My Day in Court

Yesterday I spent part of my morning at the County Courthouse. Up until a month and a half ago, I had failed to switch my license to a Virginia one and was told by the policeman who caught me that I could get the fine dropped if I simply showed up to court and showed the judge my new VA license. Seemed simple and harmless enough.

I'm sure it is the influence that "Law & Order" exerts in my life (and each of yours... admit it!), or the heartfelt desire to please you as the reader with some blogworthy material, but I was disappointed that it really was that seamless and undramatic. Quite the letdown.

Honestly, I don't view myself as a demanding or particular person, but where was the wife-beater male chauvinist who went on a misogynistic tirade at the judge because she was a woman? Where was the Russian mafia drug dealer headbutting the bailiff? Why wasn't I handcuffed in a metal chair next to some lowlife who reaked of urine and gasoline, asking "what're you in for...murder?" Why wasn't Jack McCoy -- or Sam Waterston...in character or out, that guy is intimidating, legally speaking -- and his oddly attractive assistant prosecuting me for trampling the rights of the People by violating the law? If I'm going to be in court, I expect something more.

I got nothing. Me saying "your Honor" three times, showing my new license, and a waived fine. The most intimidated I felt was when I walked towards the bench and wasn't sure if I had zipped up my fly or not. I know. Lame, right?

Notable end to my otherwise bland outing to the courthouse, however. The parking garage had me take a ticket upon entering and then pay in cash at an automated machine afterward before I left. The parking fee was $1. All I had was a $20 bill. What does the machine do? It spits 19 $1 bills back at me.

I don't know what to do with it. It's embarrassing to carry around or have in my car. Ugh.

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My Inner Monologue-Fueled Diversion

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have a running inner monologue/narrative.

Now, if it were an inner dialogue, that would be considered multiple-personality disorder. Or, if it were a voice telling me what to do, that would be schizophrenia. Those would make me certifiably crazy. I have neither of these.

This inner monologue keeps me entertained at times, and was especially invaluable during work today. It's Friday, I hadn't slept well, and I remembered as I arrived that I had training. I'm not a big fan of training. I knew the combination of sleep deprivation and complete apathy to the training subject material was a recipe for disaster (ie me drooling on myself during class), so I decided to brand classmates that resembled celebrities/characters/stereotypes as soon as possible to keep myself awake. My running narrative from 8:30-11:30am went something like this:

Here we go. Unless they bring in some Chinese acrobats or something, they are not going to keep my attention today. I'm feeling surly this morning.

Oh you gotta be kidding me, brah.* Here comes the guy that is five inches taller and weighs fifty more pounds than me who managed to squeeze into a polo that would be tight on me. I wonder if he just cuts himself out of it when he goes home... Wait, does he have his...?-- Yup! His requisite sports drink of choice: Gatorade Propel. Nicely done on living up to the stereotype. Just please don't say anything about having already gone to the gym this morning, or I will end you. I think I'll name him Under Armour.

Dude,* instructor, please please please pump some life into this presentation and DON'T read your PowerPoint presentation verbatim, honestly. And there you go. WORD for freakin WORD. I dub thee Christopher Walken for inability to present anything without having something to read off of. Ridiculous.

Like I said: Surly today.

Now we've got Micro Machines Guy (MM) over there making comments every few seconds. Dude,* just pop some muscle-relaxers and just let your mind catch up to your mouth. Or vice versa. Whatever it is, something is out of sync. Just chill, brah.* Chilllll.

Whatever happened to the Micro Machines guy? He could have been utilized in so any ways. I hope VH1 does a special on him.

Under Armour has managed to continuously maneuver and put himself in positions that show off the size of his arms. Yes, dude,* we get it: Your arms are relatively large in your tiny shirt. My goodness. Why don't you three just get a room and get it over with.

Here we go. It's about time you surfaced; every training class has one, and you are our Point Dexter. We do a simple exercise to make sure we have a concept down, and you get it wrong, and argue incessantly with Walken, who has given this presentation how many times and still reads every word of every line... Is this a self-esteem issue, Point? I mean is it outside your realm of possibility that you're wrong? Because if your self-esteem is tied to your getting this answer right, let me finish you off: You're WRONG.

It's actually quite amusing to watch MM now; like watching a Nascar (mouth) race a Geo Metro (mind) in a city with lots of traffic lights-- the Metro almost catches up because of the red lights, but the Nascar always gets away.

