Back in the Fold

I'm fresh off a tense and regrettable experience: The New York bar exam. I spent the last two days surrounded by nervous and easily agitated people, not to mention the panicked and obsessive. After over 12 hours of torts, property, wills and secured transactions, I realized a few important things. One, the only thing worse than being a lawyer is trying to become one. Second, women take much longer to go to the bathroom then men - the women's line to take a piss was outrageous. I've never been so happy to pee standing up. Third, their are few greater joys than wearing ear plugs and repeatedly squishing them in your ear and letting them expand to fill your eardrum. Seriously, I urge you all to go out there and do this immediately, you will thank me later. And lastly, when all else fails, and things are really looking down, it appears that ANYONE can earn a few extra bucks and proctor a bar exam. From the homeless to the elderly, from the nearly blind to the grossly overweight, lawyers are best monitored by those with nothing better to do than sit and watch you try to cheat for two consecutive days.

The Nationals are a deplorable collection of professional ballplayers. I have never heard of damn near everyone on their team. But I love them nonetheless. Nothing like needing Ws, rolling down I-95, and spanking a division doormat. As anyone who knows me can attest, I bitch and moan about the Phillies more than I do just about anything else. But I have this weird sense of confidence that this season is going to pan out in a beautiful, almost cosmically ordained way. See the Mets have the more famous players and the bigger paychecks. They've got Wright, Pedro, Billy Wagner, Beltran and a host of other well-recognizable names. They are, without question, the Alpha Betas of the division. And though we lack a black homosexual, we have a Japanese dude, some young talent, and bonified leaders. And what happened when the Lamdas went head-t0-head with the Alphas Betas? Ill tell you what happened - The Lambdas stole their bitches and took over the Greek Council. Not to mention they jammed the fuck out. In no time we too will be spying on hair pie and smoking weed with the Moos. So stick with the squad, and ignore my suicidal tendencies through the end of September, because you heard it here: the Phillies are making the playoffs, and doing damage once there.

We all have our rights of passage. For my people, we sport double breasted suits and chant hebrew to a collection of horny 7th graders. For the Indian folk, they grow that first grip of facial hair. And for my beloved Koreans, there's that first time getting burned by the popping grease bubbles jumping off the the Korean BBQ fire pit in the middle of the table. But why did I have to go to hebrew school twice a week, get mugged at the nearby Burger King and chant a foreign language to become a man when my black brethren had to only learn the art of persuasion and deceit? My recent trip to New York reminded me of the eternal question that confounds us all: why is it that the only way to fund a fresh set of basketball uniforms for the local church league is through mass distribution of king size peanut M&Ms? And perhaps more importantly, why can I not turn these unsolicited offers down? It's as though I am incapable of resisting the opportunity to eat a melted twix and subconsciously encourage these young entrepreneurs to continue engaging in overt fraud. My thing is, why not just sell the candy on the street, advertise it as a candy bar sale, for...get this...a profit!! You know, cold, hard cash. Why the lies? We don't care what you spend that dough on, but we both know little Rasheed from down the block ain't getting that fly new reversible jumpoff. But regardless, forget throwing some dough in favor of a war veteran. After all, they can always go proctor the bar exam. These kids need jerseys, people! God knows how a 24 pack of extra large snickers bars ends up in the possession of a 6'1 twelve year old, but who am I not to pay $2.00 for some chocolate delight.

And to you, John Street. When you walk into a Verizon store, and there is a long line of people waiting to get some terrible customer service from any number of sales representatives with bluetooth earpieces in, what makes you think that you have the right to skip the line and prioritize your bill statement confusion over my desire to buy a new telephone? Oh sure, occupy 1/2 the sales team with some mindless question while I wait patiently to have my question ultimately left unanswered. I want those twenty minutes of my life back.