Get back to me when you have a meritorious claim.

When I have to get out a ruler to measure the thickness of your Motion to Suppress, I find it very difficult to suppress my more sardonic tendencies.

I stopped midway through the .75 inch masterpiece on my desk to send the following email to opposing counsel:



Available at the mental_floss store.

So I have this theory

Subaru owners are not content to use their cars to drive from scenic point A to recreational point B.  They also want their fellow motorists to get to know them on a personal level.  They want to us to get them.  They want us to know that they totally dig nature on a much more profound level than the common man.  Oh, and in case you can't extrapolate from the 15 - 20 stickers on the back of the Forrester in your lane, they want you to know for whom they vote.  You better believe there is some consistency as to the voting patterns of Subaru owners.

So I started to wonder:  what would happen if you were to put a conservative-leaning sticker on the back of a Subaru?  Could  it even happen?

Here is my working hypothesis:

GOP Sticker

+

Subaru

=

Annihilation?

Of course, I can't test my theory, because I would never put the live of loyal retrievers at risk ... oh, and people, too (but mostly retrievers).

The OKO Trike

As insanely cool as it may appear,

the OKO Tricycle bears a disturbing resemblance to another vehicle.



Photos from last evening's run

I had a great run yesterday evening, and managed to take a few photos on the trail.  I would now like to share some of the poignant thoughts I had along the way.

Suck it, Frost!  Some roads are less traveled for a reason.

Poor parenting is its own punishment

Matt called me the other night to let me know he was going out with friends after work. I immediately seized upon this opportunity to shirk any nutritional responsibility for my kiddos.

At the McDonald's drive-thru I bought a salad for myself, but tossed my kids to the dietary wolves and ordered them up a mess of nuggets, fries, and the like. That's right. Screw their cholesterol levels!

A bit of instant karma awaited me as I pulled around to the first window where we learned the teen who had taken our order suffered from a most unfortunate acne affliction. Most unfortunate. I did the polite thing, smiled, said thank you, pretended not to notice the dermatological catastrophe before me.

That's when Max shouted from the back seat, "What did that mosquito do to your FACE?!"

I smiled sheepishly, apologized, returned to facing forward, and rolled up the window before Max could follow-up with another probing question.

We got our food from the next window, pulled away, and then discovered Max's cheeseburger (no pickles) had not made it into his Happy Meal. Making our return trip to the drive-thru, I told Max all about teenage acne, that it was most likely uncomfortable and a little embarrassing to the kid who took our money, and we don't want to talk about it in a way that might make him feel bad. Max agreed to say nothing when we saw him again.

During the awkward return encounter with the kid at the window, I explained our pickle-less cheeseburger quandary, and he told us to go ahead to the second window. Just before I could pull away, Max proudly proclaimed, "See mom! I didn't say anything about his pimples!"

Fear has a new name, poopiehead

Coming in October.

This fall, Mom and Dad won't be able to hear you scream.

I don't like to talk about my flair

No excuse for this cookie.

Eight years I have been out of college this spring. Still, every December and May I continue to have the final exam dream. You know the dream. You suddenly realize that you enrolled in advanced organic chemistry but never bothered attending class. Now it is too late to drop the class, you only have a couple days to cram, and you are a freaking political science major.

Then you bolt awake in a cold sweat.

Girl Scout cookie season is again upon us! Last night I had another chilling dream. I went to pick up my Samoas, only to learn that they had substituted Carmel deLites. They didn’t think I would mind, as they are “pretty much the same thing.”

If you know anything about me, anything at all, you can predict that I was blue with rage when I woke up choking and gasping.



Like the final exam dream, I predict that this one will reoccur year after year. The stress and trauma of having been maliciously ambushed with the Carmel deLite substitution has left too deep a scar.

I really, really need some rest. Really.

Molly is teething. I am desperate for sleep. So, so desperate for sleep.

Alternately, I am abusively surly and in the next moment obnoxiously silly. It really depends when you catch me. I almost look forward to random phone calls today; I am often surprised and delighted to see what comes out of my mouth.

I managed to take a break from my zombie trance this morning to fill out a survey from LexisNexis, who had the audacity to ask me to rate them, and then justify my rating. I tried to skip the latter step, but Lexis had to press the issue.



What is the single most important reason for giving Lexis.com this rating?
'I suppose a rating of 6 would indicate a slightly more favorable recommendation than merely neutral or indifferent. That seems rather intuitive on a 1-10 scale, but it may be just me. There are only two meaningful choices for legal research, Lexis and Westlaw. If a colleague, associate or friend were to ask me, "hey, should I go with Lexis or Westlaw?" I would answer with a solid, "Meh. My office uses Lexis. No complaints, it's been a few years since I used Westlaw, so I don't really know what I am missing at this point. Eh, what the hell, I say give Lexis a shot." That is the single most important reason for giving Lexis a 6. You sorry you asked now? I bet you are. Look, I tried to leave this space blank, but the survey required my input. I kinda feel like you forced this rather ambling and prolix response. No one to blame but yourselves LexisNexis. No one to blame but yourselves.'

You gave is a score of 6. What do we need to do for you to score us higher in the future?

One word: schwag.

I'm thinking fountain pen, or one of those nifty travel mugs that look like a take-out paper cup. Those are awesome!
I think I need at least a quick nap as a stopgap against additional douchebaggery.

The Grossest Job You'll Ever Love

While out to lunch this weekend Max had a productive and slimy sneeze. Matt and I scrambled for napkins and raced to clean up the child before Max could take care of it with his customary lingual wipe (I gagged a little just typing “lingual wipe”).

Relieved that none in our lunch party would be consuming mucus, Matt was yet a little shaken, “I have seen some really gross stuff in my time. I have seen what it looks like when someone shoots themselves in the face with a shotgun; I have cut open a man who had been decomposing for days in the river. But nothing could prepare me for how gross kids are! I have seen things eaten that should never be eaten, disgusting things that had to be cleaned out of horrible places, and the snot! The constant snot …”

I couldn't help burst out laughing when Tough Guy closed his eyes and gave in to a full-body shudder.

Like Manna from Snark Heaven

I am sure you, like me, have spent considerable time pondering the perfect descriptor for those cooler-than-you chain smoking beatniks nouveau. They are so tortured, so creative, so ... French (even when they are not). To find a suitable term that perfectly captures these people and all their gritty on-trend splendor is a difficult task, to say the least.
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I was supremely delighted when, while browsing Zulily for overpriced baby sundries, I came across THIS:
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It is sublime in its perfection!
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I am only saddened that I didn't think of this on my own.