BBQ recap

I hosted the final Sunset Park BBQ yesterday before my girlfriend and I move to DC. They used to be called “Mr. Beer BBQs,” but I lost the brewing equipment. This BBQ featured a variety of commercially prepared brews. Anyway, I read a bunch of Tucker Max on Sunday morning, so here is the recount of the BBQ in his timeline style.

SATURDAY
10:00 AM – go to Costco to buy a lot of burgers, plus mango salsa, which is very popular with penguins and paralegals alike.

10:15 AM – leave Costco with 50 lbs of food I didn’t intend on buying. This wouldn’t be a big deal, except I have no car and had to walk to the subway.

10:48 AM – pause on 3rd Avenue and 37th Street to set down the bag with the 10 lbs of potatoes (and the rest of the 50 lbs of groceries) that just ripped my shoulder out of the joint.

11:01 AM – sweating profusely, board R train.

11:39 AM – consider calling ambulance; I can’t feel my hands. I go to Subway instead, I like the Italian BMT. It’s good, then I go to sleep.

4:00 PM – do basic prep work for the BBQ with my girlfriend; marinades, salads, etc.

9:37 PM – fall asleep on the couch on Saturday night like a loser.

SUNDAY
6:18 AM – I can’t sleep. I went to bed too early and I’m excited about the BBQ.

6:19 AM – girlfriend punches me in the face because she can sleep, and she wants to.

10:02 AM – I boil the aforementioned 10 lbs of potatoes. My arms are sore, but my revenge is sweet.

10:55 AM – I start to feel some remorse as I cut the boiled potatoes. Then I remember they’re frigging vegetables and stop caring. I consider starting drinking, but decide that’s not a good idea.

11:05 AM – 10 minutes wiser, I open a Brooklyn Lager.

12:37 PM – 1st guest, StrandedP, shows up. I am 2.5 beers deep (pacing myself). She brings a 6 pack. The guy at the deli hit on her. He gave her his number by writing his name on the receipt and drawing an arrow to the store’s phone. Smooth move Oscar, play on playa.

1:15 PM – other people show up. They have a lot of beer. I am happy.

1:30 PM – we all go outside to my backyard. The direct sun pains me, but girls like it. I suffer.

1:31 – 3:30 PM – many people show up. We have about 20 in the backyard. I’m drunk, and loving it. I give a few tours of my apartment. Towards the end of this period, words feel like bricks that need to be thrown out of my mouth with much labor.

3:45 PM – people are eating. I don’t like to eat too much though at these things -- I focus on the beer, as if that’s the healthy choice.

3:58 PM – photographic evidence reveals that I’ve drank my eyes shut.

4:36 PM – we move out front to the stoop. More pictures are taken. People start leaving. StrandedP is also drunk, so at least I have a partner.

5:00 PM – cutoff point for my memory of the day. The rest is inferences I’ve drawn from others’ stories.

5:17 PM -- the remaining group walks to the actual Sunset Park. Wind, water, Midtown. Nice view. We sit on the benches. I wanted to lay down, but my girlfriend decides against it. I now realize I’m whipped. I should’ve taken a nap.

5:45 PM -- some friends get on the subway home. Others have a designated driver. As the designated drinkier, I walk back to the apartment and invite my neighbors down for beers in back yard.

6:22 PM – I realize we have almost no beer left, and revise invitation to “a beer in the back yard.”

6:24 PM – I'm more ready for nap than at the park, neighbors overstaying their welcome.

6:28 PM – finish beer as well as SlackerP’s bottle of Riesling (who brings Riesling to a BBQ?). Politely invite neighbors to go home.

6:45 PM – eat leftovers. Mourn loss of about 80 bottles of beer.

7:25 PM – start watching “Waterboy” on TBS. One of my favorites outside Van Damme.

8:15 PM – Pass out for good this time.

Monday
3:00 AM – wake up in bed. Girlfriend slaps me in the face again (see Sunday morning).

9:00 AM – show up at work hungover. Only 3 days left.

I Heart Old People

Growing up, my mom used to tell me that the only time she saw evidence that I had a soul was when I was interacting with old people and dogs. This may sound harsh, but luckily my self esteem as a child was not rooted in the belief that I was a genuinely good person. And besides that, she was right.

