Jack Up and Jerk Off

One thing that disturbs me about as much as the pet crematory plan is a fellow attorney who proceeds frivolously in order to jack up his bill and/or satisfy a client who has unrealistic expectations. Without naming names, there is a father and sons outfit in the adjacent county who are experts at this.

I have a divorce case with one of the sons from that firm and was very happy to finally get the matter into the courthouse this morning. He wangled numerous continuances in this and the pending support matter by insisting, for example, that he was attached in various other court matters for every weekday of one month. Such tactics frustrate me, but I decide early in the case to proceed calmly but firmly--and cheerfully--pretend I don't know what an asshole he is and treat him like any other human being. A typical telephone conversation with him begins like this:

Him: Hullo.

Me: Hi, Dan. How are you?

Him: Fine

Me [cheerfully]: .....That's great, Dan! I'm fine too. Thanks for asking!

Once, he announced he needed yet another continuance because he was going to Italy for two weeks, so I telephone him on the very day he returns and ask (cheerfully, as always), "How was your trip, Dan?" Truthfully, I don't give a shit about his trip and don't want to know anything about it, but his reaction is priceless. So disarmed is he by my continuing to treat him cordially despite his machinations and monotone bullshit that--just for a moment--his voice lifts and he says, "It was really wonderful! We had a great time! We went to--"

"That's great, Dan. Good for you. Now let's talk about the case."

In the courtroom, more shenanigans....he shamelessly proposes an obviously absurd resolution, but while he takes his turn, I sit still, my head down, my hands clasped together, my tongue pressed firmly between my upper and lower teeth. I know I must control myself and appear relaxed; otherwise, I might lunge across the room and strangle him--his assertions are that outrageous. Often, it's hard to remain still when another attorney slings dung at your client. It is a good exercise of self-discipline.

You see, I knew going in that his reputation would precede him. So when it is my turn to speak, I proceed calmly, add a brand new concept which will damage his case even more (my client now has a herniated disc! here are letters from two treating physicians asserting she cannot work--even driving a car is "inadvisable" at this time!), throw a few subtle digs at opposing counsel, even make a few self-deprecating remarks about my client's attorney and then propose the only obviously reasonable resolution.

And when I finish, the master turns to opposing counsel and tells him that I am right and he is wrong; that the case will not proceed as he proposes. Another lawyer might have been angry or felt slapped in the face, embarrassed for making such intentionally outlandish proposals but, true to his form he remains expressionless and merely turns his wrist to check his watch. Court time brings in a higher fee than work done in one's office. In that, he succeeds for the morning. He has jerked off his client--and mine--by unnecessarily protracting the case and thereby increasing both attorneys' bills.

My courthouse work done for the day, I quickly leave, obsessed with the idea of stopping for a frosted cruller at Dunkin' Donuts on my way out of town but decide not to, don't know why. Just want to keep on going.

Sometimes, you do want to keep on going, but life is short, and donuts are good. I could have had a donut. I wish I had one now.

Disturbing Business Plan

Lunch with Joe, The Undertaker. We haven't seen each other in a while, and he wants to catch up quickly, so he regales me with the losses he took last week in Las Vegas, the situation with the new (used) Lexus and future business plans, which include opening a pet crematory.

My eyebrows go up, and he asks if I'll be his business partner. I'm revolted by the idea but kick into business mode and fire questions at him....where? zoning? how much does the "machine" cost? how to get customers away from competition? Nothing fazes him; he answers each in succession. Some questions he cannot answer, but he's going to meet some people near Pittsburgh to find out more.

"A dog park..." "Huh?" "We could put a dog park right next to it!"

"Are you insane?"

"It's a great idea," he says, excitedly. "That's what they have by this place in Pittsburgh."

"That' so awful," I lament. Imagine taking your pet to the dog park to frolic and seeing smoke from the chimneys next door. It's more than I can bear, and I change the subject.

But who knows...after all, he is The Undertaker and he knows such things. I guess.

Ferris Wheel

James on the right (in blue shirt), Matt on the left. My child pleads that I go on the ride too....I give in....and white-knuckle it....break out in a sweat as soon as we go up and thoroughly question some of the absurd choices I make...the introspection one-hundred feet in the air distracts me from the mania on the ground below and the hysteria I feel so high up....

The annual pilgrimage to the Kimberton Fair, this time on a warm Friday night....a must for the children, but the adults could easily go without. As always, an enormous array of people from all walks of life, some with teeth, some without....the cows look good, sweet and placid, smell of manure wafting through the air...and the sheep, awaiting their turns in the ring, wear white outfits, including hoods with holes cut out for their eyes. Kathy asks why, and I suggest they are clansmen--or sheep of clansmen--and, of course, the signs on their cages state they are from Berks County farms, so undoubtedly....

We succumb eventually to the crowds, and I accordingly refuse to wait on the very long donut line, so we leave empty-handed...that was disappointing, sure, but there's always next year....

Sushi Satire

Lunch with Dave at Liki. I arrive a few minutes late and become obviously disgruntled as I discover his glass of water has a thin sliver of lemon floating on top, but mine has none. He immediately offers to exchange his glass for mine. I giggle, politely refuse and then point out--and he agrees--that his other beverage, green tea, is heart healthy. He takes a sip while I quickly drain my lemonless water. It's cold and good.

We catch up quickly and somehow drift to the topic of blogs, including this one. He thanks me for "turning [him] on" to B's food blog...comments how bizarre it and he are...and then we crack up. We laugh so hard that it's hard to believe we're not inebriated. I shake my head and say, "I can't imagine now what I was thinking then." He inquires, "You mean because of his gas problem?" I need more water. We wonder if I should satirize that other blog in this post, so, ok, here I go....

