings Part I.
Alceste declared “Showgirls is no longer the worst movie I saw in the theater.” Why did he see Showgirls in the theater you ask?
Well, maybe he’ll blog about it "one day. "
Asphnxma tried to get everyone to come over to Ruby’s with the very enticing “so do you all want to come to a party with a bunch of crazy conservative bloggers.”
Quick! Get Donnie Deutsch on the phone. I’ve found advertising’s next big thing.
“They’re not all…crazy,” I added.
“I don’t want to go to a “blogging party.” The next day it’ll all be, so I met this girl, let’s call her “Scarlet….”
"Well, it’s not a blogging party. There will be no presentations on posting or template styling (although I probably could use a crash course on inserting a read more tag…)
Still no other takers.
So asphnxma and I hopped in cab on the way to Alphabet City.

*In an incident four and a half years ago Lee poured water on me, I am not holding a grudge and never think of it.


Wanda Sykes should get a recurring role on 'Arrested Development.'


Contrary to popular opinion, Dr. King did not spend his whole life dreaming, he was an activist for justice and equality.

In that vein, I urge you all to write to your Senators about the AG confirmation hearing. Here's a great starting point.

Dear Senator Schumer
I write to urge you to vote against the nomination of Alberto Gonzales for attorney general.

I recognize that given the current congressional balance of power, Gonzales will ultimately be confirmed.

However, it is a black stain on this country that the man behind the infamous "torture memos" is now being elevated to the highest legal office. It is appalling that even now, he will not stand in front of Congress and denounce his earlier views as incorrect.

Even if there is a lower standard for the confirmation of an attorney general than a federal judge, at the end of the day, it is still the Senate's responsibility to oversee such appointments, and one would think that one of the absolute bare minimum requirements for the position would be a rejection of such barbaric practices.

The world is watching this vote. The ultimate outcome may be inevitable, but we must send a message to other nations that a large portion of this country still adheres to basic notions of human rights, even if those in power do not.



Sunday, January 16, 2005

Not So Random Thought

When you wake up on a couch with a stiff neck after five hours of sleep, spend ten minutes looking for your shoes, honestly fearing you may have lost them somewhere and then leave the apartment with your overcoat on inside-out, it’s fair to assume the night before was a good one.

Friday, January 14, 2005


Bush admits he may have made some mistakes after all.

"'Bring 'em on' is the classic example, when I was really trying to rally the troops and make it clear to them that I fully understood, you know, what a great job they were doing. And those words had an unintended consequence. It kind of, some interpreted it to be defiance in the face of danger. That certainly wasn't the case."

He then added "Suck on it, biatches. The first term's not even over it."



Whew, looks like I dodged that bullet.

Unfortunately, the pots that I cook with might do me in anyways.

Bring Me A Sword!

Nine women all claim rescued baby is theirs.


Everytime I see the observant Jewish attorneys roll out of here at 3 p.m. on Fridays, I think, hmm, maybe we should go Jewish for the Winter.

Debra Messing Stars In 'The Wedding Date'

Because, well "Pretty Man" was just too fruity.

Television Blogging

I give 'Joey' one more season.

Although I do like the Charlie's Angel reunion of Matt Le Blanc and Lucy Liu.

The chick from Tilt looks just like Elisabeth Rohm.

This Is Because You're Lesbian

Arabic specialists discharged for being openly gay.

Ian Finkenbinder, an Army Arabic linguist who graduated from the Defense Language Institute in 2002, was discharged from the military last month after announcing to his superiors that he's gay. Finkenbinder, who said his close friends in the Army already knew he was gay, served eight months in Iraq and was about to return for a second tour when he made the revelation official.
"I looked at myself and said, `Are you willing to go to war with an institution that won't recognize that you have the right to live as you want to,'" said Finkenbinder, 22, who now lives in Baltimore. "It just got to be tiresome to deal with that - to constantly have such a significant part of your life under scrutiny."

In other news Iocaste reports that 5500 soldiers have deserted the military and fled to Canada.

Canada? Come on people, repeat after me "I'm not gay, but I can learn."

I'm just sayin.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Affirmative Action for Men

Idol reserves half the slots for male singers.

"American Idol" turned into the battle of the divas last season. This year, male contestants are getting a little help. In a bid to freshen the Fox series as it begins its fourth season Tuesday - and to even the playing field dominated in 2004 by female songbirds - half of the 24 semifinalist spots are promised to men.

