Odds and Ends

I guess it's time for more randomness.

1. Stolen Trashcan
Another blogger had their trashcan stolen recently in DC. They jumped through the proper hoops and got a new one in a couple of weeks. I can't go that route because I HATE dealing with the DC goverment and I can't go two weeks without throwing out garbage while I wait for a new can. (if you put the bags on the street without a trashcan, you will be fined). The smells from my attempts at cooking are bad enough, but if it was mixed with the smell from two weeks worth of rotting garbage then it would smell worse than Rosie O'Donnell's va-jay-jay, and who wants that?

I guess I *could* borrow one from one of my neighbors (but not the Sudanese guy, because of our border wars over the driveway) but then I would owe them something and the image of one of my neighbors showing up in the middle of the night with a dead hooker in the trunk of his car and saying "c'mon bro, you owe me one...I lent you that trashcan, remember?" just keeps popping up in my head. I don't think my neighbors are the kind of people who go around killing hookers and then asking you to help them get rid of the body, but if I don't borrow their trashcan, then I will never find out. So I like my way better. Besides, despite the disturbing number of Google searches for "dead hooker jokes" (thanks for that, Rock Creek Rambler), and "how do you get rid of a dead hooker" which bring people to my blog, I don't know how to get rid of a dead hooker, and I don't know any dead hooker jokes. Well...except for one:

Q: How come it's not a crime to kill a hooker or a lawyer?

A: Because they are both already dead on the inside.

Anywho...I need that trashcan for other reasons too. I have some debris left over from some projects and I put a leeetle bit in each bag of trash bag that I throw out. I put enough to get rid of everything, eventually, but not enough that the trash men will notice I'm using them to get rid of my crap instead of driving it to the dump because I don't want to get fined.

2. House
A. I'm gonna have someone come out in the next week or two to give me an estimate on the kitchen countertops. I need the countertops to have a working sink. I'm getting really tired of washing my dishes in the bathroom sink. It could be worse, I guess. If I had to wash them in the toilet, that would be worse, but I digress...

B. It's getting cold out so I need to check out the perimiter of the ninja fortress and seal any holes so that mice don't come in and want to hang out inside when it gets cold out. I guess I could buy a cat and not worry about the mice but

1. cat's poop *inside* the house, which is pretty disgusting;
2. they shed hair, which is pretty annoying too;
3. lot's of people are allergic to them, and it's kinda creepy the way they watch you having sex;
4. the only people who should own cat's are women in their 60s, and only if they have several of them and throw birthday parties for them.

C. I bought one of those digital thermostats last year and was too lazy to install it, but I think I will do it this weekend. I like the fact that you can program it to turn on and off whenever you feel like it. It's kind of annoying to manually turn the heat off when I leave for work and then come back to a freezing house and turn it back on. I guess I could leave the heat on all day, but I don't want to do anything to make my place more hospitable for the mice. When they are deciding which house on my block to move to, I want my place to be dead last on their list. When looking for a place to crash, the mice should think of my place should be the equivalant of sleeping on a old futon with funny stains on it, in your friend's drafty basement with the dog who likes to hump your leg.

3. Money:

I was thinking of taking out a home equity loan to pay for the countertops (and to hire someone to drywall the basement because I am sick of working on the place), but I should be coming into some money soon. I just finished my taxes last night. Yes, you read that right. Because I am a procrastinator (and I was missing a few documents) I filed for a 6 month extension on my income taxes on April 15th. The deadline for the extension also passed, and I still hadn't gotten it done when my "friend with benefits" came up with an ingenious idea to motivate me: No sex until you file your taxes. Twenty four hours later, I am glad to report that I should be getting back a LOT of money. I'm kinda pissed off that I gave the Federal and DC goverments a free loan for all this time. But I'm gonna try to do it on time next year.

4. The World Series

Sometimes people don't believe me when I say that I don't really follow most sports. In fact, until yesterday, I had no idea that the World's series was on and which teams were in it. And to be honest, I have about as much interest in following this as watching the Competitive Eating championships in Vegas on Spike TV.*

There is a sport I do follow though. I like to watch the Ultimate Fighting events. I was at a friend's house last week to watch it on pay-per-view (because pay-per-view events are always more fun if someone else does the paying and you do the viewing). My "friend with benefits" wasn't there, which is a good thing. There was so much testosterone in that room that if she showed up, she might have instantaneously sprouted a moustache. Not good. If I was into girls with moustaches, I would move to Italy.**

5. My iPod

I accidentally deleted EVERY song on my iPod. D'oh! I usually charge the thing on my clock radio, but I wasn't thinking and I plugged it into my Macbook to recharge it. Since all my songs were on iTunes in my old iMac and I never loaded the CDs onto my new Macbook (because it takes forever and I'd rather have other hobbies more interesting than "putting CDs in my laptop and waiting...". Not that I actually have hobbies that are more interesting than that, but I'd like to keep my options open.

*Yes, this is a real "sport" on SpikeTV. Is everything a sport now?

**I am 1/16 Italian, so I'm allowed to make jokes like this. And if you are reading this and in the mafia and want "vendetta", all I have to say is that "my name is Karl Rove and come and get it, bitchez!"

Thief!

I stole a trashcan today. You might be wondering why I stole something that the city gives away for free. Well, I put my trash out this morning and when I came back this afternoon, my trashcan was gone. Initially I thought someone stole it.

HIN: I'm calling the cops. It should be pretty easy to find. It's green and plastic, like every other trashcan in DC, but mine has a whole near the top where a racoon chewed a hole in it.* (at least someone appreciates my cooking) The DC Cops are so competent that they should find it in no time.

Friend: Why would someone steal your trashcan with a hole in it, if they could steal one without a hole in it?

HIN: Because crackheads will steal anything, that's why!

Friend: Why would a crackhead steal something that's free?

HIN: Because he's a crackhead!

This circular logic even confused me. Now I guess I could've called the city and asked for another one, in which case they will probably ask me to write a letter, then tell me they never got it, then I would write another letter, then they will relent and give me another trashcan and charge me a meelyun dollars and when I complain about the cost they will refer me to some obscure section of DC trash regulations and then tell me to go fcuk myself.

So I did the next best thing. I stole one from my crazy Sudanese neighbor. The one who dumps dirt in my driveway and rents to 30 illegal immigrants who all want to park their cars (with no license plates) in my driveway. Let him deal with the city. How do you say 'Karma' in sudanese?

*I assume it was a racoon because the thought of a rat doing that scared the bejeesus out of me.

Adventures in Law Part 4: The Green Eyed Monster Named Carl

In the next installment, I'll talk about the Capitol Hill Internship I did while in law school, but in order to put into proper context I think you need to know how I got the job (and I hate excessively long posts, so I'll break it up into 2 posts).

Now, I'm gonna be politically incorrect and say that women who go to law school are not known for their physical beauty. Let's face it, unless a girl is pretty and so smart that she doesn't have to study to get good grades, she's not going to law school because it takes a lot of hard work to get grades that are good enough to get into a good law school and the prettiest girls in your sorority are not sitting in the library on a Saturday night. Jus' sayin'


I got the internship because of my friend from school, who we'll call "Carl" (even though his name is Chris).* Now, Carl is one of those people that you want to hate, but can't. At orientation I met Carl shortly after I met Dirty Dave (who upon seeing the girls at orientation said "this looks like a fcukin' battered women's shelter"). As we've discussed previously, Dave is not known for his tact. At orientation, there were two stunning women who stood out from the pack--like they didn't belong there. There was Kelly (who got a modeling contract in NYC for a couple of years before college, but was born smart enough to get good grades without ever studying), and another stunner who said she wasn't a law student, but rather a CPA. When I asked what she was doing there if she wasn't a student she said she was here with her husband, and introduced me to Carl. Now Carl wasn't the least bit jealous of people talking to his wife because Carl had everything going for him (including a smoking hot wife who worked to support him while he read law books by the pool).

Carl was:

1. blonde hair, blue eyed, and looked like a Ken Doll;


2. Smart;


3. Althletic--Carl does triathlons in his spare time;


4. Tall--he was about 6'4" tall; and


5. a REALLY nice guy;

Carl had so much going for him that it proved that life was unfair, because if it had been fair, then he would've been born with only one testicle or something to make up for all the gifts that nature had bestowed upon him. (actually, Carl was from New Jersey, but I don't think that even bothered him).