I have to pee bad. I hate drinking lots of water to try and be healthy.

Point Dexter has remained in silence, nursing his linked-to-always-being-right ego, chastened by my scathing inner monologue.

Walken just stated, and I quote: "I am a simple man with simple needs." No one asks for clarification. Thank all that is holy. I realize I am taking this out of context just to make fun of him, but hey: This is my inner monologue.

End of class.

I know, I know, I'm a jerk. But at least I stayed awake during class.

TGIF.

*For some reason my inner narrative is a surfer from CA/Hawaii. I don't know.

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Sports Blog

Oh yeah, some friends and I started a sports blog. Depending on who's writing, we'll write or post interesting articles on various things going on in the sports world. Bookmark, if you so wish, or enter it into your Google Reader. Make comments, so we know someone's reading. Here's the initial entry from 10 June that I made for the site:

I haven't followed the NBA closely in years. There's something about overpaid, whiny adults that doesn't appeal to me as a spectator. I do acknowledge, however, that this could simply be a personal preference, considering the popularity of unbearable shows like "Grey's Anatomy" and "The Real World" (Granted, I don't know if the perpetually-longing-to-return-to-my-frat-boy-glory-days individuals on "The Real World" get paid, but if it's anything more than -$200, or the highly-inflated currency of a foreign country, it's too much).

This NBA post-season, however, I have been glued to each playoff game.

I attribute this to a few factors. And yes, while one of them is definitely "the elimination of the Spurs," they are just as (if not more) boring to write about as they are to watch. I'd rather talk about Kevin Garnett.

This has nothing to do with me jumping on the Celtics bandwagon once they got good this season. I am still contemplating jumping on, given the age of the team. It has everything to do with having grown up and loved watching KG in all of his raving, ranting glory. I've never seen anyone play sports with his passion, or the barely-bridled enthusiasm that so many of the pros lose as they view playing ball as a chore -- a multi-million dollar chore, mind you -- and not something to be loved. Garnett loves it, and you can sense that watching him play. You can hear it in interviews with him.

Admittedly, it is that same intensity that sometimes scares me a bit. It almost reminds me of that one spelling bee girl from about ten years ago, who would talk to herself during the competition like she was possessed. Anyone remember her? ...Bueller?



KG's intensity is almost like that. Minus the social awkwardness and overall dysfunctionality. And eventual ostracization by society and peers. Man, that was a really poor analogy. Apologies to the Big Ticket on that one. But seriously. Have you seen him do stuff like this?



Whatever. My point: I love to watch this guy. Especially when he makes big plays--

--Yes, the big plays that are inevitably followed by his requisite swearing tirades. I know I haven't renewed my lip-reading certification (come on, if they have a Beer Judge Certification Program, this is not outside the realm of possibility), but I would liken watching him swear to the urge that non-Spurs fans get to knee Bruce Bowen in the crotch -- it's not so much the frequency that surprises you, but the intensity with which it happens. You ever wonder why KG, often the biggest superstar on the floor, is never mic'ed up during the games? It's because the NBA would automatically be banned from the networks and relegated to HBO and Showtime.

My only concern is what will happen to KG if the Celtics do win the Finals. He may explode. Or it may be like an Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark-type thing. I dunno.

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The Futility of Multi-Tasking

We need to come to grips with the fact that, regardless of what science says about the capabilities and untapped potential of our brain, we are no good at multi-tasking. Instead of accomplishing a bunch of things in the same amount of time, we fail or do a sub-par job at all of the tasks we have attempted; we end up with scalding hot coffee in our laps, food stains on the report we're about to hand the boss, our car in a ditch.

What are we guilty of? If I were to list them all, "the list would be as long as my--" ...well, it'd be long.* I think we've all seen and made ridiculous attempts to be more "efficient" at the expense of doing a quality job. I'll try to list a few, and in the accompanying parentheses will be my own plea on these various attempted multi-task combinations:

• Talking on cell phone while driving. (guilty as charged)
• Talking on cell phone while bicycling. (definitely not guilty. If people want to do this, I am fine with it, but they should be required to have bicycle insurance; that way I won't try something risky to avoid hitting them when they dart out in the middle of traffic.)
• Singing in the shower. (guilty at times. Some would argue you can do these simultaneously without doing them poorly, but if you've ever gotten out of the shower without having rinsed something as fundamental as your hair, your showering performance has indeed dropped).
• Studying while listening to music. (perpetually guilty. Professors would always be thrown through a loop at the random Tupac lyrics that would find themselves interspersed in my papers on pre-modern Japanese literature and Haiku poetry. Weird.)
  