Considering that there are changes American Idol desperately needs to make, this seems completely unnecessary, if not destructive. The competition last year may have come down to two women, but the year before it was between two men and the year before that it was one woman and one man. Gender balance is not where Idol struggles. They need to work on ensuring that the best singers aren't beaten out by the singers who the most teeny-bopper fans think are dreamy.

And before anyone says anything, I love Clay because he is a great singer, that he is dreamy is just icing on the cake.


"I know kids, I'm scared too. - Homer Simpson"

Those Euros have gone too FCUKing far.

I'll 'where's my link?' you.


Hit me.

I'm a freelancer. Emphasis on free.


Just a few days ago Instapundit said:
STRANGELY, neither Kos, Atrios, nor Josh Marshall has anything to say about RatherGate so far, though Armstrong Williams gets rather more attention. Here at InstaPundit, on the other hand, both subjects are discussed. I'm just, you know, sayin'. . . .

UPDATE: Yeah, I don't usually comment on what people don't blog about -- that's their business. But even Richard Bennett has noticed this!

Just as strangely he has had nothing to say about the conclusion of the search for WMD.

Until he does, here's a fascinating comparison between the two stories.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005


I got six words for ya: "Is this because I'm a lesbian?"

Here's a more complete explanation of the six words heard round the airwaves. Not that there's anything wrong with that.


Twelve year old rapes and murders toddler.

Springfield mother rushed home from an out-of-town family emergency in time to watch her 3-year-old son die from injuries sustained in a brutal beating and rape at the hands of a 12-year-old boy, prosecutors and the Department of Social Services said.

Indonesians prefer Tsunami to U.S.

Indonesia announced today that all foreign troops assisting in the tsunami relief operation here must leave the country before the end of March at the latest.

"An anonymous telephone text message comparing American intentions in Aceh with those in Iraq was widely circulated in the capital this week. It read: "After Iraq, will Indonesia be the next U.S. target?"


The White House confirmed today that the search in Iraq for the banned weapons it had cited as justifying the war that ousted Saddam Hussein has been quietly ended after nearly two years, with no evidence of their existence.

The administration appeared to be dropping today even the suggestion that banned weapons might be deeply buried or well hidden in Iraq. Mr. McClellan said that President Bush had already concluded, after the October release of an interim report from Mr. Duelfer, "that the weapons that we all believed were there, based on the intelligence, were not there."

Mr. McClellan then added, plus now that the President has won re-election, what does it matter, suckas?


It's actually distracting how ugly the cast of '24' is this season.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005


Oh lord. I've never really felt comfortable blogging about my job. I keep imagining my posts circulating nylawyer.com or infirmation.com until all the firms in NY hire some kind of CSI: White Collar to ferret me out. But have no worries Anonymous Lawyer to the rescue. S/he tells it like it is.

I've almost read all the archives. Hat tip to pearatty for the find. My stomach is killing me. Here's a taste of the good stuff:


I've figured out what this weblog is good for. I can't really go screaming down the hall looking for my stapler, but I can get the anger out of my system my typing it here, in big letters, with an exclamation point at the end. Someone, and I think I know who, keeps "borrowing" my stapler and never returning it. So I have to get my assistant just to come in here and staple some papers for me. Or if it's 7:30 in the morning, and my assistant isn't here yet, I have to go wandering the halls looking for someone else's stapler, so I can steal it, and bring it back to my desk. I shouldn't have to go combing the halls for a stapler. I'm a hiring partner. Staplers should be lining up at my door, begging for me to use them. Like summer associates. The hiring process is very rewarding, but having thirty insufferable law students here for 10 weeks every summer is a real chore. None of them know how to do anything, but they don't realize it and just end up making everyone else's lives more difficult. There are two types of summer associates that bother me the most. The first are the ones who half-ass everything and turn in memos that my five-year-old niece could write. The second are the ones who are hell-bent on finding a "mentor" and follow me around all day. "Can I look over your shoulder while you read a three-hundred-page contract?" No! If I like the work you're doing, I'll come find you and take you to lunch and, if you're lucky, make you feel like you actually belong. But if you make yourself my shadow, the only thing you're doing is making me wish we never gave you an offer. Those stakes really aren't high enough. We need to fire more summer associates. That would make the summer fun again. I need a stapler.


