I'll Get You, Scarlett Johansson...and Your Little Dog, Too!

It is a well-kept secret that Barack Obama used to have this little email correspondence thing going. It is well-established that we have a lot of things in common. He is a lawyer. I am a lawyer. He is multiracial. As am I. He comes from a family that has a wide variety of religious denominations in their recent past. As do I. Thus, our burgeoning email correspondence allowed two similar people to just shoot the breeze. It was something I was looking forward to continuing with Barack whether or not he became president.

But then someone came between me and Barack. Her name is Scarlett. Scarlett Johansson. Lately she has been bragging about how "Barack always returns" her emails. D'oh! I used to be able to say the same thing. I honestly can't anymore. I am out because I am not as cute as Scarlett with her hoity-toity poses.

I bet Barack doesn't even read this modest little blog now. I am sad.

You Don't Mess With the Lawyers

I wrote a post recently about my former landlords. I will be generous here and not call them anything more vicious than Mr. X and Mrs. X. To make a long story short, Mr. and Mrs. X didn't refund us our full deposit. Which is strange since they know that my sister and I are lawyers. And, more importantly, we are lawyers who don't have a lot of clients. Thusly, we are lawyers with a lot of time on our hands.

Messing with us is like poking a beehive with a stick. Why would you do that? Seriously, why? Doing this is like asking someone, "Can I have a plate full of hurt? With an order of whoop ass on the side, please." No sane people ask for this. It just isn't done.

30

When I started blogging, I made myself a little promise to post at least one post a day. Well, I have been letting myself down on that issue. But, more importantly, I have been letting you down on that issue. Here you are, not asking much from me besides an occasional bit of free legal advice from a guy who isn't even licensed to practice law in your state and...a really funny post every single day. And I can't even do that little bit.

Well, I am going to be better, y'all. Today is June 23rd. June has, as far as I know, 30 days. This will be my 10th post of the month. Thusly, I have seven days to write 20 posts. Do you think I can do it? I think I can. Of course, I would be sacrificing quality (because that is how I roll) for quantity but oh well. Just between you and me, a half-assed Sweatpants post is better than 73% of the posts out there.

So let the downpour of posts begin...

Starbucks Run

I am about to make a Starbucks run. Does anyone need anything?

S**t or The S**t?

Poser!

You would think from looking at this picture of my niece E that she assembled this puzzle of Big Bird all by herself. To that I say, "Uh, no!" Out of the 30 pieces that made up this Big Bird puzzle, I put together about 29 of them. When there was one piece left, E was all like, "Let me do it! Let me do it!" Uh, E, it is really easy to figure out where the last piece of a puzzle goes.

Aren’t You a Little Sensitive for a Stormtrooper?

In this fast-paced world of ours, it is really easy to forget that other people (or stormtroopers) might be going through a galaxy of hurt. Many times in our everyday lives, we are among people (or stormtroopers) in obvious pain or distress. If we took a moment to look into these people (or stormtrooper's) faces, we would see that their eyes (or eye slots) were saying, "Help me, anonymous stranger, you're my only hope."

Yet...sadly...most of us are content to walk right past such people (or stormtroopers.)

Can't we do better? I think we must do better. Out of necessity really. Take for example the stormtrooper pictured above. You can tell from the expression on his helmet that he is not a happy camper. He had some friends on the Death Star that was exploded, without provocation, by that insurgent Luke Skywalker. (Hate him!) Would it kill anyone to just go up to this stormtrooper and, say, give him a hug? I mean, sure hugging a stormtrooper will probably be all plasticky and weird but I am sure a few seconds will be good enough.

So let's be better, huh? I don't want to find your lack of faith in what I am talking about here disturbing.

I am Not a Comedian But I Play One on My Blog

I was chatting tonight with Anthony who made a rather smart point in the middle of our discussion. Huh, I immediately thought as I realized his point was similar to an idea that has floated through my head a few times over my blogging years. Yet I had never really heard this idea articulated before. In short, his theorem can be expressed by these few words: "E = MC (squared) and, oh yeah btw on our blogs, we try to represent ourselves as we wish the world to see us. Or, at least what we think will sell out there amongst the people."

