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I spent almost the entire day sitting in front of textbooks studying and it sucked. It’s one thing to study, but to devote over eight hours to it sans e-mail, coworkers, a water cooler… not even a pet gecko to talk to! I felt like bouncing off the walls a couple times… okay, a lot of times… but that’s what Spider Solitaire is for. To celebrate, I’m just going to babble for a while and see where I end up. Just because I can. (And for those of you who may be concerned, there were no drugs involved in this “Dramatization. Not an actual demonstration of Shawn’s intellectual capabilities.” It might seem like it—I can’t say, I haven’t written anything yet—but no need to hide the women and children. Just your pet geckos.)

Now it’s time to contemplate the existence of my can of Dr. Pepper. It’s in a pretty little can, it tastes… like Dr. Pepper… and it’s got caffeine in it. Shit. Maybe this babbling will be influenced by drugs. Well, tough noogies—I’m not going to head to the bathroom and toss my cookies just to make that earlier statement true. And I’m especially not going to toss my cookies because I haven’t eaten any since the middle of last week. And I don’t have any hidden away in my desk drawers to nibble on, either. The geckos already ate them.

Given the prevalence of hurricanes in the last couple weeks, I send out both hopes to the survivors and giggles to Scorpions, an 80’s heavy metal group that sang “Rock You Like A Hurricane.” I would just loooove to see rock stars getting thrown through all the windows in a huge glass skyscraper… But what would happen when you run out of musicians? Do you start making tiny instruments, taping them to arachnids and try smashing stuff up with those instead? They’d bounce off! Maybe if hurricanes were made up of fast-moving scorpions with plastic guitars attached, we’d all be better off.

I’m feeling kinda hungry. I’d say I have an empty stomach, but is it ever really empty? Wouldn’t that require a black hole in the pit of your gut or something? A pool of nothingness that would suck you into yourself—you’re sitting in the restaurant, your waitress brings your food, but you’re not there anymore and she’s pissed off because you ordered the biggest possible meal (not surprising, given the total vacuum inside of you) and she’s getting shafted for the tip! That’s it—if you ever have an empty stomach, stay home. Collapsing into your own pool of nothingness is just fine, but why bother someone else with your personal problems? Especially when the landlord comes by to demand the rent after three months and you haven’t been around to clean the dishes in the sink from your last meal… man, you’re being so self-centered by letting yourself get so hungry…

In closing, here’s a quote from my former roommate, John Sherck. We were talking about the bar exam, I said I hated essays and he was horrified! Me, who majored in both English and Philosophy! When I clarified that I meant legal essays, he sympathized—”You give them an artiste of words and they want a fucking dictionary.”

I better enjoy my 20’s while they’re still here—I’m almost out…

I was having lunch at T.G.I. Friday’s on Sunday with my family to celebrate my birthday—technically, not my birthday, but it’s hard enough getting everyone together, let alone on a Wednesday. We had dinner, the staff came out with balloons and some lemons and limes. Usually they bring an ice cream sundae instead, but I’d already eaten a piece of cheesecake for dessert. Which didn’t stop me from wishing that the lemons and limes would turn into an ice cream sundae when I blew out the candle…

When it was time for us to leave, I had the balloons on a string wrapped around my wrist. Mom was about to help me take it off, but I figured, “What the hell, I’ll just leave it on when I put on my jacket.” Consequently, as we were walking out of the restaurant, I had six white balloons rubbing against my head that were attached to a string coming up out of my collar. I imagine it looked really cute, which would explain why some people were giving me funny looks as we left.

So we stood outside saying our goodbyes: me, Mom, Dad, Justin, Brent, his wife Gail and their daughter Gemma. At one point, I looked and saw some girls in the entryway looking out, bouncing around and laughing hysterically. Justin said, “I think you’ve been recognized,” but given that they were still inside the restaurant, I figured they were getting a kick out of the balloons. When they ran back in, I thought that was it. Until they ran back out. With a crayon and some napkins.

Thankfully, we had an extra phone book at home that we gave to Brent that night, so he held it out as I wrote “Best Wishes” to Jenna and “Happy 13th Birthday” to Kristin. Yeah, I sometimes get a kick out of signing autographs, but using a crayon to write on a napkin… that’s hard as hell. There was a third girl who Justin coaxed out of the restaurant by telling her, “He’s a person, too!” She hadn’t watched Beauty and the Geek, though, so she felt too awkward to ask for my autograph. I felt a little bad for her, but glad that I didn’t have to write on any more napkins.

As they ran back inside, I tried giving them the crayon, but… well, they ran back inside pretty fast. With a “grape” crayon sitting in my hand, all I could hope was that Kristin hadn’t blown out her candle and used her birthday wish to meet me–those ice cream sundaes are pretty damn good…

I spent last night at Cannon River Scout Reservation (the higher-ups renamed it Philippo a couple years back, but I know the real one…) for an Order of the Arrow ritual. OA is an exclusive group in Scouting that requires getting voted in by your peers and/or cronies, but to earn each of the three ranks—Ordeal, Brotherhood and Vigil—there is a test the candidate must overcome.

I don’t want to spoil the ritual, but to reach Vigil (what this weekend was for), one part of the test is to start a fire. I was a guide for one of the candidates and… he had a rough start. I was given a box of 32 matches and a candle before we left—I used two of them to burn most of the wax off the wick. Maybe I shouldn’t have wasted the second, but there were 32 matches, right?

So we got to the site with 30 matches left. I eventually tried to help out—unfortunately, my physical efforts and verbal suggestions were all for naught—I couldn’t get the fire started either. Time ran on and the box was slowly but surely becoming lighter and lighter. He’d strike a match, but the flame wouldn’t last long enough to get anything burning. Or when he’d get a twig burning, he’d drop another piece of wood right on top of it and snuff it out. After multiple failed efforts, the kid gave me the box… it had one match inside. And he still hadn’t started his fire.

I had a map of the campsite in my back pocket, so I gave that to him and he tried using strips of the paper and small pieces of bark to light the fire. Without matches, what was he using? The candle. He’d hold some bark over the flame, get it lit, hold it flat instead of pointing downward (like I was suggesting) and it would go out almost immediately. More and more paper and shreds of bark were disappearing into the pile of charred wood and ash.

Finally, finally, he had a decent fire burning and I was allowed to leave. Just as I got back to the shelter, I saw Dad coming out of the building—he was about to call me on my cell phone to see if I’d gotten lost. I walked inside, looked at the clock, found out when we left, did some calculations—it took the kid an hour and a half, two dozen matches and the candle to get his fire started. And his test had just begun.

I took an extended weekend to visit someone out in Wisconsin, had a lot of fun hanging out, got to spend an afternoon with an old friend from college… it was a blast. I was looking forward to the rest of the week until I walked in the front door and bad news started coming from every angle. (more…)

Much like the last time I took the bar exam, I thought the results were supposed to be mailed within two months of the testing date. (I know, waiting for two months is a loooooong time…) Consequently, since I took it at the end of July, I was expecting a letter in the mail on Friday or Saturday…

Nothing.

I thought that if it didn’t arrive on Monday, I was supposed to call the office in case the results had been misplaced or something. Checked the mail this afternoon…

Nothing.

I called the office–the results will be mailed on October 7th and may God have mercy on my soul. (Okay, the computerized voice on the phone only said the first part, but still…) Man, this waiting stuff sucks.