...Big Man On the Boulevard

          Naturally, I slept in at home and soaked up every drop of upstate drowsiness that I could get. Life moves slower here. Typically, I make an effort to see people when I'm in Saugerties, but I've got so much to do this weekend that I chose to remain incognito. Ian and I gossiped about the Red Onion for a while, and he seems to fit in nicely. In the evening, I went to the Catskill Wal-Mart with my parents and Ryan to shop for food and other necessities, and on the way home we witnessed a marvelous thunderstorm of the sort that never seem to strike Boston. Truth be told, I enjoyed Sandy and the rare storms from the safety of West F, and this sort of weather is something I've really been lacking in the last few weeks.

Boss of the Block...

          I opened my eyes at 6:30 a.m., bleary and confused. I was being serenaded with the crashes and shrieks of metal getting banged around, and my first thought was that the construction was extremely loud this morning. My second thought was to wonder why it sounded like it was right underneath me; as it turned out, it was. Northeastern employees were breaking down all of the beds in the uninhabited rooms. At 6:30 in the morning. On a Friday during the co-op cycle. That offense is punishable by death -- at least. We were luckier than the girl next door, who was sleeping and woke to some university buffoons walking into her room. My work day seemed destined to be as crappy, and I was getting discouraged during the second hour of retroactive tax auditing when I was stricken with a brain blast of heroic proportions. I will not bore you with the details, as I typically do in these writings, but here's the gist: I found the goddamn tax mistake. This left me with a triumphant feeling and temporarily unearthed a sort of Sherlock Holmes edge to my personality. I could have found Jimmy Hoffa if there had been more time to work with. We office folk were also entertained by an appearance by one of Mark's clients, a very reticent young man who had been involved in an auto accident. More accurately, I should say we were entertained by his father, who is a cantankerous, extremely Sicilian city official who never seems to stop to breathe. His son received a generous settlement offer, which is great because he was not seriously injured in the slightest; when Lori read him the offer, the father exclaimed, "That's not good enough!" and stormed into the room like a charging bull. He was placated before long, but it was an experience.
          On the way out, I grabbed my first New York Times in a while at the Greek's convenience store. (Katie S didn't know his name either, and she worked here for years. Besides, "the Greek" sounds pretty gangster.) I headed to Curry immediately, where I met up with my mother and Ryan. I quickly packed up everything at Lauren's place -- miraculously, none of the things I'd left in the hallway for the week were stolen -- and she walked me out. On the way, we got to look at all of the rooms in the YMCA, since all the doors were propped open, presumably so that all the offending beds could be removed. This was probably the most offensive event of the week; every single room was at least twice the size of the one Lauren was occupying. It doesn't take a stretch of the imagination to know that they screwed her intentionally, having lost the fight over her right to housing in the first place. Katie was gracious enough to let me store my things at her place, a neat little triple in West B with a window-wall facing out onto the corridor between B and C. Once this was taken care of, we were off for upstate New York once again. We stopped at Boston Market (ironic...) on the way home, the first time I've eaten there in years and years. My parents used to take me there after YMCA swim lessons now and again when I was a kid, and it's still as tasty as ever. It's strange, and delightfully full circle, that the day I returned there would also be the day I moved out of the Y. Ian was working at the Onion when I got home, so I crashed on the couch and watched The Green Mile with my father. I get tired of home very quickly when I'm sticking around, but my first few hours there are always refreshing.

La GrandeBitte à l'Université Northeastern

          Beyond Lauren's absurdly small room and feeling like a caged bird, the YMCA has a couple other charms I've failed to mention. One is that her room has no smoke detector, which I realized after staring up at its empty outlet for a while. Another is the noisy construction going on next door; namely, the erection of the snootily named GrandMarc. Of course Northeastern needed to blow $75 million on another dorm -- with a French name to boot! Since when is Boston a friend to France? That's right, never. And these contractors are not friends to any of us, since they disobey the clearly posted signs reading "NO CONSTRUCTION NOISE BEFORE 7 AM - MA LAW." Frankly, I'm surprised Northeastern hasn't looked into this, considering that students live in the area. But then, the only reason Lauren (and probably everyone else) is in the Y is because she fought with the housing department, so maybe they just don't care.
          My work day was quietly irritating and can be summed up in two events. The first was getting stuck between two extremely fat people on the train; they were also the kind of people who splay their legs out, heedless of anyone else's personal space, already a scarce commodity on the T. To be clear, it's okay to be fat. What's not cool is being forced to sit with hunched shoulders and crossed legs because someone can't sit like a normal person. The second event was my next shot at a resolution to our tax issues, which I failed to solve; I did discover that there are two separate errors somewhere in our figures, which is a fun prospect. On the way home, I stopped at 1023 Tremont and someone finally answered the door; I had a conversation with a kindly middle-aged lady who informed me that we don't need a PO box, among other things.
          I chilled at the library for a time, eventually moving to the second floor when it got a bit crowded. Later, Iris and I went out to dinner at another Thai place called Pho Basil, located on Mass Ave out past Berklee. I had a delicious yellow curry that came in a portion so enormous that I could hardly move at the end of the meal, with no exaggeration. I wanted to just sink into my chair and never move again. Afterward, we went to Iris's to watch The Matrix with Jennifer and Sumayah (small world!) It was well received, but it was late so we didn't finish the movie. Related aside: Apparently " s's " is preferable to " s' " when denoting possession, but neither ever looks or even sounds good... oh well.
          Quote of the day:
"Oh, shocker, the federal government didn't respond to something like this? Oh." - Ally

Hygienist Nightmares

          Thanks in part to Lauren's normal-person sleep schedule and tiny room, I've gone to bed before midnight every night this week and I'm feeling pretty good. For some reason, though, I'm having trouble getting up in the morning; it's not "so tired I sleep through my alarm" so much as "wake up slowly over the course of 30 minutes." It's kind of pleasant, actually -- a relaxing transition from restful sleep into the working day. Work was quiet, though I did go back to court to reverse yesterday's failure. Not wishing for another undignified ejection from Snell, I chose to wait for Lauren in Curry. I occupied a table over by the volunteering and career services offices, and was absentmindedly playing vijims and surfing the internet when two people came and sat at an adjacent table on the lower level. Kindly refer to the below diagram, which I've drawn up to avoid a convoluted and confusing description of the area.

