The customer is always right

This is a Michigan Football post. If you don't like it, come back later for some cancer content.  It's less depressing. 

I had a post on this topic written, then held off on posting it because I felt everybody else in the hemisphere had already distributed their opinion to the internet, and I would just be piling on.  But then this happened:

Anonymous said...

I think you owe it to yourself and your readership to write a column on your thoughts on the Rich Rod situation.

December 4, 2010 1:06 PM

Josh Groban said...

I agree with the above comment.

December 4, 2010 3:56 PM

And since my cancer blog exists for you, not me, I'll oblige.

But I don't really know what to say.  I've generally been a supporter of Rich Rodriguez.  I really haven't changed my position that much.  If anything, I've gone from, "I'll be upset if he is fired" to "I really don't care if he's fired."

Arguing this issue is pretty much futile at this point.  I'm not going to convince you; you aren't going to get me to pick up a torch and pitchfork and join the mob.  I guess if I had to put my position in a nutshell, it would be this:  I still think Rodriguez gives us the best chance for success in the near future, and while I'm watching the same crap on the field as everybody else, I don't attribute it all to Rodriguez to the degree that others do.

I pretty much just feel sorry for the guy.  Some people just hated him from the get-go.   I talked to one such individual the other day who argued that he didn't like Rodriguez because of the "baggage" he brought with him from West Virginia (although he didn't articulate what that "baggage" was) and because he wasn't a "Michigan Man" (whatever that means).  He inherited a roster depleted by disastrous recruiting and attrition from 2005-2007 (see here, here, and here).  He lost two major players - one who didn't like his offensive system and one who didn't like doing work. A local-newspaper-which-shall-not-be-named launched a hit piece against him in 2009 (see here and here), which torpedoed recruiting for two years (why commit to a coach that allegedly runs his players into the ground and a program facing possible sanctions?).  Things got to the point where he couldn't even make a completely reasonable comment at a press conference without it getting stripped of all context and twisted into absurd headlines.  

And I just think a lot of the VenomRage spit at Rodriguez is silly.  I mean, I think 95% of it is objective bullshit.  And it's really all the same stuff: Describe what everyone sees, say "IT STARTS AT THE TOP" OR "THIS IS MICHIGAN," add some conclusory statements, and voila!  You have an argument against Rich Rodriguez.  Here, I'll try a few just for my own amusement:

Winless against MSU and OSU, our two biggest rivals.  This is unacceptable.  This Big East crap will not work in the Big Ten.  To win a Big Ten championship, you need to focus on defense!  Instead, we have a coach who only cares about his offense, and he can't even get that right.  Sure we rack up yards, but then we end each drive with a killer turnover or penalty.  That's on the coaches!  This team isn't tough, focused, or disciplined.  Oh and seriously, we can't find a kicker?  This is Michigan, dammit!  We're better than that. 

That argument is simple enough for everybody to understand, and I get it.  You're angry.  You need a target for your rage.  And as the old saying goes, "if you can't fire the players, fire the coach." 

I get your argument, folks.  I disagree with it, but I don't think it's terribly unreasonable.  You're unhappy with the way things are going.  So am I.  If firing Rich Rodriguez will make you happy, fine.  If you've stuck with this team for the past three years, you've earned the right to feel that way. 

But here's what I think:  We fire Rodriguez...and then what?  "Hire Harbaugh" is the response of roughly 90% of the Fire DickRod crowd, I would guess.  Which...you would think the last three years would suck some of the arrogance out of the Michigan fanbase.  At least to the point where we wouldn't assume that we could simply point at any coach in the country and have him drop everything and come running to us at a moment's notice.  And then what?  Is Harbaugh bringing pixie dust with him?  Is it the same pixie dust Obama brought with him in 2009?  Are you cool with another rebuilding process?  Are you sure we're not going to lose any key players or recruits?  Are you ok with Denard Robinson playing WR or RB?  Are you aware that we were all just as giddy about Les Miles three years ago, and now he's an afterthought because his stock has dropped with our fanbase even though he wasn't even our coach?  What kind of offense does Harbaugh run?  How about his defense?  Oh and what if we don't even get Harbaugh?  Who's your choice then?  And do you preemptively promise not to start screaming again in three years that we haven't made enough "progress" to please you?

If you have considered all these things and have halfway decent answers, then good for you.  But my guess is that most people who want Rodriguez fired have been too busy screaming at their TV to consider all of the above.

***

But here's why I don't think any of this crap matters:  Athletic Director Dave Brandon is a businessman.  And in business, the customer is always right.  And right now, half of Brandon's customers despise Rich Rodriguez - rightly or wrongly - and the other half are indifferent to his firing.  (Actually it's broken up by thirds, with 1/3 wanting him gone, 1/3 wanting him to say, and 1/3 unsure.  But I would argue the people who want him to stay aren't exactly willing to fight to save his job.  And that most of the "unsure" portion hates the guy but is too afraid of another rebuilding process).

Michigan can't go on with a fan base this polarized.  Do I think Brandon would fire Rodriguez just to appease a fanbase?  Probably not.  But it would certainly factor into his equation.  A good chunk of the fanbase didn't like the guy from the get-go.  Why would they change their mind on him after one more year?

I'd be more confident in Rodriguez sticking around if Harbaugh wasn't out there.  But Harbaugh is out there.  And a coaching change at this point would please at least half of the Michigan fanbase, and piss off pretty much nobody.  There's a huge benefit with little risk.  Of course, there's always the risk that Michigan will undergo another three year rebuilding period.  But I have a feeling the fanbase would me much more patient with Harbaugh than they have been with Rodriguez.

I don't think much of it makes sense.  The disappointment, yes.  The unabashed, unarticulable hatred, no.  But in business, it doesn't matter.  The customer is always right.

***

For what it's worth, the thing that pushed me right near the edge was Groban-fest the other night.  Whatever you think about it, it was far too close to this:

and this

For my tastes.

The one thing I fear is the one thing I have always feared:  that Michigan will become permanently irrelevant.  It's bad enough that we've already become a laughingstock.  I place a chunk of the blame for this on Rodriguez; not as much as some others do.  But many others don't care about that sort of analysis and have hated the guy since day one.  I'm not engaging those people in this discussion.

But the real question is who is the best choice going forward.  This question isn't any easier, and it's pretty distinct from the first question.  I still think it's Rodriguez.  I don't think many others have thought this question through.  But I'm not sure it matters.  

If and when Rodriguez gets the ax, I'll feel bad for the guy.  But I won't be breaking down Dave Brandon's door. 

Where do we go from here?

I'm treating the end of radiation like a football game: giving myself 24 hours to enjoy the victory, then back to work.

The bad thing about cancer is that it's never over.  The good news is that modern medicine has reduced some cancers to the status of "chronic disease."  But the emphasis there is on "chronic."  I'll have long-term monitoring and testing done, more frequently at first, and then dwindling to twice a year or so.