As a kid, the first movie that ever made me cry was Coccoon, when the old people leave their old people friends and beam up to the mother ship to achieve eternal youth. I blubbered like baby. Maybe it was Wilford Brimley's heartfelt performance, maybe it was the realistic turd-like coccoons incubating in the indoor swimming pool- whatever it was, something pulled at my heartstrings that day.

The past two weeks I have been in Austria visiting my grandmother at this hotel in the Alps that she stays at every summer. She grew up in Vienna, speaks fluent German, and goes over there each year to escape the blistering Florida heat and get back to her roots. The hotel was largely inhabited by Viennese expat Floridians doing exactly the same thing. Any guest there that was under 80 (a handful) didn't speak English, so I found myself trying like a desperate high school outcast to integrate myself into the English speaking clicks and try and make friends with the octogenarian widows (there was only one husband out of about 8 women who was still alive an able to make the journey-he was adorable I had a little crush).

Why do I heart old people? Many reasons.

1.) They make you feel active and youthful and glowing even if you normally don't feel that way.

Old Lady: You're going for a walk?

Me: Yeah.

Old Lady: I used to like to walk when I was YOUNG. I can't walk anymore, I get tired.

Me: Oh yeah, I like to walk.

In fact, I don't really like to walk that much. But, in relation to this woman's plight, walking took on a whole new meaning. It was a blessing, a gift. I was lucky to be able to walk. Walking made me young and powerful and omnipotent. My afternoon stroll was now a completely different animal. I was ACTIVE! ATHLETIC! VIBRANT!

2.) They're fucking adorable.

If there was a Real World: Boca Raton, it would be absolutely out of this world. My old man crush made my heart melt whenever I would see him. Pants pulled up mid chest, belted, white dockers grazing the very tops of his shoes. The harem of women surrounding him couldn't get enough; he was the life of the party. He was the shit, and he knew it.

Something that's big in the Alpine sporting word is something they call "Nordic walking" where people go out with two ski-pole type sticks used for support in hiking, scaling mountains, etc. While these implements were mainly designed for use in extreme sporting situations (I'd assume), the old people used them just to jaunt around town. One adorable woman would come bounding into town with her nordic walking sticks.

Me: Hello Mrs. Stern!

Mrs. Stern: Hello! Look at me, I'm sporty! Look at my sticks! [waves sticks]

Me: Yes! Look at those! Those are great!

Mrs. Stern: Aren't they? [Bolts away full speed].

3.) They care.

Mrs. Gross: You're wearing those shoes in Salzburg?

Me: [Looking down at my open-toed sandals, probably not ideal for marathon running, but certainly sufficient for a 2 hour snail's pace stroll through Salzburg with my grandmother]. Yeah, I was going to wear these.

Mrs. Gross: You really, really shouldn't wear those shoes. You are going to be walking a lot!!! You might get something caught in your foot! There are COBBLESTONES in Salzburg! You can't walk on COBBLESTONES in THOSE shoes!!!!

Me: Hmm. Good point. [I ponder the thought of going upstairs to change... decide she'd have to pay me first]. I think I am going to wear them though.

Mrs. Gross: Fine. Well you'll come back and tell me I was right.

Mrs. Gross was sweet, Mrs. Gross cared about the fate of my feet. I rarely get this sort of profound concern about my well-being from a complete stranger. At the end of my stay, Mrs. Gross gave me her "card," w/ contact information in case I'm ever in need of "a Jewish Grandmother in NYC."

Ok, I'm going to go pitch CBS my Real World: Boca Raton idea.

Love and Dentures,

Fbomb.

Straight-Up

About two weeks ago, I "graduated" from a 16-hour bartending class at the New York Bartending School. Over the course of a weekend, I listened attentively while a jovial guy who looks like he just came from MTV Spring Break Miami explained the art of making a buttery nipple and what exactly goes into a 1-900-FUK-MEUP. I was partnered with an earnest Israeli, who wanted to get out of the moving business by bartending. He didn't really have mastery over the whole "reading English" thing ("Maker's Mark. No, not Tanqueray. Maker's Mark. No, that's still Tanqueray. It starts with M. Top shelf. Starts with M. The brown one. The brown one!"), but he was sweet and we made a very good team.

