You can't catch hepatitis from a toilet seat, right?

So I spent the day today inside this little tiny room inside the maximum security wing of a maximum security prison in the middle of BFE. It was...well, gross. But before I get to that, let me tell you about the journey.

I had to fly to get to this prison because it's not in Texas. I can't say where it is, but it's nowhere fun, I can tell you that. And within seconds of my coworker and I stepping out of the airport, the tornado sirens started going off. I was not pleased. We then drove for thirty minutes to get to our hotel, where I was treated to winds loud enough to rattle the windows, and a storm that would have made dogs howl. There was one of those monster rolls of cable across the street from the hotel...you know, the kind that are about 1 1/2 times as tall as a person. When I got up this morning and looked out the window, it was in our parking lot. But, hey, whatever...at least I slept.


So we went to the prison this morning at 9:30. They put all of us (2 attorney from each side, plus a court reporter) in one room. One hot, cramped, dirty, tiny, hot, gross room. There were 5 people, a stenograph, a tv, and a dvd player in a room that was roughly 4 feet by 10 feet. The inmate, who was on the other side of a screen, had a room almost as big to himself. That just doesn't seem right to me. The guards, who were all very nice, were good enough to track down chairs for us, but we couldn't fit them all in, so one of the attorneys stood/squatted/sat the whole time. I did not volunteer for that job. We spent five hours in there, with nothing other than a single 15-minute break, during which I decided to use the bathroom. Don't ask me what made me think that would be a good idea. Now, don't get me wrong, I've been to prisons before, but I've never deposed an inmate for 5 hours inside the pod (the cellblock where they house the inmates). I've always been in the warden's office, where things are nice and cool and...well, clean. So, back to the bathroom. To get there, I had to traipse across the pod, which is essentially a big triangle. The inmates, who, by the way, are all ad seg guys (administrative segregation) took the opportunity to say all sorts of repugnant things to me, and to each other, most of which were thankfully indecipherable. Whatever, I've experienced worse...I lived in New Orleans for a year. So I get to the other side of the pod, and they let me out to use the bathroom that is just outside the pod. I assume that it's the bathroom for the guards. I would think it would be...serviceable. Yeah, not so much. It was seriously grotesque. Clearly, most/all of the guards on that pod are men. The toilet seat was up, but I don't know why they bothered. They clearly didn't even make the slightest attempt to aim. It was worse than most gas stations.

So the depo lasted so long that we missed our flight, and we are now sitting in Dallas, waiting on the only flight between Dallas and Austin that we could get, which, if it's on time, won't get us into Austin till 11:05. Then I have to drive 30 minutes to get home. Despite the fact that I won't get home until close to midnight, I may still take a shower before I go to bed. At the very least, I'm burning this pair of underwear, throwing out the shoes, and washing all of my clothes at least twice on the hottest setting.

Dear NBC, Please save Chuck

So, tomorrow is the season finale of one of my favorite shows of all times, Chuck. If you don't know about, you suck, but I will forgive you if you promise to watch tomorrow evening. It's on NBC at 7:00 pm CST. I cannot tell you how good the show is. I am guessing that, even without ever having seen an episode, you could sit down and enjoy the hell out of it, but why do that? Record it, and then go watch the first two seasons on HULU before you watch it. I promise, you will NOT be disappointed.

There are several sites devoted to saving the show, and tomorrow there is a national push to get Subway to help out. Apparently Subway is one of the big Chuck sponsors. I hate subway, but if they support Chuck, I'll suck it up. Tomorrow, go buy a footlong, and put a note in the comment box that you are buying it to support the show. They are going to notify NBC of any sales increases based on it. Now I know, this sounds silly, but really...great show. Worth a freaking shitty-ass sub.

If you are already a fan, and you want to do more, go check out this site. It has ideas on what to do to push NBC to bring it back next season. Really...great show...seriously...watch it. Spread the word, friends.

As promised

So, as promised, here's my annual rant about administrative professional's day. I'm going to start with my search for a good obnoxious administrative professional's day card on some ecards, which is my favorite site for obnoxious and funny electronic cards. It's a great site, but even they have let me down this year, with their stupid self-depreciating cards such as "we'd have gotten you a card that was signed by everyone, but you're the one who organizes those things." What the fuck is that? Since when did some ecards start kissing up to anyone?

Here's my problem with administrative professional's day. First, they get paid to do their jobs, just like I get paid to do my job. Some of them get paid less than what they deserve, just like I get paid less than I deserve (and some of them get paid more than they deserve, and some of them get paid well more than me). I often ask them to do their job in order to help me with my job, much like my boss asks me to do my job in order to help him with his job. Do you see a trend here? Why the fuck do they get a special day when we are all supposed to kiss their asses and shower them with gifts when all they've done is do their jobs?

I mean, don't get me wrong. I really like my secretary. She does a great job. I'm glad she's my secretary. But it's not like she does my dry cleaning, or holds my hair back while I puke or something. She comes to work, does her job, and goes home. So do the rest of us. I mean hell, I've put in about a zillion hours of overtime this month alone. I don't get a special day when everybody tells me I'm the fucking cat's meow. I just get to come in tomorrow and do it again.