But aside from that, there's the more pressing "more treatment" issue, another PET scan coming up, meetings with Dr. Li, Dr. Anderson, and Dr. Kim within the next month, and possible trips to New York or Stanford.  As I've said all along, I have a tremendous desire to not do this dance again.  So whatever the best way to acheive that goal is, that's how I'm going to proceed.

Until things are completely settled, I'm going to continue to blog here (about whatever I feel like posting on).  So pretty much, everything around here is going to remain the same.  It's not like I'm going to suddenly run out of thoughts because I'm no longer in treatment. 

There should also be some stuff based on my reflections on this whole ordeal.  A lot of time it's hard to reflect on the fight during the heat of battle.  Looking back provides a different perspective than looking around you.  Still, it's hard to adequately describe what something like this does to your mind.  I could (and have) written thousands upon thousands of words trying to do just that, and I still don't think I've really scratched the surface.

Basically, nothing's going to change around here.  I'm certainly happy to be (probably) done with treatment, and I'm really looking forward to heading out to DC next week for what should be the most normal week I've had in a long, long time.  But I've always been careful not to get ahead of myself or not to get to excited about things.  That's a recipe for disaster.  And that hasn't changed.

One hundred and thirty one days

I knew it.

I knew it before I even drove home from Ann Arbor.  I had just moved out of my place, closed the door on my last Ann Arbor apartment, and with it, closed the door on my life as a student.  I had just taken my last major exam 48 hours earlier.  The era of Ann Arbor was over.  It was time for a new chapter in my life.  I was excited, nervous, sad, anxious...you name it.

My parents had left Ann Arbor before I did.  I hung around the apartment to pack up a few more things before heading out.  As we lived only 45 minutes east of Ann Arbor, they got home before I left.  And my mom called to tell me that Dr. Houin had left a message on the answering machine.  He wanted me to call him.

Doctors who are calling to tell you the results of a biopsy of a massive lump in your body do not ask you to "call them" if the news is good.

***

I have never gone through a trial as a criminal defendant.  But I imagine that I felt the same way a defendant does when he learns the jury has come back with a verdict.  My fate was already determined.  I just had to find out what it was.

But it didn't matter.  I knew it already.  I packed up the last of my things, shut the door on seven years in Ann Arbor, got into my car, and embarked on a solemn drive into my new life as a stay-at-home cancer patient.  This was not the next chapter I expected.

That drive home was like a one-man funeral procession.  I've mentioned before that the worst thing you can have during cancer (besides cancer) is uncertainty.  The agony of not knowing what the hell is going on is absolutely unbearable.  And I knew nothing at this moment - not even my diagnosis.  But when you know nothing, you're sure of everything.  And you're sure everything is the worst.  I can't even begin to describe the thoughts that went through my head, but I'm sure you can fathom.  Think of the word "cancer" and think of the emotions it conjures up.  I can't imagine they are good ones.  And that's what ran through my head.  For those 45 minutes, I was a dead man driving.

But mostly, I thought of my family and my close friends.  I thought about my parents.  How the hell would they deal with this?  My grandparents.  How on earth could a grandmother or grandfather tolerate watching their grandchild battle a disease normally reserved for people their age?  I ask "why me?"  They ask "why not me?"  I thought about my sister.  How would she be able to go back to school knowing what I was going through back at home?  I thought about Emily.  The girl who was frantically searching for a job in the place I dragged her to, who would have to deal with going there all alone.

And how would I tell my friends?  While I now have the rare distinction of knowing exactly what it's like to have cancer, I still don't know what it's like to watch a good friend battle cancer.  I hope to God I never have to know what that's like.  But I still don't quite know how others deal with it.  I do know that it's difficult for other people to figure out how to feel and what to say because they just don't know my experience.  Likewise, it's difficult for me to figure out the exact impact I've had on others.

***

I remember the moment I discovered the lump underneath my left armpit.  It's funny to think of it now - it's rare to be able to look at a single moment that completely changed your life out of the blue.  I mean, completely blindsided the hell out of you. 

I remember the worst meal of my life.  It was at an Ann Arbor Panera the next day.  I finally decided to alert my father when I was wandering over to U-M hospital for an ultrasound.  While I was in that bunker of a hospital, my parents decided to hightail it up to Ann Arbor.  I wasn't happy about that.  They got there; I hadn't eaten all day, so we hit up Panera.  And I was just a wreck.  This was five days before the bar exam, and I was talking about ultrasounds and biopsies.  (Poor Panera.  Not only were you the site of the worst meal of my life, but I ate your food three times during treatment.  I can't even go near your restaurants anymore). 

I remember the subsequent week of horrific purgatory, when I spent most of my time wondering if taking the bar exam was even worth it.  I remember feeling like hell and not having an appetite.  I remember notifying a select few people on a need-to-know basis, but not knowing what to tell them.

But most of all, I remember that drive home.  I remember the weird thoughts:  Maybe if I never made it home, I wouldn't have to deal with the bad news.  Maybe if I just threw my car into the median, I wouldn't have to deal with the news (or, more likely, I'd screw that up too).  And maybe the news wasn't bad after all.  But I couldn't convince myself of that last thought.

***

I made it home and helped unload some things.  My things were going in the den for "temporary" storage before I moved to DC.  All I could think about was returning that call, and that is the last thing in the world I wanted to do.  As long as I didn't pick up that phone, I would still be normal.  I would not be a cancer patient.  Until I made that phone call, cancer wouldn't exist.

But we can't hide from our destiny forever.  We can't stop time from moving forward.  We can't avoid unpleasant things forever.  We can only hide from our fears for so long.  I was going to have to make that call and I knew it.

It was a unique position to be in:  You are about to drop a bomb on your entire life.  You have complete control over how that's going to happen, and at the same time, you have no control whatsoever.  You're going to be the one who is going to press that button, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.  Perhaps a pop culture reference will help:  I was trapped in a goddamn Saw movie. 

I remember these thoughts as if it was yesterday.  But I also remember summoning the courage and strength that have kept me going since that moment.  Make the f---ing phone call.  You can't hide forever.  Man up, and make the f---ing call.

And that was that.  It was literally seconds from decision to dialing.  I punched in the numbers.  Dr. Houin and I exchanged pleasantries.  I asked him, "So, what's up?"  He responded:  "Well, I have some bad news."

***

I motioned for my dad to come in the room.  I threw Dr. Houin on speakerphone.  My mom, alerted to activity in the den, burst into the room and tactfully asked, "Is it cancer?!"  Sometimes, her questions are more like bricks to the face than questions.  I have no idea why, but I responded like a smartass: "No.  It's lymphoma." 

Words I didn't know were being flung around.  Once it became apparent that things weren't certain - beyond the fact that I had cancer - I sorta blacked out.  Some doctors' names were tossed around, and then some instructions to call an Oncology coordinator were given out.  I just needed a break.

I walked outside, stood there for a minute, then called Emily.  Her's would be the first of many days I would ruin in the upcoming week.  But I regained consciousness while I stood outside, and that's when I distinctly remember coming to a conclusion:  "Well, let's go."

