The Bed is Irreparably Damaged

current state of mind:  excited

It's not as easy as it seems

The world is big; the sea is deep

There is no rope; there is no line

We're specks of dust up in the sky

There is no space; there is no time

There's only you and what we leave behind.

~ “Show Me” by Garbage

There I was, sitting on my bed, watching the pilot episode of “Breaking Bad”, which is kind of funny because it could have been called “Breaking Bed”, since at the precise moment that Walter White crashed his mobile meth lab, my bed collapsed. Not cool man.  Not cool.   And as I had clearly explained when I predicted that the next time the bed broke, it is indeed irreparably broken. So, until I get a new bed frame, my box spring and mattress are on the floor.  Lame!

Luckily, that was not the best thing that happened to me Tuesday.  Let me tell you about the Torts Final Exam! In fact, I am still rather confused by the entire thing – primarily because I have NO IDEA what these people could have written as their Final Exam Essay responses.  Once again, we had a Torts Exam which allowed us a full week of preparation time. Five questions were provided; we could write or print on the back of the paper any notes we felt would be relevant to the essay exam and bring them to class. At precisely 6:00pm, Torts Prof gave us this introduction: “There are 6 playing cards here; 1-5 and a joker. If you draw a number card, the corresponding number will be the applicable essay question you have to answer. If you draw the Joker, you can write an essay on your favourite beer and why. Good luck.”  My ears perked up. I could totally write an “on-the-fly” essay on why I like Sam Adams Boston Lager.

Then my bestie (GB) in the class was told to draw a card. He drew #2. Everyone in the class groaned and made complaining comments because GB didn’t draw the Joker. It was a little ridiculous to the extent they were carrying on. No matter - they groaned after the cards were drawn during the last two exams as well; though this is the first time that a beer essay was offered. Amidst the groaning, Torts Prof explains he will be right back and leaves the room. Then all but 4 the test takers start talking about the question; but not in an academic way. They pretty much just kept complaining, with one woman leading the way with the loudest complaints. Here is where my confusion started . . . These were her words, “I cannot believe you drew #2. That is the worst question. I mean, look at it. Obviously the Plaintiff has no rights and is an idiot for thinking he does. I guess I’ll just write that.” She then wrote for less than five minutes, turned in her test, and left. I looked around, curious to see if anyone else thought this was strange – but within five more minutes, over half the class had turned in their test booklets and left. 

I glanced from the exam question to my exam booklet. I had only written two paragraphs. Knowing that I hadn’t even examined the actual fact pattern yet, I had no idea how anyone could be finished. I wrote for another 30 minutes, filling 4 sheets of my Blue Book. When I was satisfied that I had at least touched on all the issues, I wrote my conclusion and turned in my test booklet. There were three of us left in the room. Now, I cannot say without a doubt that I covered everything or that I wrote in the most concise manner I could. On the other hand, I can say, with 100% confidence that the Plaintiff did indeed have rights to sue. In addition, I can categorically say that had he actually had no rights or grounds to sue, the concept of a Final Exam essay dictates that you would still be expected to explain WHY, even if the question didn’t actually ask “why?”

I comprehend that there are people who don’t care whether they excel in a class – but if you are paying for it, wouldn’t you care enough that you’d not want to FAIL?  It has left me flabbergasted. Therefore, I dearly want to get my hands on that first essay. I need this curiosity satisfied. Unfortunately, I have referred to that woman as “dumb girl” in my head all term, so I don’t know her given name. Any ideas?

  

PUBLIC NOTICE:  Okay, so Torts Prof told us the funniest TRUE Torts Law story. I am not going to write it out – but if you get a spare 5 minutes between now and when I forget the story – contact me and I will attempt to tell you without breaking into hysterical laughter.  It is truly one of the funniest stories I have ever heard.

PERSONAL NOTE: Cannot wait to see you this weekend! Woot!  Woot!

CONFIDENTIAL NOTE: It was so nice spending time with you after class. Yay!