The day that I graduated, I went to the receptionist and asked her about the "lifetime job placement."

"Oh," she said, adjusting her trucker hat and tugging at her tiny shirt that read "Everyone loves a blonde." "That's only for the 40-hour-a-week students. Good luck!"

I stalked out of the school, deciding that the philosophy on her shirt might still be true if only natural blondes qualified.

Thus began my job search, and a series of interviews where I pretended that a certificate and previous experience as a golf course cart girl qualified me to handle a hopping New York bar.

Eventually, a relatively upscale restaurant/bar in the area (and where I've been embarrassingly drunk with a group of co-workers before) decided to give me a chance. After two interviews, they asked me to come in for an "observation session." They didn't tell me what I had to do, how long it would last, or whether or not I could take home some vodka in a to-go cup. Despite my misgivings, I went in last night to be observed, and to see if I could fit a bottle of wine into my purse without anyone noticing.

One of the managers (who liked to call himself a Partner) met me and lead me into the bowels of the restaurant. He was impeciably dressed in a suit and Euro-glasses, and spoke with an accent that was either Eastern European or German. Pick which one is funnier and go with that.

"Heeer ees your shurt," he said, tossing a stiff black buttondown at me. "Put thees on. I need you at ze bar for at leest several hours, okay? Und tie your hair back becaze of ze health department."

I dutifully did what he asked, and went upstairs to sit at a staff meeting before the shift started.
Angsty German "Partner" gave what he thought was an impassioned speech to the jaded group: "Look around. Zees is zee restaurant. Look at zee peectures. I am proud to be at zee restaurant. I spend moor time herr zan wit my family. If you do not have pride in zee restaurant, you don't belong here. Eets about the guest. Eets about the salt shakers. Leeeve notes for the chef to say Gut Morning. Don't make mee yeel at you. All for one, and one for all, okay? You understand me Ahmed? Carry zee trays. Live zee dream."

After the speech, he lead me to the front bar. He introduced me to the bartender, and then sent me behind the bar with him, with no instructions and no indication of what they expected me to do, besides get in the way.

The bartender, who was only on his third day at Zee Restaurant, seemed hesitant at first. After I told him that I really didn't have any experience, but I did go to bartending school, he decided a new approach. He began explaining all the parts of the bar, the cash register, the taps, etc., but he would pepper his helpful descriptions with "Well, did they teach you about glasses in bartending school?" and "Did they teach you about cocktails and menus in bartending school?" I managed to be polite until he said "Did they teach you about accountability in bartending school?" at which point I smashed an empty bottle on the bar, waved it in his face, and hissed "I'll cut you. I'll cut you for real." [ed note: not actually true].

As he's explaining the bar, the place begins to fill up, and stern faced business men begin looking at me expectedly. I tried to avoid eye contact until the last possible moment, and even then I would use the "I'm a trainee! I can't touch anything" line. But as business began picking up, and the waiters and waitresses would huff at the side of the bar, waiting for their tables' drinks, I decided to jump in. Suddenly, I'm pouring beers, cutting lemons and making twists, loading the fridge, refilling the chips, and making drinks like "Stoli Orange with soda, splash of oj, and a fresh orange slice." The bartender now begins to show me a bit more respect as I'm covering his ass, and the well-suited managers observe from the side. After four hours of working the bar, Angsty German "Partner" calls me to the side.

"Vat ees your availabilitee for training?"

"What are my options?"

He huffs. "I neet you to train. Thees was an observation."

"Okay, well, I work until 5:30, at least for the next two weeks."

"Come weeth me."

He leads me down to the bowels again, pausing only once to scream at some poor guy who's filling a water pitcher. "Fasteeer! FASTEER!"

Once we make it to the basement, he turns on his heel.

"Look. I neet you to train. You haav no expeerence, no? But you weer hired for your greet personality" he spits the last two words as if they were "genital warts."
"My bar oppens at 4! Soo you caul me tomoorow, and we work out zee training. Zis is ZEE RESTAURANT." and he marches off in a huff.