Or why the entire D.C. police department should come down with the flu on January 20.

D.C. officials said yesterday that the Bush administration is refusing to reimburse the District for most of the costs associated with next week's inauguration, breaking with precedent and forcing the city to divert $11.9 million from homeland security projects.


A fun game of Omaha or Hold 'Em. No smoking or animals please.


Rapper Nas marries the buxom one-hit wonder Kelis.

Nas and Kelis, best known for her chart-topping single, "Milkshake," met at P. Diddy's after-party for the 2002 MTV Video Music Awards, but Nas was already smitten with the songstress after hearing about her and seeing her on television, his publicist said. Kelis is 24; Nas is 31.
Nas' brother, Jungle, was best man. His father, jazz musician Olu Dara, who can be heard on Nas' single "Bridging the Gap," was also on hand.
The New-York born Nas first snared the hip-hop world's attention with his 1994 debut album, "Illmatic," and has since released several albums and has appeared in the movies, "Belly" and "Ticker."
In addition to the catchy tune, "Milkshake," Kelis' 2003 album, "Tasty," includes collaborations with Nas, The Neptunes, and OutKast's Andre 3000.


Sometimes people don't intend to start false rumors. It just happens. So, if you hear some crazy rumor about yourself, don't try to find out where it started or place blame on this one or that one, just laugh it off and move on. Violence never solved anything. Especially against me.


A tsunami survivor rescued after 15 days adrift in the Indian Ocean recounted Tuesday how he lived on coconuts that floated by, tearing them open with his teeth. Indonesia, meanwhile, said it hoped to ease the bottleneck of aid flights by opening a second airport north of Sumatra island.

So's your face, Gilligan.


Soldier starts gun battle with local cops in order to avoid returning to Iraq.

Sadly a continuing series



Monday, January 10, 2005


Today I came across two stories on my regular blog reads.

Iocaste has this impressive tango between press corp and the White House press secretary.

Q How many journalists does the administration have on its -- under contract to promote its programs? And what are the guidelines that you spoke of earlier this morning? You were very vague, and I'd like to know what they are.

MR. McCLELLAN: I'm not aware of any others that are under contract other than the one that's been reported on in the media. And questions have been raised about that arrangement. It ought to be looked into, and there are ways to look into matters of that nature. As a matter of principle, we believe very strongly that the media ought to be reporting in an objective, unbiased and fair manner. And so that's the principle upon which we believe people should be guided. And the government certainly has a responsibility to help when it comes to providing accurate information and helping to adhere to that principle.

On the opposite side of the political spectrum, Karol shares this bit of alarming news: "Finally: CBS Fires 4 Over False Bush Report."

CBS News fired four employees on January 10, 2005 in the wake of an independent panel report that found a “myopic zeal” led the network to disregard basic journalism principles when it aired a faulty story about President George W. Bush

And so here we are. The executive branch buys positive coverage from the media and idelogical activists invents negative ones.

What's a news consumer to do?

I worked as a newspaper columnist for two years in both college and law school. I worked as a reporter for five years before that in high school and for a couple of national magazines during the summers. I loved chasing stories and even more than that I loved cutting through the he said/she said and publishing the "Dawn said." It's a noble business, the news business. Or it was. In Russia, reporters are killed for writing stories critical of the government and Putin tightly controls the airwaves. Why? Because a dogged press corp can bring down corrupt governments without firing a single shot; they write not only history, but the current events.

How can it be that the American press corps is now for sale? How can it be that they've traded in the hidden camera for Adobe photoshop? No doubt these men and women have shamed their profession. But there is something fundamentally wrong with the profession if these people thought even for a minute that what they were doing (or failing to do) was alright or passable. Not fact checking a hot document or cashing a check from a source is the journalistic equivalent of a construction worker taking a sledgehammer to his building's foundation or a nurse guessing at the dosage of medicine for her patient rather than measuring precisely. It is nothing less than a violation of their public charge.

It's been a long time since I've picked up a newspaper or watched broadcast news, I'm pretty exclusively an internet reader now, but if Bush informercials and anti-Bush propoganda is what I can expect from those sources, it'll be a long time to come before I return.


"Sorry mom, the mob has spoken."

Michael Moore and Passion of the Christ take top honors in popular vote.


