Oh, the stories I would tell . . .

If I had time, o, the stories I would tell . . .

Of an amounting pile of work,

Of obligations too numerous to name,

Of classes with Prof. Oil&Gas and how, when he looks at you, shivers run down your spine.

If I had time, o, the stories I would tell . . .

Of the in-Laws visit and home-made pizza (from scratch),

Of a car that finally died and the one that replaced it,

Of forgetting my families names and not knowing their voices.

If I had time, o, the stories I would tell . . .

I think I have a friend who just started Law School, but I'm not sure . . .

I think I may still be married, but I'm not sure . . .

I think it is still summer outside (it is, isn't it? I mean, its still August, right?), but i'm not sure . . .

If I had time, o, the stories I would tell . . .

I know I have the introduction due on Friday to a "comment" which should be 80 pages that looks like it will end up at 160 pages but right now it seems impossible that I will ever write even one page of it.

And, amidst all of this, I have had to choose which potential employers I want my resume sent to . . . determining the direction of the rest of my life . . . with but a cursory glance at who they are, what they have to offer and whether they might want me.

If I had time, o, the stories I would tell . . .

It would bore the hell out of you all,

But I'm having fun, nonetheless.

I have decided that when I am rich and powerful, Traffic & Parking will be the first to go . . .

In "First Amendment," part two.

Victory for the Hippies:

But you can burn the flag!!



[On a side note: Victory for all Men-- young college girls can also wear tiny bikinis themed with the "Stars & Stripes!" Even better, I'm pretty sure it is still illegal to make Speedos the same way. Yuck.]

[See Texas v. Johnson, 491 U.S. 397 (1989)]

In "First Amendment"

Don't you just love a 4-part Supreme Court test . . .

That actually only has 3-parts.

And you only regularly apply 1 part.

Absolutely.

Especially when it is divined in order to allow the Federal Government to continue to send those damned draft-dodging, tree-hugging hippies to the cold hard can.

Learned: What constitutes the exercise of protected expression?

Nope.

Don't burn your damned draft cards, Hippies!

[See United States v. O'Brien, 391 U.S. 367 (1968)]

Way Over My Head

Now three days in to the new Fall Semester and I feel as if I've spent the last six days running around like a chicken with its head cut off . . .

I made it through Law Review orientation last week, only to come out of it with a dreaded Shelf Check assignment due only 3 days later.

I spent the weekend helping a friend move and shampooing the carpets in my house INSTEAD of working on my shelf check and reading for classes . . . big mistake.

Monday's theme was "When the world is destroyed, the Traffic & Parking office will be the first to go."

Tuesday's theme was: "Wow, I have alot to do. What the hell have I gotten myself into??"

I even volunteered for the committee organizing the big Water Law Symposium TechLaw is hosting the week of the Tech-A&M football game. And it should be fun soon as I can find the time to do it, y'know?

[Shameless Plug: This Water Law Symposium is being billed as the only such event in the nation geared at the theoretical aspects of Water Law and its relation to our society. For any attorney's needing CLE credit-- come and get it! And then enjoy the big football rivalry at the same time . . . For those of you who would like to go to the game but the wife won't let you out of the house-- "But its to enrich my career and satisfy my professional requirements, baby." Or you can say the same to the managing partner. Just leave off the "baby" part.]

MiM and Shofiya Entertainment presents . . .

DJ McNastee.

Producer. Artist. Gangsta Rappa. And . . . all 'round good guy.

Is it just me, tho, or is it difficult to picture him as an all-out thug?

I mean . . . am I biased? Could he be thuggin' or will he never get rid of the teddy-bear image no matter what he does to disguise himself??

I know I am biased.

I was there when he got his first piercings . . . in his nipples.

I was there when he lost his virginity. Well, not actually right there but I found out about it very soon afterward.

I was there when he wore a dress to school, and I . . . well, okay . . . like I've said already, we won't go there.

I was there when he took the "Butch's Watch" monologue from Pulp Fiction to a speech competition . . . and darned near won.

I was there when he wanted to start a punk band . . . the first time. I was lead singer and like any good band, we had to have a ballad. It was the only song we had. It was about a guy who missed his prison beach and longed to get back inside to his one and only true love. But when he did, his love had found another.