It's only then that it fully hits me - after working the bar for four hours, making martinis, putting up with Anal Waitress ("Don't let Chef see you touching the olives!"), and letting business men scowl at me, I'm not getting paid. I'm not getting a dime. I'm getting only the privilege of being in Zee Restaurant.

Apparently, "observation session" means "do a bunch of shit for free."

So I folded up my black shirt, left it on the corner of a random table, and I fled into the early evening, scripting the conversation that I plan on having later today.

Angsty German "Partner": You haave called about zee training?
Me: No, I'm calling to let you know that you can...how you say?...keees my pale white ass.

*By the way, bonus prize for the first person to post in the comment section the recipe for a 1-900-FUK-MEUP. Don't ever say we penguins aren't interactive.

Bridging the gap between church, state & adult films

First, please notice the addition of the Evil Penguin logo. (Can't miss it I guess - it's huge.). I have no clue what I'm doing with html, it's all trial by error and borronw source code from other blogs.

Second props to a blog I like: Nixie. Don’t be offended Marshall, but it is a rare blog featured on JD2B.com that I’ve enjoyed. This is one of them, for what it’s worth, at least in part because she’s in our class year and has already started school in UMich’s summer start.

Third, and more on point with today’s post, featured funny blog: Law & Alcoholism, “Getting Through the University of Wisconsin Law School, one beer at a time.” (See his treatise on The Tort of Cockblocking).

…which brings me to this weekend.

Q: Where can you find a priest, a pornstar, and a judge drinking from a keg together?

A: The party SlackerP and I were at this weekend.

Things have worked out pretty well for me lately, so I decided to attend a charity event. Perhaps tangentially (and perhaps not), said event included all you can eat and drink from the hours of 2pm until everyone passed out or jumped off the roof of the building.

In order to fully demonstrate our dedication to the cause, we started pregaming with a few beers at 12:30 in the afternoon. Upon arriving at 2, we started with an Italian ice and vodka before moving into the beers. Without being too specific, the food was racing-friendly (before it was cooked), which provided ample entertainment for a simple-minded fellow like myself. If you were on a tour bus in Soho between 2:30 pm and 5 pm, and somebody saluted you with a beer from a rooftop as you passed, please don’t post the pictures anyplace before emailing me one of them.

Anyway, apparently we were drinking the kind of beer that doesn’t have any suntan lotion additive, so I’m a nice lobster red at the moment. Disappointingly, the fear of my skin melting off my face and my inability to sustain the drinking pace forced me to retire at about 9pm. I spent yesterday in bed shielding myself from the oppressive humidity and wondering if I’ll be able to cool it in August long enough to study.

The Law Firm

The Law Firm Banner
Originally uploaded by E3B.
NBC has a show coming out called The Law Firm, which has obvious relevance to our work. Apparently the casting process was based mostly on peoples’ willingness to say that the most common misconception about lawyers is that they are unethical. Jason says it best:

“Most people think that lawyers are a puss-filled boil on the body of society. “

I don’t know if the ABA made them say that, but you’d think that one of them would point out some of the other “misconceptions” about lawyers as well, specifically, that they are profane, philandering drunks. Anyway, they’ve assembled an impressive cast of people who purport to be attorneys – here are some of my early picks to dominate the show, and by “dominate” I mean provide a lot of fodder for future blog posts:

Anika
“ ‘Sass and ass’ - that's how I've been described. The ’sass’ part is obvious. I am feisty, quick thinking, articulate, and have that in-your-face savvy. In my professional and personal life, I always stand up for myself, fight to the death, and am not squeamish about critiquing colleagues. The ‘ass’ - well it's not what you think! That part describes my good looks…”

Does anyone else understand the distinction she’s making between “what you think” ass means in that context and her definition (“that part describes my good looks”)? Her ability to distinguish thoughts and arguments like that should carry her a long way (on this blog).


Elizabeth
“Why do you think you are a better lawyer than the other associates?
I try not to compare myself to others - it's not very productive. We all have our own strengths and weaknesses.”

Objection, your honor, non-responsive. It was nice of NBC to edit the “uhs,” “likes” and “whatevers” out of her initial answer though.

Jason
“Why do you think you are a better lawyer than the other associates?
I am taller than the other associates.”