But you couldn't hate, or even be jealous of Carl, because he was such a nice guy, that he deserved all the blessings of heaven that came his way. How nice a guy was he? Let me illustrate:

Before class one day we were playing a game (I think Dave came up with it) where you assume the world will end in a nuclear holocaust in 30 minutes. The game consisted of us going around and discussing which girl in the class you would nail in your last 3o minutes on earth. My answer was that I would go next door to Kelly's class, and if she was out that day, I'd come back and do the girl in the front row who always wears the slutty skirts and no bra.

When it was Carl's turn, he refused to play.

Ninja: Look, if the world is going to end, then your wife will never find out because all the witnesses will be dead. Just pick one!

Carl: No way...I love my wife and I wouldn't spend my last 3o minutes on earth being unfaithful to her.

Wow. He was such a nice guy that not only would not cheat on her in real life, he couldn't even be unfaithful to her hypothetically. If he was single, I would introduce him to my sister...although she probably wouldn't date him because he has a job and no tattoos.

Another time, I missed class and asked Carl for the notes from that day. Instead, he made me a floppy disk with all the notes from every class that semester. See? Nice guy.

Now, the way Carl got to work for Senator Shinebox, was that he mentioned to someone he met that he wanted to do an internship on Capitol Hill, and that person (an ex Hill Staffer) liked him so much (even though she only met him 15 minutes before) that she got him a job there. When I needed an extra line on my resume, Carl offerred to get me a job at his office. I had the shortest interview ever because as soon as they found out I was Carl's friend, I was hired.

Next Time: A Chris By By any other Name would be a Carl.

*the Carl/Chris thing will be explained in the next post.

Odds and Ends

1. Sickness:

Okay, I think the worst of the illness is past. Because the new trend in blogging in to give updates on bowel movements: My stool is starting to look normal now. I mean, the consistency, not the color which is darker than normal because of the after effects of Pepto Bismol (which tastes like you are drinking pink chalk). I used my Wolverine-esque mutant healing powers to destroy the virus before it could escape the fortress and destroy all mankind. No need to thank me, people.

Okay, I think I'll avoid this latest blogging trend and leave that for the people who's blogging content is identical to their stool samples.

2. Home Improvement Experiments

I bought a pneumatic framing nailer the other day, and because it came with safety goggles, I was gonna do some work-related experiments by shooting it into dangerous surfaces and seeing what happens (hey, don't give me safety goggles and not expect me to use them, jus' sayin'). But I'll put that off for a couple of weeks because I'm gonna be reviewing some other stuff. Someone from one of the tool manufacturers is gonna mail me a cordless power tool with a new battery that they want me to review on my site. UPS tried to deliver it today, but because I'm not a hausfrau sitting around watching The View, I wasn't home when they came. But this could mark a turning point on my blog. I have foregone the use of advertisers on my blog because I don't believe blogging should be corrupted by capitalism (and because I have no idea how to put up banners, and because I don't trust "the Google" with my bank account info). I heard that some people get laid from blogging, but I didn't know you could get other free stuff (besides pooty-tang) from blogging. Who knew? If anyone else wants to give me stuff (including pooty-tang), please contact me at HomeImprovementNinja@gmail.com.

3. Art:

Okay, in the comments to the art post someone asked me what my art looked like because they wanted to get laid too, I guess (who doesn't?). I'll post pics of the 3 pieces that I bought recently.


This is the piece that the artsy fartsy chick with the tattoos and piercings got all horny for. This piece is about 2 feet by 2 feet. The Title is "Accountability" and, yes, those are bullet holes. I don't know how art can make a girl hot, but then again I have no idea how millions of women can sit through an hour of Grey's Anatomy each week, so there you go.



This piece is about 3 feet by 2 feet. The piece is titled "Blue Stars", in case you didn't know. I don't know the effect that it will have on women because it hasn't been field tested yet, but it looks good on my wall, which can't hurt.






This is a huge piece. It's about 5 feet wide by 4 feet high. The title is "The Overwhelming Nature of Contemplating the Universe and the Desire to Embrace Complexity" (no, I'm not making that up). The artist is a friend of mine who's got a solo show coming up that I'll be pimping in an upcoming episode of "Free Plug Fridays".

Sicko.

I am sick. Realllllly sick. Because I don't ever get sick (even my immune system is badass), if this bug has gotten the better of me, then it's some kind of superbug that will destroy will destroy all mankind (and most of womankind) if not stopped.

I haven't been able to get up for almost 24 hours and I'm hurting bad. For the good of mankind (and womankind) someone should come over to my place and put a bullet in me to end this. If you do decide to come over and kill me, please be aware of certain things:

1. my place is a mess, because I am sick (and lazy) so don't judge me;
2. if you kill me, please return my Netflix movies (Apocalypto has been out for almost 2 weeks and it still sux as bad as the day I got it);
3. if you need to wash up to get the blood off, you should use the garden hose outside. You REALLY don't want to go in that bathroom after what's been going on in that toilet for the past two days. Jus' sayin'.
4. Also, could you set my VCR (my old skool TiVo) to tape tonight's Ultimate Fighter. When I come back to haunt the ninja fortress I'd like to see it.

Thanks!

More Work Gets Done

Because this is, theoretically, a home improvement blog, and because I like to have people over at my house without having them sign a waiver and warning them not to touch anything, and to maybe get a tetanus shot before they come over, I do occasionally get stuff done.

I've been noticing over the past couple of years that the porch paint was peeling and the iron was rusting. This has been low on my list of priorities because I was distracted by other frivolities like having heat and a working toilet, but I digress.

I decided to tackle it recently. I scraped the peeling paint off and the loose bits of rust. I didn't know how bad the rust was, but if it kept going, there would eventually be a hole in my porch. I hope I caught it in time. Well, in time for future buyers not to notice anything wrong.


Here is a pic of all the big chunks of rust I scraped off. It's still sitting there because I have been too lazy to sweep it up, but I'm hoping that the squirrels will eat it and save me the trouble.

There was so much rusty metal that came off, that I'm afraid to have fat people walk on the steps anymore. I don't know if the porch is strong enough to support it. I guess my brother will have to come in from the basement from now on.


Then I painted it with some anti-rusty stuff that is supposed to act as a primer and a rust stoppy thingy. I kinda ran out, because there was so much rust, but this should give you and idea.







Then I painted it with the enamel paint and stuff. Since I don't believe in cleaning unnecessarily, it's pretty obvious where the work was done.

There was another big patch on the other end of the porch, but my camera batteries were dying...and I'm lazy.



I'm gonna try to get some stuff done on the MacGuyver kitchen this weekend. Will keep you posted.

Odds and Ends: The Many Purposes of Modern Art

1. Art Makes Girls Hot, Apparently.

Well, it's been an interesting couple of weeks. I've purchased three new pieces of art in the past two weeks. One of which may or may not have contributed to me getting laid. I think when the artsy fartsy chick in the gallery saw me buying it, she was fooled into thinking I have good taste in art. Luckily she hasn't seen my complete collection, which includes some of the finest examples of the Dogs Playing Poker genre in the greater DC area. Even though the ninja fortress is not complete (no working kitchen sink yet) it's complete enough to hang stuff on the walls and have it look like those kind of houses where normal people live.

Now I usually don't talk about dating on this blog (because only chicks write dating blogs, and I don't have a uterus), but this story was too good to pass up. As I stared at my new purchase, I was approached by the artsy fartsy hottie with tattoos and piercings:

Girl: That's a great piece you bought. What is it that you like about that?

Ninja: Me? Well, it's art...but with bullet holes in it. What's not to like?

Girl: That piece is so visceral. It's got nice elements of brutalism and outsider art influences. It's so political too!

Ninja: Yeah...I thought the same thing. I like the visceral-ality-ness of it...and the outsider thing too...and the bullet holes. It's like a statement on Iraq, but with paradigms and synergies and stuff...or something.

Girl: [blank stare]

Ninja: Uhhh, actually, I can't put it into words (because I don't know what I'm talking about), but for me art is about emotions which are like, too visceral to even, like, put into words and stuff(note to self, look up "visceral" in the dictionary when you get home). Art is, like, something you just feel on the inside and, like, get a sense of its energy.

