I'm young, with the soul of an old man

Sorry for the lack of updates, I've been getting settled in in NYC which is going pretty well. The first few days of orientation have been an abundance of free food and way too many gatherings in auditoriums that remind me of high school. But other than that, nothing too noteworthy has occurred.

Until today.

Today marked the first day of classes and lo and behold, therein lies a story. For those of you who have read Scott Turow's book One L (and for those of you that haven't, it basically recounts what it is like to be a One L at Harvard), you'll probably remember him talking about an eeeeevvviiiilllll professor. That's really all I can say because it's been a while since I read the book, but he was the big antagonist of the book but I do remember he is infamous for his dictatorial approach to the Socratic method, sometimes calling on a student for the entirety of the class period. Well, this semester the pleasure of having him falls on to me, for civil procedure. And who also got the dutiful pleasure of being called on on the first day? You guessed it. Yours truly.

The case we were discussing happened to have originated in a court in North Carolina. The professor asks, so do we have any people here from North Carolina? I'm looking around, hoping that someone else is eager to display a little Tar Heel pride. Nope, not today. Not even any of the Dukies willing to raise their hand. So, with a little bit of an eye from my neighbor (who I had introduced myself to just moments earlier and mentioned my Carolina roots) my hand went up. And you know what? I survived. Sure, I haven't felt that dumb since... well, never in an academic setting, but it's something that everyone in our section is going to have to go through. And, I certainly believe there is some merit to what the professor said prior to the class. He acknowledged that he can be harsh, but that we are training to become professionals and he doesn't want to coddle us. Fair enough.

But, BV had offered some advice to me earlier in the week that would have avoided the embarrassment. He wrote me an email that said, "Piece of advice: no matter how brilliant of a point you think you have, just shut up. For the first two weeks, don't say a word." Believe me BV, if I could have kept my mouth shut, I would have.

Which one of you was masturbating?

It's okay, you can admit it. Everyone does it, some of us even on the hour (though I'm not sure who that is). But the reason I know that one of you did it, is that God killed a kitten this morning.

I'm getting ready to leave my house when my dad comes out from behind the motorhome and tells me not to go yet. Since I'm obviously an expert mechanic (see my post below), he wanted me to check out the motorhome. He said he cranked it up and the engine started making an awful sound and he thinks a bird got in there because he thinks he saw feathers flying about. Well, it turns out it wasn't feathers. It was fur.

We get into the motorhome and look down at the top of the engine and there is some fur in the engine bay. Upon further inspection, Dr. Holmes and I found paw prints on some dusty parts of the engine. But, we don't see anything underneath there so maybe the cat just got scared and ran off. My dad says he is going to crank the engine and I'm supposed to be on the lookout for anything that is going wrong. He cranks it, sounds fine. I get a better angle to look back deep into the engine bay and what do I find? A tabby-colored ball of fur. Where is it? In between the radiator and the fan that cools the radiator. Not good news for Miss Kitty. Apparently, she/he crawled underneath the motorhome and was just chilling in the radiator fan shroud/housing when the RV started. RV 1, cat 0.

So, then we have to get to the manner of removing said cat and this was easily one of the most disturbing things I've ever done. Basically, my dad and I had to pull this cat out from the openings in between the fan blades. Imagine how small that space is on your car radiator. It's not that much bigger on this one. Not to mention, we're pulling him out by his hind legs with his ass coming out first. All this pressure caused this cat to start ripping ass in our faces. There is no smell that is worse than a dead cat's fart, and I can say that with authority. Silky seemed to think this was pretty funny, and it's all well and good until you have aersolized, digested cat food sprayed in your face. Thankfully, we got the cat out of there. Maybe we should post his head on a pole near the motorhome as a warning to other cats. The homeowner's association might be a little upset, but it could be a necessary precaution.

I can tell you one thing though: That cat had nine lives and it just spent them all.

Where can I get a necklace with a "T" on it?