I’m A Genius, Not a Handyman

current state of mind:  sleepy

Well in this life you must find something to live for

Cause when the darkness comes a callin’

You’ll go back to where you were before

Cause this life is as fragile as a dream

~ “As It Seems” by Lily Kershaw

A little over two years ago, I bought a new bedroom set from a local furniture store owned by a wealthy acquisition conglomerate. The name is not important; for those keeping score at home, however, it has the name of the state in its name. Understand that my luck with this furniture store has not been exceptional. The first time I bought a bed from them, in 1998, they delivered it at 5:45am on a Saturday morning, not caring that they were waking our entire apartment building. Then they weren’t going to assemble it, and I had to not-so-gently remind them that assembly was included in my delivery cost. I also took that moment to remind them that they were supposed to deliver it two other times during the week; but someone screwed up, and perhaps they could just put the damn bed together without argument. Sorry, I digress . . .

Anyway, when I purchased this bedroom set three years ago, I verified delivery times twice with the clerk. She even circled it on my receipt. Imagine my lack of amusement when the delivery people called and said they’d be late. I had taken the morning off work and it turned into a full day off. When they arrived, the delivery men were nice enough – though they once again tried to leave without putting my bed together.  I was fine with not unwrapping the bookcase or bedside table – but that bed was getting put together.  I should have known, based on the stamped “MADE IN CHINA” that the quality of the furniture was not going to be like the Amish would built it – still, I had hope.

Within 6 months, I noticed that the bed rails were not that secure – resulting in a wobbly bed.  I didn’t let it bother me.  Eventually, I had to switch rooms for the remodel, so I took the bed apart, moved it into the other room, and reassembled it.  The metal slats on the rail ends fit even less securely than they had before.  Then, about 8 months ago, I rearranged my room and not wanting to take the whole bed apart again, I put it on those furniture shifting discs and I moved the bed.  BAD PLAN!  As I was pushing the bed I heard the distinct sound of pressed plywood (disguised as hardwood) cracking.  Bloody Hell!  One of the rails completely dislodged itself from the metal hook that slides into the headboard.  I was able to fit it back; but I knew that my luck was running out. 

Over the past several months, I have propped and re-propped boards under the rails, in an attempt to prevent the bed from breaking any further.  I called the store and asked if this was normal behavior for their products and they said my warranty was out, so I could just suck it.  Okay – those were not their exact words – but they were unsympathetic and did not care that the quality of their product was shite.  Well, this past week, the bed broke yet again.  And this time, it was the rail ends on which I hadn’t yet attempted repairs. So this weekend, I made it my solemn duty to fix that damn bed, no matter what it looked like when I was done.  That last part is important . . .

After throwing the sheets into the washer for their weekly laundering and bleaching, I headed to my room to play carpenter.  Disassembling the bed was tricky due to my prior repairs.  Eventually, with perseverance, I was able to take it apart.  Then I went to work. After belatedly remembering that I needed to drill pilot holes to prevent the wood from splitting, I asked my Papa for the “hole drillers”.  Looking nervous, he asked if I needed any help with anything. I quickly declined his assistance and said, “Nope, I just need to fix my bed and I want to make sure the wood doesn’t split (ANY MORE – I whispered to myself).”  He retrieved me a cordless drill and the “hole drillers”.  Then I went to work AGAIN. 

I started by fixing the rails themselves. I figured out a method of attaching the metal hooks back onto rail ends.  I reinforced their attachment with some very nice screws from my tool kit.  Once I was convinced that they wouldn’t fall out again, I began working on the headboard, as it had far less damage than the footboard.  I verified that all of support pieces were in place so when I hooked the rails back on, they wouldn’t snap out.  Then I looked at the footboard and realized I was in trouble.  Pilot holes or not, that piece of furniture was never going to look the same, regardless of how careful I was.  I removed half dozen screws that were compressing large chunks of split wood onto the footboard.  It was about this time that I watched them cut Ned Stark’s head off in Season One of “Game of Thrones”.  Dear God, I hate that inbred Joffrey brat. I had to halt my productivity to curse at the television. 