That will be handy during the intramural basketball portion of the show, moron. This guy appears to be at least as likely to fix my leaking ceiling as he is to win a trial. (For the record, a leaking ceiling is no laughing matter – fixing mine is def. in the best interest of justice)

Barret, saving the best for last.
“Why do you think you are a better lawyer than the other associates?
I am charmed.

What's your verdict on reality TV?
Guilty but insane.”

My above “moron” comment notwithstanding, I try to refrain from bashing someone personally on this site, so I’m going to let those answers stand. Barret is very likely to be doing an interview with Katie Couric on the morning after she gets kicked off the first episode.

The Law Firm-Profile-StrandedP

Name: strandedp

Hometown: madison CT

Educational Background: In elementary school I received an honorable mention for my clay sculpture thingamajig. That was just the beginning. Other highlights include my certificate in a babysitting course, at, can you believe it, the age of 12. It was these small steps that put me on the right path, leading up to a junior scuba licence, and eventual a BA in psychology from NYU. While I have not taken classes beyond my BA, I’m happy to say that even without a college level course on the topic I’m was able to master the art of the copy machine without having ever taken a course in it. How bout them apples.

Specialty: eavesdropping on Ellen’s conversations

Planned departure from current job: yes

Why do you think you'll be a better lawyer than the other competitors? I don’t have to be a better lawyer- I just have to make the audience love me... ‘win the crowd Maximus and you will have your freedom.’ Reality TV isn’t any different

What, in your opinion, is the biggest misconception people have about lawyers and why is it a misconception? That they don’t still call home to mom when their name is in the paper.

Because NBC worded that question so poorly, here's a softball - favorite drink? Favorite shot: Buttery nipple; Favorite wine: reisling; Favorite drink that comes with an umbrella: Strawberry banana daiquiri; Favorite way to get drunk when you only have $3.50 to your name: six pack of PBR.

The Law Firm Applicant Profile - SlackerP

Name: SlackerP
Hometown: Born in Cincinnati, Kicking it in NYC
Educational Background: AB in Psychology, Certificate from New York Bartending School
Specialty: Da Butt dance
Planned departure from current job: Molotov cocktail
Why do you think you'll be a better lawyer than the other competitors? Because odds are low that any of them have ever killed a man using only a mechanical lollypop twister and a shoehorn.
What, in your opinion, is the biggest misconception people have about lawyers and why is it a misconception? People seem to think that all lawyers are egotistical alcoholics. This is wrong. They are also boring.
Because NBC worded that question so poorly, here's a softball - favorite drink? Depends on the context. Post-work? A good stout. Post-dinner? A nice Riesling. Pre-Party? Diet Coke and Vanilla Stolis. Pre-rehab? Rubbing alcohol.
Litigator you look up to? My Grandpa, who left law to become a band leader. True story.

The Law Firm applicant profile - E3B

Name: E3B

Hometown: In the sticks, even if I told you, you'd have to Google it.

Educational Background: Public HS with “academy” at the end of the name; TTT public university; Smegma Chamber ’08

Specialty: Let’s make that “specialties.” Using the copier to make exhibit tabs; leaving work at 4pm to start happy hour early; and falling asleep at meaningless baseball games.

Planned departure from current job: Nine days left of brain atrophy, and then on to Smegma. I’ve been phasing myself out at work by surfing blawgs since I mailed in all my LS applications, so the departure should be pretty smooth. Most people think I don't work here anymore, which is actually true apart from my physical presence in the office.

Why do you think you'll be a better lawyer than the other competitors? As far as the “lawyers” on this season’s show, I’m pretty confident that being able to type complete sentences while breathing and blinking (at the same time) will be enough to carry the day. In terms of the internal Penguin competition, quite frankly, law involves a fair amount of alcohol consumption. I can out drink every one of them. Game over.

What, in your opinion, is the biggest misconception people have about lawyers and why is it a misconception? I said earlier that, in addition to the whole “dishonest” bit, people don’t realize that they’re also profane, philandering drunks. I stand by that assertion, but it’s not the biggest misconception. The biggest misconception is that lawyers actually care about public misconceptions regarding their profession. It’s a pretty incestuous group, the demand for their services is built into society, and it would be tough for your opinion of them to be worse than theirs is of us.