over nine million hours in microsoft paint. witness the fruits of my labor

          The bright green lines around that guy are, in case you're too dumb to comprehend my expertly executed diagram, a common symbol for something that smells very, very bad. This guy was sitting over seven feet away from and three feet below me, which Pythagorases out to about eight feet. The moment he and his obliviously chatty female friend sat down at that table, I was assaulted with a stench -- that rank, sweaty smell with a touch of feces. You may know what I'm talking about; if not, congratulations. This was no errant whiff; for the ten or so minutes that I put up with it before leaving early for the Y, the odor tickled my nose with all the subtlety of a flying brick. I felt even worse for the two girls trying to study less than three feet away, since this gentleman's pungency was complemented by his companion's frequent, high-voiced laughter. I was going to try and shoehorn in some moral here, like "people suck sometimes" or "please bathe," but it would honestly feel trite compared to the awesome scope of this guy's smell. So I guess it's just an unpleasant story after all.
          Of course, my night wouldn't be complete with a few off-kilter encounters with friends. I agreed to meet with Katie for the first time this semester at Wollaston's, and Sean was to come along as well. I reached the store with a few minutes to go and went inside for a sandwich, coming face to face with Jaimie and her parents. Of course, this was awkward because we haven't seen each other at all, and doubly so because her parents had no idea. After a brief conversation, I excused myself to meet with Sean and Katie, who should have been outside at this point. Subsequently, I sat alone for roughly 45 minutes in front of Au Bon Pain, ate all of my food (we were supposed to share a meal), was forced to move when the ABP guy started taking down the umbrellas, and was violently angry by the time they finally arrived. Faced with cheery, almost blithe attitudes, I did my best to contain the steam and met with about 40% success. After the tension had mostly dissipated, we were off to Shaw's for a nighttime expedition. Slowly but surely, life is returning to Boston (if sometimes in an aggravating way.)
          Quote of the day:
"She's the meanest lady on the planet. Almost as mean as a post office lady." - Ally

Papers Please

          I slapped my alarm into silence and came to slowly on Lauren's floor. I detected some aching in my shoulders and joints, and I have to wonder if I'm getting too old to sleep just anywhere like I used to. At least the bathrooms in the YMCA are extraordinarily clean, considering that they're communal and accounting for the decrepitude of the building. At work, I had to be the one to ask a client who she wants to leave her possessions to in her will. Her husband of twenty-five years is ten years her senior and neither seems to have any family left, so it was up to me to ask the tough questions. I also ventured into Back Bay for the first time to meet with a landlady client named Lynne. I walked through a park on the way over, marveling at an epic 200+ square hopscotch board chalked all the way through it and the gorgeous brownstones. After meeting with Lynne, I was off to the Housing Court, where I attempted to file a return of service on the pertinent eviction summons but had forgotten the original. The court clerk then politely but brusquely told me to piss off until I had the correct document, which I now have to deal with tomorrow. Also, overheard at work: There's an insurance company policy where they charge you $20 to retrieve your bill so that you can pay them, which is probably more widespread than I'd like to imagine. When I got home, I still had a couple of hours to kill before Lauren got out of work, so I wandered over to Snell to check out the renovations. My expectations were low, and I was completely floored by how different it looks in there. Everything looks brilliant and new; I could easily hang out with the fancy new chairs and tables, better lighting, and improved printing. This is coming from someone whose middle name is "Snell Sux." I don't have my Husky Card back from the cart rental yet (another complication of this week which I failed to mention), and I don't have my Husky ID memorized (why should I?) but the person at the desk was still able to let me in with just my name and a quick search. Hence, it came as a surprise when some guy walked up and asked to see my ID, and when I said I didn't have it, he told me to leave in a very rude manner. In any case, I was about to leave anyway, and the rest of my evening was spent in quiet relaxation, playing Minecraft at Lauren's.
          Quotes of the day:
"If you want to value your freedom, visit one of those places." - Jeremy on psych wards
"People are going to think you're my drug dealer." - Lynne
"This is the 8th time Marven's called today!" - Ally, exhibiting a great laugh

Everything For Young Men To Enjoy

          A stoic old Greek guy owns a convenience store on the ground floor of the building where I work, and though he doesn't say much, he's a really nice guy. I was out of cash and went to pay for a coffee with my card, and he replied that he couldn't take it. I apologized, and he just went, "Pay me later!" IOU: $1.40. For a while, I hunted through the Massachusetts Registry of Deeds for the deed on a client's home; said deed was signed on Halloween of 1985, which reminds me of the beginning of a horror novel. Speaking of horror, Misery appeared in the building, though our friendly security guy Rich turned her away. Though I don't consider this woman to be dangerous, I do have to wonder what her intentions were coming here. I was also subjected to a nasty phone trick, that is, the unannounced conference call. I was speaking for a minute or two to an attorney, and he abruptly asked a question of a female attorney, who broke her silence to answer it. Not cool -- I like knowing who I'm dealing with on the phone.
          I headed out to the Office of the Bar Counsel on High Street to hand-deliver our response to Misery's bar complaint. This took much longer than it should have because I missed the turnoff on to Water Street, and someone I asked for directions indicated that the nearest Water Street was 24 miles away, according to their GPS. Some trial and error got me there, and my business was concluded in about five minutes. On the way back, I discovered a charming little park on the corner of Congress and Franklin, which I will retain as an option for later adventures. Back at the office, I found that everything that I scanned through the ADF was creating streaky copies, and dissected the scanner to find some weird residue all over the glass strip inside. It refused to budge at first, but I eventually won out with liberal application of Windex and elbow grease. I won't let a goddamn printer get the better of me.
          Returning to IV with the intention of packing up all my things immediately, I was briefly stymied by the realization that I had to wait until 6:30 to get inside. In the meantime, I spectated as apprehensive freshmen moved in with their bemused-looking families, making eye contact as often as possible. Once it was time to get going, Iris helped me pack all my things and I was off to the YMCA, where Lauren will be housing me for (hopefully) the rest of the week. I'm going home on Friday, so the only remaining hitch is where I'm going to keep the stuff I already have in Boston. She let me in around 10:30, my first time entering the oldest YMCA in America and the birthplace of Northeastern University. It's a craphole. The building is ancient, and with every step I take inside, I can't shake the feeling that the whole thing is going to collapse around me. The Northeastern floors and YMCA floors are separated by ominous metal grates and fire-escape-only doors, including the spaces in between flights of stairs, leading to a "home, sweet prison" kind of feeling. Lauren's room is somehow smaller than my spot at home; there's room enough for her bed, her desk, and me on the floor with no space left over. Her window opens all the way, there is no screen, and it's on the 7th floor -- completely safe! The cart would never fit in her room even if I could fit it through the door, which I can't, so I left it out in the hallway with a few valuables stowed in the room. I also shifted a few things over into the common room down the hall and placed them behind a desk, so as to keep them out of the way and reduce the likelihood of someone pawing through them. I'm not overly worried, though, because there's all of ten or fifteen people living in the Northeastern part of the building right now. At least I've got someplace to sleep.

How is this bank like a bad porn star? They're both trying too hard, and it shows. I love dealing with companies like this.

Not the Night

          I had a series of three dreams, which, happily for you, reader, have all but evaporated from my memory. In the first, I was traveling around Boston picking up junk. The second had me teaching someone to count with some kind of "madness ray" that made them delusional and forced bright green fluid to leak from all their orifices. The third was an involved discussion of the respective merits of chipwiches and ice cream sandwiches. The rest of my day consisted of a trip over to Sean's to play vijims and a venture to Tasty Burger, where we agreed that a large, unironic Justice League poster is in order for the apartment. I might do a sort of Batman rogues' gallery on my wall, but I haven't decided how I want to execute it.
          Quote of the day:
"Tonight is not the night. Tonight is the day. That's how much of the night it is." - Sean

Want a Peanut?