When I returned to the heap of bed pieces on the floor I stepped on my tool kit and sent approximately 250 pieces of metal fasteners, screws, nuts, bolts, washers, etc. sprawling across the floor. Of course, Elizabeth AND Gracie had to come investigate the noise.  “Get out!” I shouted at them, not wanting them to make the mess worse. Neither one cared a whit that I was asking them to leave.  After drilling approximately 2 dozen pilot holes, and filling those holes with screws, I felt pretty confident that the bed would hold.  I reattached the rails.  The headboard connections were perfect; the footboard, however, not so much.  It was just a matter of time before they gave way again.  The higher attachments, however, appeared to be sound. So the only choice was to use the upper attachments.  The issue is that those attachments are really for use when there is no box-spring. Still, beggars can’t be choosers.  I raised the rails, reinforced the footboard side with a couple of 2x4s and a dozen more screws. 

I replaced all the bed slats and stacked the box-spring and pillow-top mattress on my freshly repaired bed. Everything was sturdy and I felt confident that it would all hold. Then I made my bed with the clean sheets and I finally understood how Dr. Frankenstein felt. With a nice bed skirt, I couldn’t even see the repair work.  In fact, the only noticeable difference was the fact that my mattress was very high . . . like ‘Princess and the Pea’ high. I feel like a little kid trying to climb into my big-girl bed.  Elizabeth cannot jump on or off the bed due to its height. Instead of fretting about the ridiculously high bed, I am going to be IKEA-inspired and utilize all that extra space under the bed for storage.  If anyone needs any work done around the house, feel free to ring me up.   

PERSONAL NOTE: I cannot wait to see you this weekend!

CONFIDENTIAL NOTE:  Thank you for being my friend and for suggesting the movie, “Super 8”.

If I Knew How to Lie

current state of mind:  serenely anxious

The sun was always in her eyes

She didn't even see me

But that girl had so much love

She'd wanna kiss you all the time

~ ‘She Had the World’ by Panic! at the Disco

Best quote evah!  -- “Everyone knows MySpace has fallen on hard times in recent years. It's almost uncool to make fun of it -- like kicking a kid while he's down.”*

Too soon? 

*If you really want to read the entire article from October, 2010 you can on CNN.com. http://articles.cnn.com/2010-10-27/tech/myspace.revamp_1_myspace-myspace-social-network?_s=PM:TECH

NEW TOPIC: 

Lately I have been allowing Rhapsody.com suggest what music I like. The three most recent suggestions have actually been pretty insightful.

• ·         Best Coast  -- The Only Place
• ·         Ingrid Michaelson – Be Ok
• ·         Tenacious D – Rize of the Fenix

Coincidentally, K-Shrub also recently suggested Ingrid Michaelson to me. I am not going to write any album reviews; but I will say wholeheartedly that the girl from Best Coast may be channeling her lyrics directly from my brain. This album is able to say what is flowing through my brain better than I am. Plus she seems to have insomnia issues too – (i.e. “Up All Night”). Perhaps it’s because she has musical accompaniment. I need a band of merry minstrels to follow me around while I think and speak. Does anyone know where I can find a band of merry minstrels in this town? Maybe my Droid knows. I’ll ask it . . . though it NEVER understands what I am saying. There really should be humans listening to those utterances and transcribing them. Oh wait . . . there are!   That’s right, folks. If you talk to your phone, someone is listening. So next time you vocally search for “What does a bowel obstruction feel like?”, know that those words have been beamed to a satellite for processing. Maybe you could just type the letters out. Just a thought!

Something interesting about Ingrid Michaelson is her last name. When I was in 8^th grade, I met a boy named Greg Michaelson in Washington, DC. He was a handsome blonde from Ventura, California. We exchanged addresses. I think he wrote me one letter. 14 year old boys are not the best correspondents. Trust me, I know. I claim one as my son.