I was there for it all. I still have my sophomore yearbook where he penciled in the words to "The Gambler" for all posterity.

I was even there when we both got hit on by the guy at Christy's Toy Box . . . "McNastee" laughed, I fled.

The long and short of it is, I don't think I will ever see him as a cold, hard Thug no matter what happens.

But that doesn't mean he's not talented.

The guy has some good stuff, some hard stuff . . . if you can get past the teddy-bear image.

Another best friend from high school and I discussed all this Sunday night. I told him when we both finish law school, we ought to take some money and offer it to "McNastee" in order for him to make an album he can put into wide release.

"Huge" (as I'll call friend #2), Huge said he wouldn't accept it. Huge thought he'd sooner shoot us for the offer to create respect and bolster his "rep".

Maybe so. He did write on a message board: "I'd rather have no money than no respect."

Still . . . I would like to encourage all of my 5 readers to check out "McNastee" at Shofiya Entertainment.

Some of the videos, such as "Homicide," I must warn you have an Adult theme that may be offensive.

Others, such as "Love Letters," are a little amateur but you must listen to the words on this one . . .

And then others, like "Im a Hater," (which samples from '80s "Rock Me Amadeus") is just plain funny.

So, Fall semester is about to start and things are bound to get a little stressful in the next few months . . . when they do, take a break and watch one of these videos.

Oh, and continue to tune in and read my lil ol blog, as well . . .

Welcome 1Ls!

Though I am about 99.9% sure there isn't a single new 1L will read this entry, I believe it is the thought that counts . . .

So I want to extend my congratulations to the incoming class, yours should be an interesting one.

I had a run-in with a 1L today when stumbling out with my box of goods, he very politely and graciously opened the door for me and even ran back to pick up my "Jurisprudence Award" that I'd dropped. Nice guy.

Another 1L has already made quite the impression. He kicked off the fall semester in classic fashion with an annoying mass e-mail announcing the "First Annual T to the izzO Party".

This was followed by the obligatory responsive mass e-mail from a 3L commenting:

2. There's gotta be some rule about sending a mass email that includes the word "izzo."
3. What on God's green earth is an "izzo"? Does this have something to do with the Michigan State Spartan fan club?

My only thought was:

. . . this guy is looking to defend Snoop Dogg on his next possession charge.

Shorter Than an Alaskan Summer

And thus begins my 6 1/2 days of Summer. . .

I somewhat triumphantly finished my Income Tax final only 6 minutes shy of the alloted 4 Hours--

I cleared out my carrel, hoisted my box of "stuff" high on my shoulder, and strutted out the door.

I'm moving to the Third Floor next week.

I'm off to Houston tonight. . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By the way: Yet more proof that Law School makes you boring--

I did just get finished with a 4 hour exam in Federal Income Tax.

And . . . I enjoyed it.

Too Much Information.

I like my professors.

I enjoy going to class and sitting for an hour and gleaning what wisdom I can from their varied teaching styles.

I even enjoy the "difficult" professors that many others exclaim a dislike for . . . and I even enjoy them when they give me a "C+" in their Property course.

But it is still strange when you see your professor not dressed in his corduroy coat with the patches on the elbow or his drab grey suit and little bow tie . . .

but in basketball shorts and a t-shirt instead, grunting on the weight machines or running up and down the basketball court.

Do you want to know what is even more strange?

When you take a shower after working-out . . . and are joined by your professors.

You thought being called on and not having read the casebook the night before was uncomfortable??

Hmmph.

I like my professors. But that is too much information.

From the Creators of "South Park" . . .

comes the greatest online quiz to ever exist on my blog!

Friday Spies© : Who Moved My Cheese Edition

Thank you to our friends over at Begging the Question for another great edition of Friday Spies©.

1. What's your favorite cheese?

Does Velveeta Mexican fiesta flavor count? No? It technically can't be considered an actual "cheese?" Then I don't know . . .

But I do LOVE to head over to Market Street United . . . (which, if you have never been to one, you don't possibly know what you are missing. United is headquartered in Lubbock. This is the most awesome supermarket. Ever.)

Anyways, so I like to head over to Market Street and spend 15 minutes conversing with the bread and cheese ladies.