I don't consider myself a very religious person and most of my friends know this. At the same time, my car has always had a rosary hanging from the rear view. Not because I feel safe knowing that God's watching over me, but I used to work at a movie theater, found it cleaning up one day, and decided that it could be a good-luck talisman of sorts. I have not been in an accident since I have had it in either of my cars, and have only been ticketed once (and that was after I bought my new car and had forgotten to hang it up yet). So, no matter the method of its power, it has worked.

Fast forward to today. I had my buyer come down to check out my car. I've had the car for about a week since all of the work has been finished on it, and I have beat on it, had friends check it out, had it inspected and absolutely zero problems. Buyer shows up, I take him for a drive in it, he drives it himself: NO PROBLEMS. As we get ready to head to the bank to have the title signed over to him, I clean out the final remnants of the car that are mine including the rosary. Less than 10 minutes after that, the car blows an intercooler pipe off the car. No big deal, that's happened before. I ride back with him to my house for tools, jack the car up, lay on the blacktop for 30 minutes, burn my hand on the downpipe and get it fixed. We drive to the bank, title is put in his name, and drive back. On the drive back the car starts to run a little warm, not overheating to hte point where the light comes on and all that jazz, but warmer than it should. I turn the heat on and it cools down some. We get back to the house and I try to add some water to it, but idiot me forgets about how much pressure that coolant is under so of course it boils out everywhere and scalds my hands. Then, he turns the car on and the battery light comes on and power windows/locks/A/C anything that would require power is not working which is real odd because the battery and alternator were replaced literally two days ago. After running a bit, those problems go away (probably water in the connections) and he drives off. I get a call 5 minutes later saying that the intercooler pipe came off again. This time, the section of pipe blew itself off the car and bounced across the highway. They find it, stand back while I drive out, lay on the blacktop again, this time remove the radiator fan so I can get better access to it and proceed to clamp the shit out of it. They drive off hopefully for good. I'm kind of getting nervous as I drive around, anxiously staring at my phone awaiting the blaring "Final Countdown" ringtone. Sure enough, 20 minutes later I get a phone call.

"Hey man, something is really wrong with this car. The engine is making a terrible noise, it's blowing smoke out the exhaust, I opened the hood and there was coolant burning everywhere."

No, it's not covered under warranty.

Now, they are up the interstate from my house with a brokedown car. I don't know what to do. Insert my ethical dilemma for the day. The title is in their name. I have almost six grand in cash sitting at my house. They have signed a "bill of sale" which proclaims my no-liability powers toward anything on the car and states that they accept the car as-is. Should I laugh maniacally and yell, "Sucker!" while I hang up and drive back toward my comfy house? Probably not, karma is a bitch but I'm gonna have to wait to fuck her. I call him back, tell him I get 100-mile tows for free on my AAA service. I arrange that. End of the story is, I gave him 2 grand of the money back with the stipulation that if it's more than that to repair the car, he'll have to eat the cost and if it's less than that I hope he will reimburse me for that money. Sure, I wasn't a hardass and I probably could have legally gotten away with doing nothing, but now I can sleep at night. I probably could have been a real gentleman and offered the rosary for a small fee, but I'm keeping that shit with me so I don't get mugged in NY.

Muggers and buyers beware!

I got the US open, advantage Dickson

I realized why I hadn't been posting very often lately: I haven't been doing jackshit. Most of my days were spent trying to find the most appropriate porn for my morning workout and packing for NYC. The less I interact with people, the less opportunities I have to get pissed off at the idiots in the world. But, after my foray into the "real world" today, I feel a little better to be sitting behind my Dell.