Girl: Exactly! That's how I feel about art too!

Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!


2. The Television is Evil

I re-connected my cable recently. I had it disconnected for a year to see if I could live without it. I figured it would force me to do more productive things like go to the gym more, and read more books. What it did, instead, was make me spend more time on "The Internets". So now it's back on and holy crap, is there some bad stuff on there. But, the shining beacon in the wasteland of TV nothingness is VH1, or "Reality TV Heroin” as I like to call it. Rock of Love (the stripper gets a “Bret” tattoo and still LOSES), Flavor of Love (runner up SPITS in winner’s face), The Pickup Artist (45 year old virgin goes to pickup school and STILL can’t pickup chicks), I love New York (group date degenerates into a fistfight), Scott Baiao is 45 and Still Single (he figures out over 2 months what everyone knows in the first 10 minutes…he’s single because he’s an asshole), Hogan Knows Best (pathetic washed up wrestler invents drama to boost his daughter’s “singing” career). Wow...seriously people.

I also got to renew my addiction to the home improvement shows on several channels, or "House Porn", as Mari likes to call it. I have a love-hate relationship with the flipping shows on there. They take inexperienced people, have them do everything wrong, then eventually sell their houses and still make a ton of money. While I hope that, despite my mistakes, I can sell my house in a year or two to a couple of yuppies with more money than brains, part of me wishes that they wouldn't. I try not to dwell on that because of Karma or Ju-ju, or whatever you call it in those religions that don't follow the teachings of the Pope and will therefore lead you to eternal damnation. Jus' sayin'


3. SAMBO Summit 2007 Update.

In other news, I'm really upset that the wedding in Illinois (Part 4 coming soon)
was on the same weekend as the SAMBO Summit 2007. It turns out that Oleg Taktarov showed up as a guest instructor and sparred with the students. That's right, THE Oleg Taktarov, bitchez! I reallllly wish I could've been there. If I sparred against a UFC champion like him, the first thing I would do is take a really cheap shot at him. Then, he would probably break my arm or give me a cool scar of some kind and when people ask me what happened I could say "I got into it with Oleg Taktarov, man...I mean, that guy's a UFC champ and all, but he got outta line and I'm not afraid to step to anybody, 'cuz that's just how I roll, baby." I mean, even if he knocked out all my teeth and I had to eat through a straw for a few months until they surgically reconstructed my jaw and ordered me new teeth, that would be a story I could tell my grandkids (except that by the time I got to be a grandpa, the story would eventually morph so much that I would be the winner...that's assuming that he only breaks my face, and doesn't rip my nuts off).

4. Britney Spears is Uber-white trash

I feel bad for anyone going through a divorce or losing her kids. But if anyone ever tells me again how Britney isn't white trash, I will laugh in their face. If she couldn't sing, she would be dancing on a stripper pole or advertising herself as a "Massage Therapist" on Craigslist, and living back in Louisiana in a single wide with no electricity with an alcoholic auto mechanic who beats her and her six kids (all by different babby daddies).

Sooooo....Britney fails to show up for court-ordered drug tests and is videotaped driving without a license, so the Judge gives her kids to K-Fed. (side note: If you suck at parenting so bad, that K-Fed is considered a better parent than you, then I feel sorry for your kids. There are kids that are raised by wolves who get better parenting than they would from K-Fed).

Anyway, she is ordered to turn over her kids, so she does...in the parking lot of a Carl's Jr. Then, instead of grieving like a normal person, she drives to a tanning salon. Prioritize much, Britney? I guess everyone grieves in their own way. Maybe she grieves by getting a Mystic Tan and a bikini wax?

On the Road Again Part 3: I threaten a Dog

Because I don't believe in straight lines, I am almost done re-capping my trip to St. Louis. You can read the rest of the story in Part 1 and Part 2.


When I first met the world’s most annoying chihuahua, Crash, I sat down on the couch and a blurry running rat-like creature scurried up my leg, scaled my torso, and gave me a headbutt in the chin, then started licking my face.

The dog was strangely needy. He was addicted to attention. I know this because he would shake constantly, like he was going through withdrawl symptoms if there wasn’t someone constantly petting him. I thought I could escape the dog's clingyness when I went to sleep, but I was wrong.

I slept on the futon in my friend's guest room. Despite his repeated denials, I have a sneaking suspicion that the futon was in fact, the dog's bed. My old roommate has 3 daughters and 2 chihuahuas. All his daughters and one of his chihuahuas seemed normal, but the smallest of the five, a dog the size of a burrito was mysteriously taken with my company. Despite my best efforts, the dog manged to burrow his way under the covers and decided that he wanted to sleep in the space between my chin and my shoulder. I rolled over a couple of times in my sleep and gave it my back, and when the dog wanted to work his way back to the front of my neck, he did it in the most annoying way possible: by walking on my face. As if this wasn’t bad enough, about the third time I rolled over in my sleep, the dog had enough of my fidgeting and decided to keep my from rolling over by biting me on the nose. Asshole dog!

I shoved him off the bed and saw him climb into one of my shoes and take a seat. At first I thought it was cute that the dog was so small that it could sit IN my shoe like it was a papasan chair, but then a frightening thought occurred to me:

“Dog…I know you don’t value our friendship as much as I do, but if you're sh1tting in my shoe, you’re about to have a very bad day.”

Luckily, the dog had decided to show a little class. I think he realized that if he shit in my shoe, that I’m the kind of person who would shit in his dinner bowl as payback. (yes, I sometimes wonder about my parenting skills also). Anyway, I took a picture of him so that you folks would get an idea of what I was up against. I put my hand near the dog so you get a sense of how small he was.



SEE!

Odds and Ends: Dave Barry and Verbal Judo

1. Verbal Judo

I met (and accidentally insulted) Dave Barry on my lunch break last week. He was doing a book signing near my office and since he's an author that people have actually heard of, I figured it would be nice to get a (signed) copy of his book. Recently I listened to a copy of one of his books on tape, that was narrated by this unfunny jackass. I intended to tell Dave (we're on a first name basis) that the guy's delivery was terrible, and that I prefer his books in writing because I can insert my own (funnier) delivery in my head. And if you're asking yourself why I listen to Books On Tape, it's not because I'm illiterate--just lazy.

The line to meet Dave was longer than you would see in most cities, because people in DC actually read books instead of using them as decorative props like they do in places like Los Angeles. As I got closer I heard the sycophants kissing up to Dave as he signed their tomes. "I just finsished [your book] and it's the funniest thing I EVER read." or "I can't believe you're here, Mr. Barry, I have all your books and I want to marry you and have all your babies" or "Dave, would you be interested in joining a multi-level marketing group...which isn't a pyramid scheme, I swear!"

I lost my train of thought as I got closer in line because I was mentally mocking the fans, then when I got to the front of line, instead of saying what I intended to say, I said

Ninja: "Hey man, I heard one of your books on Books on Tape, and it's not as funny out loud"

Fans: [gasping sounds]

Dave: I agree completely, they were never intended to be read out loud and I prefer them in written form too.

Wow, Dave Barry is a blackbelt in Verbal Judo. Rather than disagreeing with me, he used my own energy against me and executed a verbal hip throw. I think he should go into politics. I'd rather have him giving speeches and dealing with diplomats than "The Decider".

2. People who take Sports too Seriously Should Be Castrated

People who take sports too seriously are usually jackasses. Wait, let me re-phrase that. They are usually jackasses who have nothing going on in their lives. Like primitive cave people who wear animal skins and dance around a fire to absorb the raw power of the wolf or bear spirit, they put on their jerseys, paint their faces and grunt and howl in front of a TV as if they are absorbing some part of the team's victory and elevating their worth when the team wins.

Well, I'm constantly amazed at how passionately these idiots feel about "their" team. But THIS takes the cake. It seems that some guy walked into a bar frequented by Texas A&M fans wearing an Oklahoma U t-shirt. One of the Texas fans didn't take kindly to his shirt, so he, literally, ripped the guy's balls off. Now this story would be bad enough it was just two alumni fighting in a bar over their respective schools' teams. But neither of these redneck assh0les went to either school. That's right, they were both fans of colleges that neither of them attended. (why doesn't it surprise me that someone who would rip a guy's nuts off in a bar fight never attended an institution of higher learning?). Now, don't get me wrong. I think that people who take sports too seriously should be castrated, but I think this is taking it a bit too far.