I didn't think, "I'm going to fight this" or "I'm going to beat this" or whatnot.  Everybody thinks that.  Nobody chooses the "roll over and die" option.  It's not unique.  Everybody fights cancer, and everybody tries to beat it.  The real distinction is in how you handle it.  If you handle this crap the right way, you can make everything a hell of a lot easier on yourself and others. 

And that was that, really.  I came back in the house.  My mother was pretty upset.  I consoled her briefly, and she was fine after a few moments.  My dad had already called the coordinator.  He handed me the phone.  Within moments I had four appointments scheduled over the next two weeks.  I took "Bachelor Party in Vegas" off my calendar and replaced it with "PET Scan," "Bone Marrow Biopsy," "Surgery" and "Oncology Consult."  That's cancer for you:  Delete what you had planned.  Replace it with hell.

***

I hadn't showered yet that day and I spent all morning moving crap, so by that point in the afternoon, I needed a shower.  So I did that.  I do some of my best thinking in the shower.  But, twenty minutes after I was diagnosed with cancer, I had way too much thinking to do.

I had so many thoughts running through my head then.  I went through all the usual reactions:  Why me?  Why now?  Why my family?  What did I do?  Why God?  Why universe?  WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHY?  Sadness.  Anger.  Uncertainty.  Confusion.  And on and on.

The process of coming to terms with a diagnosis like this is the process of weeding out certain emotions and thoughts and keeping others.  The ones you keep with you will determine how you're going to handle the experience.  The thoughts and emotions you make a conscious effort to discard at the outset...you can keep those at bay.  You can handle it any way you want.

The key is to get to a point where you are comfortable.  Do not be positive because others tell you to be positive.  Do not put your faith in Jesus Christ because somebody told you that they beat cancer by putting their faith in Jesus Christ.  Do not stay strong because somebody tells you to stay strong.  Because if you're cynical, sarcastic, an atheist, or scared to death, those things aren't going to work for you.  You'll keep trying to jam a round peg into a square hole because you're trying to synthesize emotions, thoughts and feelings that you just don't have.  And you'll be unhappy doing it.  And cancer will suck more than it needs to.

So what I decided, as the water rushed over me and I contemplated my new life, was that I was going to do this my way.  I would do whatever I needed to do, and I would - pardon my misogyny - take it like a man.  I was done with the "why" questions the second I realized I was going to get zero answers to any of them.  I had a new life and a new reality; kicking and screaming about it for weeks or months wasn't going to do any good.  So I might as well just knock it off now

I didn't know exactly what I had ahead of me, but I knew it was going to be unpleasant.  I knew there would be pain.  I didn't know the exact details of my cancer, but I did know that cancer kills.  I was going to do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.  I wasn't happy about my new life, but I didn't have much of a choice.  I'm going to be dealing with it either way.  So I might as well figure out how to deal with it without making the experience more miserable than it needs to be.

***

So, 131 days later:  Did I succeed?  Well I can't really answer that.  I'm not sure anybody can, since it's so hard to judge this stuff.

But I will say this:  Very, very few people who are diagnosed with cancer have had as pleasant an experience as I have.  Make no mistake, it was the closest to hell I've been in my entire life.  But remember:  It's all relative.  Once the cancer hits, you have to work within a new reality.  And within that new reality, I wanted my experience to be better than anybody else's.  In that, I think I succeeded.

I know there are loose ends and open questions still.  I'll deal with those when the time comes.  But there's a very good chance I am now done with my cancer treatment.  There's a very good chance that the horrible chapter I began writing on July 30th has reached the end.  I'll keep writing for now.  But I'm really looking forward to a change of subject.

The morning of the galactically stupid

[Ed: I want to establish one thing during this week of heavy bar admission process criticism:  I do not mean to insult or demean any person involved in this process.  I know a lot of people work very hard to further what they see as very worthwhile goals.  I don't dispute that.  And the people with whom I have had contact have been rather cordial and helpful.  My disagreement is with the process and procedures of gaining admission to the bar, which I - and virtually all of my peers - find burdensome, tedious, inane, and ineffective.  The overwhelming majority of people involved in this debacle are nice people who are cogs in a machine that went haywire a long time ago.]

I want to make one thing clear:  I paid more attention to the MANDATORY COURSE ON PROFESSIONALISM than any other individual attempting to gain admission to the Maryland bar.  I don't even think that's debatable.  Unless you have four pages of notes on what critics have called "the most useless professionalism course I have attended this year," you didn't pay attention like I did.  I took more notes for this course than I have during entire semesters in law school.

Of course, my note-taking had multiple potential benefits.  If the information in the course was actually useful, I would have very detailed notes of the useful information.  If the information was not useful, I would have good material for a blog post.

This is that blog post.

Before I get on with the retroactive liveblog, I have to show you this.  I also have a duty to warn you that if you have epilepsy, you shouldn't look at this.

More colors than a can of Four Loko.

I'm not sure if the chemo messed with my eyes or what, but I count seven (7!!!) different colored fonts in that vaguely threatening document.

But other things of interest: 1) Note that the first word in the heading is "MANDATORY," in giant bold letters.  It's not "Professionalism Course."  Not "Maryland."  Not "Course on professionalism."  Or anything reasonable.  It's a giant MANDATORY that reflects the constant standoff-ish nature of every communication throughout this entire process. 2) The text under MANDATORY COURSE ON PROFESSIONALISM tells applicants that they must "take and complete" a one day course.  Which reflects the MSBA's understanding of the fact that people want to and will try to flee the professionalism course. 3) Why, after reading every document that Maryland has sent me, do I feel like I've just been screamed at? 4) Clipart win.

And then this:

You drag us all to Baltimore, fine.  You make us get up early on a Saturday, fine.  You make us pay you $65, fine.  But why the suit?  You're either making us bring a suit to Maryland, or drive from God-knows-where in a suit, and making all the women drag heels around all day.  Why pile on?  You're already fully aware that you have a hostile audience on your hands.  Why outlaw comfort as well?

Anyway, now that you've sufficiently provoked your audience and made them terribly uncomfortable, it's time to yap at them for four hours.  Don't say you're surprised if one of them takes notes and turns it into a retroactive livejournal on his cancer blog:

8:47am:  Sitting in a massive room at the Baltimore Convention Center, we trade character interview stories.  Another buddy traveled to Baltimore for his interview.  The interview lasted two minutes and his interviewer apologized for making him travel to Baltimore for something so pointless.  Hooray process!

8:55am:  About 30% of the guys here look like Sack Lodge. 

Except in a suit, because they kick us out if we're not in suits.

9:02am:  The first official spoken sentence of the 2010 Maryland Professionalism Course:  "It appears we have more people than there are seats available."

Just play that song in the background whenever you read one of my posts on the Maryland bar admission process.  Really captures the reality of the experience.