          Sean and I walked over to 1023 TreTre to try and get some info from the residents, but no one was home. We then retired to IV to play more hotseat Advance Wars, which went well for a time. A knock on the door turned out to be the RD of IV, who questioned my presence and asked me to meet him in his office. This led to an exceedingly uncomfortable meeting in which he instructed me to quit the building by Wednesday, albeit with a touch of understanding for my situation. Another complication -- this week is spiraling out of control. At least I ran into Jackie in the lobby, which was a ray of light in a dark afternoon. In the evening, Sean and I grabbed food at Wolly World and came back to IV to drink a bit and watch The Princess Bride with Shandana. As it turns out, the summer has turned us into utter lightweights, and we were well and buzzed on two shots each. For the record: The Princess Bride is a wonderful, wonderful drinking movie. It's got everything you could desire: action, adventure, romance, witty comedy, mystery, vintage charm, exuberance, a certain je ne sais quoi, and a happy ending. Worrying about where I'm going to live through the 31st can wait for the weekend.
          Quotes of the day:
"Literally poking the artillery to death." - Sean
"Would you be offended if I said you remind me of Vizzini a little bit?" - Sean
...
Me: "Miracle Max. Imagine being a king and having someone working for you that works miracles."
Sean: "And firing them. 'Your miracles aren't good enough.'"

Comcast Cable Box

          I dreamed a very strange, semi-post-apocalyptic dream in which some kind of gravity machine destroyed most of Boston by picking everything up and smashing it together. In the dead of night, I fled to the harbord and tried to fly out over the water to escape, but was inexorably drawn back in by this infernal device. I found myself running down cobblestone streets surrounded by bombed-out structures; it was late afternoon under an overcast sky. I ran past a few overturned burlap sacks brimming with euros, but paid them little mind. A tattered flier on a wall read, "Resistance meeting at La Briget, 2 p.m." and a bald, worried man hurried by, probably going the same place I was.
          Irritatingly, I was forced to bring the Comcast cable box, router and wires to work because I wouldn't be able to get into IV until 6 p.m. Work went decently well, and I jetted back to IV to walk out into Roxbury. The service center was a couple of miles out, which feels like leagues when you're walking through the hood and people give you dirty looks for being not-of-color. At one point, some dudes in an SUV threw their door open as they drove past and shouted at me incomprehensibly, which was exciting. Of course, with the way this week has been going, something had to go wrong, and it did.
          Keep in mind that I had already walked a few miles up and down hills in business attire, carrying a cable box in my arms and a heavy backpack. I reached Martin Luther King Boulevard, which begins at the intersection I reached and ends about half a mile down the road. How lost could I get? On the corner was what appeared to be a Marshall's and a Popeye's, followed by an apartment complex labeled 280. I had to get to an address in the 300s, so I set off down the street. I made it maybe a quarter of a mile before backtracking to make sure I hadn't missed the service center. This yielded no results, so I walked halfway down the street again and backtracked down the other side, just to be sure. Nothing -- and I was running out of time, with maybe forty minutes left to return the gear. If I failed to get to the center, Comcast would be liable to lay a huge fee of some kind on us; fees are their specialty. None of the buildings were numbered, including a huge series of mini-apartment complexes that had unit numbers but no apparent overall address. Finally, I headed all the way down to the end of the street, where at last, I found another numbered building: a YMCA pool labeled 120. A couple of synapses in my brain fizzled out and I trudged all the way back to that goddamn Popeye's, which turned out to be the entrance to the drabbest mini-mall I've ever seen. First of all, that's some shit. Second, why was 280 MLK like ten feet away from 330? Anyway, once I was inside the building, the return went without incident; the Comcast employee didn't point out the plastic piece I'd taped down, and even told me that Gary would be credited for a sum of money (for unused service for this month, I assume). The walk home seemed to take half as long, and another weight lifted off.
          I shared dinner with Lauren, Ryan and Sean at a Thai place called Pho & I, located just beyond the ultra-sketch College Convenience. This place is extremely underwhelming, and the food was kind of weird. I ordered teriyaki chicken with a side of peanut butter sauce; the chicken tasted peculiar, as did the vegetables that came with it (how did they mess those up, they didn't even have sauce on them...) and I was happy to dip everything in the PB sauce to mute the other tastes. I do not plan to return to this place. Aside: The Transit Police's motorcycles look awesome. They have a kind of old school look, and I love the white/blue/silver theme.

Officer Smoov at your service.