As there isn't much of an art to knowing the differences between various breads and olive oil-based dips, I think I've conquered that area and am quite capable of delighting the old dear who seems to have no problem with me spending my lunch sampling the many breads she has sliced into small bites.

The cheese lady is an entirely different story. I have never failed to get my lunch of small bites of cheese on small bites of bread, but . . . I feel as if I'm in the movie Sideways faking my way through a sophisticated wine tasting when I do it.

"Sure, sure . . . yes, this brie aged 8 years has a much more pungent taste and aroma than this other from Holland and yet it compliments this bread. Good choice. And this particular cheese here, this is made with goat's milk? And this one is buffalo milk? Mmkay, mmkay. Yes, I can definitely taste the subtleties. What would be a good cheese to compliment the bell pepper bruschetta bread I just scored off the bread lady?"

Wow, I really haven't answered this question, have I?

So I don't know my favorite cheese. But I do know that I love Market Street!


2. Cheesy movie: If you were in Top Gun, what would your call sign be?

Given my answer to question #1, and my awkward form of humor . . .

"THE BIG CHEESE"


3. Big cheese: Tell us a boss story -- best boss, worst boss, a time when you were the boss, etc.

Ha Ha. I hadn't read this question when I answered the last. But here it goes . . .

WORST BOSS:

I worked at Henry's Gibsons when I was a senior in high school. Now I've read blog entries making fun of Wal-Mart as being the Mecca of White Trash. Huh uh. No way. Gibson's was kind of like Wal-Mart, sure, but not as upscale . . .

I was the lowest rung on the totem pole. (huh??) My official designation was "cashier's assistant" but I think I preferred to be called what I really was: a primordial form of the modern "gopher boy." I would sack, mop, clean the bathrooms, restock the ghetto snack bar, clean the parking lot . . . anything needed done-- no task too mundane, too ridiculous, too dangerous (how about being asked to balance yourself and walk along atop a line of rolling shopping carts with no one to hold them in place) . . . I was the man.

And I did it all in my cute little red vest. Oh yeah.

But, as if that wasn't bad enough, I had a boss there who was the manager of the children's toy department . . . who wanted to have sex with me.

Now HE (yes, what? Did you think I would be lucky enough to be sexually harassed by a woman??) Again, HE never stated it in those words, but he made his intentions quite clear.

He started with small talk and hanging around the front of the store. He would follow me into the stock room and stand between myself and the doorway while telling dirty jokes which just made my skin crawl when told by him with is evil-slash-goofy smile. He would invite me to come home with him to play . . . uhm, video games . . . what? Mmkay.

It took a sudden turn for the worst when he used a balloon, flour and baby oil to make a couple of "stress balls." He followed me into the stock room one Sunday morning and handed it to me, said that I looked a little stressed and he figured I could use some relief. Honestly, I was stressed-- especially with being cornered by him -- and so I took it in order to pretend it was his head and squeeze the **** out of it until it exploded.

But, of course, he didn't leave it at that. He just stood there squeezing his and staring at it. Then he looked at me with the most horrifying grin and said:

"Look, if you squeeze it like this it feels just like you are masturbating . . . "

I turned away and started tossing bags of unpopped popcorn around and restacking buckets of nacho cheese . . .

"Hey, do you masturbate?"

I excused myself by saying I needed to use the restroom.

"Can I go with you?"

I quickly left and made it to the toilet just in time to get sick. Thank God, if I hadn't made it -- of course -- I would be the one cleaning it up.

But when I reappeared, he was still there . . . waiting.

"Feel better? Hey, how many times a week do you masturbate? Have you ever masturbated with a friend?"

Okay, now that I'd gotten sick . . . I was ready to get violent. Standing off to the side was Terry, the cop that would moonlight by standing by the snack bar in his uniform and make a little money protecting this flea market of a store. We were good friends.

And I walked up to him, with the manager still trailing me rythmically squeezing his rubber sack of flour and oil . . . and it was at this point the balloon busted and he-- I SWEAR -- got white goo all over his shirt.

"Oh my God, mine busted prematurely . . . " he said laughing.

And I just looked at Terry and told him with every ounce of rage I felt at that moment pouring out in my words: "Terry, you'd better get him away from me right now or I swear to you I am going to hurt him so ****** bad."