Charlotte has slowly turned into a police state and I always seem to forget it. One of the highways right by my house has "photo enforced speed limits." It's a 45 mph zone, and when I lived here during high school, at least 55 was common and acceptable, if not at least 60. (One of my friends actually got pulled over for doing 125 on this road... not the smartest, but the fact that he could get up to 125 proves that the road isn't that dangerous.... well, now that he's off of it). Now, it seems like everyone driving this road is in the AARP, driving around 35-40. This might not be too far from the truth since there is a retirement community called Plantation Estates (probably called so for the wealthy and white octogenarians who actually owned plantations back in the day). If I'm driving a pick-up truck that is loaded down with nearly a half ton of wood chips, and I think you're taking the turn to slow we're in bad shape. Why is that the elderly drive so slow? It's as if they are scared that any sudden movements could release the contents of their colon onto the cheap upholstery of their EconoBox. Maybe that's why their teeth are always clenched, with whitening knuckles maddeningly clenching the wheel? But then, if they're worried about inadvertently auditioning for a spot in an "Ooops, I Crapped My Pants" commercial, you would think they would hurry the fuck up. This is about as far as I've gotten and I remain as perplexed as ever. You figure it out.

The jury is still out on my 1L class. Someone sent out an email on our listserv wondering where to buy kegs near the Village in order to supply a welcoming party for the 1Ls (thumbs up). But today on the listserv, someone posted a "Callback Competition" where he was bragging about the number of callbacks he got (douche-chill). Be on the lookout for updates.

A Night Out With The Boys

Last night, my boy Silky (also known as PK on the blog) and SH (another USC college grad) went out in downtown Charlotte. Despite living here for a while, I really never went out drinking in downtown before... it's about a 15 minute drive from my house and usually caters to the mid 20s crowd, which I am fastly approaching. The night started off a little rough when I gave Silky the wrong exit number to get off at to get to my house. I knew things were probably a little off when I got a call that said, "Hey man, I just crossed over the state border..." But, like Silky said, you knew it was going to be a good night when it involves a trip across state lines although this time there was no body in the trunk.

Silky arrives in his aptly-named Bone Ranger almost simultaneous with SH at my house and we head out. We spent most of the night drinking at the Buckhead Saloon. I think we learned a few important universal truths:

1: If you are a bouncer at a bar it is a requirement to be a skinhead. Not only does it make you look more intimidating, it's necessary to protect the proper white:black ratio in said bar. Seriously, the entrance to this bar looked like a casting call for American History X. Ironically, the only bouncer there who didn't have a shaved head went to high school and college with Silky although he was a recent hire so I'm sure he will be Teddy Savales bald in days.

2. If you go to Buckhead, the real party takes place in the bathroom, though given our friend ZS's college antics involving girls and bathrooms we probably should have known this ahead of time. After SH telling Silky that this was the whitest bar he's ever been to (the cover band consisted of two white guys on guitars, which were at one point singing "Holla Back Girl" and the DJ was spinning such contemporary hits as "Getting Jiggy With It" and "It's Getting Hot in Hurr") we walk into the bathroom to find the only black employee with his own boombox rocking Tupac's "Gangsta Party." If I wasn't wearing sandals and feeling like my feet were getting pissed on, I would have stayed there all night.

3. Do not let yourself get pulled over by Charlotte's finest bike policemen. I don't mean Harley-bike, but Schwinn bike. We witnessed some guy getting pulled over by two cops on bicycles (although I'm not sure why would you let this happen, just get up to any speed >15 mph and you should be set). Within minutes he is being handcuffed, a prisoner transport van has arrived, along with two Char-Meck police cars and a State Trooper. We suspected drugs were involved. Ironically enough, a limo pulled up next to the bust and someone made a joke about this being the drug lord bailing out his coke mule.... within seconds of the limo's arrival the police cars left. That's power, baby.

4. Women unequivocally do not like to be hit on from a moving vehicle. Silky got the cold shoulder twice from women as he tried to roll down his window to get their attention. How did she know that we weren't just curious as to whether or not she had any Grey Poupon? Awfully pretentious of her to assume that he was going to hit on her. That part was just a lucky guess.

We managed to drink pretty cheaply at Buckhead though, I picked up 3 rounds of beer for everyone and some how 9 beers ended up costing me only 16 bucks. I'm not a mathematician so I thought not to argue.