Because NBC worded that question so poorly, here's a softball - favorite drink? Reade St. Ale, old version

Litigators you look up to: ADA Dan Felding, this guy, and this guy.

Fun at work: Battle Monsters

Chlamydia is a Collosal Squid that has a Single Giant Eye and an Extra Head, is trying to Destroy the World, and is Poisonous. Strength: 11 Agility: 2 Intelligence: 8 To see if your Giant Battle Monster can defeat Chlamydia, enter your name and choose an attack: fights Chlamydia using StrengthAgilityIntelligence

I found Giant Battle Monsters at T Sinister's blog, and although I was a little disapointed that I couldn't actually design my own monster to battle him, I still managed to entertain myself by seeing who the strongest monster on our blog is. As for the Chlamydia monster above, all I can say is - let this be a warning to you. Now to the rest of us...

E3B is a Giant Ant that emits Ultrasonic Screams, and can Regenerate. Strength: 6 Agility: 4 Intelligence: 6 To see if your Giant Battle Monster can defeat E3B, enter your name and choose an attack: fights E3B using StrengthAgilityIntelligence

Although I was initially disappointed by my fairly pedestrian powers in all categories, I now realize that these Brits have a pretty sophisticated site here and their monster is pretty much dead on for me. E3B, call me average, just don’t call me dessert.

SlackerP is a Giant Ant that cowers from Radiation, has four Extra Limbs, is Wreathed with Flames, can Phase in and out of Existence, and Tunnels Underground. Strength: 6 Agility: 8 Intelligence: 8 To see if your Giant Battle Monster can defeat SlackerP, enter your name and choose an attack: fights SlackerP using StrengthAgilityIntelligence

Not surprisingly, SlackerP gets high marks for intelligence. Her 4 extra limbs will be helpful when conducting interviews on CNN next year, and the ability to phase in and out of existence will surely be of use for any/all hangovers resulting from her imminent departure from our office.

Fbomb is a Giant Mecha-Squid that has Prehensile Eyes, Suckers on its Feet and Tough Leathery Skin. Strength: 8 Agility: 2 Intelligence: 7 To see if your Giant Battle Monster can defeat Fbomb, enter your name and choose an attack: fights Fbomb using StrengthAgilityIntelligence

Fbomb’s monster dominates me too, just like in real life. She’ll be insulted at the leathery skin part – her Allure freebies definitely guard against that.

strandedp is a Giant Blob that has X-Ray Vision and a Humorous Nephew Sidekick, and lives Underwater. Strength: 9 Agility: 1 Intelligence: 1 To see if your Giant Battle Monster can defeat strandedp, enter your name and choose an attack: fights strandedp using StrengthAgilityIntelligence

StrandedP’s giant blob gives her leeway to house me, but I think I can outrun her.

More from the blogosphere...

A somewhat rare two-post day for me...

I have about 2.5 weeks until my last day of work, and I’m in the process of unloading all my cases to other people. It’s keeping me busy in the sense that I certainly have work to do, but the work is so tedious that it’s also keeping me busy surfing the internet to avoid it. Here’s some more from my exploring:

I just found Kim Plaintive via Magic Cookie. In addition to being a fellow ex-legal support services provider, her character sketches and firm descriptions are great. We here at Penguins can relate to almost all of this (for example, they won't let us interview with Legal Assistant Today). I’m still trying to get my mind around the Judygate drama and how they could demand her notes, but I’m hoping Kim is happier spending the rest of the summer before school relaxing.

In Kim’s links I saw a “Best Blog” link to The Quintessential Negro, and I liked hers enough to trust the recommendation. Usually when I get to a blog I head to the first post in the archives, especially for newer sites. TQN’s story of scaring off the paperboy was pretty funny, and I saw it had 5 comments so I decided to check them out.

As much as I like these two blogs so far, the comments from someone purporting to be “award winning” journalist Amy Goodman were the first thing to make me laugh out loud (I refuse to “lol” you). With her name linked to Democracy Now, the poster asked things like:

“…First of all, I don't understand [sic] why you are calling yourself a Negro? Didn't your forefathers, like Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, fight so that you could be an African-American? [...]