9:05am:  I might get some useful information out of this class after all:

9:07am:  First speaker:  "Many of you view this as just another hurdle on the way to becoming a lawyer.  But Maryland lawyers and the judiciary take this very seriously."

So many interesting things here.  First, one thing I was struck by is how incredibly aware every speaker was that we all saw this as just another inane hoop to jump through.  I assume they don't really care (or just think their own goals are so important that it doesn't matter).  Second, the statement "Maryland lawyers and the judiciary" is rather humorous.  I'm not completely sure here, but I gotta believe that the overwhelming majority of Maryland lawyers and judges have no strong thoughts whatsoever about whether new attorneys should be subjected to a four-hour course on "professionalism" on some random Saturday morning in December.  I'm guessing the people in charge care a lot.  But that's one of the pitfalls of power:  projecting your own ideas and goals onto others.

9:08am:  Speaker #1 comes out swinging, immediately dispelling any thoughts we might have about this course serving to turn a profit for the Maryland State Bar Association.  Again, I was amazed at how much these speakers knew what we were thinking.  Leads me to believe that they have a) received the same comments and complains over and over again and b) think the best way to handle that is to scream "NUH-UH!" louder and louder.

In any event, the speaker #1 informed us that the course actually costs the State Bar Association half a million dollars(!) and "countless hours" to put on.  Which...wow.  I don't really know what to say about that.  Besides there are probably some poor people out there that could really benefit from $500,000 of legal representation.  

9:10am:  The goal is to teach us that "decency and civility in the law are important."  Because there's no better way to make people decent and civil then dragging them to Baltimore to be talked at for four hours.

9:15am:  Speaker #2 is on the clock.  Hyperbole Hal uttered four of the five following phrases.  See if you can find the one I made up:

• "servants to society"
• "fabric of our Constitution"
• "the trumpet sounds"
• "the eagle will soar"
• "pregnant with opportunity"

If a goal of the professionalism course was to make us feel superior to all lesser beings who are not lawyers and therefore are only qualified to massage our feet, consider that goal achieved.  

9:17am:  Facebook Warning #1:  A reference to the era of "internet mass communication."  Damn tubes.

9:18am:  A really bizarre, insulting, and possibly-racist exchange that I can't quite describe, but that led to a friend handing me a note that read, "Is he really making an argument for genetic determinism?"  My notes say that speaker #2 informed us that we all had "received a gift that you did nothing to deserve:  your intelligence" (I guessed lymphoma, but I was wrong). Which, ok.  But it sort of belittles the thousands upon thousands of hours we spent working our collective asses off to get to this point.  It was too early at the time to get outraged, but I think I am now retroactively outraged.

9:22am:  After being told how important everybody in Maryland thinks this course is for the third time in twenty minutes, I come up with a challenge:  Hold this course, but make it voluntary and open it up to all Maryland lawyers.  If more than 7 people and a donkey show up (I'll send the donkey), I'll shave my head and destroy all my sperm.

9:27am:  Speaker #3 gives us an interesting tale of how the professionalism course came to be:  The Maryland State Bar Association (some committee of the MSBA, to be specific) pressured the Maryland Court of Appeals to make the course mandatory for admission to the bar because people were getting concerned that the legal profession was becoming a "business and not a profession."  Glad they nipped that problem in the bud. 

Putting aside the absurdity of well-off, established, middle-aged attorneys telling young, debt-laden, possibly-unemployed attorneys that we should worry less about money, I have a hunch that a four-hour course that only a minute fraction of attorneys must attend in any given year will not be successful in preventing businesses from being businesses. 

9:42am:  Tragedy strikes as we are all broken up into smaller groups for some reason, and my entire group of friends is separated due to the subtle cruelty of alphabetical order.

9:44am:  Speaker #4 nails it:  "I know exactly what you are all thinking:  You went to college, you took the LSAT, you went to law school, worked herd, graduated, took the bar, passed the bar, and now you have this $55 course to go through."  The class immediately corrects him and collectively shouts "$65," so yes, that's what we were all thinking.

9:46am:  #4 declares his goal for the course:  "When you go home, and somebody asks you how the course was, I want you to be able to say, 'It was a complete waste of time, except for...'  And that 'except for' is why you are here today."

I thought this was the most telling statement of the entire day.  For starters, in what other industry would this standard fly?  Would a waiter at a restaurant tell you, "When you go home, and somebody asks you about this meal, I want you to be able to say, 'It was absolutely awful, gave me food poisoning, and cost me $65.  But at least the bread was good.'"?  Would Verizon want its customers to say, "I had to pay $65 for this month's cell phone bill, and I couldn't make a single phone call.  But I was able to send a text message last Tuesday."?  Of course not.  If this is the standard you have to adopt to justify what you are doing, you probably shouldn't be doing it. 

Second, it was further confirmation that virtually everybody involved in putting on this course knows that virtually everybody who attends the course thinks its a colossal waste of time.  Which makes no sense when you take into account the fact that...

9:47am:  "Putting on this course is a logistical nightmare."  So it's a terribly costly nightmare for everybody involved.  Which means it better be damn effective at doing whatever it is its supposed to do.  At least to the point where you change some minds on the value of the course by the end.  Except...

9:48am:  The aim of the course is "to send a message that the MBSA gives a damn.  That the MSBA takes it seriously.  That professionalism matters."

Game, set, match. This is it.  This is why I was dragged out to Baltimore at 8 in the morning on a Saturday in December during my cancer treatment:  Because the Maryland State Bar Association wants to send a message.  To whom?  Who the hell knows.  Doesn't matter.  Just send a message.  What does "professionalism" mean?  Who knows.  Doesn't matter.  But the MSBA cares about it.  What does it cost?  How much does it inconvenience everybody?  Is the cost and inconvenience to everybody worth the benefit of the course?  It.  Does.  Not.  Matter.  Because the MSBA wants to take it seriously.  And the more burdens you place on people, the more it shows you care.

9:49am:  I notice I'm the only male who has removed his suit coat.  Don't know if it says more about me or the other people in this room.  I'd say it means I'm cooler, but I'm the dude frantically taking notes and getting weird looks from the other people in the room.

9:51am:  The legal profession "fears change."  Really?  I wouldn't guess that a profession that won't let many of its bar exam takers use "computers" and has displayed a stunning inability to figure out the internet fears change. 

10:03am:  Our current topic of discussion:  "Why terminal cancer is like going to France."  I appreciate the effort, but leave the cancer analogies to me, dawg. 

10:12am:  Our suggested goals:  To serve a "higher authority" and "don't compromise."  Except when, you know, you are legally required to serve your client and you are asked to compromise in settlement negotiations, plea deals, mediation, arbitration, or any other form of dispute resolution. 

10:25am:  Speaker #5 has us introduce ourselves one-by-one and tell the class where we are going to be working.  This has gotta be fun for the roughly 1/4 of the class that is unemployed.  Maybe this should be re-branded as a self-esteem course.