Panopticon

          I was in a black mood on the way to work, reflecting on Bradley Manning and Edward Snowden. Chief among my thoughts were someone's words: "When exposing a crime becomes a crime, you are ruled by criminals." I'm amazed that people aren't outraged about the fact that our federal government has entirely and deliberately disregarded the 4th Amendment, which I consider to be of near-equal importance to the 1st. Further, I'm shocked that so many seem to weigh in on the side of the government, condemning whistleblowers as if they were terrorists or murderers. Bradley Manning did not endanger U.S. troops, but the U.S. government has certainly endangered our rights. I can't decide if I'm more or less upset that there was little to no oversight over the NSA's activities -- is it preferable that it wasn't a completely honed machine of surveillance, despite all its power? Or is it even more terrible that individual agents had carte blanche to pry into the lives of anyone they chose, such as romantic interests, and this is only known because many of them actually ended up reporting on themselves? I have this feeling in my gut like we are on the precipice of something massive, but so few seem to notice.
          At work, I made another attempt to call the IRS and, once again, spent an hour listening to a robot tell me I was important and not to leave the queue before hanging up. The third time naturally being the charm, this was when I knew I had to ride out and do battle with the IRS in person. Five minutes' walk away, I entered the JFK Federal Building and was forced to remove my belt and glasses for the metal detector, which have never been an issue at the courts. I hopped an elevator to the seventh floor, which moved so quickly that I actually felt nauseous for a moment. I spoke briefly to an extremely curt receptionist, who considered what I had to say and instructed me to take a number. I sat among a throng of supplicants and passed the time by watching a TV installed for this purpose. It was tuned to the news (I can't remember which channel, but thankfully it wasn't Fox) and Obama was discussing the value of education, how schools should modernize and lower costs through innovations like churning students out faster (which completely fails to address the issue of why tuition is so inflated to begin with and only advises paying those outlandish rates for a lower number of semesters), and how colleges should be value-ranked. All of a sudden, I was seized with the overwhelming desire to scream and tear my hair out, and a sickness rose in my stomach for a moment that seemed to go on forever. How ironic that after Key & Peele's lighthearted "Never sleep on Barry O," Barry O caught us sleeping. I realized that my hands were trembling more than usual, probably because I'd eaten nothing that day. The moment passed and I composed myself, but not before watching an item on the crawl with a mixture of wonder and utter disgust: "NSA MISREPRESENTED SCOPE OF SURVEILLANCE TO SECRET COURT, NEW DOCUMENTS SHOW". My first reaction is this: no shit, sherlock! Of course the Frankenstein's monster of government overreach and secrecy isn't going to spill the beans for some toothless court. And my second reaction is this: Why is the NSA being investigated by a secret court to begin with? Make the process transparent, and let the American media and public tear into its belly like they should. As I see it, secret investigations exacerbate the problem at best and are a mark of corruption at worst, given that we know the NSA director gets to choose who's auditing the agency. Follow? More on this later if I can bring myself to write about it.
          My number came up in time, and I met with a frustratingly circumspect IRS agent who refused to answer my questions directly. I would ask if we were subject to any fees or fines if we submitted our papers and a check by such-and-such a date, and he would respond with a question nearly mirroring mine. After some trial and error I got the information I needed and happily returned to work, where Jeremy asked me for advice on how to remove a bat from his home. Apparently everyone in our office has had some experience with bats, and the mailman had a particularly engaging story about finding one under his child's crib, throwing a blanket over it and crushing it to death. My recommendation was more mild: open the windows, turn off the lights and let it find its way out. Aside: We have one high-activity client that consistently calls me "boss" every time we speak, and against my better judgment, I love it.
          Having not heard from anyone regarding the Comcast gear and only having one day left to bring it back, I took a detour near the Common to buy an adjustable wrench at a hardware store. I took an unusual route home, walking all the way down gorgeous Commonwealth Avenue until it sort of disappeared as a road, then cutting across to Columbus. (There are four proper nouns in this paragraph starting with "Co"...what's up with that?) I marched into Davenport B and asked to be let into Douglass Park, and the same RD who had signed me out brought me over there. She was elusive about why I hadn't heard from them, but no matter; in the face of my wrench, the coax cable offered no resistance and I got everything out of there. I'll return the stuff tomorrow, and this dickery can finally end. Walking to IV with my hands full of electronics and a standing fan I picked up off the curb, a cheap plastic plate with no apparent purpose on the back of the cable box semi-broke (the little nub holding it on chipped off), so hopefully the people at the service center don't point that out. I also bumped into Lena in the lobby, always a pleasant experience (not sarcasm!)
          In the evening, Iris and I took the Red Line to Cambridge for a Restaurant Week excursion. We traveled to a restaurant called Upstairs On the Square, the decor of which can only be described as eclectic. It's a multi-floor restaurant with varying mixtures of decorative styles on each floor and even separate menus, which caused some confusion when we were initially seated on the wrong floor. I enjoyed a hearty clam chowder, some tasty lobster ravioli for the entree, and grape gelato with crushed peanuts and peanut drizzle for dessert, which tasted exactly like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Iris had beef and some kind of marshmallowy dessert served in a glass jar. Verdict: good, but not great; would frequent again if it wasn't prohibitively expensive and unconscionably chic.
          Quotes of the day:
"Your weapon of choice." - a federal cop, handing a body scanner to another cop
"Oh my god, my stomach! Andy, am I pregnant?" - Iris

Upstairs On the Square. Behind the camera is a bar with bright pink chairs.

Joseph Addison

          I got more sleep this time, and left for work feeling worlds better. Even temporarily, living in IV is a surreal exercise in tiny fragments of nostalgia and forgotten details. I'm in a room on 11F West, and the view is exactly what it was in my 9F days -- looking out on the police station with all its blinding lights and the shadowy park nearby. I'd forgotten how far it seemed to stretch, all the way out to the hills on the horizon, broken up with church steeples and dappled by some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. Other little memories came up out of the cracks: washing dishes in the bathroom sink, the booming clack of the magnetic lock, the speedy elevators, the hotel atmosphere. Work itself was an experience, as Jeremy had me travel out to Dedham to file a complaint in the Norfolk Superior Court. I rode the Orange Line out to Forest Hills and hopped a convenient 34/Dedham Line bus.
          According to Google, I was supposed to ride the bus for 18 minutes or so and get off at #35 on a particularly long street. I had only been riding for a few minutes when I noticed that the numbers were in the hundreds and climbing. After some dithering over what I should do, I chose to hop off the bus at a random location and catch one back toward Forest Hills to try again, since I didn't want to find myself even more lost in this unfamiliar area. Just as I did so, I stopped to take a breath and realized that the numbers had just started over, which meant that I had to walk the rest of the way (from #35 to somewhere in the 200s). This led to a long, unpleasant walk along a bare highway, and it was a blessing when I finally arrived in Dedham proper. I mistakenly went to the District Court and was directed to the proper one. After a brief wait, I was given some recommendations by the clerk and I was on my way.
          A long walk back to the bus stop ended in sorrow when one passed me by, despite the fact that I was waiting at the designated spot. I traveled a little farther to another stop and waited for what felt like forever, reading Cold Mountain to pass the time. This is a tale of a wounded Confederate soldier after the Civil War, and was mildly interesting as far as I got, if not gripping. The trip back to the office was uneventful, as was the rest of my shift, which I spent sending out random faxes. Jeremy also referenced Back To the Future III while on the phone with a client, which warmed my heart. I made a foolish mistake when I left for home, dropping three quarters from my wallet just after swiping my CharlieCard; I stooped to pick them up, bending to force of habit, and the doors closed, forcing me to spend another $2.00 in fare for my trouble. I napped for a few hours in the lobby of IV while Shandana was still at work. Later, Iris and I looked through Restaurant Week menus -- during which time I expertly called P.E.I. mussels as Prince Edward Island when even she, the foodie, didn't know what they were -- and watched some Colbert Report and Daily Show, though John Oliver is slightly disappointing as usual.
          Quote of the day:
"They're gonna shit the bed when they get this. Imagine living in Canada and getting a summons for a hearing in Boston." - Jeremy

