Thursday, March 15, 2007


For the past week I was on spring break, that one glorious week in the middle of a stressful, tortuous semester, where you can sit back, relax, and forget about all the anxiety, pressure and Federal Rules of Evidence (wait I haven't learned anything to forget about Evidence yet) even if only for a short time. Spring break is often associated with warm weather, exotic locales (for example a guy I go to school with is spending his week off in Italy), hanging out with friends, and/or running through sprinklers. Unless you're me. I decided to come back and stay for a week at my parents home in Clio because option 2 was....well there really wasnt an option 2. Here's a quick rundown of all the exciting events that transpired over the course of my spring break beginning on Friday, March 9th. I hope everyone is in the mood for a healthy dose of pity and self loathing, because thats what I'm prescribing this evening.

Friday, March 9th: I make the 90 minute drive from my apartment in the second most dangerous city in America (Detroit) to the greener pastures and safe harbor of the third most dangerous city in America (Flint). So if you are keeping track at home I've lived in or around (I come from Clio about ten miles north of Flint) two of the most dangerous cities in the country, which makes me pretty fuckin' hardcore for a pasty 6'2" 150 lb. white guy...or at least I'd like to think so. I figure the next logical step is for me to open up my law office in Camden, New Jersey, or the most dangerous city St. Louis, Missouri....really St. Louis? I always pictured everyone in St. Louis, men, women, children, babies, looking exactly like Joe Buck, wearing polo shirts, and being really smug, but apparently the Gateway Arch is filled with homicidal hobos' and other forms of dangerous vagrants....who knew? Regardless, on my way home I made the first of what would be many mistakes over the course of the next week, by pulling into a Long John Silver's for dinner. Normally I try to avoid food that makes me panic and feel like I might die minutes after eating it, but I couldnt resist the call of the sea. I ordered the fish dinner, and some kind of lobster bites, which little to my knowledge at the time, were just deep fried crawdad eggs. I called my friends, none of whom answered their phone, watched the Pistons-Nuggets game, then Rocky IV, and then doubled over in pain at the feeling of 50 newborn baby crawdads coursing their way through my lower intestine in search of freedom. Little did I know at the time this would be one of the highlights of my week off.

Saturday, March 10th: Once again I spent most of the evening waiting for one of my friends to answer my phone call, but they were too busy enjoying themselves at a bar called "Down The Hatch", which is only half as classy as it sounds. This "Hatch" bar is the epicenter of white trash, a gathering place of all 40 year old, unemployed, alcoholic men whose idea of dressing up and heading out is putting on their brightest neon pink and green Polaris snowmobile coats, and the mid-twenty year old, Gillie's fish and chips waitresses who love them, whom my friends call "Hatch Rats". Anyways after relentlessly pursuing and ultimately being rejected by said "Hatch Rats", my friends called me on their way home and invited me over for some 2 player Guitar Hero. I obliged and brought over my guitar and laid down the most merciless beatdown ever administered on a video game. My friend T.J. knew I was on fire and gave up challenging me early on, but Mike, who you may remember from the previous Tecmo Super Bowl post, was to arrogant, proud and ultimately stupid to realize this. We were going through song by song and I was winning every time...decisively, until we got to "Ziggy Stardust", which I'm pretty certain I can play on Guitar Hero better than Mick Ronson could play it in real life. 70% of the way through the song I had yet to miss a note, while Mike was strumming something that sounded like "ting, ting, tong, a cat being strangled, ting.", so I did what anyone would do to incite a friend, I stopped playing. I knew my score was good enough to win, so I just sat the guitar down, tied my shoe, and walked into the kitchen looking for sandwiches. Leading to this exchange.

Mike: "Where the hell are you going"
Me: "Samiches"
Mike: (becoming increasingly enraged) "Get back in here and finish the song," (glancing over and missing a note). "Pick up your guitar!"
Me: "Why? This game is over, you're terrible, I'm hungry, everybody's happy."
Mike: (A series of curse words that I don't even feel comfortable typing).
Me: (Contentedly eating sandwich).

Tuesday, March 13th: Somehow I end up with $70 dollars, money that a responsible unemployed law student would squirrel away, but fiscal responsibility has never been my strong suit so I immediately raced out to spend it. Problem was there was nothing to spend it on. I wracked my brain trying to think of something I've wanted and came up blank. So I went to Best Buy looking for ideas, walked around for about 20 minutes, and left with Season 5 of Kids in the Hall on DVD, and a copy of Nas' "The Illmatic", and a little confused. Not finished blowing my money, I headed to Barnes and Noble and ended up picking up a couple of books, (The Areas of My Expertise, and The Tipping Point) that I'll never be able to read because I'm buried in hundreds of pages unfinished reading, namely 500 pages of Copyright Law. So in total $70 dollars helped me kill about two hours, and provide minimal entertainment value.

Wednesday, March 14th: Nothing eventful just an ordinary night of grave robbing, and werewolf hunting. Actually this was just a long night of playing Guitar Hero II by myself, before coaxing my mom, that's right my MOM, into playing and then coaching her through "Mother" by Danzig, only so I could try to find some humor, or irony in my mother playing "Mother", but there was none...only lameness, sad, lonely, depressing, lameness.

Well, I'll stop boring you with the details, I feel like this post turned into a conversation with Mike's girlfriend, where I would ask her how her day was, out of politeness not because I cared, and she would answer with a rambling 45 minute answer detailing the smallest minutiae of her day. This would lead to me looking around the apartment for a piece of rope to hang myself because it seemed like that would be the only way to get away from her incessant babbling, before she would finally stop. Oh well......this post doesn't seem to be of the quality I would normally strive for, and I apologize (of course if I had stated this at the beginning nobody would have read it....suckers), I've been in some weird space lately kind of like the floating baby in that one Stanley Kubrick movie........uhhh...."The Brave Little Toaster".....yeah that one.

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