10:35am:  A sampling of the advice we're getting:  Leave early to avoid traffic during rush hour, don't talk on your cell phone in a courtroom, be nice to the Judge, call the chambers if you're going to be late.  Good advice?  Sure.  Worth $65 and a trip to Baltimore?  Slightly more debatable.

10:37am:  Be prepared when you argue in front of the judge.  Fine advice again.  But funny, because speaker #4 told us how we, as young attorneys, are often more prepared than older attorneys who have been doing this for years and feel they can make off-the-cuff arguments.  You know...the older attorneys who are not required to attend this course.

10:47am:  Speaker #5 - who just emphasized the importance of preperation - is very obviously out of things to cover 10 minutes before the end of a session in which we already spent 10 minutes introducing ourselves. 

10:55am:  When in doubt, warn us about Facebook.

11:02am:  Speaker #6 walks in the room and announces with glee, "two down, two to go!"  Does anybody want to be here?  Is the only guy who thinks this is a good idea still at home in his robe and slippers drinking coffee and reading the paper?  And is that why he still thinks this thing is a good idea?

11:06am:  Interesting tidbit:  The most common area leading to lawyer discipline?  Escrow accounts.  Which is followed by this statement:  "Most lawyers don't even know they're violating a rule!"  Here's advice from Nick - take it or leave it:  If your rules are such that people can violate them without even knowing it, perhaps the problem is with the rules.  I know murder is wrong.  I know robbery is wrong.  But did not know, until yesterday, that photographing one of those new nudie scanner machines at the airport is a federal offense. 

11:08am:  Facebook is "a tool of destruction."  I might have to try out this Facebook thing all these people seem to be talking about.  It sounds fun.

11:23am:  We have now discussed three hypothetical dilemmas today.  We have exactly zero answers for those three hypotheticals.  Every one has ended with some version of, "This is a tough call.  There is no right answer."  Thanks for clearing things up for us!

11:35am:  Here's a fun story:  A dude robbed some guy at an ATM.  He threw gasoline in the guy's eyes to startle him and then stole his money.  Then, to make sure the guy couldn't ID him, he lit the victim's face on fire.  Nice guy, right?

Well the robber gets caught and there's a pretty airtight case against him.  The robber tells his lawyer that he's going to lie on the stand.  The lawyer says there's no way he's going to assist in committing perjury with a guy who lit another man's face on fire.  So the lawyer attempts to withdraw from the case.

Why were we told this story?  Because the lawyer was wrong.  The lawyer screwed up.  I actually knew this before the course, I know why that's the case, and I knew what the lawyer should have done.  I agree with the rules here, and I know and understand the reasoning behind them.  But that's not importnat.

What is important is that this was a story told at a course designed to help restore dignity to the legal profession. In fact, this is the precise reason many people hate lawyers.  You can have all the professionalism or ethics courses in the world.  It's not going to change the unappealing nature of some aspects of the profession. 

11:40am:  The current score:  Cancer references: 2, Facebook warnings: 3.  We're supposed to call clients back because we would want our doctor to call us to tell us if that lump was cancerous. 

11:47am:  Speaker #7's first statement:  "Well the bad news is I showed up!"  Yuk yuk hardy har har ha ha YOU DRAGGED A THOUSAND PEOPLE TO BALTIMORE OVER THE COURSE OF TWO DAYS AT GOD KNOWS WHAT EXPENSE AND BURDEN AND THEN HAD EVERY SPEAKER DROP A JOKE ABOUT HOW MUCH EVERYBODY HATED BEING THERE. 

12:00pm:  #7 asks us what we think about mandatory pro bono rules.  For the non-lawyers here: pro bono essentially means working for free, and is usually done to help poor individuals who need legal representation.  Given my past work with indigent criminal defendants, I feel very strongly about pro bono work, and it also gives young associates a chance to handle a case, deal with a client, refine legal skills, and appear in court.  I think pro bono work is extremely important to the legal profession.

I also vehemently oppose mandatory pro bono requirements.  Forced charity is not charity.  Requiring others to do what you think is a good idea does not make you a good person.  It does not make you more virtuous.  It makes you a bully. 

So anyway, after asking us what we thought about mandatory pro bono rules, speaker #7 informed us that Maryland was probably going to have pro bono requirements soon.  He also implicitly showed us exactly how the MBSA works:  pretend to care what you think, then do whatever they want. 

12:01pm:  Speaker #7 informs us that there are "not too many lawyers" and that there are actually "very few lawyers."  I think the 8-10 unemployed folks in the room would beg to differ.  For the record, there are way too many lawyers.

12:07pm:  We're given an assignment:  Write down the first word a family member said to us upon learning that we were going to be a lawyer.  The catch:  That word can't be "congratulations!"  You know...the first word every family member says to you upon learning that you were going to be a lawyer.  This assignment was actually designed to teach us the ancient legal art of "making crap up on the spot." 

12:10pm:  The legal problem has a "perception problem."  I'm not sure if we're all going to the Barack Obama School of Your Shit Don't Stink, but sometimes - just sometimes - when people dislike something, they have a good reason for it.  The legal profession is messy.  Ours is one of the best in the world, but it has a lot of flaws.  Some of them are really the best way to get things done, but sometimes, they will lead to unfair or unjust results.  And yes, the legal profession does attract a great deal of seedy individuals.  That's life.  So don't assume that if people despise the legal profession, the problem is theirs.  I don't really like the legal profession.  The problem is not my imperfect perception. 

12:17pm:  So we all had a sheet of paper on which we were supposed to give feedback on the course.  I didn't fill it out because of what I mentioned at the 12:00pm mark.  But then we found out that speaker #7 would be collecting our completed sheets.  So I (and many others) hurried and circled some random numbers that in no way reflected how we really felt about the course.

And then I realized this:  I was just forced to do something I didn't want to do, so I half-assed it.  That's human nature, right?  So why the hell would anybody think it's a good idea to force lawyers to do legal work they don't want to do, for free?  Do you think that's going to get poor people the best legal representation?  What if you get a simple lease dispute that could be handled in about 20 minutes with a simple phone call?  If you have a 50 hour a year requirement, you're much better off, as a lawyer, filing a lawsuit and getting credit for 10 hours of work instead of 20 minutes.  Which is much worse for everybody involved, but who cares?  We have messages to send.

Well, message received folks.  I had two people make virtually the exact same point to me: It's amazing that this whole process includes mandatory attendance at a "professionalism course" when this has been one of the most unprofessional experiences of our lives.  And the message we received was loud and clear:  We're going to do what we want, when we want, and in any manner we want, and you are going to accept it.  People with big ideas will come into power.  Commissions will be formed.  Those commissions will "study" issues and issue reports.  Those reports will have recommendations.  Those recommendations will invariably lead to more requirements and rules.  And the process will repeat.  That's my takeaway from last Saturday.

Come to think of it, that professionalism course helped me understand my profession quite well.