Bye bye Talon and cameraderie

I'm sure I misspelled that word but I'm too tired to really care. I've had an Eagle Talon (a '91 and a '96) since I have been legally able to drive. I also helped to Carolina DSM which is a group for car enthusiasts into Mitsubishi Eclipses/Eagle Talons. The past four years while I've been at school I have stayed in touch with some of the guys online and through our message board, but I haven't been as active as I used to be. But due to a minor car accident I had this past week, I had to install some stuff on my car and needed some help with some of the stuff (basically I bought eBay stuff to save some money and make a little profit off of my insurance check, but like all things cheap, they don't work without 'minor modifications). In this case, minor modifications turned into metal cutting, hacking a bumper, and pipe welding. So, friends who I haven't seen in a few years came over, spent a few hours at my house, brought welding equipment, and helped me out all in exchange for a few beers. It's nice to have that kind of loyalty... it's pretty hard to find, but very satisfying when you do find it. Not only that, but two guys I had never met before came over and they offered to lend a hand. One was so nice that he offered to take some stuff into work for me and use tools there to cut some of the stuff (I guess he works in an industrial place and was gonna use a plasma cutter to some steel that I was just gonna throw out). I don't know if even I'd be that nice and generous in that situation, but I hope I can repay the favor at some point. So, I'm gonna miss having my car and miss having a real reason to be in the "club," but I don't think it's anything I will ever really leave. Hell, my friend Wes has owned 4 DSMs in the time that I've known him, now drives a Benz, and still comes out to the meetings. No matter who you are, or how long you've been gone, you're never really an outsider with this group.

Blog hiatus

Not really taking one, but I feel like I'm returning from one. There has been alot of stuff going on lately which has kind of prevented me from writing a new entry, which is in a way ironic, since you think it would provide me with more material... Oh well, no worries I am not going the way of the BV. Speaking of, he is moved in in his apartment for law school and I am jealous... I'm just sitting around letting time fly before August 27th which is fastly approaching.

Speaking of law school... I'm not really on the "up and up" if you will about law school. I feel mostly underprepared for it, except when I talk to my roommate who is more of a slacker than myself. I knew he would be good for something. However, the Charlotte Observer just had an article about the new "Charlotte School of Law" opening up, brought to you by the same people who founded the Florida Coastal School of Law. Charlotte is the new Atlanta I'm telling you... getting ready to become a law school powerhouse. Seriously though, it's gotta be hard to break into this cut-throat industry. I remember the College of Charleston law school that opened a year or two ago and has YET to get certified by the ABA. I really feel for all these kids who are going there, shelling out thousands of dollars a year, for a school that might not get certified and will certainly only give them the barest of job prospects when they graduate. But that's about as long as my sorrow will last because I'm not going there and neither are any of my friends so I should stop pretending like I care.

NYC countdown is fastly approaching zero... I think I have something like a week and a half to go and I'm excited. Oh, one of the reasons I haven't been posting is that my internet has been working at less than dial-up speeds. For a while, I started to think my dad lost his job or something. But that has been taken care of for now so I can live like a civilized person.

Did someone say oral???

I hate going to the dentist. It seems like everytime I go, I get poked and prodded for about 45 minutes while they clean my teeth and then I sit up for the inevitable lecture that they give me. "Your teeth are fine but your gums are in terrible shape, you need to floss more... blah blah blah." Meanwhile, my eyes are starting to glaze over while I mumble something about starting to floss more often and I'm pretending to listen while instead I'm noticing that under "Emergency Precautions" their standard procedure for resuscitation efforts are to "continue until you are tired." Great... I hope I don't have a heart attack here, or else this chubby won't be able to give me CPR for more than 30, 45 seconds tops. Also, it must feel great to be a dentist. The hygenist slaves over my teeth for about 45 minutes, finishes, and then tells me that the dentist will be right in. He strolls in about 10 minutes later, obviously slowed by his fat wallet (which is at least 3x as thick as the hygenist's). He then looks at my teeth very slowly, tapping each one with his little scraper deal. I have no idea what he is doing up there.... probably just counting my teeth to make sure they are all there. In less than five minutes he has now decreed that my teeth look fine and that he hopes to see me in six months. It must be easy to be a dentist... is it too late for a career change?