3. Truth is Stranger than Fiction

You know, they say you shouldn't put something in an email that you would be embarrassed to see on the front page of the NY Times. This isn't exactly the Times, but still funny nonetheless. I don't know if I'm laughing harder at this guy because he told every lawyer in the state of Montana that his wife was having sex with another man, or because he sent every lawyer in the state an email and despite 12 years of public school, four years of college, and three years of law school, never figured out that you spell "rUmor" with a "u" and not with a phonetic "oo".

4. Leaving the Law

I often think about what I would do if I left the law completely. I'm always glad to read about people who jump ship to do something totally unrelated, like this guy who left the law to become an electrician. I don't think I would leave law to do home improvement full time because 1) manual labor sux, 2) I'm lazy, and 3) I like the money. But I'm happy for him nonetheless. I'll tell you who I'm not happy with is THIS guy. I'm happy he found something he likes better than the law, but his real passion isn't baking; it's marketing. Warren Brown sells overpriced, mediocre cakes and uses the excuse that his cakes shouldn't be judged against real bakers because he's not a real baker, just someone with a passion for baking. Well, if he was baking his own cakes, maybe I would buy into that. But if you've got 3 stores, and a TV show and you've got employees doing the baking for you, then maybe you should hire people who know that a cake should taste like it's main ingredient, not butter. And if you market yourself as selling "cakes like your mother made", well I got news for you Warren. My mom is a terrible cook, and if she ever baked me a Cayenne-Mango Chocolate cake with Buttercream frosting, I would say "Mom, firstable, how did you even know where the kitchen was, and secondly, what's that horrible burning smell?"

5. I'll have some more tales from Illinois soon, but pics are involved, so be patient.

On the Road Again: Part 2

Ahhhh, Bloomington! The Dallas/Fort Worth of Central Illinois, how could I not love thee? Apologies for the last drunken post. Very uncharacteristic of me--not the drunken part, but the posting while drunk part.

Moving on, I took the Amtrak up from St. Louis to here last night. Amtrak will never replace flying, but for short trips (Like DC to NYC) you can't beat it. Amtrak is like the attractive, gold-digging secretary who you have sex with once in a while, but who you will never leave your wife for. ("No, really, Tammi, I will tell my wife about us...soon. I mean, my kids are graduating from college in 8 years, so just be a little patient...now go try on that lingerie I bought you.")

I like midwesterners because they are genuinely nice people. Southerners are "fake nice", but if a midwesterner says something like "come back soon", they don't mean the exact opposite, like people in the south. I think that's why it's so surprising that most serial killers come from the midwest. And the attitude toward crime is really different too. When we went for dinner the other night in a St. Louis suburb with my old roommate, he literally didn't lock his front door. "what for, we're only gonna' be gone a couple of hours?"

Now, before I get some hate mail, let me say that I know a lot of nice southerners. And the food there can't be beat (except for grits, which I don't understand what the fuss is about). I mean, deep fried cheese versus something like a mississippi mud pie? That's like a fight between Woody Allen and Randy Coutoure. So while there are some really nice southerners in particular, the average midwesterner is nicer than the AVERAGE southerner.

That said, Central Illinois is a weird bird. The entire middle of the state is completely flat. You could build a hundred houses here and not use a level once. Besides being flat, every square inch is covered in corn to keep the evil spirits away. Corn = good mojo. I'm leaving for the wedding in a couple of hours, but just to show you how nice people are: when I asked about renting a car at the front desk, the clerk said "you don't need to rent a car, that's the church that Charley over there goes to, he can probably give you a ride." So I'm getting a ride with a really nice midwesterner who I just met in about an hour...who I hope is not a serial killer who will kill me and eat parts of me, and make a weird human suit out of my skin and dance around in front of the mirror with his bits tucked between his legs. Wish me luck!

Free Plug Fridays

For those of you who like Art (i.e. those of you who are part of civilization and eat with forks and knives instead of tearing strips of meat from the fire with your fingers), there is an Art Show Thingy ("The Art Romp 20") at the Warehouse in DC. It's from 6pm 'till whenever tonight. One of my friends is showing some Art there so you should definitely go. And I'm not saying that you should definitely buy something there, but if you do, it should be one of his pieces. I will be there, which is an endorsement in itself since I only go to look at good art.*

Also, don't forget the 2007 SAMBO Summit Training Camp in Staten Island, NY next weekend. Three full days of training with three top fight instructors for the bargain price of only $400. You can't beat that with a stick! Actually, you can't beat that with anything, because that's how tough SAMBO Combat Training is, bitchez!

*If you are an artist and I don't go see your stuff then, yes, that means you suck.

Odds and Ends

Having Monday off for Labor Day should allow me to loaf for 24 extra hours this weekend. DC is like a ghost town this weekend because all the sheep have left town in order to go to the beach and hang out with the same people that were trying to get away from. This is one of the times when it's fun to be a contrarian. Driving around this city, there are parking spots everywhere. You would think you died and went to parking heaven.

In order to catch you up on the events of the past couple of weeks:

House:
I made some progress on my house during the weekend that my brother was in town. I'll post some pics when I have some time. My house is starting to look surprisingly normal. I had a female visitor yesterday, and she didn't have that terrified "silence of the lambs" look when she used my bathroom. So that's a really good sign.


Blog Stuff and Blogging:
DCist and DC Blogs both linked to my piece about the my Mac vs. Coca Cola Classic episode last week. I think pretty soon the NY Times and the New Yorker will discover my irreverent observations about life and I can start wearing sunglasses to nightclubs and become a pretentious asshole like the people who drive in from Arlington to go to "edgy" clubs in DC.

I met undefeated Slap Boxing Champion and Award winning blogger Listen to Leon last week when he made the mistake of volunteering to be a guest bartender at the Common Share. When the mob of people at the bar started getting more impatient and was fashioning make-shift torches and pitchforks from the bar stools and something went wrong with the beers on tap, I think he realized why people who work in bars complain about it so much (well, besides the fact that they are usually whiney a-holes). Anywho, Leon was up for a Black Weblogs Award this year and I was gonna endorse him, mostly because his blog is funny, but also because I've never met the other people who are up for it. Unfortunately, my neighbors got wise to me "borrowing" their wiFi connection and I was too lazy to get to a coffee shop to endorse his candidacy until it was too late. If it makes him feel any better, I didn't vote in the past two presidential elections either.*

Politics:
1 - Corrupt flunkie Abu Gonzalez resigned this week so that he could "spend more time with his family" and find good places too hide while avoiding a subpoena and possible perjury charges. It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

2 - Bathroom sex pervert and US Senator Larry Craig announced he will resign this week. He still claims that he isn't gay because whenever he had "gay" sex, he was thinking of his wife...and about going to church. And we all know that people who go to church aren't gay.

I also find his allegation that the only reason he was playing footsie with an undercover officer in the next toilet was because he "takes a wide stance" when dropping a deuce to be unconvincing. It just so happens that I crap at least once a day (sometimes several times a day if I've had Tex Mex or Ethiopian food). And Friday I conducted a scientific toilet experiment. As I dropped the kids off at the pool, I took the widest stance possible with my jeans around my ankles; wider than the stance you would take if you were constipated and needed the widest possible base to brace yourself for the extreme physical exertion of taking the biggest dump of your life. And unless you're not even wearing pants, it's not possible to touch the sides of the stall unintentionally, no matter how wide your stance is. Busted, Senator!

3- Second rate news hack and political spokesperson Tony Snow also announced he was leaving the White House (ditto for Karl Rove). This smells like rats leaving the sinking ship. Although the metaphor is kind of insulting to rats.