Of course, it's only Mississippi and with the highest illiteracy rates in the country, it's likely they've never read it.


Sign Carlos Beltran.

Could this possibly be the makings of a .500 season?

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Doo wa ditty ditty dum ditty doo

My first song writing attempt:

Last night she said that she was leaving
And when he asked her for a reason
She just smiled her little smile
And said that if he looked deep inside
And was honest and thought for a while
He would know, she left long ago

As she smiled her little smile
He did think for a while
And knew he’d never let her go
He reached for a knife
And plunged it deep inside
Instead of the door, she hit the floor

And he knew the reason was she said she was leaving



Just before his helicopter lifted off, [Senate majority leader, Bill] Frist and aides took snapshots of each other near a pile of tsunami debris. 'Get some devastation in the back,' Frist told a photographer.

via Andrew Sullivan

Saturday, January 08, 2005


Me: But if I move my car, does that guy win or does he lose?

Karol: That guy's not playing.

Thursday, January 06, 2005


My guess is she'll still spend the rest of her life in prison.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005


9:00 P.M. Nice soundtrack 'At Last,' indeed.

9:03 P.M. OK, I get it. Start the season off with Sydney in lingerie, but seriously would a guy open up his bomb-rigged briefcase and the secret inner compartment just because a chick in a negligee asks him to?
(If so, it is seriously time to reconsider gays in the military.)

9:05 P.M. She sure changed clothes fast.

9:09 P.M. I know this intro's new, but I can't remember what it used to be. Will the other cast members be pissed to be cut out?

9:15 P.M. Angela Bassett! we like, we like.

9:16 P.M. Something’s off about the show – where is Vaughn punching this bag?

9:20 P.M. Where’s Marshall?

9:25 P.M. How are they explaining the disapperance of Sydney, Dixon, Jack and Vaughn. They all quit at their review?

9:40 P.M. I love that Vaughn’s disguises are always a pair of glasses.
Sydney made a better disguise in one minute for that guy in the bathroom.

9:50 Something feels off, where’s Marshall?

9:55 P.M. I like the body hitting the side of the railings when it falls out of the train.

10:00 P.M. Wasn't that girl like a Rambaldi key or vessel or decoder ring or something?

10:05 P.M. YAY!!! If they're telling us Jack killed Irina that means she's alive and will be back! Yippeee.

10:15 P.M. Huzzah!!! Marshall, Marshall, Marshall!!!!! And Sark is alive!!!! Woooooooo. "We had eggs." hahahahahahahahahhahaha

10:16 P.M. "Am I dead?"/ 'You've been recruited' Sweeeeet!

10:16 P.M. "We're back!" Yeah, buddy.

10:17 P.M. Incidentally, if you're not watching this on a 55 inch TV in Hi-Def, just turn your TV off.

10:19 P.M. Double-breasted robot Dixon! Marshall gives the show the exact amount of tongue in cheek that it needs not to become a bad James Bond movie. (I have never actually seen a James Bond movie, so please factor that in when disagreeining. -Ed.)

10:21 P.M. "Sydney,"Get in" I love being rewarded for watching the very first episode!

10:22 P.M. No like random conversation between Jack and Sloane. He's still the guy that slept with his wife.

10:23 P.M. "It's good isn't it? Having the team back together again?" Yes, Sloane, it is.

10:26 P.M. "Shot Gun"? Everyone knows Vaughn is "Boy Scout."

10:28 P.M. Boy, Vaughn sure changed fast. Did Marshall invent some sort of "clothes changer?

10:33 P.M.: ACK! Where'd she go?

10:35 P.M. I thought they brought back the teeth pulling torture guy...but no. Did he bite it?

10:37 P.M. A water filling mask? Damn, that's some foulness right there.

10:38 P.M. Ummm why is Keanu in another movie about battling the devil? Pacino learned, why can't he?

10:43 P.M. "Assassin-client privilege?" Gotta try that in court sometime.

10:50 P.M. Boo. I liked him as this season's repeat villian. That sucked. Maybe Irina is dead? Not happy.

10:55 P.M. Again, nice soundtrack choice "where I'll end up only God really knows." Although, isn't Cat Stevens a terrorist now?
10:56 P.M. Crap. Why'd they have to go through all that "found the body, identified the body, shipped it, buried it" stuff? I get it, JJ. Lena Olin's never coming back and I have to accept it. Waaa.