Brief updates on week 18

Couple things of note:

1)  This might have been lost amongst my Maryland vitriol, but, uh...I theoretically finish my cancer treatment tomorrow. Which is sort of cool if I think about it the right way.  But my excitement for this milestone is definitely subdued because of the "more treatment" issue.  Keeping an even keel and keeping my emotions in check have helped me make it through this entire process, so I'm not going to start getting giddy over things now.  There's really no point in getting all amped up about finishing treatment if I'm just going to have to do it again in three weeks, so my enthusiasm, while real, will be tempered. 

That said, it's certainly not a bad thing to finish your cancer treatment.  So I'll allow myself a few days of happiness, and then it's right back to figuring things out again.

2)  Moving van showed up this morning and my stuff is off to DC.  Now the only question is when I'll get myself over there (for good).  I have some doc appointments and such to finish up here, but I'll be heading back to DC sometime next week and moving into my place on the 18th (with the aid of some very generous DC friends, who are cashing in their "let me know if there's anything I can do to help" cards).  I'll be back in Michigan by the 21st (for a PET scan), remain here throughout the holidays, and then it's either hospital or DC after the New Year.  Talk about polar opposites. 

3)  Speaking of the "to do more treatment, or not to do more treatment" fiasco, here's where I'm at:  I now consider myself slightly more in favor of doing more treatment than I was a couple weeks ago.  There are many reasons for this; not worth getting into here.  But more importantly, I think I now have some sort of plan and timetable for figuring this out.  I'm going to meet with Dr. Li on Friday afternoon, which will finally give me an opportunity to figure out the reasoning behind their recommendation, ask questions, and gain a better understanding of her argument.  Then, at the very least, I can turn to my doctors at Sloan-Kettering or Stanford and say, "Here's the case for A, here's the case for B, what do you think?"  Of course, they are going to respond with, "We recommend C," but I'll just deal with that when the time comes.  (By the way, I'm willing to bet anything that one of the two hospitals comes back with a third course of treatment, just so my three recommended treatments match up with my three diagnoses). 

What I will try not to do anymore is send out my tissue for more testing.  I'm done with the diagnosis issue.  There are three pathology reports - pick one and make a recommendation.  I don't even really care what type of lymphoma I have so long as we can figure out how to treat it.  No more doctors, either.  There are already too many cooks in the kitchen.

What I really hope to do is treat this like a legal situation and use the S-K and Stanford docs like judges.  By this I mean, I'll send out my records, try to get the S-K and Stanford docs in touch with my local doctors, have everybody present their case, and see what they say.  Of course, we all know what will happen:  One hospital will say do more treatment, one hospital will say "you're fine."  But whatever.  At some point, you expect the worst out of everything, so it no longer phases you. 

4)  I feel great (and would feel better if my damn hair would just get on with growing back) and I'm now just mildly irritated by cancer instead of being partially debilitated or significantly affected.  I found that while I was in Baltimore/DC this weekend, having cancer wasn't one of my most prominent thoughts (the way it is around home and has been since July).  In part, this is because of association - I was gone for seven years, was diagnosed the day I came home from Ann Arbor, and therefore, being at home is no longer associated with a holiday or quick visit, it's associated with cancer.  Sucks, but that's the truth.  DC is not like that, which is why I'm now even more adamant about not receiving my primary treatment over there.  When I move, I want this thing to be completely done.

The most important weekend of my life, as told by others

I've mentioned several times before how important I believe credibility is, especially as a writer and a lawyer.  You will write on different topics, you will argue different cases.  But your credibility affects everything you write and every case you argue.  Once your credibility goes, so does your value as a writer or attorney.  If you get a reputation for making things up, exaggerating the truth, or taking liberties with your sources, that reputation will follow you forever.  So don't do it.

So that's why I've been so careful when writing about this bar application process crap.  When possible, I copy quotes exactly from other websites and e-mails I receive.  I scan the actual documents I'm sent.  I take notes during events so I don't have to rely on my memory.  And so on.  Besides, the reality of this whole process is so entertaining and absurd, why would I have to make anything up?

Anyway, in case there was the slightest thought that I'm making this stuff up or exaggerating how enormously inane and incoherent the entire process has been, here is what my friends have to say about this entire process.  This is just a sampling of the texts, e-mails, and conversations I have had in the past 72 hours:

"This has been so pointless." 

"We just spent 25 minutes introducing ourselves"

"The speaker just said 'Webster's dictionary defines professionalism as...'"

"First topic they discussed:  whether its appropriate for women to wear pants to court.  Apparently that is still being debated in the year 2010.  Shoulda all stayed home to have babies I guess"

"Wow.  Wow.  This attorney just said that when an 80yr old male attny calls you honey, its not derogatory because he calls everyone honey..."

"If one more old hag has the nerve to lecture me about the dangers of 'social networking' as a lawyer, im going to throw my phone against the wall."

"FYI:  Don't talk shit about judges on the internet.  That's bad, apparently."

"How did you enjoy today's misogyny lesson?"

"[My friend] may not get sworn in because her character interview lady went apeshit on her; it lasted 45 minutes!"

"Oh.  My.  God."

"Lessons: 1. Judge Judy isn't real.  2. Get a website.  3. In a role play meant to show who gets disbarred for what, things went horribly awry and everyone got disbarred."

"I was genuinely offended by a lot of the crap they were spewing at us."

I don't have many friends taking the Maryland bar, but I've heard several stories of character interview nightmares.  So far, here's how they stack up:

1) One friend who had an interview at 1pm.  At 1:13pm, she sent me the following e-mail:

The only thing he asked was what professionalism means to me and what stood out to me in the md rules. Both of which I babbled about. But who cares. Hes recommending me.

2) Another friend who went out to Baltimore for an interview, only to have the interviewer apologize for the fact that he had to travel to Baltimore.  The interview lasted two minutes.

3)  A third friend who left work early and took an hour-long metro ride to her interview, and then had this transpire:

I walked in, barely took my coat off, she said everything looks good, also said she was happy I had a job, and then said "great, I'll forward your file." Took all of about, and I'm not exaggerating, 90 seconds.

4)  A friend of a friend who was just stood up by her interviewer.  I mean, apparently the interviewer just didn't show up.  (From what I gather, this is a rather common occurrence). 

5)  A friend of a friend who: a) was never contacted by her interviewer, b) called and found out that her interviewer was missing, c) was given a new interviewer d) was never contacted by the second interviewer, e) called and found out that nobody could find the second interviewer, f) got a third interviewer, g) called the third interviewer, who informed her that her file was not complete, and h) finally went to that interview, whereupon her interviewer called her irresponsible and a liar over the course of 45 minutes, and subsequently threatened not to recommend her. 

And then...there's this.  Reprinted with permission:

So the day begins with a hangover – not sure what else I expected, since we started the night before with tequila. I make the 20 min drive to my committee member’s office, park, and go up to the entrance. It’s 9:55am on a Sunday morning. Understandably, the office building is locked. Not understandably, my committee member’s law firm is not listed on the electronic call box on the outside of the building. It’s freezing cold, so I start punching away at random numbers, hoping someone will answer. Spectacularly, someone picks up on the second code I try. I explain I’m there for an interview but I can’t find the right call code to the office I need, could she let me in.