Dead Man Walking

          I'm going to get the hang of this "sleeping" thing if it kills me. I was dead on my feet at work today -- I really did not feel fully alive. The best part was knowing that I had to go home and pack up all my things before I could rest, and I took the packing process at a snail's pace. Fortunately, it wasn't a terribly difficult task, since I came up with a reduced amount of stuff and prudently refrained from decoration. I went over to Davenport B for a moving bin, and of course, Rose was signing them out. Fast forward: everything was packed up save for the cable box, router and associated wires, which I have to carry out to a service center in Roxbury before week's end. This falls to me because it has to happen before 5 pm and Gary works until that time. Okay, fine. My very last task was to get these things in a separate bag for moving convenience. Upon trying to remove the coaxial cable from the wall, I found that it was impossible to dislodge. This was the third time this summer I found myself wishing I'd brought my toolbox. I can't describe my extreme frustration at this point -- there was about an hour left before I was required to move out, I was running on less than fumes, and if something happened to the electronics we'd be looking at a huge fee from Comcast. The RA who was ready to sign me out said he usually carried pliers but couldn't find them; the entire RD office at Davenport B hunted around for the office pair, but couldn't find them; the maintenance staff at Douglass Park said they couldn't do anything to help (as if they don't have a pair of pliers or adjustable wrench laying around somewhere); and Northeastern's maintenance staff couldn't do anything until the next morning. Eventually, an RD made the reasonable offer to take my name and number and notify me when the cable was disconnected from the wall. I accepted gratefully, concluded the move-out, and trucked all of my crap over to IV. Shandana let me into her suitemate's empty room, and it looks like I'll be living large for the next few days. This is strangely reminiscent of the time I snuck into an empty room in IV with an RA's help while visiting Northeastern. I have to pause here and give a huge shout out to Iris for helping me pack and trying to keep me calm. Somehow, I wasn't ready to sleep after all this excitement and took a walk to the reflecting pool with Sean to talk about life. When I finally did collapse into bed, it was with an almost triumphant feeling. I'll deal with those nagging doubts about the Comcast gear tomorrow.

What's an Airport, Again?

          Today was the first day I was actually tardy, getting in about 15 minutes late; I consider this doing pretty well, considering that I woke up at ten after 8. Jeremy was fine with it, and this morning was extremely quiet anyway. There's a list of maybe thirty clients I have a neuron or two focused on at any given time; some of them are extremely low priority, and I can call the court once a month to see if there's any update (spoiler: usually there isn't); some are middling, and I just wait for things to come up; and some are higher priority and I have a bunch of tasks to complete all at once. To date, I've only met a couple of clients in person, and it's weird every time. I'll talk to someone three, four times on the phone, and actually seeing their face is like a system shock. Today, it was a pair of clients: an elderly priest that we represent by proxy, and his caretaker, who wants to sue everyone in the universe over his mistreatment by various parties. The caretaker was just as I envisioned -- an average-looking woman with a drawn, stressed face, a sensible haircut and modest style of dress. It was the priest who was a little surprising; I suppose very old people just tend slightly toward the grotesque, like withered apples. (Apple-related aside: Shout out to Laura for starting a blog!) He was wearing a driver's cap and a serious pair of hater blockers, and leaned over and started drooling if not shaken awake every so often. I feel bad for him. Hopefully I'm never so old and decrepit that I have to be watched by someone else.
          Other highlights of work: A server at Viga essentially throwing a root beer at me; hurting my fingers while cracking knuckles repeatedly; calling fax numbers by accident (again); watching a mouse run around at the State stop. A lengthy nap at home was followed by some quality time with Sean at his temporary home on Cunard Street. We took a break to run a couple of laps around the Fens, which I never do in the daylight; this run was punctuated with discussions of politics and philosophy, Katie's dance partner, and Advance Wars, which seem to be the culmination of 90% of our conversations. We theorized about which COs we're most similar to, with Sean concluding that I'm more-butch-than-you Jess because I'm apparently "pedal to the metal"; ironically, Jess was always one of my least favorite COs on both the personality and gameplay fronts (Hit: Dandelions; Miss: Unfit COs). Sean himself is Javier, the verbose doyen of defense (Hit: Honor; Miss: Retreating), and Alaric is the geriatric paratrooper/legendary badass Sensei (Hit: Lazy, rainy days; Miss: Busy malls). See below & compare. After discussing Advance Wars strategy for an entire Fens lap, we really had no choice but to play some hotseat Advance Wars 2 on my emulator. And it was good. Final aside: I kept some brown sugar & cinnamon Pop-Tarts in my black foot locker the last year I worked at camp (this puts us at five years ago, or thereabouts); somehow, their scent still remains. It's amazing how a smell can bring back so many memories, and, more mundanely, how a smell can linger without its source for half a decade.

Jess. "It's nice to win, but I wanted to STOMP you!"

Sensei. "I might retire soon... I wonder how my 401k is doing."

Javier. "You live still, for Javier is masterful but merciful!"

Andy Was Alone

          I didn't do much today, though I did have my moments. I played some TF2 before firing up a new venture on Steam, namely Batman: Arkham Asylum. The dark atmosphere is spot-on, the combat system is so fluid as to be unbelievable, and the sheer addiction one develops for hunting down Riddler trophies is unnerving. At least I don't need to play this game for too long at a time before I've got my fix. Sole complaint at this time: the camera angles suck, with the Bat-cape flapping over half the screen if you try to tilt up the view a little.
          I went running after midnight, met a truly terrifying doppelganger of Iris near Behrakis, and was treated to another police incident on Columbus. I must admit some voyeuristic tendencies for this kind of thing, much like other people's fascination with celebrity gossip. Two aggressively obnoxious and loud Latino girls in party gear were surrounded by six cops, and I slowed to a stroll to watch the silliness ensue. One of them walked away shouting and swearing at the cops, and in turn, one of the cops simply walked after her and cuffed her. I captured a brief video on my iPod of a couple of people shouting on Tremont (not sure if the two events were related), went home and listened to a police scanner for a while. It turned out to be a quiet night for the fuzz -- at least on the airwaves -- so I tested another Steam game, a platformer named Thomas Was Alone. This one is deceptively simple, but beautiful, haunting, charming, and clever all in one economical package. The cast: six multicolored blocks, friendly-but-rogue AIs trying to escape their prison. The soundtrack is engaging, and the visuals, though obviously blocky, are quite arresting as well. +1 for good indie games!

Pillz: Betta Grab Everything I Can

          I slept in for so long, I think I slept all the way through and was sleeping out by the time I woke up. JLA and Civ IV until 5 in the morning seemed like a good idea at the time. We did finally manage to get four players together for Left 4 Dead (Katie as Francis, Sean as Bill, David as Zoey, and myself as Louis) and wonderful hijinks and solid zombie teamwork ensued. (You can still call me Tankbuster if you like.) Connection problems interfered somewhat, but I think everyone had an enjoyable time. Later, Sean and I finished the second and final season of JLA. The final plot arc was a credibly surprising twist and mildly heartbreaking, but before the writers launched into that, they first demonstrated how few fucks it was possible to give with the Christmas Special episode. The "next episode" image for it on Netflix was a carefully selected shot of Hawkgirl getting sprayed with snow, and indeed, this turned out to be an episode where there was a good deal of innuendo. Also, the Martian Manhunter wearing a Christmas sweater. Also, this:

Martha Kent: "We used to wrap Clark's presents in lead so he couldn't see through them."

Superman: [dead serious] "You mean Santa wrapped them."