10:58 P.M. "Hallo, my name is Nadia, you killed my mother, prepare to die."

All in all, good episode. I like that Sydney is back undercover, the one thing I never liked about the last few years of Buffy is that everyone knew that she was the Slayer (favorite Xander line: "The more people who know the secret, the more it cheapens it for the rest of us.") A lot of loose ends, what was the deal with the Rambaldi device? I so don't trust Nadia's sudden inclusion in APO; she and Sloane are up to something.

That is all.


Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.
An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.
You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view.
A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.

You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

via Worldwide Rants


OK, after being mercilessly mocked for being seven months behind on the Law & Order news, I figure I need to redeem myself and come up with some big breaking news or at the very least a new post. I have been on vacation for the last two weeks. “Vacation” in this instance meaning not going to work as opposed to a trip to a tropical isle or some fancy, schmancy cruise. I had many lofty goals for this vacation. I was going to finish a first draft of my novel, clean my room, get really good at Dance Dance revolution, finish Anna Karenina, go to some broadway shows, catch up with old friends, find a new place to live, and figure out what to do with my life. I still have a few days off left, but since I have yet to start my novel, set up the X-box and I lost Anna Karenina after a pile of CDs and text books fell off my dresser last Tuesday and buried it, I hold out little hope of putting check marks next to those items on the to-do list.
Instead, I have accepted defeat and set up a pillow and blanket in my recliner (where I sleep now having lost my bed to a thousand old magazines and fifty pounds of laundry in the great battle of Saturday night.) to watch the season premiere of Alias in the comfort of surround sound.
Oh, and I wasn’t seven months behind on that Law & Order thing, I just decided to post about it now because the change is happening soon. Duh.

I think Toby sums up the situation best when he says "Help her out, will ya! If for nothing else, just so we can all move on and put this episode behind us!"

So who's gonna sign-up for that free ipod offer and end the madness?

Tuesday, January 04, 2005


They go through female district attorneys like Spinal Tap goes through drummers.

Well, if drug addiction is 'exhaustion'

I suppose 'pregnancy' can be a viral infection.

Gotta love Hollywood.

Monday, January 03, 2005


This is a sad story of a woman who lost everything in the August 2003 blackout.

Where did she live? Brooklyn. In someplace suspiciously called Ocean Hill.


Sunday, January 02, 2005

IS IT 2006 YET?

