Nealmeister

Doing Things Is What I Like To Do

I'm not bitter that I'm at work today.  No.  Not at all, especially with a Dunkin' Donuts ice coffee in my paw.  Yes!  Since I'm bitter (and yes, THE bitter minority--I'm proud of my nickname), I'm going to paste some more Hill Holiday/They Might Be Giants/Dunkin' Donuts goodness.  Enjoy your frickin' Saturday, s*ckers!

The Bad Gift Emporium

We had the "bad gift" raffle at work today.  Basically, everyone brings in gifts that they did not particularly like receiving over the Christmas/holiday season, and it gets raffled off for charity. I ended up with Goldie Retriever from Kits n' Kaboodle.  Now, I never win anything.  How timely it is that I end up winning a microwaveable neck wrap.  Jess and I are bound to have fun freaking each other out with this thing as we watch House and Grey's.  Here's what this thing can help me out with

- Cramps
- Neck and Shoulder Ache
- Hand Pain
- Migraine(frozen)
- Hot Flashes(frozen)
- Engorged Breasts

I have problems with the last one.  Procrastination.  See
http://www.badgiftemporium.com/

America Runs on Dunkin (Round 3 starts now)

My mouth can't form these words...

So I totally got screwed out of Patriots' tickets.  I totally got screwed out of a Christmas grab present.  And I totally got screwed out of a free coffee at Dunkin Donuts.  But I can't hate on the last one, and it won't make it to the Bitch List compilation that will come out at the end of 2008. 

Between my undying loyalty to Dunkins and my unfettered love for Dunkin's commercials [like  Bleachers ("I'm freezing at peewee hockey"), or Fritalian ("My mouth can't form these words"), and yes, all tracked to They Must Be Giants courtesy of Hill Holiday] and the entire "America Runs on Dunkin advertising campaign," I come upon upon an epi[/MESSAGE CLIPPED/]

Are They Might Be Giants 'freezing at Pee Wee hockey?' We're pretty sure. [via: AdvertisingAge]

When you have a "I Hate My Job" day... Try out an Urban Legend

My little buddy K-Ro down in NYC sensed that I, we, me (among others) were having the "we're 26 and having the January blues... boy, only being able to afford Natty Lite seems like a great position in which to be" mode.  So, what I better suggestion than to try an urban legend and see if it works:

On your way home from work, stop at your pharmacy and go to the thermometer section and purchase a rectal thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson.  Be very sure you get this brand. When you get home, lock your doors, draw the curtains and disconnect the phone so you will not be disturbed.

Change into very comfortable clothing and sit in your favorite chair. Open the package and remove the thermometer. Now, carefully place it on a table or a surface so that it will not become chipped or broken.Now the fun part begins Take out the literature from the box and read it carefully.

You will notice that in small print there is a statement:"Every Rectal Thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson is personally tested and then sanitized."  Now, close your eyes and repeat out loud five times, "I am so glad I do not work in the thermometer quality control department at Johnson & Johnson."

"Have a nice day and remember, there is always someone else with a job that is more of a pain in the ass than yours!"  '

Ok, that was cheesy.  But it's the weekend, kinda, sorta!

The Bitch List

Reason to Bitch #1: I definitely was not planning on staying at work this late.  But whatever, I should be happy I have a job, right?

Reason to Bitch #2: I still can't hold down food.  Uughhh.  I am hungry and tired, and did I mention, yeah, I was at work way longer than I want to be tonight.

Reason to Bitch #3: Weddings. Weddings. And more weddings. Everyone's getting married, and I should be happy, but people, wtf is going on? Everyone's getting married in 2008! There's only so many weekends in a year!

Reason to Bitch #4: I never got to go to New Hampshahhh.  Booo.  Oh, and did I mention, yeah, I was totally at work for 17 hours today.  And I'm tired.  And I'm hungry.

Reason to Bitch $5: Having "a mind conservative and a heart liberal." Unfortunately, that typifies me... and that person... word.

Grey's, Skipping on the Gym, Skipping on Football

Well, my roomie isn't even home from winter break yet, and yet... I've reverted into the typical semester routine: skip out of work at about 8:25pm; take the Orange Line home and quickly exit at Community College; pick up a half-gallon of Breyer's ice cream at Foodmaster; contemplate going to BSC (and thinking: "nah... legs days are meant to be skipped!"); and then slog home and quickly strip off all of the lawyer clothes, plunk on the DePaul sweatshirt, and turn on Grey's Anatomy. 

I know what's coming my way.  The ritual perpetuates a whole number of long running jokes, among them: (i) since when did you become a woman? (ii) since when did you grow a flappy v ____jay (iii) since when did you become a lesbian? (iv) since when did you come out?  It resounds wholeheartedly of Captain Marino.  Personally, I prefer to proclaim that I'm pregnant.  But that whole discussion is for another day.

Reality for today: it was wicked wicked freezing out in Boston today.  I was supposed to meet up with some folks at the Pub99 after work to watch the Orange Bowl and grab some beers, but I was wicked wicked freezing when I got out of the O-line at Community College and my body literally shuddered at the thought of alcohol.  Yes, shuddered.  Once I got home, I thought the gym would be an option... that is, until my blackberry started buzzing (you know I had to answer; I can't disconnect from work). Next, I quickly realized, once I got to my parking spot, that the door to my Corolla was literally frozen shut.  Shuddered, Buzzed, Frozen Shut.  That left me with one option: watch Greys.

Now, I haven't been as die-hard of a Grey's fan as last year this time.  Between the writers' strike, a newfound love for Brothers and Sisters, and certain longing for Dr. Burke and Addison Montgomery-Shepherd, I just have been missing Grey's more.  But tonight, I shed a couple of tears for Dr. O'Malley (dude--I would give my heart to save my dad too) and found a nice new song for the "Shitty Day" playlist [Get Well Soon/by the Perishers].