Terry knew what had been going on and he grabbed him by the arm and led him away to the offices. I did not show back up to work the next day, or any day after that. And I wrote a letter to the store manager too which they paid lip service.

Henry's Gibsons was torn down a couple years ago and replaced with a Lowe's. Before the debris was cleared away and the new construction started, I went home for a visit . . .

And the first night there I went to where it had once stood, unzipped my pants . . .

And unloaded.


4. Say cheese: Are you a photobug? Are you photogenic? Or, in 1000 words or less, tell us about your best picture.

I can do it in 3 words: "Don't have one."


5. Just cheesy: What's the worst pick-up line you've ever used, or had used on you? Did it work?

I'm not a pick-up line kind of guy. But I was with a couple of co-workers at Mardi Gras in Galveston once when I heard the WORST line ever:

"Hey, baby-doll, you sure do have a pretty mouth. Wanna come home with me and use it?"

They ended up spending the rest of the night at a strip club, I believe.

Google is absolutely awesome. I found this under Google Images while looking for "black catholic priest."

I was going to post an additional comment on the picture, but I think the caption says quite enough. . .

(Hat tip to whoever this is.)

Random Thoughts

1. Have you ever tasted something you know is not edible simply because it smells as if it should be?

The new pomeade I bought for my hair smells like lemon-flavored Italian Ice. I love lemon flavored Italian Ice.

2. How come I always have to sit next to the fat, smelly guy on the bus?

I can only but anticipate my bus trip to Houston next week will constitute at least 5 hours of sitting next to someone whom packing himself into the seat next to me will be done much like packing a parachute -- only with extreme care and precision. Hopefully it will not end the same as the last time, where he re-boarded after a stop at MacDonald's with a bag full of $1 double cheesburgers and a 44 oz. coke and I had the pleasure of holding the bag because he had already utilized all of his availabe room.

3. From where I sit in the basement of the library, I can look up through the skylight and view whisps of white clouds floating by.

I've always wanted to go outside and look down through the skylight to see if its transparent or not . . . but I'm afraid I'd look like a fool. Then again, I'm not sure I look all that smooth in the basement of the library leaning backwards over a table looking up through the skylight watching the whisps of white clouds as they float by.

4. What ever happened to Punky Brewster and Fraggle Rock??

I don't remember all of the details from the shows, but I have a theory. See-- in Fraggle Rock they lived in the walls and beneath this house. This house was inhabited by an old man. This old man had a big shaggy dog. Punky Brewster inhabited a house with an old man and had a big shaggy dog.

I am not quite sure where I am going with this . . . but did you ever think this might be two sides of the same story?

I mean, you never saw Punky on Fraggle Rock because, of course, the Fraggles never had a problem with this spunky, easy-going pig-tailed firebrand. The Fraggles only beef was with the old man and the big shaggy dog who, understandably, acted as any big shaggy dog would when he felt a Fraggle run across his tail: he would bark and bite.

And you never saw the Fraggles on Punky Brewster because, of course, Henry had to hide from Punky the fact that there were small human-like creatures living in the walls else he could risk losing his custody of her. And if Punky ever knew, she couldn't let on for fear of the same. But, also, if you remember the cartoon-version . . . Punky had a magical little furry friend. Coincidence? I think not.

My Apologies

I apologize for the somewhat brief hiatus I have taken since Friday in adding anything to this lil blog o' mine . . .

But for those of you Blogexplosion surfers . . . what do you care? You just have to pretend to be reading my blog for 30 seconds before clicking on "867" . . . right?

And for any blawg fans: hey, give me a break! Wings&Vodka has taken his time off; Mr. Dundon hasn't posted since, well, before I was on Law Review; and the Anonymous Law Student, hell, I lost his link . . . I wonder if he got shot up there in that Big Ole City he's soooo pe-roud of . . .

Hmmph.

But I am not as funny as Wings&Vodka . . .

Nor as interesting as Mr. Dundon . . .

And, thankfully, not as obnoxious as the Anonymous Law Student.

So I can't afford to take a break? Right?

But I have my final for Tax next week and I'm beginning research on my student comment and I'm making plans to go to Houston for a week . . .

Aw hell, back to blogging . . .