Since the only reason I didn’t kill myself on Friday was the sheer humiliation of leaving behind the hackneyed legacy of a new year’s eve suicide, my expectations for the new year’s eve/birthday party I was going to were very low – woody allen marrying soon yi low. But two of my friends from college were turning 30, and I hadn’t really hung out with them or the rest of the Yale crew for a couple of years, so I sucked it up and got dressed for the party.
I hit the ATM to get the cash to pay for the inexplicable $155 per person cost of the extravaganza. Well at least it would be open bar. I figured drinking my weight in jack and coke would more than recoup my costs and wipe away my memory of December.
This year’s venue was a small French restaurant on the Upper Eastside: L’est Chez Blah blah blah.
The place was just big enough for three long tables of eight and a small table of four in the center. Although I timed my arrival for a perfectly fashionable twenty minutes-late arrival, the staff was still setting the tables and I didn’t see anyone I knew.
I left my coat and overnight bag with the coat check and went back outside.
I spotted a guy I went to law school with outside, but walked the other way because I didn’t remember his name.
I walked to the end of the block looking for a bar or a deli – it was almost 10:30 and nothing was open.
I went back to the restaurant. The law school guy was still there.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Umm, fine. You?”
“This is my wife Crissy, but I’m sorry I don’t remember your name.”
All the nerve.
Nobody forgets MY name. I was on the newspaper and in the cast of the third-year musical, I was very popular. Who does…this guy think he is?
“It’s Dawn. “
“Right, right, I’m Mark.”
“Yeah, I know. Nice to meet you Chrissy.”
We exchanged the usual lawyer pleasantries (So are you at a firm? Yeah. You? Yeah. Do you hate it? Yeah You? Yeah.).
The restauarant staff was still setting up and Chrissy and Mark were hovering at the door. I guess they were coming to the party.
“How do you know the birthday kids?”
“I ‘ve been friends with Liz for about 15 years. We were on teen tour together”
“Yes, they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” his wife interjected with a mimicking tone.
Uh Oh.
“Oh, um what’s teen tour.”
“It’s a trip for spoiled rich kids,” she finished for him.
“Why would you say that?”
“It’s true isn’t it? You never want to hear the truth. Like the fact that your mom killed your dog.”
“She did not kill my dog.”
His wife turned to me: “OK, listen to this. His family was moving to D.C. and the day before they leave, his mom tells him the dog died. What do you think happened?”
“Excuse me, if you are waiting to be seated, we are ready for the Sharon Levin party.”
We followed the maitre’d into the restaurant and I took a seat in the back. Chrissy, a medical school intern, sat next to me and Mark sat at the head of the table.
Within minutes other guests poured in behind us.
Across from me was a Proctor & Gamble executive, to my left were two third or fourth year residents and a second year law firm associate.
Now, for the rest of the story you need to know a few things: I am completely allergic to lobster, I don’t really like lamb and the only chocolate soufflé I’ll eat is Roy’s.
There was a glass of champagne at each setting and after establishing which glass was mine, I downed it.
The waiter came by to explain the prix fixe menu. First course, was a soup; the second course was a choice of mesclun salad or lobster salad, the main course was a choice of halibut or rack of lamb and then dessert was a choice of bread pudding or chocolate souffle.
He said he would be back to take our order when we were ready and I asked for a refill of the champagne.
The birthday girl was coming back from her honeymoon in India and so the socially self-conscious not-happy-to-be-30 birthday boy was tasked with greeting all the guests.
“Happy 30th birthday Noah,” I chirped approximately every three minutes.
“I wonder if those people will sing Dominic the Christmas Donkey with me?” Chrissy, who turned out to be a fellow fan of Scrubs, wondered aloud.
“I hope not,” Mark sighed.
Apparently Chrissy’s family are big Dominic the Donkey fans, Mark’s, not so much.
“My in-laws are weird,” he explained.
“Are you kidding me? My in-laws are the weird ones,” she objected.
“I don’t know, Chrissy. I mean anyone willing to kill a dog, so they don’t have to pack it, seems pretty cool,” I opined.
She laughed.
“Hey, where’d you get the Cosmo?” I said eyeing her martini glass.
“Ugh, I had to buy it at the bar. Can you believe drinks aren’t included?”
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo breath ooooooooooooooooooooo.
No, I most definitely did not believe that.
The waiter returned with my champagne.
“Umm…excuse me…what other drinks are included with the meal?”
“Actually, none. And it’s only supposed to be one glass of champagne for the midnight toast.”
I pulled my glass toward me. Well, you ain’t getting this one back buddy.
He nodded and walked away.
This is an outrage. I like Noah and all, but certainly not $155 worth. This is so coming out of his wedding gift next year. (Ok, it probably won’t because his fiancée scares me just a little.)
Everything was going swimmingly until the second year associate at the end of the table, who we will call Amos, because that was his name, said that he wouldn’t trust a resident with his medical care. To say the least, the residents in attendance took exception.
Just in time, the waiter returned to take our order.
And for you ma’am?
“Well, I’ll have the soup, the lobster salad, the rack of lamb and for dessert the chocolate soufflé.”
Yessiree, that’ll learn ‘em to charge me $155 without giving me an open bar.