“Third of all, why do you call your domestic partner, 'MY lady?' I don't think that it is appropriate language. You as a descendant of slaves should know the impact of demeaning, possesive [sic] language. It really makes me question the validity of hip-hop and its impact on impressionable young African-American men like yourself..."

As I read her long comment, I was assuming it must be schtick. Then Kim answered one of the questions. If that really was Ms. Goodman, I find it amazing that someone could take themselves seriously enough to feel the need to ask any of that.

In any event, check these blogs out, they're both pretty funny.

Post a Secret blog

(From Post a Secret , with permission to post 1 picture on our blog as a link to the site. ) *

At this blog, people send in postcards with secrets they haven't told anyone else. Some of them are amusing, but you feel guilty for reading others or feel bad for some of the people who wrote them. In any event, it's not exactly a warm and fuzzy read, but certainly an interesting one. The sporadic links to the Hopeline (available on the web or at 1(800) SUICIDE) hint at the types of things the blog administrator sees when sorting through these.

I was going to say something about not understanding why people feel the need to anonymously post deeply personal information on the Internet, but then I realized I have a site called Penguins With Chlamydia where I complain [from my cube at work] about my [perfectly good] job.

* Picture from Post a Secret , with permission to post 1 picture on our blog as a link to the site.

[Edit] If this gets you down, see Brandon Bird's Law & Order coloring book

The Penguins

penguins
Originally uploaded by groc.

I found this on flickr. I left a comment trying to verify that these are, in fact, the sick penguins that are the basis for the blog.

Rite of Passage # 347

When I was a kid, my brother was the smartest person I knew, I confirmed my beliefs by the fact that he read books all the time, and even needed glasses at a very young age. (What is funny is that movies still play up this stereotype, if they are trying to show a women is smart they give her the "librarian" alter-ego, they wear their glasses and put their hair up in a bun- but since hollywood only hire super-attractive women these librarian figures always have a transformation when they magically take off their glasses and let down their hair and are hot, like we didn’t know what was coming). Anyways, even as I grew up and my criteria for a smart person moved beyond wearing glasses, my beliefs were confirmed by, for instance, his first SAT score of 1550. Let me say it blew to be one year younger than him, and since we lived in a small town, I had all the same teachers as he had, and year after year I disapointed people's unreal expectations about how smart I would be.
It wasn’t until some time in high school that I realized for as smart as Mike is, he doesn’t have everything figured out. In fact, for all his brilliance, he has no common sense at all. I was mad at him for not living up what I imagined him to be and our relationship turned to shit. We will call this experience rite of passage #17.
Now to prove how I am still gullible, and set unreal expectations, we should talk about my previous love for CNN. When I started working here, despite the thrilling time I spent reading indictments, I found that in my boredom I could check the CNN every 15 minutes and it usually had one or two new stories up! How could I not love this website that was much superior than those that only updated once a day. It was my favorite site, I was experiencing a blinding love, and as I look back, I know I overlooked the flaws that were probably painfully obvious. Ok, so CNN covered the Michael Jackson trial daily, that’s news right? and I guess it could be one of the top stories of the day. I should have seen it coming. When Bernie was found guilty I was so excited his picture made the top top story on CNN, I even printed the shot of the website out. At the time I didn’t take a moment to think about how un-impressive this was, since all Bernie beat out was other "top" stories like "Michael Jackson arrives early to court" and "Why did Mario Vazquez quit ‘Idol’?" I was like the beaten wife, who believed she was beaten out of love.
But alas, eventually CNN did leave me with a broken heart, I don’t know what finally did it, whether it was all the Tom Cruise coverage or maybe even Brad and Angelina making top story, but my bubble has once again been burst. Thus, this experience, the disappointment of yet another news organization, is my rite of passage experience # 347.
And while I have cut back to checking CNN only every hour or so now, I have in the meantime, resolved to save all my pennies, to one day get cable, and find a better new source like The Daily Show.

Moving on up...

