unbillable hours

Tangents #2: Being the part of the story where the Internet freaks me out.

I had quite the weekend.  First, I went hiking in Montauk with two friends, both photographers, leading to an excess of photographs and nearly one trespassing charge, then, I had the pleasure of attending Belmar's St. Patrick's Day Parade this weekend.  It's quite the cultural event, as the parade itself (I will be posting photos of this later), is like a trip into the 1950's, and then the after-parties at 507, the Boathouse, and Bar Anticipation are like trips back to the most insane college parties I've experienced.  At 507, I ran into Gigglechick, another local Jersey blogger.  Beer and photos were had.  Gigglechick was, of course, incredibly cool.  I was my traditional, introverted, largely incoherent self. 

I awoke this morning, checked my stats and let out a Homer-like yell.  "500 hits before lunch?! What the friggin... oh.  my.  god. How did this happen?  Oh.  Oh my." 

Um...  Hi everyone. 

Just so you know, I'll be attending the NYC Wine Rave this Saturday.  There's no need to notify Page Six. 

The next time you feel compelled to analyze the political meaning of music, just consider this: how many people must hide their secret embarassment that, in the eighties, they tried to engage in discourse over After the Fire's Der Komissar?

On Turkey

Gadling, the travel blog, has two posts on traveling to Turkey (something I would like to do someday):

• Turkey Bound
• And Yet Still More on Turkey

Hell is Other Blogs

Yes, I know that the repeated site modifications are what some might call ADD-driven indecisiveness, but, after all, it's all meaningless.  This blog is meaningless.  This country is meaningless.  My pants are meaningless, for chrissakes. 

Fortunately, there's always meaning in a madeleine .  I might go eat one right now, in fact. Sans pants, of course.

поиск для красного элемента

Lavrenty Beria, The Patron Saint of Unbillable Hours

Pops nails the logic behind the Honda Element's Soviet ideal:

The CRV and the Element offer an amazing amount of headroom which is important to our respective lifestyles. Suzette needs the space [of a CRV] so she can continue to set the example of how big hair should look. Our Attorney and me need to space so we can Warsaw Pact it up a bit. He needs the headroom so that he can pretend he's flying a Soviet HIND attack 'copter. I need the room so I wear the Soviet naval officer's ushanka [see Pops' site for sartorial details] ...  I'm demanding for Christmas.

This way Our Attorney can pretend he's coming down from the skies to crush imperialism. Meanwhile I can pretend to quietly patrol the other edges of the schoolyard hoping that I can remove the iron (high) heel of the running lackey dog, Sally Foster, from the neck of the mommietariat. Either way the two of us get to spend the holidays getting in touch with the Jungian warrior archetype while you strain to remember what brand of cologne your brother-in-law likes.

And all the while Suzette gets to have fabulous hair

Remember kids,

велемудро знать язык противников one's, нет?

I'll leave the refinements of the CRV to the ball gown-wearing crowd.

Form is Function

Via Moco Loco, my favorite modern design blog, is this piece of stainless steel covetousness. I love modern design, despite what pundits, such as Tom Wolfe (who has emerged as a political commentator recently, conveniently just before he releases his next doorstop), have said about it. It's austere at times, it can be terribly whimsical, but, most of all, it represents order to me.

The Morning After In America

Goddamn it people, I was all set to have a cheeky little post about the election night, and I get up and see "not ready to concede" on the NY Times front page.

Having lived down the street from the U.S. Supreme Court in 2001, I assure you this:

I broke out into a cold sweat.

I'd just like to preemptively copyright all plays on the phrase "morning in America" in the, um, off chance Bush takes this thing. So "Tomorrow Morning In America," "Mourning in America," hell, even "Morning Wood in America" (I think that was actually a film, so maybe I'm overstepping my bounds here...); they're all mine. I want royalties, people.

Blawger Bowl

Stephen Nipper has this week's update on the blawger bowl for your perusal. I'd like to point my steady rise out of the pits of ignominity and onto the plains of mediocrity.

Aside from what may be considered Freudian overtones, this lamp is pretty cool.

In re House of Drugs, Inc., 251 B.R. 206 (Bankr.D.N.J. Jul 27, 2000).

Nice. You know someone's law clerk was laughing their butt off on that one.