I made the P&G guy’s day by reciting verbatim his shampoo commercial.
“Um…I watch a lot of TV,” I explained to the gaping table.
Then Mark and I tried to figure out if we had any law school friends in common.
Do you know princess-ish?
“Yeah, of course. Tell her I said hi.”
Oh, but Dawn, never heard of her.
The waiter returned with three bowls which he set around the table. I reached for the soup and pulled it toward me. It was a shallow bowl of yellowish broth.
I cannot believe how cheap this place is, I thought as I dipped my spoon into the liquidy depths.
The soup instantly covered the spoon and glistened as I lifted it to my mouth.
Ewww, it tastes like ---
Through the corner of my eye I could see Chrissy dip her bread into the soup bowl on her end of the table.
---olive oil.
I pushed the bowl back to the center of the table. I searched for some way to dispose of the spoonful in my mouth and finally settled on the table napkin.
I looked around, I don't think anyone saw that. I cleaned the spoon with the clean part of my napkin and dropped the ball of napkin to the floor.
Whew. My teeth feel smooth.
For the first time in a while, I was not completely surrounded by other lawyers. So it was fun to discover what people talk about when they can’t complain about unreasonable senior partners, unbearable senior associates and too many billable hours.
“Oh My God, I hate Malloy. He’s my supervising attending this month and I just want to kill myself.”
“Yeah, I met him at an AMA meeting, he seemed like a jerk.”
“So are you on call tonight?”
“No, but I’ve got to be at work at 5 a.m.”
“5 a.m.? So you’re done by the afternoon?” I asked.
Insert Laughter, M.D.
It’s good to know that every occupation sucks just the same and at least I picked the one with three years of schooling instead of 8.
(Although the P&G guy with his two year MBA trumps us all…but he has to live in Ohio…so…)
3…2…1…Happy New Year.
Moments later the staff brought out a large chocolate birthday cake with ten candles and we all sang happy birthday.
Someone in the back shouted out that there were not enough candles on the cake since Noah was clearly 30-years-old and there were only ten candles and a whole other thirty year old to celebrate.
That might have elicited a glare.
I was about half-way done with the lamb, when my lobster allergy started to kick in.
At the end of the table, Noah’s fiancée was telling everyone how he wasn’t allowed to name any dogs or children that they might have. Amos unhelpfully suggested that they get a cat.
That definitely elicited a glare.
“We’re not getting any cats.”
“I don’t know, Noah. Maybe you shouldn’t be marrying a woman who can’t love a cute, furry little cat.”
Boy, it’s getting chilly in here, I thought not sure if it was the cold sweat or the look of death directed at Amos. Told you, she little bit scary.
“You have a cat?” one of the residents asked.
Oh, sweet merciful small talk.
“Yes, I have two. I adopted one from a shelter, so she has some suckling issues. Whenever I’m in my bathrobe, she grabs on to me right here,” he explained rubbing his left nipple.
Dear God.
But he wasn’t done.
“One time I was laying in bed, with someone, and the cat she jumped right on the bed and latches on.”
“Uh, excuse me,” I said getting up – my cold sweats and nausea severely aggravated by Amos’s definitely-illegal-in-45 states-cat-on-man action stories (Alabama, Tennessee, Georgia, Kentucky and Arkansas, we’re looking at you.)
I headed for the bathroom.
Frankly, the lamb didn’t taste so bad the second time around.
But that lobster/avocado/grapefruit salad was a whole other story.
I returned to the table, just in time for the delivery of the souflee.
Amos was now determing which strip club the guys should head off too.
“I guess the cat’s just not doing it for him anymore,” I innocently chuckled.
“Yeah, he’s not getting enough pussy.”
Dear God. I suppose I did walk right into that.
I checked my cellphone to see that I had missed a call.
Oops, probably Peter, who I was supposed to be staying with.
Of course, considering that I wasn’t feeling well and it was only a bit after one, I decided I would head home to the ECB. I said my goodbyes to the 30-year-old Noah and shared a cab back downtown with the P&G guy, my friend Chris and his wife.
Inspired by my stomach upset, P&G guy retold the story of the time he stayed with Chris and his wife after coming back from Mexico. Evidently, he did drink the water and well, I think the phrase “I threw up so much in your sink, that it clogged the drain. I was literally scooping out clumps and throwing them through the window,” says enough.
I rolled down my window a little to get some air.
The rest of the way P&G guy talked about how little things had changed in the 30 years he’d been around.
“It all seems so routine now. It’s New Year’s, so we drop the ball, see the tree in Rockefellar Center, blah blah blah.”
Yeah, it did seem sorta ordinary.
Where are the flying cars, the trips to the moon, the teleportation devices?
I don’t know, but as I hopped out of the cab and bounded upstairs to my apartment I knew where the rest of that lobster was going.
Happy 2005.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Toxic by Britney Spears

"It's getting late
To give you up
I took a sip
From my devil cup
It's taking over me "

Ah, what's a year without breaking a few hearts? Literally.

What 2004 Hit Song Are You?

via Big Orange Michael

First Quote of the New Year

"No, thanks. I'm staying with my friend's boyfriend."

The next time someone protests that Brooklyn is in New York City, you tell them about the overnight bag Dawn packed before going to a New Year's Eve/Birthday party on the Upper East Side.

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