The code connected me to a child’s daycare center at a building 10 minutes down the road.

She hangs up on me. I start punching in more numbers – no luck, though there appear to be a million law firms in this tiny building.

It’s 10:05, so I call the office number I have for my committee member. It goes straight to voicemail and I leave a message explaining the situation. I send her an email saying the same thing. I keep punching in numbers. This goes on until 10:15, when I my fingers started to turn purple so I decided I could keep playing this game from the comfort of my car. Where there is heat. And Christmas music. I try calling the office again – no luck. Then I see a man walking fast to the entrance and I think, yes! He’s my ticket inside. So I get out of the car and call after him. He doesn’t respond (he’s 3 feet in front of me). I call out to him again. Nothing. I finally yell Sir who is walking into the building. Nothing again. I’m running to catch the door, but it closes and locks just as a reach it. [Ed: Just picture this scene in your mind.  I couldn't stop laughing.  The Maryland Bar: You'll be hungover, screaming, and chasing down random strangers on a freezing December morning in no time!]  So it’s me and the call box again, and we have another go at it. It’s 10:25, and I’m telling myself I’ll give this 5 more min and then I can go home and crawl back into bed, when another guy approaches the entrance. I plead my case to him and he lets me follow him into the building. I confirm that my committee members office is in fact in this building and get on the elevator with the guy. We’re both heading to the 3rd floor, though he’s never heard of my committee member.

Office renovations are in full swing when we get off the elevator and the hallway is in chaos. I follow this guy across piles of rolled carpet – me in heels, him not – and it becomes clear that this guy works across the hall from my committee member. It also becomes clear that my committee member’s office is locked for the weekend. Awesome. So I call her once more and send one more email, this time explaining I will be getting on a plane in just a few hours [Ed: my friend, like me, does not live in Maryland and had to fly in for this fiasco] and will not be back in MD until Christmas. The guy comes back out from his office and asks me what position I’m interviewing for. I explain it’s my character interview, and he said ohhhh, because he was looking for a paralegal.  I love that he was willing to entertain me for a job just because I showed up in his office building at 10am on a Sunday. I tell him thanks but the timing wasn’t quite right.

Time to give up. I’ve been stood up and my tequila-headache is getting worse. I had a feeling this was going to happen (remember I mentioned this at dinner?) [Ed:  She did.  We all sat there and specifically concluded that there was roughly a 100% chance that her interview would not happen] and I probably should have confirmed just to avoid the hassle that became my Sunday. I get home, take some aspirin, and start decorating our Christmas tree.  At 11am, I get this message:

“I'm so sorry Julie. [Ed:  Blog policy is to remove identifying information.  I left this in here because that's not my friend's name].  For some reason I thought we re-scheduled. Where are you right now?”

Here’s my problem with this. Besides getting my name wrong, if she wants to know where I am “right now,” pick up the GD phone and call me. Email is not for “right now.” A phone is for “right now.” And my committee member has my entire life in her hands – it’s all in my application! She has everywhere I’ve lived, everywhere I’ve worked, my social security number, my phone number, and so on. Email is the best option? Seriously? Deep breaths... I realize that she’s holding all the cards because it’s absolutely necessary that this stupid thing take place in person. I write back:

“I just got home to Silver Spring. Are you free to meet sooner than later (my flight is out of Baltimore this afternoon)? Is there someplace closer to meet, or is your office the best option? Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, she writes back:

“Pls call my cell [555-555-1111]."

So I call right away, still confused why she won’t just call me. Six minutes later I write this email to her:

“I'm trying to call that number and I keep getting an error message, saying that the number is not turned on and "the person I am trying to reach is not accepting calls at this time." Could you please try calling my cell, instead? The number is [555-555-2222]. Thanks.”

Twenty-five minutes later, this is her reply:

“Omg. [555-555-3333].”

Here’s the best part: THIS NUMBER WAS STILL WRONG. What the hell area code is that?? I’ve had more contact with the error message lady at AT&T than with my committee member at this point. I figure out where she went wrong and finally get hold of her.

To her credit, she was incredibly apologetic about the whole thing. She got me confused with another applicant and, well, I understand that these things do happen. She promises the interview will take 5 minutes but it absolutely has to be in person. So we agree to meet in 20 minutes.

The interview itself was as you’d expect – useless. I don’t know what she gleaned from it that wasn’t already apparent from my application, but at least it’s done. She was very kind and easy to talk to, so there are worse ways to spend 20 minutes. Oh, I did learn that as a woman lawyer, it’s possible to “forget to have kids."

This, my friends, is the process of becoming a lawyer.

You may have noticed that I haven't mentioned my own character interview.  I won't get into the details here, except to say that it was sort of along the lines of those interviews listed above.  It was useless, but I'm not sure anybody would deny this anymore (even the interviewers themselves, who often seem irritated that they have to meet with us).

But I will tell a shot story:  When I was haggling with various people in Maryland to try to get this thing done by phone, skype, videochat, whatever, one employee attempted to console me by stating that I had nothing to worry about, because "If there are any problems with your application, you will know well in advance.  Often times, interviewers know before the interview whether they are going to recommend you or not."

I didn't believe that at the time, and I didn't post it here because of that.  I really didn't believe that the woman meant what she said.  That, during a phone call in which she informed cancer patient that he *must* come to Maryland to be interviewed in person or else he would not be admitted to the bar, the next sentence would essentially admit that the interview was completely meaningless.  I assumed she misspoke.  I thought that, because the interview was so important that it must be done in person, that it would be lengthy, perhaps with multiple attorneys, and cover information that wasn't provided in our 65-page character questionnaire. 

Well I believed it when - at the end of an interview in which no new information besides the information included in my character questionnaire was discussed - my interviewer pulled out an already-written letter of recommendation and handed it to his secretary.

I thanked them for getting my recommendation in by the 5pm deadline (although there is no doubt in my mind that something will be screwed up in the near future).  I'm thankful that it's over.  My friends are too - I hear "I'm happy its over" and "thank God this is done" all the time.  But I'm sick of thanking these people.  I'll thank my doctors for helping me remedy the universe-imposed hell that is cancer.  I'm done thanking people for making us jump through meaningless hoops and endure man-made hell for seven months just so we can do our f---ing jobs. 

Weekend excursion winners and losers

So the trip to Maryland/DC was fun when I wasn't jumping through random State Bar Association hoops.  In fact, when I wasn't doing things that were completely pointless, I actually had an excellent time. The weekend would have been up there on the list of great weekends even in the non-cancer division.  So instead of a boring journal-like entry, I decided to create a list of winners and losers from this weekend.  Enjoy.  

Winners

SOUTHWEST AIRLINES:  My Delta boycott is continuing (I don't think I've ever had an on-time flight with Delta, and they have turned multiple Detroit-DC trips into 8-hour affairs) and US Airways gave me my worst travel experience ever last July (and to top it off, I was diagnosed with cancer the next day), so I gave Southwest a shot this time.