Now I am not going to say the situations that I write about on this blog are untrue. It's just that the truthiness of something that happens to me can be described in many different ways. A thing that happens to me can be described in a serious or morose way. Or it can be described in a darkly humorous way. I have tried both ways of writing on the blogs that I have had. I find that people like my blogs better when I use as much humor as I can wring from a situation.

A long time ago, the young Tommy J. made a decision that the best way to win friends and impress people was to be the "funny guy." I wasn't going to win friends with my kickball prowess. Nobody seemed to care that I was especially good at chess. That I was president of the math club in 11th grade didn't help me find a prom date. But my humor seemed to work. I guess I was just an inherent funny guy.

In the Darwinian scheme of things, the only thing that kept me from getting beat up mercilessly and continuously as a kid was my ability to make all the local toughs laugh. Who would have thought some of them would have "adopted" me as their mascot? Of course, in this day and age, I will neither confirm nor deny that I took part in my share of proactive bullying because these local toughs had my back. I don't know anything about anything like that.

That humor drives my blog isn't really surprising to me. It has driven almost everything I do. I used to be the funny little mascot of the toughest kids in my middle school. Then I became the young and hip and funny history teacher. Now I am the funny lawyer with his own law office.

Of course, in real life, I am not as funny as I appear on my blog. I know it seems that I make blogging look easy. But I actually do a lot of editing to make each joke just that much funnier. Or if a joke isn't working, it ends up on the cutting room floor. I know that within each of the posts I write, there is a pearl of genuine funniness. I intend to find each and every one of them.

Don't you deserve, you know, the best?

Breaking News, Thirteen Months Late!

I have been a longtime advocate of relentlessly scouring the Internet for just that perfect web page. My search for this elusive page began sometime during the mid 1990s. Countless hours were spent by me on this search. Finally, on a cool night in May of 2007, I found it, my favorite web page ever! Funny that I waited thirteen months to write about it here. I think I probably have forgotten to mention to you how forgetful I can be.

So, what is your single favorite web page of all-time? Inquiring minds want to know.

He's Just Not That Into His Blog

Lately, I have been treating my blog like that pet nobody wants anymore. You know what I am talking about. Like that dog that isn't a cute puppy anymore but that you still have to feed. Instead of being a joy, caring for this unwanted pet is more of an obligation. As you can tell, I have fallen out of love with my blog lately. I mean, I like my blog but that lil' extra pizzaz is gone. Just gone. A note to "American Sweatpants," it's not you, it's really me. I am just not digging blogging lately.

But I am working through my blogging lethargy. See, here is a post. Yay, me!

So...the big question to ask in this post is, "Has anyone seen the 'Sex and the City' movie yet?" I am kind of kicking myself for not having seen it yet. I have since heard that opening night was pretty crazy. One guy I talked to said he saw it opening night. The movie was sold out and there were only about four other guys in the theater with him. Let's see, five guys and approximately 300 females. Fellas, you got to like those odds.

I will go on record here to say I don't understand the aversion of most guys to seeing this movie. When I started dating, I came up with a list of rules that I thought would improve my probability of success. Rule #1 was to be in a place where there were a lot of females and just one me. A perfect example of this is a guy going to see the "Sex and the City" movie. Guys, just picture yourself surrounded by 300 females. Nice odds, huh?

And, guys, you will get some major props for just being at this movie. But to seal any deals you may be working on with the girls sitting to your left or right or in front of you or behind you, it might not be a bad idea to know the names of the four main characters. (Editor's Note: Psst, those names are Carrie and Miranda and Samantha and Charlotte.) Showing a little emotion (a tear here and a tear there) has also been known to work wonders.

So, guys, let's stop acting dumb by ignoring this movie. That really works against your self-interest, yo!

Hello?

Bueller?

Bueller?

Bueller?

When Landlords Attack

I am not sure if I mentioned this here but we recently moved. My sister and my brother-in-law bought a new house. Yay them! I am looking to move out when the law office starts making some money. Hopefully that will be soon but I have to say, at this moment, that I am celebrating that my new bathroom is a big step up from our previous place.