Family:
The visit from my family was not as bad as I'd imagined it would be (but only because in my imagination the visit ended in me running for my car under a hail of gunfire). It turns out that despite the feral children, we only almost got banned from one restaurant in DC. I've discovered a new mathematical law while they were here. The annoyingness of children increases exponentially by the number of children. So A = Q times C(nth power). So if one child displays Q annoyingness, then three kids exhibit Q x Q x Q annoyingness. As you can see, when you get to around 40 or 50 children, the annoyingness nears infinity and will actually alter the fabric of the space time continuum. I think that's how black holes are created, but I'm not a science dork or anything, so I can't be sure.


*Neither election was decided by exactly one vote, so don't get preachy on me.

Martial Arts Mondays: Part 1

I'm creating a new feature on my blog which may or may not be repeated. I saw something on YouTube that was so amazing that I would be remiss (whatever that means) if I didn't share it with you imaginary people on the internets. So I'm creating this feature just to share it with you.

Here is a video clip of the MMA Girls demonstrating one of my favorite moves (the side choke) from a full guard position.* They call it a head and arm choke, but I don't care what you call it. When two hot 22 year old, south african blondes with nice surgically unaltered breasts do it, I call it "awesome."




Anyway, I guess that Martial Arts Mondays should have some other stuff, so I will give out a free plug. For those of you who are into MMA, JuJitsu, or other types of grappling, the 2007 SAMBO Summit Training Camp is on Sept. 14 -16th in Staten Island NY. It's 3 days with 3 incredible SAMBO teachers for the bargain price of $400.

One of the guys teaching it is David Machin, who used to be my Sifu when I lived in NYC. He's the real deal. His Makiwara regimen is insane and his hands are like bricks.
This is a makiwara. The traditional way to use it is without the vinyl padding.










Anywho, for those of you who are unfamiliar with SAMBO,** it's the fighting system that the Soviets used to train their military and special forces. It's like Judo, except that instead of controlling your opponent without harming them, you control them by breaking their bones and choking them to death. It's very popular in UFC fights, and was the style used by UFC champion Oleg Taktarov.

If you have trouble imagining what I'm talking about, you can watch this video. Once again, to sum up, The 2007 SAMBO Summit Training Camp should not be missed. It will kick your training up to an 11.


*I usually don't discuss fighting on here, because it sounds like bragging, but I have used the side choke (from a standing position) in real fights and once choked somebody unconscious with it. But I've never seen it look as sexy as when these chicks do it.

**SAMBO is the abbreviation for the russian words whose translation are "Self defense without weapons."

Great Moments In Stupidity: Mac Attack

Friday morning I did one of the dumbest things I have done in a long time. I spilled some soda on my laptop. For those of you who don't know me:

1. Yes, sometimes I drink Coca Cola Classic in the morning--don't judge me, you're not the boss of me!
   
2. I am not the most careful person with electronics that you will ever meet. If machines ever become sentient, like in The Terminator, Terminator 2 Judgement Day, or Terminator 3 Rise of the Lame Sequels, when the machines take over they will put me on trial for war crimes. They will bring out the corpses of numerous computers, DVD players, VCRs, TVs and Stereos as evidence of my crimes against machines;
3. I was not looking at p0rn at the time it happened (this becomes important later in the story)

The screen turned blank--I panicked. I unplugged the computer, turned the laptop upside down to and ran to bathroom to grab the toilet paper roll off the wall holder and use it to dry off the keyboard.

When I got to the office, I looked on the internets for what to do when you spill something on a computer, and I found this amazing video. Wow. Unfortunately, according to the video, if you want your laptop to survive spilling liquids in it, you need to turn it off AND take the battery out. I had no way of knowing this since I couldn't check my internets from home. I figured my beloved Apple was dead, so I called the Apple place to find out what my options were. I figured since it was still under warranty, that I would be okay.

Ninja: Well, I accidentally, spilled a leeeeeetle tiny liquid on my MacBook, that's not bad is it?

Tech: Was it coffee? You might be in luck if it was coffee.

Ninja: No...it was Coke Classic. A wholesome, healthy drink that's made without exploiting third world coffee farmers.

Tech: Coke? That's bad. It's all syrupy and stuff. If you didn't take the battery out, you're motherboard is probably fried. That costs about $750 t0 fix.

Christ on a stick! $750 dollars? You know how much beer and p0rn I can buy for that?!? I can buy a new Macbook for $1000. And I'd rather eat an olive than pay $750 just to get my computer back to the way that it should be working. Even if they fixed it, I just paid $750 to get a used computer if you think about it. There had to be a better way.

Ninja: $750! Wow. Luckilly I'm still under warranty. Hehehee

Tech: No, that's not covered. It's considered physical abuse, which your warranty won't pay for.

Ninja: Physical abuse!!! Are you effing kidding me? That's not physical abuse! I didn't beat it with a wire hanger because it brought home a bad report card, I just spilled a little soda on it. And I didn't even do it on purpose!

Anyway, after going back and forth for a while, I decided I would bring it in to get it looked at. I was worried because I had loaded TurboTax and Quicken on my hardrive and that has a lot of personal information like my social security number, bank account numbers etc. So I wanted to make sure that they wouldn't be snooping around my programs and stealing my money.

Tech: No, we won't look in your harddrive, we're just interested in your logic board, not your p0rnography.

Ninja: P0rnography? I wasn't looking at p0rn man! I'm a Catholic, dude, and we don't look at stuff like that (as far as you know) because the Pope tells us not to because it makes the baby Jebus cry. I'm just worried about my personal info on TurboTax. There's no p0rn on my Macbook. None, do you here me! And even if there is, I swear I have no idea how it got there. Or maybe it was on there when I bought the computer. You can't prove it wasn't, man!!

Well, after letting my compy dry for a day and a half I put the battery back in and so far so good. The Mac Chord sounded a little funny, but other than that no other bad symptoms. I'm actually typing on it now.

Thank the baby Jebus that my MacBook is okay. I don't think I could live without my laptop. I mean, how long can a human being go without being able to use his TurboTax?

Does Big Gay Al have a Little Gay Dog?

The other day I heard the screech of tires and a crash outside the ninja fortress. It was a car crash, and I automatically assumed that the drivers were women. I didn't assume that both drivers were women because women are bad drivers (even though it's true), but rather because both cars were "chick cars". One was a mini-cooper and the other was a Volkswagen Cabriolet. But I was wrong. Yes...me, wrong. NOT A TYPO!


There was actually a dude driving the Volkswagen. The guy was limping when he got out of the car, so I'm assuming he sprained his vagina in the accident, because no man with actual male genitalia would be caught dead driving a cabriolet unless he was driving his girlfriend to the gynecologist. There is a reason that I bring this up though. It turns out that women are not really as bad at navigating as was previously thought. I know that some of you are reading this and thinking "HomeImprovementNinja has said some foolish things in his life, but surely he's kidding about this". But I'm not. I didn't bother to read to the whole article, but the gist of it was that scientists something something blah blah blah, and women might be able to navigate as well as a man, even though if they were doing it for a living, they would only make 81% as much as a man who does it. So if I was wrong about women's navigation skillz, then maybe I was wrong about whether men can drive a Cabriolet and still be real men. And maybe a friend of mine was wrong about a man being able to own a small dog and not appear gay. Hmmmm. Maybe a poll is in order?

I was thinking very seriously about adopting a dog. I had thought seriously about a small dog because the ninja fortress doesn't have a yard, so it would be easier with a small dog that didn't need a lot of exercise because if I get one of those big dogs that needs to jog, then I'll just tie it to the bumper of my car when I run my errands and will probably get in trouble with the dog nazis.

I found a dog I liked on a dog rescue site. I figured that if I spared the dog from certain death, that it would pledge it's undying dog loyalty to me and serve me until one day (maybe in the heat of a great battle against a much larger and well equipped army) it saved my life and repaid the debt of honor. Then it would look at me knowingly and bow imperceptibly, then walk off into the sunset with it's sqweeky octopus toy in it's mouth. I mean, I know it's a little unrealistic because before a small dog like a Jack Russell Terrier could hold it's own in a combat situation I would have to give it extensive martial arts training. And how good can a little dog get since I can't even teach it some Northern Eagle Claw kung fu because it has no fingers. Anyway, while I debated whether or not to get the dog, someone (who's probably completely straight) adopted it. So I've been thinking about another dog and asking people their opinions. Since the answer to everything can be found on the internets, I will open it up for discussion, and probably disregard the results if I don't agree with it. Soooooo...imaginary people, what say you about small dogs?