• Driving while applying makeup. (...not guilty)
• The ultimate: Writing down directions given by someone on your cell phone while driving (I know...I'm stupid.)
  

I will make note of one exception that I've observed, at least for males. Men, on the whole, aren't usually big talkers. But something about staring at a tiled wall 6 inches from your nose and peeing into a urinal, while standing next to other men who are staring at a tiled wall 6 inches from their nose and peeing into a urinal, just inspires men to talk. And they do it (the talking) better than they normally would outside of the bathroom environment, and as far as I can tell, their peeing hasn't suffered in performance, either.

Anybody care to prove me wrong by sharing their own multi-tasking triumphs?

To pre-empt your follow-up questions: Yes, people do talk to me when I'm at the urinal at work; and no, I don't like it.

*Kudos to those who picked up on the Ocean's 11 reference, and knew that I wasn't trying to be perverted.

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Some of Us Look Alike

Most of you are painfully aware at this point that I am a huge fan of "The Onion," and that when I feel like getting the shallow sense of fulfillment of having completed a blog entry but don't feel like putting in the effort to write on a topic of my own, I usually just steal one of their stories by posting a link and call it good. I know, I know. I want the rush, but don't want to put in the effort. I feel an overbearing high school football coach-esque lecture coming on...

This article has got to be my favorite of all time, though.

It could be because Bruce and I look so eerily similar... you know, once I got to St. George for a Thanksgiving weekend in 2006, stayed in a condo previously inhabited by a -- much to my greedy benefit -- forgetful old woman, and "inherited" a pair of authentic BluBlocker sunglasses. (old woman: If you are reading this, you don't know where I live, and I think the statute of limitations on "theft of much-to-large-for-anyone's-face sunglasses" is a year).

All I need is a lace-up shirt.

And the ability to hurt people. Lots of them.

Hope you enjoyed the article.

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To a More Powerful Vocabulary

My high school English teacher made us study out of this book called "30 Days to a More Powerful Vocabulary." It was actually a great book, but not one that you want to get caught reading in public. This entry follows in that vein.

As all the loyal readers recall (HAH!), I make up new verbs based on people's names, by either taking a tendency or a random act of moronic stupidity (whichever works in my favor) of a certain individual and making a verb. In recent days I have conjured up a few. These verbs contain subtle nuances, so you will want to read closely. Apologies for the non-gender neutrality of my examples; if you stick 'she' in there, it works just as well.

• "That guy is a total hypochondriac. He always Hillary's his situation and compares his cold to 'the Black Plague.' " - A certain presidential candidate for a certain political party has gotten desperate and has been making some exaggerated comments about her decision to continue running. (trans. "That guy will say anything to get attention, even to the point of drawing ridiculous and overstated analogies to his situation. What a wuss.")

• "He totally Hugh Grant'ed his front row seats to the NBA Finals for a fake-autographed tennis racket of Maria Sharapova's and a $5 gift card to Bath & Body Works." - No, this is not in reference to Hugh's tendency to play the exact same character in all of his movies, although that is stereotypical Hugh Grant. This refers to when he was dating Elizabeth Hurley, but threw it all away when he was caught cheating on her with a prostitute. (trans. "He had the opportunity that others only dream of, and completely ruined it for something of much much lower quality.)
  

• "Can you believe that?? He completely Pargo'ed my Powerpoint Presentation in front of the new boss." - I don't know if anyone saw Game 7 of the Hornets-Spurs series, but if you watched the last 6 minutes, you may know what I am talking about. Janero Pargo hadn't been effective for the Hornets the entire series and entered the game when his team was down by double digits. With the uncontrollable excitability of a golden retriever playing fetch with an amphetamine-laced stick, Pargo attempted to take over the game, and teammates like Chris Paul (MVP runner-up) and David West (All-Star) didn't touch the ball for a straight 5 minutes. (trans. "I can't believe that guy! We had a game plan all worked out, and then he totally took over my part and ruined it...not to mention he was so excited he wet his drawers.")
  

The best way to retain these is to attempt to use them a real-life situation. See if you can't find the opportunity to incorporate these into your vernacular with a co-worker or fellow student.

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