This may be "too much information" but I like to read in the bathroom. This includes filling the bathtub full of hot water and reading the latest New Yorker or Atlantic. I used to read books in the tub till I dropped an 600-page book right on a particularly sensitive part of my body. I think you know what I mean. I don't like to get too explicit here since this is a PG-13 blog. But my bathroom in our previous place was terrible. Terrible. Terrible. I probably will have nightmares about that place for years. The problem with the previous bathroom was that it had no heater and a rather big window that provided no insulation at all. I actually had to put a blanket over the window to make it just a little bit warmer. I was so adamant about the terribleness of this bathroom that I wanted to warn the new tenant to run far, far away from their lease. But...who listens to me? Well, I tried to do the right thing.

Anyway, last Friday was the day that my sister walked the landlords (a husband and wife team) through the old place to see if it met the landlord's satisfaction. My sister had made a herculean effort to clean the place. The wife, here called Mrs. X and in her patently insincere voice, said everything looked okay. That is, until she saw the oven. Then she was all like, "Uh-uh, this is not going to work." My sister then had to go to the store to buy some heavy-duty cleaning supplies. She was on route to the store when she called me to vent.

I felt really bad for my sister because I knew she had worked really hard to clean up the place. I told her, "Maybe you should just buy Mrs. X a brand-new oven. No, come to think of it, that wouldn't work at all. She would just complain that you bought the wrong brand."

Why Can't I Be Prom King?

The other day, my friend J and her daughter E2 walked to a park so E2 could play and run around and use her new tricycle. E2 also has gotten very good lately at doing the monkey bars and so we wanted to make sure she kept up her practice. After E2 had been running around for awhile, J turned to me and said, "Oh no, I forget to bring a snack for E2."

I said, "Uh oh, this is just like that scene in 'Little Children' where Kate Winslet forgot to bring a snack for her kid and had to meekly ask the other moms for a snack. And the resulting shame. Ouch!" I pointed to another mom and said, "Maybe you could ask her if she has an extra snack. But be prepared for a lifetime of being judged." J nudged me in the ribs and said, "No way am I asking her. I don't want to be 'that' mom. You ask. You...you have nothing to lose."

Not missing a chance to advertise one of my favorite writers, I asked J if she had ever read Tom Perrotta, the author of "Little Children." Before she could answer, I chimed in, "I have read all his books! He is that good!" J said, "Calm down, Oprah, calm down." At the mention of Tom Perrotta's name, the mom who I suggested we borrow a snack from earlier, walked over and said, "I couldn't help but overhearing you two talking about Tom Perrotta. I am reading his new book now." Which led me to say, "I already finished reading that book since, well, I have read all his books." She laughed politely but had no comment to that.

I mentioned the whole "we forgot a snack" situation and J mentioned that we had contemplated going over and asking her for a snack. This time the other mom laughed. At this point, I had to walk J and E2's dog Peanut back to their house. J later told me that the other mom referred to some other guy at the playground as "Prom King," seemingly because he was all athletic and stuff. This refers back to a major character in "Little Children," who was a stay-at-home dad who went to the playground with his kid. He was a source of fascination for the other moms at the playground because, well, he was the only man around.

All this led me to wonder, "Why can't I ever be Prom King?"

American Sweatpants Meets American Graffiti

The other day (probably Thursday) started like any other day. I woke up later than I wanted and thought to myself, "Oh shit, I have a job!" I got off the floor I was sleeping on (a story for another post) and drifted over to my computer to check email and my Netflix queue. The realization that I work for myself explain the fact that, even though I overslept, I still wasn't in a particular hurry to get to the office.

But eventually I got there. My office is in a building that has about five other businesses. As I drove to my parking space behind the building, I noticed a massive amount of graffiti on the side of the building. My first thought was, "I don't think that was there yesterday." My second thought was, "If I ever find the guys who did this, I wonder if they have a lawyer."

So...am I alone in not "getting" graffiti? I mean, what is the end game here? Are these guys hoping to get "discovered"? But then what if we really like somebody's graffiti "art"? How are we supposed to find them?

My head is starting to hurt from such confusion.