Anyway, my apartment is a mess.  I need to devise a way to clean it up before Jess comes home on Sunday and Kevin lands in Boston later that day.  My Christmas Tree is still up (pictures coming soon--"December Vacation Album" style on Facebook), the floor really needs to be vacuumed, and I have a whole pile of bills that need to be filed.

Plus, I need to email back the realtor dude from Otis & Ahearn who was reading all of my house-hunting obsessed emails and has since tracked me down.

Gosh, that was quite the devigation.  What I really wanted to say was... I came home to watch Grey's Anatomy tonight.

MILF, PILF... and PELF?

I think the world knows that two bloggers and their blogs make it to the top of my blog reading radar: Peter Lattman(WSJ Law Blog) and Trent (Pink is the New Blog).  Indeed, if I were good enough to blog for either or both of them, I would.  Anyway, I digress...

Late yesterday afternoon, the Law Blog Word of the Day was announced: "PELF."  At first, I thought this had to be some sick joke.  After all, we all know the sophomoric places that MILF and PILF come from.  Anyway, turns out that my Latin School education wasn't kicking in because, no, PELF is not a reference to Stiffler's mom.  Read on (it's good stuff... stuff that you would expect to read in Polito's Corporation's Class). 

In case you're not inclined to click onward to the Wall Street Journal, here's the enlightening quip from the opinion/order by Judge Jim Rosenbaum:

The ultimate question in the derivative suit, is whether a sentient and alert corporate Board of Directors — faced with a Chairman and Chief Executive Officer who cannot deny having knowingly or recklessly (i) backdated options, (ii) engaged in substantial undisclosed financial engagements with the chair of the Board’s compensation committee, (iii) submitted false and misleading reports to the SEC, and (iv) responded falsely or disingenuously to the Board’s inquiries about his financial dealings in the company’s options – would conclude he is entitled to depart from its employ while claiming pelf approaching $800,000,000. While UHG at one time may have agreed to pay him these sums, it seems conceivable to the Court that the Board might well have decided – in light of the conduct Dr. McGuire has admitted in the SEC litigation - that this payout was uncalled for.

(for reference, In re United Healthgroup Incorporated Shareholder Derivative Litigation in the United States District Court for the District of Minnesota

6AM, Day after Christmas

I woke up this morning, for the second time, literally feeling like I was in the band Ben Folds Five's song "Brick."  The song placates me after I've been wound up too tight for a while, and for some reason, between the plague and Christmas and a final push to the end of the 2007 at work, I was feeling just a little bit shitty.  Nothing that poses caution to mental health or anything, just a funk resting in between 'getting up on the wrong side of the bed' on one hand, and 'please, Gawd, why do I need to get out of bed today' on the other hand.  Of course, I did a good job putting up good face all day long today.  After my nice, long, run on the treadmill, though, I realized that I couldn't do any more work.  I just needed to chill.... at least for a little while.

While I was assembling a playlist on iTunes, I realized that there's some "moments" of undergraduate school that I particularly miss.  Let's place aside all of the nostalgia for Notre Dame for a moment and focus on a few life functions, like down time and finding new, awesome music, or heading to the Huddle just to hang out, get a diet mountain dew and some BK chicken tenders, and talk to whomever happened to be there (which, many a time, happened to be my roommate and the PE girls).  I feel like I'm missing that a little bit back in Charlestown.  I'll call it the Cheers effect, if you will, minus the alcohol.  Like, I'd go to the Huddle or make playlists and the like not so much to drink or to find caffeine, but to just hang out and be.  Exist.  And associate.  Without the expectation of generating business on the return side.

Anyway, this is totally turning into a bitch and rave.  I'll just stop now.

Currently on the playlist: Life in Mono, by Mono, from the Great Expectations Soundtrack [1998].

Jesus, Holla Back

I thought my return to blogdom would be eloquent.  After all, I had all of these inspirational, good, half-scribed posts in "draft" on typepad.  But alas, time.  Time, you are always a problem and recently, if I couldn't bill you in 6 minute increments, then I was worried about why that was so.

Anyway, enough with this junior associate banter.  I was shopping on palmercash.com and I came to the realization that there are just too many good t-shirts to be owned.  If I won the lottery, I don't know what I'd do.  Buy one to frame and one to tumble dry for 5 hours, perhaps.  This one up above has got to be most awesome of them all, wicked pissah, if you will.  If I were trailblazing or apostlizing or ministering or door knocking or whatever, I'd have to wear this t-shirt to get the point across.  I mean, this is the way I pray most every day.

Moving, Lonergan, and Seventy-Five Days

An agent through which vital powers are exercised.

Fall is finally becoming fall in Boston, in November.  Crisp and cool, just the way November should be.  I always thought that this type of fall weather lends itself to the nostalgia that replays inside my mind and supports the frustrated writer that lingers inside of me.  That's what I thought about when I was walking up Walker Street after I got off the bus this evening.  I was thinking about how much I really love my street, and how cool but strikingly red the fireball glowed from the utility pole at the top of my street, and how much I really loved what I do--even though I bitch and complain about it at times.  It's that new slug of a slog that I have to fight out and figure out.  I could quit.  But I love the playing field.

Beneath that fireball, though, I bumped upon Todd and Meg's U-Haul.  Todd and Dan were in it, amid all of the Todd and Meg's life that was getting squeezed into a 17-foot U-Haul.  Now, I always get really funny with change, especially moving.  I play things off like I'll see someone tomorrow.  I try to keep things "normal."  I laugh a bit and [/MESSAGE CLIPPED/]