one after 909. errrrr...131

If you drive a car, I’ll tax the street.
If you sit, I’ll tax your seat.
If you take a walk, I’ll tax your feet.
If you get to cold, I’ll tax the heat.
-George Harrison

I got my last W-2 on Saturday. Over the last few weeks I’ve also been getting all my 1099s and other junk from assorted quasi-employers, financial institutions, highway bandits, and drug dealers. I collected these carefully and put them in a safe place, fully cognizant that I would wait until April 14th to get to work. And then just to file an extension as per usual.

But as luck would have it, I couldn’t sleep last night. And so, at around 2 a.m. this morning…I whipped out the internet, printed out some IRS forms, and got busy on my taxes. This has to be some sort of record, right? Who files their taxes in January?

Nerdery, I suppose. But I also knew I had a refund coming. Which added some motivation.

I did run into some trouble. Calculating my gambling losses presented a challenge, mostly because I couldn’t figure out what my broken thumb translated to in real dollars. But I did make some pretty cool decisions. For instance, did you know that daily meals at Chimys and Rosa’s can be written off as an education expense when you’re studying for the bar exam? I’m pretty sure the IRS didn’t either.*

*Disclaimer to government readers – I didn’t actually write that off. At least not all of it.

homecoming

In a few weeks, the Aggie General will be visiting me in Amarillo for a few days. He'll be living in the apartment, in clear violation of my rental agreement. Eh, it's worth it. Being without Ike has been a little like losing your favorite sweater. The longing is terrible, and it's likely someone you care about took it from you. But at least you don't have to wash it anymore.

See you soon Bucky.

five months later...

It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,
Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place,
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

-Stealers Wheel

When I moved to the Panhandle, I couldn’t have imagined just how much my life would change in a matter of months. Since the beginning of September…

I have turned into a full-time litigator with a practice that consumes me with its highs, its lows, and the constant barrage of interesting new problems I have to solve every day. I meet people from every walk of life. I get paid handsomely for some of it, and I do a lot of work for free too. It’s the greatest feeling in the world to solve a problem for somebody. And people seem to appreciate it. Just yesterday, a client sent me flowers. Cool, huh?

I thought I was busy during the bar exam. I was, but not like this. Instead of focusing on that one task, I’m juggling about a zillion things at once. The law practice itself is a full-time balancing act. It’s not like being Matlock and having just one client to focus on. I have to concentrate on several and sometimes even dozens at a time. And each one expects to be my top priority. Law practice isn’t the only thing though. Five months ago, if you had told me I would be moonlighting as small business owner, teacher, volunteer, and political advisor I would have laughed in your face. All of that just sort of crept up on me; five months ago, I was just a kid. I still consider myself one.

Add in getting to know a new city and making new friends, and I find myself acting like the Tasmanian Devil about 90% of the time.

The best part is that I’m loving every minute of it. Except the wind.

knotty decisions

As the third-to-last step of my morning routine before leaving for the office each day, I put on a tie. Whether I’m doing that from home or from the gym, I run into the same problem each and every day.

Windsor, Half-Windsor, or Four-in-Hand?

Each and every time I put on my tie, I look in the mirror and I have to reflect on my mood, what I anticipate the day might bring, who I might have to see, and whether the fabric of the tie I’ve chosen for that day lends itself to the knot I’m choosing.

(1) If I’m meeting a client or going to court, I go with the Windsor. Unless the tie is made of thick fabric, in which case a Half-Windsor is in order.

(2) If I’m going to a luncheon or some other semi-professional engagement, but otherwise just sitting at my desk, it’s Half-Windsor time. Unless I’m wearing boots.

(3) If nothing is going on, it’s Four-in-Hand. Unless I just got a haircut.

Those are the three most common permutations of my daily conundrum. Really, they’re the only three situations that I have developed a set protocol for. The real problem is that numerous other variations exist, and I usually waste at least two minutes figuring out which knot to use. And I hate wasting time.

So I’m glad tomorrow’s Friday. I won’t be wearing a tie at all…oh wait, I have a closing tomorrow. Dang.

i am jack's capitalist sensibility

Fifteen things I want but will never have due to cheapskatedness and/or philosophical opposition:

(1) Any watch made by a company with celebrity “Ambassadors” (cheapness)

(2) Whole life insurance (philosophical opposition)

(3) Samoas (impossible due to name change and lack of trans-fats)

(4) A boat capable of pulling me out of the water on one ski (cheapness)

(5) Red hair (philosophical opposition)

(6) A hand-tailored suit (both)

(7) Furniture (cheapness)

(8) HBO (philosophical opposition)

(9) Kristin Davis (impossible due to Al Pacino)

(10) Any car bearing a European nameplate (cheapness)

(11) Michael Irvin in the Ring of Honor (philosophical opposition)

(12) Gibson Digital Electric guitar (cheapness)

(13) An airplane with more than one prop (philosophical opposition)

(14) Diamond-encrusted chili ladle (pointlessness)

(15) A home with a retractable-dome roof (outlandishness)

my two sentence autobiography

"Lawyers should never marry other lawyers. This is called 'inbreeding,' from which comes idiot children and more lawyers."
-Kip Lurie, Adam's Rib (1949)

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up...

frustration cubed

Almost twenty-six years ago, some nefarious individual invented the worst toy ever. I’m not sure what his name was, but if I had to venture a guess, I’d say his name was Rubik. I had one his evil cubes as a child. I never solved it, and I’m pretty sure it got sold at a garage sale along with all the toys I actually loved. I miss those Micro Machines and Transformers, but not that Rubik’s Cube.