Fish Tails

Day 1:

I got skunked on this day, must have been my skinny internet fingers preventing me from catching any fish. To the untrained eye, fishing looks pretty skill-less. Think about it. Put some meat on a hook, throw it out in the ocean, and wait…. For me, that waiting took all day. My dad on the other hand, caught four fish.

Day 1 Fish Count: 3 bluefish, 1 spot.

Day 2:

I’ve changed my mind. Fishing is now a sport of the Gods and one that I am the best at. Today, we pull up to our fishing spot and before my dad is done setting up his rod and reel I’ve pulled a fish out of the ocean AND it is one that hasn’t been caught before by man EVER, well, at least these two men on this particular trip. Five hours later and it becomes apparent to me that after 9:52 AM fishing reverts to a sport of luck. I guess we have to make it fair for the fish, because if luck weren’t involved I would deplete the ocean’s supply. Halfway through this day, an old family friend of ours TM shows up and manages to catch a shark before we leave.

Day 2 Fish Count: 3 whiting, 1 flounder, 1 shark.

Day 3:

Today is our first full day out with TM and a good day for me as old college buddy (now that I’ve graduated I think I can use that term) BV and his father join us for fishing. When they arrive they seem impressed with our professionalism (meaning my dad has lots of rods and reels that are shiny and can be mounted on his truck while he drives). We drive out to a new fishing spot with the five of us and fish begin to jump on our hooks. It is before 9:52. In the first half of an hour TM and my dad have caught two flounders, and BVDad and I are rocking one a piece. Bill apparently lacks skill. A 4 year old boy and his mother pull up to the fishing spot beside ours. The mother lands a fish. We mock BV. Next thing we know, the 4-year old is reeling in two fish at once. Obviously BV can’t compete with that, none of us can. 9:52 comes and goes and now BV has landed his first flounder.

I will say, you cannot fault BV for not trying. At one point, he thought he had a bite and yanked the rod so hard it traveled >180 degrees from in front of him, to directly behind him in the sand. Other than that, we had a pretty decent day

Day 3 Fish Count: 14 flounder, 3 spots, 1 whiting, 1 flying fish, and 2 sharks.

Day 4:

By now we have cracked the fish code and make sure to head out early as to offset the luck factor. The three of us head to South Beach (though not the one of Miami fame) and decide to try our luck there. We start catching croakers by the dozen (so called because they actually make a croaking sound, maybe only when they are dying though). Some of the fish we catch are kind of small, but not one to let things go to waste we start rigging them up as live bait on the big rods and reels. The weights are heavy enough that the fish can’t swim wherever they want so we just leave them out there and set the rods in stakes in the ground. At one point, we look over in time to see the rod tip bend over and get pulled out of the stake and into the ocean. My dad drops his rod and reel, runs over and picks it up and the line is slack. He reels it in and the fish is gone, along with the hook. As he said, it’s the biggest fish he never caught. Later, we caught a rod in time to reel in the monster…. Turned out to be a giant sting ray. I named it blue balls… what a tease.

Day 4 fish count: 14 croakers, 2 sharks, 1 bluefish, 1 angelfish or something, and 1 set of blue balls.

So all in all, we caught a lot of fish. I would say that it was pretty damn productive, except when you consider that we had to drive about 900 miles round trip and spent more on bait than most people would spend to buy fish it was just a whole lot of fun (well, minus the third degree sunburn on my feet).

I know a promised pictures but that function is not cooperating so you'll just have to blame Blogger.

Gone fishin....

I'm sure some of you were worried that I had "gone the way of the Vigen" and stopped posting. Mostly, I've just been lounging around the house and doing a lot of nothing. I'm on my way out to the Outer Banks to do some fishing with my dad and also BV is meeting us out there since he's at Nags Head with his family (we'll be down at Cape Hatteras). The fishing isn't great this time of year, but the beach is always a welcome getaway.... expect pictures when I return.