Small Dogs, Gay or Hetero? Are Small Dogs Gay? Yes, small dogs are gay, and you are gay for even wanting one. No, small dogs are not gay, you're friend is crazy Only certain small dogs are gay, but other small dogs aren't Only cats are gay, dogs of any size are hetero Gay looking depends on the guy walking the dog, not the dog You know what's gay? Internet polls, that's what's gay. That and gay porn. I don't understand how electronic polls work. How do I vote for Al Gore? view results

Tap Out

After having spent a few days with visiting relatives, I am mentally, emotionally, and spiritually depleted. I will probably post more about the wackadoos in my family in a few days, but for now, I only want a nap. I feel like I just fought in some type of Ultimate Fighting Championship cage match, except that the pain doesn't stop when you tap out. It continues and escalates until it's time for their flight to leave.

When I visit family in Florida, I am probably less stressed out because I can imagine a happy place (like the ninja fortress) and retreat in my mind to my own fortress of solitude until Christmas Dinner is over and I'm on a plane home. When they are here, though, in my happy place, there is really no place to hide. I can't envision the ninja fortress and go into a deep meditation because even in my mind they are there trying to drive me crazy with banal, idiotic questions like "does your coffee maker work?" or "where can we take the kids today?".

I try to look at life as a series of learning experiences, and after coming close to being banned from a couple of DC eateries, I have learned that if you have you children, the first thing you should teach them when they are out of diapers is the difference between their inside voice and their outside voice. It should be the very first thing.

Before this past weekend I always assumed that I would want to have kids eventually, but now I will probably make declarative statements like "if I have kids, then..." instead of "when I have kids".

I've also come to the conclusion that Michael Jackson is a degenerate. After this weekend I can't understand why anyone would want to be around children unless they were legally required to do so. I used to hear stories about those women who say their husband went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back. And now I know why. It wasn't because of the wife, he was trying to escape the kids and their horrible, shrill screaming.

Adventures in Law Part 3: A Footnote for Eternity

I’ve already mentioned that I don’t think much of most academics. While most of them suck, some of them are really cool and interesting though. Professor X was one of them. He was a visiting professor at my law school (which I won’t name because then you might figure out who I am and I would have to kill you) and I got a job as his research assistant for $8 an hour (which is minimum wage today, but was considered beer money 7 years ago). I took the job to add another line to my resume and because I figured that working for a nationally known expert in a high-paying field of law might come in handy because he probably knows a few people in big firms that would be willing to pay me more than I was worth for doing less than work than I should.

The money wasn’t great, but it was a cool gig. I got to pick my own hours and I could work between 10-20 hours a week depending on how few hangovers I had that week. I also had 24 hour access to the law library and the right to take out any book I wanted (even rare books and reference materials that other students weren’t allowed to touch). I took full advantage of that when I was writing my graduate thesis. I even had them recall a book that a student had checked out because I needed it for my paper. I guess I could’ve waited ‘till the student brought it back on his own, but what good is power if you can’t abuse it and be an asshole?

Most people know that I’m a big economics geek. What I found the most interesting about Professor X, was that he had attended the University of Chicago (the Jedi Temple of Economics) and had taken classes with Nobel Laureates like Coase, Becker, Stigler and notables such as the legendary Judge Posner. And I would ask him questions about what they were like. (it turns out that even among economists, most academics are assholes, but a few are really cool and down to earth. I won't say which of the people above fall into which categories, because I don't want to get sued for calling a Nobel prize winner an asshole).

The good parts about the job were that I could work whenever I wanted for as long as I wanted. If I had insomnia and wanted to work for two hours on a Wednesday, that was fine. If I wanted to skip a week, then work 30 hours the next week, that was fine too. I also got to learn about the obscure areas of the law that he was writing about. For instance, there are probably less than 20 lawyers in the entire world who know more about Islamic finance than me (since I don't even practice in that area of the law, that makes it even more impressive).

The bad part was the money. I don’t think you can live on a research assistant’s salary unless you live in a free dorm on campus and eat in the school cafeteria and date the freshman chicks (which are probably the only kind of chicks (except the drunk ones) who would find a 28 year old research assistant hot). I don't want to end up an overeducated, underemployed guy living in his parents basement--that would reaaaallly be pathetic.

I think working as a research assistant honed my legal research skillz, which is something that has helped me other jobs. Professor X also cited me in a footnote to an article that he had published in the Harvard Law Review. That's right, bitchez, HARVARD!!! And you know that whenever someone reads a prestigious legal journal like the Harvard Law Review, the first place they look is in the footnotes. And having your name in print is exactly the kind of exposure that creates positive experiences in life. When I meet people in the legal profession, sometimes I resent how they pretend that they've never seen the footnote. Jealousy is a terrible, terrible thing. Don't hate the playa, bitchez, hate the game. (I'm not really sure what that means, but I think my 'street cred' just went up almost as much as if I'd "busted a cap" in a snitch.)

Anyway, it wasn't the perfect job, but it helped me get closer to figuring out what kind of job I did want. I would have one more job in law school (on Capitol Hill), before ending up at the law firm that would shape (warp?) my mind for the rest of my legal career. Sooooo...next time: Mr. Ninja goes to Washington.

It's gettin' hot in here...

I have been thinking about what it would’ve been like if I lived in DC before there was air conditioning. It sucks that I don’t have central air conditioning (yet) but at least I have window A/Cs.* It’s bad enough walking from the metro to my (badly) air conditioned ninja fortress, but if I lived before there was such a thing as A/C, I don’t know how I would’ve handled it. It's a hundred degrees and really humid. If I had been a lawyer a couple of hundred years ago, things probably would’ve reaalllly sucked, when you think about what people dressed like back then.



Tis' it hot in here, or tis' it just me?








It's no secret that DC was built on a swamp. Even if you didn't know that, if you spent some time here in the summer you would figure it out pretty quickly. If I worked at some office with stuffy lawyers a few hundred years ago, my whiny ass wouldn't be very happy.

Ninja: Tis' soooo freakin' hot today. I wish I t'weren't required to wear these colonial outfits with the powdered wig. I am sweating like a frenchman. There tis a trail of sweat down my chest and it's formed a pool of water 'neath me bollocks!

Barrister: Yes, bollocks sweat is quite unpleasant, I daresay.

Ninja: I wish someone would invent a device that used air to cool oneself off.

Barrister: There is such a device. Tis called a hand fan, but the only men who use such a thing are those kind of men.

Ninja: What kind?

Barrister: I forget what they call are called, but you know, those men who are overly effeminate and are sexually attracted to other men.

Ninja: You mean the British?

Barrister: HAHAHAHAAAA.

The sad part of living back then is that making that little joke would brand me a as a traitor because freedom of speech hadn't been invented yet. Therefore, after making that joke, the Barrister and I would have to quit our jobs and join George Washington in order to fight for the right of free speech so that a few hundred years in the future, the rights that I fought for would be illegally usurped by corrupt politicians. Anyway, it's lucky that I wasn't fighting in the revolutionary war because I don't like people shooting at me, so I doubt that history would've remembered me for my valor under fire.

George Washington: The British are coming!

Ninja: RUN!

George Washington: NO! Hold your ground. Wait 'till you see the whites of their eyes!

Ninja: Then can I run?

George Washington: NO! No running!

Ninja: What about surrender? They look like they would take prisoners alive. I think I still have the white flag from last time.

Yes, if I had been there, things would be really different. The history books would be talking about the short-lived American rebellion, and if the English had won the war, then we'd all be speaking English instead of, well....nevermind.

*In my defense, the ninja fortress is a military installation and it's meant to repel invaders and provide a forward base for elite reconnaissance units, not to be some cozy bed and breakfast with frilly niceties like central air conditioning and TiVo.

Adventures in Law Part 2: A Job Offer from the Grave?