Moving blows. There are three things in this world that I hate more than anything else: packing, doing laundry, and hanging picture frames. The intense loathing that I harbor for this trio may seem silly to some, but it is no laughing matter. Moving involves all three of these hideous acts- en masse. I become a violent, angry, dangerous person when engaging in these activities. Relationships have been torn asunder, tears have been shed, vicious words have been spoken. As the leader of the anti-movement movement, I become extremely resentful of being forced to engage in behavior that I do not enjoy. This resentment may seem petty- even childish- to some, but I really don't care. My pain is real.

Speaking of pain, it was extremely painful to realize that during my move, one shopping bag was lost in the shuffle. This bag contained nearly every piece of jewerly I own, and was by far the most valuable thing that could have fallen through the cracks. If I ever deserved a woe is me, it is now.

Looking on the brightside (which I rarely do), I will report that my new apartment is fantabulous, and I'm quite pleased with my setup. Not all is lost (aside from all of my valuables).

Happy Fourth of July to all. Go get drunk and pretend to love your country.

Outbreak Update

We've just learned that famed zoologist and sassy penguin dominatrix Jane Tollini called it quits at the San Francisco Zoo earlier this year. She disagrees with the course of treatment chosen by the zoo’s veterinarian for the STD-ridden penguins.

"I'm going through withdrawal and separation anxiety," Tollini said. "I'm practically lactating"

We should all be so dedicated.

Tollini first gained notoriety by organizing a Valentine’s Day “Sex Tour” at the Zoo during the penguin mating season, perhaps initiating the culture of free love and debauchery that would lead to the demise of her beloved penguins. Her message on the tour was not just the usual San Fran Haight-Ashbury sex+weed=fun bumper sticker. She strived to teach her visitors that it’s not all about psychedelic drugs and lust:

"Koalas are nasty little creatures that don't like each other very much," Tollini says. "It's a rolling, tumbling thing for them and you have to almost kick them apart or they will kill each other." […]

"Rhinoceros sex is the most violent," she says.

In January 2003, after several years of sexual exploitation via the sex tour, her penguins started swimming in circles for eight hours a day in an attempt to migrate to Brazil, where the adult entertainment industry provides better union contracts and mandates STD testing before each film shoot. It is also rumored that the penguins chose this rather circuitous travel route because they figured it'd be faster than getting routed to their destination through Kennedy Airport here in NYC.

In all seriousness, we hope the penguins are able to pull through and that Ms. Tollini is able to find alternative employment. We hear that, in lieu of actually playing an NHL hockey season every again, Gary Bettman may be looking to organize similar tours of the amazingly virile Mighty Ducks.

Why the Next Supreme Court Justice Should Be Me

To: Mr. Bush

I am sure that O’Connor’s announcement has got you clapping your hands in court-packing glee. But rather than waste your valuable time listening to all your advisors/friends/donors present you with various candidates, let me make it easy for you. Nominate me. Here are the reasons why.

1) I am a woman. You need a woman to replace a woman, otherwise everyone will start going on and on about how sexist you are or, even worse, that you are secretly craving the calloused man touch in the highest court of the land.

2) I’m from Ohio. Remember Ohio? Without my divided state, you wouldn’t have been elected. It's time to hook em up with one of their own (east siiiiide).

3) I have no legal education what so ever. You may think that is a liability. I think it’s a bonus! I’m the everyman voice on the court. I’m the juror in the back who sleeps through the instructions. I’m the person who represents the rest of the world when they say, “Wait, I don’t get this. Habeas corpus? Is that a sex act?”

4) I wouldn’t wear goofy cravats. What the hell is up with the limp curtain neck scarves? I define the constitution but I look like a busboy in colonial Williamsburg? No. We gotta look good while we interpret the law.

5) I can plan a party. What are shindigs at the Supreme Court like now a days? I assume it involves a lot of fiber. It’s time to put the party back into the court. Not the elephant or donkey type of party (unless, of course, you are in to that sort of thing).

6) Neither of my hips is artificial

7) No long-winded opinions. If I’m affirming a decision, I’ll write simply: “Word.”

8) Get me drunk enough, I really am a swing vote.

9) With no previous career to speak of, the confirmation hearing will be a breeze. Once we destroy those photos.

10) I can pick up things with my toes. If you don’t think that is relevant, you don’t understand the law.

In short, Mr. Bush, I am your nominee. I look forward to the confirmation bender.

In limine,
SlackerP