My other problem with this is that it's not just my secretary. Its every administrative professional we have. And we have a lot. So, I either don't give at all, or I give only to a select few, and the rest start talking about me behind my back and telling people how much of a bitch I am, or I go broke. Those are my options.

And I have to say that for the most part,our staff are all really helpful, and I appreciate them all. But the answer to that is when they help you out, say, "hey, I really appreciate that. Thanks." If other people are so woefully neglectful (or conceited or arrogant, or stupid) that they don't do that, it's not my fault, and it shouldn't cost me. I shouldn't have to pay a lack-of-human-decency tax because my co-worker is a prick.

In the end, I am thankfully not going to be in the office tomorrow, so I don't have to sit around there feeling uncomfortable because I didn't hire a marching band to proclaim the awesome ability of my administrative staff to do their job. Probably because of that, this year's rant is a little tame. I hope I haven't disappointed you.

My bad

So I have not blogged in quite a while. I'm exhausted right now, so I'm not gonna post anything, but rest assured that I will tomorrow. I will be in Fort Worth with nothing to do, and I can think of nothing I'd rather do than blog about how much I hate administrative professional's day. This year, it's costing me ample bucks. Let's just say that I won't get a pay raise that will match the money I have to spend on telling people how much I appreciate them doing nothing more than the bare minimum that the get paid for.

Ok, I'm going to bed before I get all worked up about this. More to come tomorrow, I promise.

Mmmmm....tacos.....

So my friend Mark is going to be in a taco eating contest on Saturday as part of the fundraiser for his son's daycare. The contest is who can eat the most crispy tacos in 15 minutes. The tacos will have taco meat, tomatoes, lettuice, and cheese. We decided yesterday, that he needed a practice run before the big day, and our friend, David agreed to act as his competition.

We had a shaky start when David got to my house and nearly screamed in horror at the sight of the Taco Bell shells I had bought. Now, in fairness to David, he did tell me in advance that he didn't want Taco Bell anything. But I stopped at a grocery store on the way home to buy the stuff, and that's all they had. I figured he was really only concerned about the seasoning, so I got the shells. Yeah...not so much. Apparently, any sort of fast food anything sends him straight over the edge. But, David was perfectly willing to go get different shells, so the contest was only briefly delayed.

Carole fried up three pounds of taco meat, and had 36 shells. We started with 20 tacos, and were ready to make more if needed. We didn't want to kill Mark before he got to compete for real, so we only went for 10 minutes.

The scene:

The two boys---nay, men---are sitting face-to-face at Carole's kitchen table. Playing in the background, "You're the Best," penned by Bill Conti, made famous by Joe Esposito in The Karate Kid. Between them, twenty lukewarm tacos. David licks his lips in anticipation, as Mark wipes the sweat from his brow. Their determination is fierce, the tension in the room is so thick you can cut it with a knife. None of us are mere observers; we all have a crucial role to play during this historic event. Kelvin stands ready, camera in hand...perhaps playing the most crucial role of documentarian. Tara clutches Ben, who holds the marker firmly in his grip, ready to make record of the final morsel of each taco as it passes the lips of his two idols. Carole's index finger hovers over the "ok" key of her cell phone, ready to begin the timing.

The next ten minutes will define these men's lives. One will go home a hero; the other, a shell of his former self.

Carole gives the signal. Ready...set...EAT!

They're off. No, wait...they're laughing. Ok, they both have taken a bite. Now they're off. David seems to be nicely pacing himself. Mark is still laughing. David takes a quick lead, but Mark is hot on his tail...let me rephrase...no, no, that's about right.

The seconds tick by, as the men contine to dive head-first into the tacos. They've had them before, but never this many, this fast. As Mark sputters through the remains of his first taco, he looks up at his wife with fear and sorrow in his eyes. "I don't know if I can do this," he cries; "I've really only ever had just one taco...certainly never two at one time! How do I know which one to eat first?"

David, more experienced in eating tacos forges ahead, determined to eat more tacos tonight than he's ever imagined. But as he reaches for another taco, the pressure starts to get to him...or maybe Mark's repeated attempts to play footsie are starting to wear him down. Either way, with each gulp, he feels his victory slipping away.

Meanwhile, Mark is starting to break as well. The veins on his forehead throb as his mouth engulfs yet another taco. The strain of the evening shows on his face.

Carole, counts down the seconds. The score, David 10, Mark 9, there's less than a minute to go. As the moment of recokening approaches, a hush falls across the room. Then, David sputters...Carole lunges for a bucket...but it's too late. Game over. At least for one man. As the final second vanishes, the winner is clear. David raises his hands in victory; the sweat stain on his armpits a testiment to what he accomplished tonight. He entered this house a man, but he's leaving as a mountain. A crispy-crunchy-beefy-cheesy-mountain.