Most law professors, like regular professors (and cops) are pompous jackasses. I don't know what that thing is called, which academics have, that makes them jackasses, but whatever it is, Joe Griffin had the antidote. If anyone had a right to be pompous, it was Joe Griffin who, literally, wrote the book on international antitrust law. But luckily, Joe was as down to earth as he was smart. His brilliance in law was only matched by his hatred for Bill Clinton. If anyone brought up Clinton he would reflexively interrupt ("I reaaaaalllly hate that guy...sorry, what where you saying?"). I had the good fortune to take a class in White Collar Crime from him. It came in handy since 4 people on this list would end up as my clients when I worked at a law firm. They are all in federal prison, which you should keep in mind if you decide to ask me for free legal advice (or pay me for it, like they did). My friend Matt also represented them, but I'm sure his brilliance was counterbalanced by my mediocrity--and the fact that they were guilty of some pretty blatant crimes.

Because Joe was a big shot at one of the biggest law firms in the world*, I tried to make a good impression, which was difficult since many of the Keg on the Quad events at the law school occurred right before his class. I figured it was bad form to try to hit him up for a job before the semester was up, but I thought I would pay him a visit when the class was over. Now, keep in mind that just because I called the guy and asked him for help, didn't mean that he had to help me. In fact, my friend Batman was offered a job with the SEC before graduation and he called one of his professors, who was also a bigshot at another big firm and said "Professor X, I realize you're busy, but I was offered a job at the SEC in the division where you used to work and if you could call me back, I'd like to talk to you for about 5 minutes to get your opinion." That was in 2000. Batman is still waiting for that phone call.**

Now, I should mention that back then, the biggest partners at the biggest firms were said to belong to "The 700 Club", which meant that their billable rate was over $700 per hour. We met in his office at The Firm. If I had any doubts that Joe Griffin was a kind of a big deal, it was quickly dismissed. He had many leather-bound books and his huge corner office smelled of rich mahogany. Joe Griffin, called me right back, and told me to come to his office and he would meet with me. He gave me the best advice on finding a job in law that I've ever received. His insight was particularly useful since he used to be on the hiring committee. He also gave me really great advice on life, in general, and told me once more about how much he hated Bill Clinton. *** He spent nearly 3 hours with me (which was over $2000 worth of his time). Then as I was leaving he said:

Joe: Look, we have a [type of law I wanted to practice] practice group here, but they have a very high turnover, so I don't know if you'd like it there. I'm not on the hiring committee anymore, but I know some people who are. Since you're a bright kid, and not socially retarded, why don't you send me your resume and I'll forward it to a few people. I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do.

Wow. This was like having Don Corleone say he's going to try to get you into the mafia. I knew that I was getting closer to becoming one of those people who's so rich that he wipes his ass with $100 bills and buy's a new car and trophy wife every 3 years. Svetlana, here I come!

Well after about a month I did not hearing back from Joe, and I was puzzled, then I ran into someone from class and we were talking and he said

Student: "it's too bad about what happened to Professor Griffin."

Ninja: Huh?

Student: Didn't you hear? He died last month...He was on a business trip in L.A., had a stroke in his room and died. He was alone when it happened, so they didn't find him until the next day. When he didn't show up for a business meeting they called the hotel and the maids found his body.

In the end, this guy, who was so full of life and surrounded himself with friends, had died alone. This guy who went out of his way to help me, had died with no one to help him.

I felt really bad about it and, since I'm not an asshole, I called his law firm and left a message with his secretary to call me and let me know where I can send condolences to his family.
Since the secretary was too lazy to return my call, I found a partner in the firm that I knew he knew and called him, asking where to send condolences to the family. I was surprised that he recognized my name. He said that he had gone through Joe's schedule to re-assign his workload and that he saw Joe had made a notation to call me, but didn't write down what it was concerning.

Partner: Do you know why he was calling you?

The Moment of Truth..what would I say? I thought about what I should say. I'm not one to disregard omens, and I thought that this was a not-so-subtle sign that I was not meant to work there. I said "well, I asked him for some career help, but I'm sure that he was calling back to say he couldn't do anything for me. I just wanted to send condolences, that's all."

If I was an asshole, I would've said "Well, he was calling me back because he wanted to offer me a job. You see, it was Professor Griffin's dying wish that you hire me at your law firm. He even said that I wasn't socially retarded...let's be honest, you need a guy a like that at your firm, I've seen your softball team." When you have a bunch of student loans and no job, and the prospect of a job that pays $125 thousand dollars a year (plus bonus)**** to start is really tempting. But I really liked Professor Griffin and I don't think I could live with myself if I exploited his tragedy to get it. Plus, once you start acting like an asshole, it's hard to go back being a non-asshole. It's like how Darth Vader started down the dark side and then never managed to turn back. Eventually, I would end up being a bigger and bigger asshole, then the next thing you know I'd be driving to my house in Bethesda in a BMW with a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker on my car. Wow. That's scary just to imagine it.

I don't know when I'll get around to the next episode of Adventures in Law, but there are a few more, and some of them are pretty good. We'll do my Capitol Hill internship, then my job working for a law professor, and finally my job at a law firm (we won't talk about my current job, for obvious reasons). There will be crooked politicians, eccentric professors and a partner who berated me for using commas correctly (yes, this really happened). You'll laugh, you'll cry, and you'll find out why you should always be nice to the secretaries. One day, one of them might keep you from getting fired (wow, that's some really subtle foreshadowing, right?).

*I won't mention the name of the firm since I don't want it coming up in Google searches.
**Batman took the job at the SEC and said he was waiting for the day that Professor X calls and needs something so that he can ignore her phone calls.
***I'm not kidding, he said "that Slick Willy is so fucking smug..." He said fucking! Who is a cooler professor than him?
****That firm now pays $140k plus bonus to start. For 7th year associates, which I would've been by this time, it would be over $200k per year.

C'mon Gentrification

Well, DC's first Target store continues to tease me like a stripper between the first and second song of her set. The outside looks like it's done, so I don't know when it will be finished, but I am avoiding trips to the Virginia Target on principle (and also because I'm lazy and Alexandria, VA might as well be Cincinatti Ohio, as far as I'm concerned. Do they even have indoor plumbing in Alexandria? I don't know, but I'm not eager to find out since Target is coming to me soon, so why bother).

There is also a Washington Sports Club being built there. I'm currently a member of Gold's Gym, but when the WSC is built, I'll probably join so that I can have a gym that's closer to home which I won't go to.

I can't help but notice how bland and gentrified they plan on making my neighborhood...I love it. I hope it ends up looking like Bethesda because my fortress would be worth a meelyun bucks in Bethesda. Then I would sell it and move to Fiji, buy an island, and have the natives carve my face into the active volcano. They would worship me as a god because my cigarette lighter would convince them that I am the reincarnation of the Volcano God. It's gonna be friggin' sweet!

In other news, I was on the train today reading THIS book, when I got to the part about Bernoulli's St. Petersburg Paradox, which has baffled mathematicians for over 200 years. I got on the metro at Columbia Heights and by the time I got off at Dupont Circle, 20 minutes later, I had solved the problem (in my head). I called a friend of mine who is a Quant and told him I had solved it and he said "really?!?" in a tone of disbelief that is usually reserved for when someone gives you their permission to nail their hot sister. I explained the solution and he said I was wrong and proceeded to explain why using math geek-speak. I learned a valuable lesson today. Just because someone has a Ph.D. in math, doesn't mean they know what the hell they are talking about.


Miscellany:

1. When I eventually go into business for myself, I'm going to have this article framed and hanging in the employee cafeteria. Some guy got upset that two of his workers were demanding a raise, so he killed them. Yep, he killed them both...no raise, dammit!!! All I can say is that is one tough negotiator.
   
2. Today is Bush's lucky day. With all the sheep reporting on a bridge collapsing in the middle of nowhere, no one is paying attention to his incompetent handling of the war, his Attorney General's perjury, or his top aide's refusal to obey a legal subpoena. I bet he popped open a big bottle of champaign when he heard about all those dead folks.
   
3. In other news, it turns out that Mikhail Gorbachev is a cross dresser. Would you buy a purse from him? If not, it's probably because you're a bigot. Why do you assume that old, fat, bald russian men have no fashion sense? I know why...cuz you're a bigot!
   
4. In still other news, someone in a country that speaks a language I don't understand, linked to and translated one of my posts. I am now, officially, a published author who's works have been translated into other languages. Some place in europe there are people right now talking about Die Hauptverbesserung Ninja. I wish I could hear what they are saying, but it wouldn't make a difference since I wouldn't understand a word they are saying. Does anyone know what language that is?
   