For Christmas last month, BigBro gave me another Rubik’s cube. Much like the Jelly of the Month Club, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. But unlike the Jelly of the Month Club, once the initial frustration at the receipt of the gift has subsided, the Rubik’s cube only brings more.

Since the fateful Christmas gathering at which the impossible puzzle was received, I have spent an average of twenty minutes every evening trying to figure out the dadgum thing. I have concluded that anyone who claims to have solved the thing is either lying and just moved the stickers around, or has an IQ somewhere between DaVinci and Einstein.

Yet I cannot bring myself to give up and just put the thing down. I also refuse to consult any book or website that might offer tips to solve it. I will do it myself. The news last week that some nerd at Cal Tech solved one in under twenty seconds provides motivation. Freakin’ nerd…

khaaaaaaannnn!!!!!

You think that's what Shatner was yelling when this happened?

Only thing I've ever seen make a grown man cry in pain...
______________________________________

On a completely unrelated note, I do not understand the following Laffy Taffy joke I read today:

Q: What garden has the most vegetables?
A: Flash Garden

Somebody please explain. And yes, I know who Flash Gordon is.

we may have to be neighbors, but i don't have to be neighborly

"No matter where people go, sooner or later there's the law. And sooner or later, they find out God's already been there."

The Duke as John Simpson Chisum

He came to every fight prepared. He kept his mouth shut. He knew exactly where he stood, and he wouldn't back down when he was right. Yet he retained the ability to recognize when he was wrong and listened to reason. He took advice only from those whose character he could trust - and he knew who to trust. When confronted with a problem, he resourcefully found a solution. He never lied. He stood up for the little guy. He sought only justice, not revenge.

And he recognized that something greater than the law dictated the real course of human events. And that it was there before the law and will be there long after.

And most importantly, he kept his sense of humor.

We need more lawyers like that fella right there. To the legal profession, that might sound like a threat.

Wrong word. Fact.

duly impressive...or is it dully impressive?

Some friends and I got caught up in a little game today. The rules? Take a word, then add, subtract, or delete one letter to make a new word. Then give it a definition. This game gave me hours of enjoyment in between phone calls from angry attorneys. These are just the ones I came up with in my "free" time.

beattitudes: n. - self-righteous pronouncements of one's own good virtue

umlaud: v. - to lavish emphatic praise (See yesterday's post)

soyree: n. - a vegetarian dinner party

windsore: n. - a Canadian resident of Detroit

iwish: adj. - green with envy

Richard Prior: v. - to tell an unoriginal joke

folghers: n. - the morning's first cup of coffee in a married household

hangmail: n. - a slightly irritating letter from your ex-(girl)(boy)friend

gallowes: n. - the checkout line at a home improvement store

coorss: n. - the sixth in a pack of Coors

but this one goes to eleven

I have a theory. Other than that Germans love David Hasselhoff. That theory has run into a brick wall given his recent divorce from some woman named Bach.

Nevertheless, the German thing has an ancillary relationship to the current topic of discussion: If you have a band that really sucks, but you need a rep for rocking hard, all you have to do is add an ümlaut to your band name and voila, instant cred among the headbanging community.

(1) Motörhead

(2) Mötley Crüe

(3) Amon Düül II

(4) Blue Öyster Cult

(5) Frank Zappa's Läther Album

(6) Hypnös

My theory is of course backed up by one of the greatest movies, nay, films of all time. Notice the ümlaut over the consonant. Genius.

it's a struggle living like a good boy oughta

Living on my own for the first time has taught me a thing or two about myself. I already knew I was a clean freak. What I didn't know, among other things, is just how hard it is to be a clean freak when you're putting in the hours required of a professional and you don't have a roommate to contribute. So I've ended up living in what I'd consider a sty. Rational people would probably just say it's in need of 45 minutes of light housework. Whatever. Rational people are wrong.

It's not that I've lost my desire for cleanliness. I'm just internally conflicted. It's as if I have two little guys hanging out on my shoulders: One wearing a white robe and holding a tub of OxyClean, and one wearing a red lycra jumpsuit and cape and holding a bowl of tomato soup. A bowl of tomato soup that he just spilled on the floor. And told me not to clean up until the next evening.

The little guy in the white robe gets upset at stuff like that. What if I didn't use that coaster? He's always chiding me saying, "well, I suppose we just can't have nice things around here, can we?" Whatever, he shouldn't be wearing white if he's going to take that tone with me. Maybe beige.

Other lessons in self have come to the forefront while living in my new apartment:

(1) I miss my trips to Home Depot. In an apartment, all I get to do is call the manager when something breaks. That's boring.

(2) I like the fact that nobody makes me rinse the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher.