I've flown Southwest three times in my life.  Every time has been noticeably outstanding.  I wonder why more airlines don't follow their lead.  I'm sure there's a reason, but it's probably not a good one.  Either way, the whole damn trip is pleasant:  On time, if not early, each way.  No assigned seats.  For $10, they automatically check you in and give you a preferred boarding position.  The stewardesses actually yell at people to put their stuff away and sit down.  They don't roll massive drink carts down the aisle.  Even their in-flight magazine was pleasant. 

Unfortunately, the federal government is expected to ban Southwest Airlines soon because they are promoting a "public health concern" in their in-flight advertisements:

That's caffeine and alcohol, kids.  Which means we can expect Southwest planes falling out of the sky any day now.  

Regardless, the experience and low cost more than makes up for the fact that I have to fly into Baltimore instead of DC.  I'm a Southwest flier until further notice.

AVIS:  Never rented a car before, but sometimes, you have to go to Random Place, Maryland for Most Important Interview Ever.  So I rented with Avis and everything went well.  Got a car for $32, picked it up at the airport, and dropped it off a few blocks from my hotel.  Saved me a TON of money over cabbing or metro car-ing it, and was far more convenient.  

BALTIMORE:  Had never spent any substantial time in Baltimore during my adult life, but I was pleasantly surprised with the city.  Part of it is because the big city I have the most contact with is Detroit, which is pretty awful from top to bottom (And save me the haterade.  I'm not getting into an extended Detroit debate here.  I know it has "character" and "spirit," which are just things people say about crappy athletes or crappy cities.  But Emily and I walked three quarters of a mile between various places in Baltimore.  Pick any spot in Detroit, and I bet you can't walk three-quarters of a mile in any direction without feeling like your life is in danger).  Anyway, Em and I had an interesting dinner and then went to the 13th floor at the Belvedere, which had some great views of the city and was also...a reggae club.  Which we did not know before going there.  So while Emily and I were the minorities in the club, we had a great time.  I actually vastly prefer live Reggae music to other forms of live music.  Much more "chill." 

BALD GUY IN A SUIT: The closest thing this site will get to porn:

Get a tan, Casper

You can send me your $9.99 a month whenever you get a chance.

OUR APARTMENT:  Finally saw the place I will soon be living in, and absolutely loved it.  I was afraid that I was going to overestimate some of the features of the place because I had only seen it in pictures, but virtually everything looked better in person.  And the people at our place have been more than helpful throughout the entire process.  Couldn't be happier with the way things turned out on this front.  

Losers

PERSONAL HYGIENE:  I wore the same clothes for 32 consecutive hours from Saturday to Sunday (including sleep time).  I managed to work a shower in there, so I get some points there.  But I don't think it mattered much.  Plus I'm still on deodorant restrictions due to the radiation (basically I can't use effective deodorant).  And I was without a toothbrush for a substantial period of time, and that period of time included a substantial amount of red wine.  I probably wasn't a bundle of awesome to sit next to on the flight home.  

BALD GUY IN THE COLD:  I don't know how voluntarily-bald people do it. I froze my ass off this weekend.  The worst was when I walked out of the Baltimore airport.  Next thing I know, I'm in a suit and a winter hat and looking like Ricky Fitts:

Whatever though.  I was freezing.  Hair, come back now please.  Not doing this all winter. 

THE GIRL NEXT TO ME ON THE AIRPLANE:  An all-around terrible performance by this girl.  First, she gets on the plane late and then pulls the Gaylord Focker jam-an-oversized-bag-into-an-undersized-space move, everybody else on the plane be dammed.  Then she points at the seat between me and my aisle seat-mate and says "is anybody sitting there?"  Which is the worst thing you can hear on a flight near the end of boarding with an empty seat in your row.  Even better, aisle seat-mate and I had done the "pile everything we have on the middle seat to deter people from sitting there" thing.*  So we reluctantly moved our stuff, whereupon this girl sat down, and proceeded to hack up a lung for the rest of the flight when she wasn't busy sleeping across my armrest.  The dude with the screwed-up immune system sitting next to you thanks you, jerk.  

*(This is actually the second time in my life this moved failed me.  The first time was in high school when we were going on a field trip for Environmental Science (a class very near and dear to my heart).  Our teacher decided, for some reason, that he was going to drive with a couple students.  Our friends had a car full of people.  My buddy and I (being two of the only males in that class) had three empty seats in our car.  So we took everything we owned and threw it in his backseat, hoping our teacher would see this and choose another vehicle.  He did not.  He chose our car, whereupon I refused to give up my shotgun seat, and we embarked on the most awkward auto trip of my life, which was greatly exacerbated when the radio station we were listening to decided to hold a "Where's the craziest place you've had sex?" call-in contest.  Bottom line, I'm starting to doubt the efficacy of this tactic).

LAW SCHOOL FINALS:  I am done with law school, but two of my DC friends are not, and just being in their house reminded me of the awfulness of law school finals, especially first-semester 1L year finals.  The dude with cancer feels sorry for you, my friends.  Good luck.  Please finish by the time I get back to DC in two weeks so I don't have to look at the all-too-familiar look on your faces.  

MY WALLET:  Got crushed this weekend.  I still don't pay for drinks at the bar due to many outstanding friends, but two expensive dinners, room service, various travel costs, and a $65 professionalism course made this a several-hundred-dollar weekend.  I blame Maryland for all of this, even the stuff that has nothing to do with them. 

MY ABILITY TO YELL AT A BAR:  My biggest restriction at the bar currently:  I cannot raise my voice in loud bars without sounding like I'm going through puberty.  I'm not sure if this a lung, vocal chord, or hydration issue, but I can't do it.  It sucks.  But you just gotta deal with it, especially if you're at a gem of a bar like DC's Rocket Bar.  (Which is exactly what it sounds like.  It's like Buzz Lightyear opened a bar.  Hey FDA, if you're concerned about marketing alcohol to kids, how about a bar based on a rocket ship?).  

THE TSA:  Sadly (for all of you), I was not photographed nude or fondled on my trip.  But that's because I simply walked to the line farthest away from the nudie scanners.  Hey TSA:  Your system is foolproof.  Good work guys.  

And ohmigod!  I know you're all worried about the cancer, but you all should have been worried sick about me flying while the risk of terrorist attack was "high"!

That pink has really got me jacked up to fight terrorism.

Bonus: I guarantee I violated some sort of federal law by taking that picture. 

One main point here, though:  You can't yap about how these new procedures are "necessary" if we a) went through an incident-free 8 years of flight in the "high risk of terrorism" era without these procedures and b) virtually nobody has to go through these new scanners.  It's not necessary, it's not critical, and it's not important if you exempt a bajillion people and only a tiny fraction of poor saps have to deal with it.  Remember that thought.  

MARYLAND:  Because, of course.  But that's worthy of a separate post.