Not to mention a later scene in which J'onn catches Supes trying to peek at the presents, only to be foiled by lead (again.) This irreverence was not only hilarious and a complete riff on the srs bsns feel of the show at other times, it was also a well-placed lull in the action before the drama of the final arc. And speaking of drama, Sean and I entertained Iris with dramatic readings of long messages to Katie from an evidently drunk DP; said messages were alternately very funny and very creepy, with my personal favorite line going something like this: "Nothing can stop my love for you." That is grade A stalker movie material.
           Quote of the day:
"Oh, so this is gonna be that episode." - Sean

Too Much Noise

          Sometimes it's fun going through all this paper at the office, interesting little things seem to jump out from time to time. For example, old court documents that list the governor, attorney general, etc. in the upper right corner: "Governor Mitt Romney". Also, I found some correspondence with a dude named Marrk; yes, there are two Rs; yes, that's his first name. After work, Iris determined that she wanted to watch the Sanjay Gupta CNN documentary on marijuana with me, and I acceded with some interest. The program was not bad, though of course there were parts that were sensationalized owing to CNN's target demographic. Dr. Gupta presented a balanced view of marijuana as a recreational and medicinal drug, and I think it's a positive that he didn't go all in on this point. Had he done so, he might have achieved hero status in the stoner community, which in turn would diminish his credibility to more conservative folks.
          Later, Sean and I watched more JLA and played Civ IV, but the show took a strange twist tonight. The last few episodes, while still classically superficial and formulaic, have begun to incorporate more character development; one of the episodes we watched tonight took that trend and ran with it. Somehow, this installment managed to combine Aquaman, Solomon Grundy, the JLA (naturally), the awesomely understated Dr. Fate, and shambling horrors torn straight from Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos. All this terror would have been wasted on a typical beat 'em up storyline, but this episode killed off a character (not pulling any punches in the process), mused on what it means to have a soul, and even challenged a character's atheism. I also can't restate the "tentacled body horror from hell oh my god that appendage does not belong there what even" aspect of this plot arc enough, because paired with Dr. Fate's ominous mysticism, it gave the episodes enough of a creepy spin to both enhance and mute the philosophical questions raised therein. A+, would watch again.
          Quote of the day:
"Not only did they just kill a character, they explored mortality and faith." - Sean, on JLA

Hawkgirl: "Are you out of tricks yet?" Dr. Fate: "Not entirely."

Sadomasotypist

          Last night, my body decided that it needed no sleep. So there I was after an unexpected all-nighter, pecking at the typewriter again and masochistically enjoying every moment of it. Jeremy mentioned his childhood "playing at Joey [redacted -- Brian's last name]'s house," which was odd because I've never met anyone else with that surname, and highly recommended an Italian place in Brighton called Carlo's Cucina. I also got to listen to poor Ally fighting with clueless Outlook techs over malfunctioning email servers -- a fate worse than death for a law firm. After work, Iris and I made abortive attempts to watch Se7en, which she realized she's seen partway in, and then Jacob's Ladder, which she thought she'd seen, then otherwise, then changed her mind again. By this point, I was too tired for it anyhow.

A Trick of the Tail

          I was a paragon of efficiency at work today, and all of the tasks I'd lined up to get around to were finished by 11 a.m. This led me to turn to my medium-long-term project, the resolution of our affairs with the IRS. In turn, this resulted in me holding for over 45 minutes while the IRS phone system tested my endurance. After some time, the egregiously repetitive hold music and bland, computerized assurances that my call mattered were joined by fuzzes of static, strange grinding noises, and eventually faint voices fading in and out in the background. Bewildered and aggravated, I finally surrendered my (no doubt valuable) place in the phone queue and hung up. I'm driven to wonder if one could monetize said queue. ("The IRS just picked up, $20 to transfer the call to your phone!") In other work news, the scanning operations have begun, and there is an actual Victory Road in Quincy.
          I received a letter from Brian -- with an accompanying note for Iris. He also included a cool Joker button, since I missed the superhero exhibit at Six Flags when everyone went after I was in Boston. I went to dinner at Ginger Exchange with Lauren, and it was a pleasant experience overall. The restaurant is bigger than it appears from outside, and quite long. We were seated immediately next to two girls named Iris and Shandana, which essentially made us a party of four. I chose the orange chicken for my meal, a conventional but palatable choice. Afterward, we walked to CVS and browsed the ridiculous birthday cards ("now with lip gloss!") while Iris picked up skincare products.
          Quotes of the day:
"You didn't promise, but you should have promised, and thus you should keep said promise!" - Iris
...
Iris: "Andy, you know what you should do? Become a personal masseuse for me."
Me: "I already am."
Iris: "But like, more personal."

Closer than you think.

State Street Goon Squad

          Today, I drafted a memo to Jeremy regarding the filing situation in our office. Our closed files have filled two huge filing cabinets, three long boxes and a sizable pile, and there are more on the way. He asked me for advice regarding storage; I replied with a variety of recommendations, beginning with "don't buy more boxes" and ending with "scan all the things." Thus begins a huge project I will no doubt pass on to my successor: the drastic reduction of how much paper we have sitting around. I will become one with the scanner. Unfortunately, Jeremy handed me another task which will be much stickier. We've received a letter from the IRS noting a discrepancy in our 941s (quarterly employer tax records) and W2s for 2011, and I've been delegated to do some forensic accounting and figure out what's up with the paperwork. This is already looking complicated, since Jeremy had 4 employees at various times during the year (one for only the first quarter, one for the first three of four quarters, one for the entire year, and one for quarters three and four.) The 941s, which show a lower number, are corroborated by our detailed quarterly employee wage reports; the W2s are corroborated by a mysterious paper that lists the yearly pay for each employee. What's really mystifying is that the quarterly reports and the mysterious wage sheet don't contradict one another, and I can't get my head around how to figure out the mistake. Aside: Jeremy has called me Jeff a few times, apparently confusing me with a former assistant by that name, who he describes as "an easygoing Red Sox fan." Close enough, I suppose?
          Oh, and one more occurrence at work. As I mentioned, Adam is a lawyer who comes in sometimes to check his mail and meet with clients, and peculiarly resembles Moby. He was occupying the conference room while I was going through the files stored in there, and I was doing my best to stay out of the way. So, naturally, what do I say to this bald-ass, chrome-domed, Moby-looking mofo? "I just need one more thing and I'll be out of your hair." I feel like I just said, "You too!" to the guy who shreds the movie tickets and tells you to enjoy the film.
          After work, Iris and I indulged in a few episodes of The Colbert Report, which I always intend to keep up with but never get around to watching. (I do prefer The Daily Show, but Jon Stewart's hiatus and temporarily replacement with the funny-but-less-funny John Oliver is unfortunately timed.) I napped for a time, during which I dreamed that Ian and I went to a record store, where he made things awkward by loudly singing tunes from The Phantom of the Opera. I then dispelled my waking confusion with some fast and loose Left 4 Dead co-op with Katie.
          Quote of the day:
"His name should be Jefferson Goon." - Jeremy, re: [redacted], telling it like it is

"I'll be out of your hair."..."your hair"..."hair"