(3) Having company over is a lot more stressful when you live by yourself. You have nowhere to hide. You can't hedge with "Umm, yeah, all those really dorky Star Trek tapes are my roommate's," or "Yeah, I don't know why my roommate has three Audrey Hepburn posters."

(4) Absolute authority over the TV Remote, HVAC, and mail is freaking awesome.

(5) Why am I the only person in my building who doesn't have a Welcome/Howdy!/Back Off! mat at my door? I have decided that the foregoing question may hold the key to some weird philosophical problem I have with dragon grass. Or it could be that I just don't care to spend the money on one. I thought about buying one when I was at Bed, Bath & Beyond Christmas shopping a few weeks ago. But I was Christmas shopping, and it would have felt weird to buy something for myself. So I didn't.

(6) I do not have to keep yellow mustard in my house. That means independence.

even if it's old junk, it's still rock and roll to me

“Don’t waste your money on a new set of speakers, you’ll get more mileage from a cheap pair of sneakers.” Billy Joel

I got to watch the Texas Longhorns beat the Southern California Trojans last week in sparkling High-Definition Television. On fifty-two inches of flat screen greatness to boot. And now I want that greatness in my own home. I hate it when I get these fits of materialism, but whatever…

I did a little checking. Um, yeah…I can’t afford it. Or more accurately, I choose not to afford it. That HD junk’s expensive, sweet though it may be. Before I got online and checked out the prices for the monitors themselves, I called the cable company. The responses I got to my questions confirmed what I’ve always believed. They may be crooks, but at least their honest.

Larry (Cable Guy): Hello Mr. Whitten, how may I help you?

mjw: Uh, yeah, if I buy an HDTV, am I going to have to buy a special new cable converter?

Larry: Yes, sir.

mjw: How much does that cost?

Larry: The price for the converter is $495, plus an installation fee. We have to come to your house and set it up.

mjw (thinking I’m about to get a deal): Well, I’ve got a flyer here from DirecTV that offers me a free HDTV receiver and TiVo with the purchase of a two-year subscription plan. But I’d like to stay with cable instead of satellite. What can you guys do for me there?

Larry (rehearsed answer): Well, the price is still $495.

mjw: Wait. You’re telling me you’d rather lose a customer than part with $495?

Larry: Yes, sir.

Yeah. That’s really how it went. Go figure. And here’s the funny part. I’m still not going to go with that satellite deal, because I don’t want to buy the TV. Somehow, the cable company must have known that. Oh well, football season’s over as far as I’m concerned. No more Cowboys, no more interest.

all in, but don't ever call me again

Texas Hold ‘Em can only be described as the most frustrating invention for entertainment since the Scots decided to chase stationary pellets around a pasture with graphite sticks. Or maybe graphite came later. Whatever. With Hold ‘Em, one night I’m a hero. The next, I’m a zero.

Zero happened quickly tonight. After only fifteen minutes of tournament-style poker, no re-buys allowed, I had the hand. A Jack High Diamond Flush. I slow played my way through. I got that pot built up pretty good, and it came down to just the two of us. I went all in at the river. For sure that other player would drop out, right? Nope. The diamond ace was across the table from me, and just like that, my evening was finished. And now I sit here writing about it.

I had really hoped to take a little dough off my friends tonight. Not only do they deserve to have their money taken away, but they especially deserve to have it taken away by me. I’d put it to better use than they would. Revel Blue needs XM Radio, but they just have children to feed.

What is it that draws many of us to the most frustrating games and pastimes imaginable? Golf and poker, really, just scratch the tip of the iceberg. And I have a strong affection for both. I’d be a lot closer to my life goal of being the world’s third-best left-handed golfer if I just had a little more time. Some talent might help too. Either way, Mickelson and Weir better watch out once I take my Jordan-esque temporary retirement from law to try my hand at a different kind of bloodsport.

I have to admit though that great chasm exists between golf and poker. With poker, at least you’re not gambling.

past prophets are not an indicator of future results

The ubiquitous New Years resolution. Not once in my life have I ever made one. Not because there haven’t been things it would be nice to get a fresh start on, but because I have a gift for prognostication, and I prognosticate failure when it comes to goals like “I will not drink five cups of coffee every morning,” “I will eat a green thing every day,” and “I will stop internet stalking Natalie Portman.” Sorry folks, it just ain’t gonna happen.

My method ensures success at least…

Not to put a negative spin on this or anything. Goals, such as they are, help us to continually improve ourselves. But, frankly, on this the third day of January, the failure already seems tangible. The gym, mysteriously, was almost empty this morning. Go figure. The entrance to the building was littered with the usual crowd of smokers as I arrived at the office. And we certainly put the firm kitchen’s industrial-strength coffeemaker through its paces as usual today.

So I have to wonder. What is it about the new year that makes people want to change things? If there’s something that I want to change, I’m just going to do it. That’s just sort of the way it works, right? I got to work on that bar exam spare tire I got as soon as Her Honor lovingly made note of it by patting my then-expansive belly. As far as the other stuff, well, I like drinking coffee, dadgumit, so I don’t want to stop.

So I’m making my first resolution ever. I’m not going to stop drinking coffee.