Sorry for the disjointed post folks, but you get what you pay for. For next week, absent objections, I'm gonna post some more Adventures in Law. In the next episode: A job offer from a dead guy (no, really!).

A Trip to Ikea and TMI

Well, Ikea continues to provide endless fodder for bloggers like me. I was there a few Sundays ago with my friend Velvet to pick out and pick up some kitchen cabinets. The same cabinets that are in this post. I didn't want to tell the story without permission, but now that I have it, here we go. First of all, I hate IKEA. Every weekend there are thousands of people there and every single one of them is in my way. Every time.

Apparently I have no taste when it comes to kitchen colors, just like my choice in turtlenecks: "you have black appliances, oak floors and you want to order white cabinets? If you do, I will hurt you." With that, it was decided that I needed help picking out cabinets, and the person who would help me as she mocked me decided on the time and place.

It was good that I brought her because, it turns out, you need estrogen to differentiate between different shades of color since almost everything there looked the same to me: dark wood or light wood. But apparently, there's wood and then there's wood.

Velvet: "No, your floors are wood with brown and those cabinets are wood with yellow in them. Can't you see that?"

Ninja: Ummm, yeah, I see it. There's some yellow in there, right next to that umm, other color.

So we order the cabinets and pay for the ones that were in stock and go to the pickup place. It took longer than humanly possible, unless you take into account the incompetence of college kids working part time to earn money for drugs. After every 30 minutes or so we would ask where the cabinets were and the customer service monkey would reflexively spit out "they'll be out in half an hour." And Velvet would respond "that's what you said half an hour ago." Then her face changed and she said "that's it, I'm going into bitch mode now." Five minutes later the cabinets were in my NLAAV and were off.

Loading it up was a pain in the ass so she called her current beau to meet us so he can help with the unloading. We went to Hard Times for some greasy bar food and to meet the new free labor. I thought asking someone to move furniture was a big deal and I didn't think he'd show up, but on the way there she brags about how she is the perfect girlfriend so he can't possibly refuse to help her with something unreasonable like offloading heavy cabinets in exchange for nothing except a cheeseburger.

Ninja: What makes you such an awesome girlfriend?

Velvet: Well, for instance, last week I [blanked] his [blank] while we were [blanking]. Then I [blaannnnnnnnnnnnk].

Ninja: [Stunned silence]

Velvet: Yeah, THAT'S why you should never walk barefoot in the dressing room at an outlet mall.

Ninja: Wow…you really are an awesome girlfriend. I mean that's just…well…wow. I mean it's completely disgusting, but still.

So dinner was…enlightening.

I was off on Monday and Velvet suggested that I go with her to pick out a countertop from a place in Maryland because, she said, "I know a guy." Since I'm from NYC, I know that when someone tells you they know a guy, it's a good thing. It means that either they can get you a really good price on something, or can have someone killed for you. I'll show you what I mean:

Vinny: Gina sez she's pregnant and the baby is probably mine cuz I'm one of the only guys she made it with without a condom. I need an engagement ring but it costs a lot of money.

Joey: fuggedaboutit…I know a guy.

Or, in a different context:

Guido: I think that Fat Joe is gonna' rat me out to the Feds about that thing with the guy from Joi-zee who had that 'accident' and ended up in the meat grinder. What am I gonna' do about that friggin' snitch?

Big Tony: fuggedaboutit, I know a guy.

I tried to meet her at the place but when I got in my car, the Ninja Lite Armoured Assault Vehicle wouldn't start. Dead battery! Some moron left the headlights on the night before. I'm not going to point fingers, especially since I was the one who was driving and I was the last one to leave the car. But if the NLAAV can't start, then its combat readiness is greatly diminished. I'm gonna convene a special bipartisan commission to investigate what happened. It's gonna be like the 9/11 commission except that I'll be the only person on it and my findings will be unpublished and classified.

I should add that the last time this happened, about 6 months ago, I bought a battery recharger which you are supposed to plug in overnight and leave in your car in case your battery dies. Soooo…I went to the basement and found the re-charger (still in the box) and plugged it in.


Over my numerous trips to IKEA I have learned some things about IKEA, myself, and the universe:

1. Everything is cheap in IKEA, even the hot dogs;
2. If someone is selling you hot dogs for fifty cents, you will probably regret eating it later;
3. society has a lowest common denominator, and you see them in retail;
4. college kids are so stupid that I fear for the future of our once-great nation "mom, I luuuuuuuv this place, everything in here is so...european!";
5. there is something very zen about assembling IKEA furniture;
6. if eating one fifty cent hot dog is bad, then eating four of them is even worse.
   

Thoughts on Iraq, Cheney, and Jersey Girls

I think this sums up the situation in Iraq pretty nicely. The Bush chicken hawks are so hard up for talent that they are sending me a letter, hoping that I can get them out their mess.

First of all, I don’t know how the gob’ment knows about my home improvement skillz. I had my suspicions that the CIA and Pentagon were monitoring my blog in the hopes of developing some kind of secret humor weapon, but I never really believed it until now.





This recruitment letter is disturbing for several reasons:

1. I’d like an extra $20,000 as much as the next guy (assuming the next guy really wants $20,000), but not enough to risk my life for it. Don't get me wrong, I don’t see anything wrong with shooting people for money, but it’s the part where they shoot back at you that puts me off of the whole military experience (or joining the Mafia). Can’t we declare war on some country that doesn’t have firearms? Some African tribe that hunts with spears, or maybe an Amazon tribe that we can wipe out so that we can clear their forest and use it to mass produce IKEA furniture? After all, would the world be better off with cheaper gas or more euro-style nesting tables?
   
2. if recruitment is down so much that they have taken to mailing out pleas for enlistment to total strangers, this is not good. It's almost as bad as the ill-fated "renounce suicide bombing and get a free iPod Nano" promotion.
3. Bush keeps talking about his NEW Iraq strategy. If that strategy involves me going there and fixing it, then we’re all fcuked. I haven’t been able to successfully rebuild an 1800 sq foot townhouse in 2 years, what makes you think I’d be able to rebuild an entire nation?
4. I think the only way I could possibly be of assistance is if I was fighting for the other side. I’m pretty incompetent with a firearm and I would probably unintentionally kill anyone around me, so the best way to harm the insurgents would be to get them to rely on my military skillz. ("No, Mohammed, I'm almost positive this isn't loaded, in fact...oh sh1t...sorry 'bout that...Allah Baba Akbar Jihad, Durka durka?")
   
5. Again, I wouldn’t fight for either side for any amount of money, so I think you’re better off not counting on me for anything besides the occasional post about the futility of war. I don’t know if that will solve anything, but then again I’m doing this for free so you get what you pay for.

In other news, sometime today, draft dodging sociopath Dick Cheney will become president for several hours while George Bush has doctors shoving a long, thick, snake-like machine up his ass. If Bush finds out that he likes it, does that mean that he will change his stance on gay marriage? Will Cheney pardon Scumbag Scooter Libby during the 2 hours that he is president? If Cheney becomes leader of the free world, will he renounce cannibalism or will he use the Oval office to summon Satan for guidance, like he does at the vice president's residence?

Also, last week I forgot to comment on the Miss New Jersey scandal. Luckily the scandal resolved itself without my having to get involved. However, since most people come here in order for me to tell them what to think, I will weigh in on the scandal so you can opine about it at the next work-sponsored event you attend and the boss will be so impressed by your knowledge of current events and warped logic that you'll be flagged as in independent thinker and you will either end up as the bosses new successor, or you will die by his hand.

Here we go: Although Miss New Jersey was found to have posted slutty pictures of herself on the internets, she was allowed to keep her crown (which is, apparently, as fake as her smile and boobs). I think this is the proper result. Let's not be hypocrites here. Are you really surprised there are slutty pictures of her on the internet? She's from New Jersey, so I'd be surprised if she didn't have slutty pics of herself on the net. New Jersey, people! You can't even swim on the Jersey shore because you'll catch a venereal disease, so are you really surprised that the girl who represents the values of the state has some (fully clothed) crotch shots of herself on the net? I've seen these pics of Miss New Jersey and all I have to say is: Call me!