To Shave-a Da Face, To Trim-a Da Beard

          Morning came, but the hot water did not. Shaving with freezing water is about the most painful an experience can be while still qualifying as mundane, including bad sunburns and maybe even paper cuts. Unless this is rectified soon, I'm liable to share some of my agony with the management, Sweeney Todd-style. Work was a slow grind of document drafting, phone calls, and sorting through enormous piles of paper for a client who's seeking elder care from MassHealth -- nothing to write home about. I was also quite tired by the end of the day, which led to an awkward moment wherein I greeted someone on the phone with, "Hello, [full name]!" because I was working on their file and very preoccupied at the moment. It wasn't that person, and I'm unsure whether that made it better or worse. After work, I went to Symphony Sushi and had a wonderful time with Iris, Eve and Julianne, this being the first time I've seen the latter two in several months. Iris' friends from home are all quite likeable and entertaining, which is a happy turn of events for me.
          Quotes of the day:
"There's a better chance for the Camp David Accords." - Jeremy, on a settlement offer
"That was fun. No it wasn't." - Julianne
...
Eve: "If I go really slowly, nothing can go wrong."
Julianne: "The Titanic sank really slowly."

Hotline America

          Today, I watched American Beauty with Iris. As expected, she loved it. It's an eternal struggle trying to find a word that describes that movie's genre -- "drama" just doesn't seem to cut it. It makes me feel pretty much every feeling, and it really is beautiful. Next, Iris attempted some Hotline Miami play, which was disastrous/extremely funny, but she's improving. I tried my own speed run through the game, which was foiled when I got stuck a little past halfway and died a million times before resigning to try again another day. Much later, I found out that hot water doesn't seem to exist at night, and took the coldest shower of my life. I've enjoyed a cool shower or two but this was a barrel of suck, not to mention that I had to put off shaving until the morning because ice cold water, my skin and razors are not friends.
          Quote of the day:
"Also, speaking of crotch..." - Iris

Consensual Cereal

          After waking up in the late afternoon, I ran around and cleaned everything in the apartment, as I am wont to do at random times. Sean and I played an enormous amount of Civ IV and watched an equal volume of JLA, including an episode with this little gem of dialogue:

Brainiac: "You used me."

Darkseid: "It's what I do."

          JLA is delightful, if predictable. Its mindlessness lends it to background watching during other activities, and the fight scenes are so telegraphed that after watching a few episodes, one can typically predict what will happen before it does. Plus, the good guys mostly always win in a garishly over-the-top, 'MURICA sort of way, which makes it useful for improving one's mood when the main activity is a drag (see: losing in Civ IV.)

          Quotes of the day:
"I'm busy raping William Van Oranje's economy with cereal." - Sean
"Too bad I put red in all your blue!" - Sean, re: Darkseid

skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

          For the first time, I made the mistake of telephoning a fax number, which got me an earful of dial-up-internet-reminiscent shrieks for my trouble. Highlight of the day: sneaking into my boss's office while he was at court to do pushups in order to fight off sleep. I finally stumbled across the actual Orange Line entrance at State, which I never found because it's concealed inside the old state house and is not clearly denoted at all. Up until this point I rode the Green Line home, which sort of sucked, though at least there were usually available seats. At home, I took a nap that lasted until 1 a.m. (if that can be called a nap), then dragged myself out of bed to cook up a chicken breast with rosemary and thyme and played SR3 until the break of dawn.
          Quotes of the day:
"At the court office, everybody is goin', 'Boy, that was a brouhaha!'" - Mark
"I told you it was gonna be a bloodbath! I knew it. She started goin' on about 'you're in a gang' and 'you and your buddies...'" - Mark

Open Source Missile Technology

          Before I continue, I should clarify: the attorney I work for is named Jeremy. There are four other attorneys with whom we share office space, though we are not affiliated with them as a firm: Mark, a formidable guy with a heavy Boston accent; Lori, his sister, who seems like a voice of reason; Inga, a young attorney who works for them; and Adam, a Moby lookalike who has no desk here, but picks up his mail and uses the conference room. Mark and Lori also have three charming assistants named Ally, Lisa and Monica, whose conversations often provide entertainment while I'm locked into a boring project. Highlights of work today: Figuring out how to use the fax machine. Receiving a call from a classic blowhard attorney who refuses to speak to an assistant (yours truly.) Googling Beatles lyrics for work. Learning about res judicata, which, in addition to being an important legal concept, would make for a fine band name. Also, an aside: wouldn't it be funny if people named their dogs after themselves?
          After work, spurred by Gary's interest in the upcoming Saint's Row 4, I fired up Saint's Row 3 for the first time in a while. This was a good move, and it proved as lurid and ridiculously fun as ever. I went to meet Harrison for dinner at 6:30, at which time he went 0 for 2 in our recent interactions and forgot about our engagement. (I can't complain, since he's swiping me in.) I waited outside Stetson East for some time before Sean appeared by coincidence, and we sat and discussed work at length until Harrison arrived. Anthony was floating around the dining hall as well, so we all shared a table, caught up and shot the shit. I followed dinner with an extensive spree of Civ IV, TF2, and more SR3.
          Quote of the day:
"It's gonna be a bloodbath. An absolute bloodbath. I'm looking forward to it." - Mark
"They use Linux on our missiles?" - me
"City Year is the AmeriCorps version of the Hitler Youth." - Sean
"This is a world where sushi and cereal can never coexist." - Sean

Clipper City Is an Army

          Today, I discovered a far more efficient path to the Mass Ave stop, a path in one of the corridor parks which eliminates the need to walk all the way down to the corner of Columbus and Mass Ave. I'm glad this went where I'd hoped it would, since I was running very late this morning and decided to try a new path and test my luck. I ended up being only a minute late, which is fine because I don't actually record hours at work. My day inched by with nothing to do, though I would like to mention that legal pads are amazing for keeping notes. Something about them -- the size, or weight, or color, or something -- is just great. Also, the difference between the staffs at the post offices around here is amusing. At the one down the street, the staff is a bunch of chatty, over-tanned, aging blonde ladies (you know the type); at the office near the Brooke courthouse, it's a couple of gruff older guys who display just a hint of "we're Federal employees" camaraderie. In the evening, Iris baked a delicious pineapple pizza to share.
          Quotes of the day:
"He's full of shit. He's in contempt!" - Jeremy, being a badass
"These people would fight over a toenail." - Jeremy