We both order from the lunch specials section of the menu. I choose three rolls (spicy tuna, yellowtail and tuna and avocado) for $10.95--a bargain. He orders only two rolls (California and shrimp with avocado) for $8.95, still a good price. Warm miso soup and salad with ginger dressing arrive first. Oddly, the salad has an apple sliver on top--no tomato. Haven't they heard that tomatoes are not, in fact, the culprit of the recent salmonella scare? It's peppers, hot peppers. So why put an apple in the salad? How odd. I desperately want to ask our waitress about this, but her grasp of the English language is poor, so I don't bother. I just accept things as they are and move on. It must be noted, though, that there are two cucumber slices in each salad. Perhaps apples became The New Vegetable when I wasn't looking?

Besides being barely able to speak English, the young Asian waitress is overly eager, frequently checking to see if "you done?" even when we obviously are not. We linger because of the enjoyable conversation. Eventually, the sushi arrives, and I apologize before I begin for the enormous amount of food I will consume. I often overeat at lunch (and then feel bloated and exhausted after....) The sushi is good there--nothing extraordinary but adequate when you have the need, which is something all sushi afficionados understand. I warn, too, that I will eat with my fingers and that I understand that is appropriate in Japan. He agrees and says that he recently discovered that it is also not incorrect to pick up lamb chops with one's digits. Who needs chopsticks and utensils when fingers will do, maaan?

We discuss our mutual middle age and how we both find we have less tolerance now for undesirable people, clients and such, whereas in the earlier years, we were--as he put it--"like whores--but in a good way." That was an earlier time when every person who came through my office door was a perspective client, when I often took clients without retainers, took others with wildly unrealistic expectations and some who just wanted someone to talk to. (Actually....that is a fair representation of the men I usually go out with.) Some wanted a date. Some wanted only to rant with obscenities about their spouses on my answering machine in the middle of the night when the office was dark. It was a different time. A younger time, and my tolerance for such things decreases in direct correlation to the increases in my income and age.

An hour and a half later, we finish and Dave leaves almost a whole roll on his plate which surprises me, and I wonder how anyone can leave sushi on the plate--actually leave it behind--when the need to consume is ordinarily so great?

And of course, there is much juice to drink, and miles to go before I think....

Remember When the Music

For we believed in things, and so we'd sing....

Took the boy and met Pam to go to the Tom Chapin concert in Bryn Mawr. I had been a very big fan of Tom's brother, the late Harry Chapin. In fact, Harry's double live album was the first record I bought when I received my first stereo (a turntable, AM-FM radio and cassette player all in one unit) in the 1970s. Eventually, I acquired all of Harry's albums and learned the words to most of his songs.

In the Summer of 1981, I was in a stifling hot dorm room in Harvard Yard with my all-in-one stereo and all my beloved albums (Harry, Bob Dylan, Hot Tuna, Neil Young, the Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Leo Kotke, Arlo Guthrie, Ry Cooder, among many others, but there was one album I did leave at my parents' house--my Sean Cassidy album--his cover song was "Da Do Run Run." Had a huge crush on him when he was one of the Hardy Boys a few years earlier and bought his album which contained a free poster of him that I taped to my closet door and then removed when I lost interest and actually felt embarrassed, but I can still see that poster in my mind...like the rest of us, Sean had feathered hair... and imagine: I also read Tiger Beat magazine, thought the Bay City Rollers were good and collected comic books during the junior high years) when I heard the news on the radio...that Harry had died in a car accident on the L. I. E. I was crushed. He was only thirty-six.

At his brother's concert tonight, it occurred to me that many of the "big" moments of my life are related to songs...or that I remember particular songs as part of a particular time or place.

So I never got to see Harry in concert--at least not live--and it was always regrettable but, of course, there was nothing I could do. A couple of years ago, I bought one of Tom's CD's for the boy, and he liked it...but generally, he believes that whatever I tell him is good is, in fact, good. Sometimes, really good. That's gratifying, and it's great to be able to listen to whatever I want in the car and have him appreciate it. Sometimes lately, I hear him singing with me from the back seat.

So seeing Tom tonight is the closest I can come to seeing Harry. Tom did a few of his brother's songs, and I remembered all the words to every one....songs I hadn't even thought of in many years. The boy leaned against me and kept asking, "You know this one too, Mom?" "I guess I know them all," I said. At least someone thinks I'm cool. It's funny how you never forget some things...times tables, riding a bike, the lyrics to old songs you haven't heard in years....

After the concert, I approached Tom. The boy thought this was very bold of me. He often doesn't understand why I do what I do. He says, "Mom, you're crazy" at least once a week.

Tom is a very tall man. He took my hand and held it as I told him I wrote to his brother when I was in sixth grade (although, apparently, I was in seventh), and he asked if he wrote back. Yes, he did, and I still have his letter. I handed my cell phone to Pam to take a picture of Tom and me, and she had a lot of trouble with it. Tom and I put our arms around each other's waists, and he told Pam to take her time because, he said, "we're enjoying this." He also said, "Obviously, you are not in sixth grade anymore." We did finally get a photo, which is blurry. I look like a cracked-out zombie or groupie, and Tom is wearing sunglasses even though it was after 9:00 at night. But I guess that's what happens when you attend these events and try to score with the main act. Since there was a long line of people behind Pam waiting to get autographs, I gave him another squeeze and moved on. Too bad I look like such a jackass in the blurry photo on my cell phone.

On the way home, we listened to the CD, and I remembered--and sang--all the words to "30,000 Pounds of Bananas."