Oven Gremlins

          I got a fun surprise upon checking the messages at work this morning. Typically there are maybe four to seven messages when I come in. There were nineteen today, and only seven were of the usual variety. The remainder were from a former client I'll refer to as Misery. They were left around 5:30 a.m., and I listened to only two before mashing the "save" button so Jeremy could deal with them in an appropriate manner. What I did listen to was a nearly incoherent ramble about the Vatican, the spread of Communism in the United States, and how "you three are responsible for every murder." You simply cannot make this shit up. I spent much of the rest of the day in a field trip to court, where I observed witness testimony for a case in which we are serving as defense. Before we could be heard, there were two proceedings which took about five minutes each, presided over by a terse Professor McGonagall-type judge. Our client is being sued for a faulty septic system that backed up through a bathtub and elsewhere, spectacularly and horrendously. The witness in question is an official with the Water & Sewer Department, a Northeastern grad, and quite knowledgeable about what happens when septic pipes aren't correctly maintained. I kept further notes during the testimony on my legal pad, but these were unfortunately lost when I got a new one, and thus ends my account of work for the day. I should also mention that the Edward W. Brooke Courthouse is an impressive building. First off, it's huge. I experienced vertigo just peering into the atrium from the fourth floor. Second, it's white marble or something that looks like it, with all the grandeur that style carries. And third, it's somehow both airy and crushing at the same time -- which was probably what the architect intended, given its purpose.
          I passed out after work for four hours or so, and on waking I wandered into the kitchen to make food. Passing near the oven, I felt very hot and noticed that it was set to "Bake" at "Clean" temperature. This is the second time the oven has been left on under mysterious circumstances -- I rarely use it, and Gary categorically denied using it after work. Irritatingly enough, the "on" light goes off after the oven reaches the desired temperature, which only serves to help you forget that it's on. Detective work would have to wait, since hunger was the most important drive at that moment; I obliged my stomach with a quesadilla on a tomato basil wrap, including burnt chicken (I am an overcautious cook), Mexican cheese blend, tomato, pesto, lemon juice and a sprinkle of sage. And it was good.
          Quote of the day:
Me: "Don't be alone in the room with the oven."
Gary: "If you see the oven walking toward you, leave."

Karma Knights

          Today was my first full day flying solo. Katie S is off to Estonia for several weeks, and I can email her with questions when she returns, but for now it's me against the world. I took a bunch of calls and met with a client briefly to accept a payment. This interaction reminded me of something very important that I've been learning again and again: politeness will almost always pave the way. In the evening, I played more Civ IV with Sean, successfully founding a Native American civilization and founding Hinduism. Aside: We play every game on the same side, because playing Civ competitively with your friends is like playing Risk competitively with your friends. Victories are drawn out and crushing, and no one will come out feeling good. (I still like Risk, but that's the way it is.)
          Quote of the day:
"I've spoken to everyone on the planet." - Ally, on trying to find a file

Cleanshot

          I spent a slothful day half-watching Law & Order and indulging in more Civ IV. Iris made some tasty kimchi dumplings, which we enjoyed while watching an interesting terrorism flick called Cleanskin. Sean Bean stars as a characteristically gruff terrorist hunter opposite a young terrorist recruit, played by Abhin Galeya. The film, while not great, has a couple of sweet twists and one of the best headshots I've ever seen. The ethical questions it raises seem to be sincere, if not overly developed, and in my opinion it holds its own as a modern film on terrorism. Aside: Sorry for the streak of shooting-related titles, I promise to break it for the next entry.

Shots Iris

          Iris and I finally completed the third season of Boardwalk Empire, and some of the stuff that goes down in the last two episodes really knocked me on my ass. I typically have a knack for predicting what happens next, too, so it was a shock when I missed a bunch of obvious signs pointing to certain people's deaths. Afterward, Sean came over and we watched the excellent Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, in which Gary Oldman plays a classic Gary Oldman "thoughtful badass". During this time, all of us became inebriated, but Iris most of all. She essentially became another person, who we have dubbed "Shots Iris". Highlights: Shots Iris walking a straight line but being unable to turn around; Shots Iris naming all 50 states; having to hide the alcohol from Shots Iris. We had a surreal conversation about which Pokemon we would be (see below) followed by a late-night run to UHOP. It's at least twice as good as BHOP, and made for a tasty conclusion to an amusing evening.
          Quotes of the day:
"Gary Oldman vs. radioactive blue penis." - Sean
"Yes! Everyone shots!" - Iris
"That's illegal in all 46 states. I can probably name them. Woo woo! Shall we bet?" - Iris
"Two cents! Two pennies heads up on the floor!" - Iris
"You're supposed to be enablers, not denialers." - Iris
"Sean's a Pokemon. Whoa." - Iris

ANDY used WITHDRAW!

A wild IRIS appears!

You caught a SEAN!

Shootout At the Pro Se Corral

          My first actual day of work was hectic, though not unpleasant. Katie S and I went through reams of work and took another field trip to the various courts nearby. We also made contact with a brusque lawyer named Jefferson [redacted], whose name puts me in the mind of some kind of Wild West lawman or gunslinger. Later on, Sean and I played more Civ IV, which is becoming alarmingly habitual.
          Quotes of the day:
"Lesson learned: remove loose change from pockets before coming to court." - me
"...this alligator-shoes, big-firm lawyer..." - Jeremy
"I can't tell if it's weed, cologne, or both." - me
"If you handed me a tuna sandwich, I would eat it. I'm not gonna mince words, Iris." - Sean

Panic! At Copley

          My first full day on co-op turned out to be half a day, for whatever reason. With some guidance from Katie S, I put in some edits on a complaint letter (essentially the statement of the reason for your lawsuit and the demands being made), interrogatories (questions asked of the opposition) and a request for production of documents (self-explanatory) for one of our clients. My work day was pretty uneventful thereafter, though I did get buttonholed by a Children International rep near the Common. We talked about the charity for about ten minutes before he realized that I'm not 21. Getting out early provided a unique opportunity for lunch at the common, where I lay in the grass, enjoyed some food, read poetry, and watched the world go by. I found $5 outside my building before meeting up with Iris for the free Panic! At the Disco show at Copley.
          We found a decent spot in the middle of the audience before the crowd tightened up, and waited for ages while a DJ spun away the time. (Aside: I have to admit that mashing up "Move Bitch" by Ludacris and "Bitch" by Meridith Brooks was genius.) Eventually the band came on, looking like a slightly younger Green Day, and the crowd rushed the stage, separating us from Shandana and getting us stuck behind that guy. Despite everyone having a bare minimum of space to stand up, he was leaning back and air guitaring through the songs, whipping his head around and generally being a nuisance. I should mention that this person was at least six feet tall, had a thick mane of curly hair and gave off a slight odor that reminded me of cat food. The musical experience itself was decent; I do like Panic! At the Disco, but the sound system at this show left much to be desired. Furthermore, I consider them quite artistic for a pop rock band, so it was a little disappointing that the frontman continually joked about sex. It seemed as if he was trying to come off as edgy, though he probably just knows his fanbase all too well. Regardless, sing-alongs like "The Ballad of Mona Lisa" made the show a fun time. After Mr. Cat Food calmed down, things were fine for a while. In time, a group behind us started trying to force their way through an already jam-packed crowd, including trying to crowd surf over people, kicking them in the head in the process, and just jumping into them after they refused to move (or were unable to.) This led to an irate reaction from everyone around, which made me feel good again. We headed home when the show concluded, watched some Boardwalk Empire (only two episodes left!) and Twilight Zone.