Lastly, I just realized that the band “The Black Keys” doesn’t spell its name as “the Black Keyes”. Wow! I don’t know why I assumed the latter. I wonder how many other times I have made similar mistakes. Not cool, man. Not cool!

PERSONAL NOTE:  I tried your suggestion. It isn’t helping me focus.

CONFIDENTIAL NOTE:  I am doing the best that I can.

Sunshine from an Irish Lilt

current state of mind:  patient

And then he turned and said to me

Your eyes are green, like summer grass

Your lips are red, like a fresh cut rose

Your hair is soft, like an Irish stream

And your voice is filled with sweet beauty

~ ‘Christmas Day’ by Dido

There are days when life is just hard; days when nothing redeeming occurs to make the “hardness” seem worthwhile. 

While watching “Frontier House” last week . . . yes, THAT Frontier House. No, they have not made new ones. They are just “new to you” on the DIY network. Thank you, cable television, for bringing this sweet beauty back to prime time.  Now, may I continue please? Thanks . . . So, while watching “Frontier House” last week, the “settlers” were taking to the trail so they could move their wagons to their new homesteads in Montana. One of the young boys on the show was being interviewed and he explained how it had been the worst day of his life.  He then recounted how the wagon he was riding in collapsed when the horses got spooked and he was sent tumbling onto the prairie, narrowly being missed by the horseless wagon. He then lost the worm and hook from his fishing stick. To make matters worse, a “wild dog”, belonging to one of the other families, attacked him. He was sure that he would be a bloody mess; but luckily what felt like “flesh tearing wounds” were really just light bruises from the pressure of the dog’s mouth.  Still, to an 8 year old boy, that likely was the worst day of his life – especially when you consider he was wearing authentic style clothing and looked like a goom-bah!    I sincerely doubt that he felt the day provided him with any balance to the horrors he experienced. 

When K-Shrub was in high school, she also had one of those days.  The details of the story have been lost over time – but the end result has never wavered.  It was the worst day of her life up to that point.  And while I remember laughing uncontrollably at all the horrible things she described to me that day, it was indeed horrid and I wish as much now as I did then that I could have protected her from that pain.  She had another “worst day of her life” in May of 2009 – and once again, I was not able to do anything but listen. The damage had already been done before I was invited into the story. 

It seems unfair that when we have hard days, we feel so alone.  Our friends and family want to help, to bring a smile to our face, something . . . yet, there is so very little they can do. Sometimes their desire to help makes us feel worse, knowing that no matter what they say, we are still going to feel as if we were dragged face down across artificial turf.

Once in a while, however, there is a friend who can provide exactly what you need at the right moment.  Today, I had such a friend. He was able to provide something that none of my other friends could have – a genuine Irish lilt from across the pond. While Ireland is famous for its rainy days, it is just as famous for its citizens’ amazing accent. Therefore, when my phone rang today and I saw the incoming number, I felt my spirits lift a little.  Our five minute conversation was precisely the respite I needed to pull me away from the ledge which always seems to appear right as life begins spiraling outside of our control. I will also do my best to follow his simple advice:  “Then relax and await bliss again.”          

“Then relax and await bliss again.”  -- He’s right; you know.  I’m always in such a rush to fix things and sometimes I need to let go and trust that bliss is not far ahead, since it isn’t far behind me, and life is just one circular Caucus-race like in Alice and Wonderland. 

PERSONAL NOTE:  Looking forward to the reception!  Congratulations again.

CONFIDENTIAL NOTE:   Drive safely to watch your baby girl graduate from high school! I love you!

The Element of Surprise

current state of mind: filtering like a champ

Real love, real love

I don’t know how we got it

But I don’t want to fuck it up

Real love, the push and the shove

You’re the only one I want

But I’m scared to death of . . . losing

~ “Ballad of Nobodies” by Red Wanting Blue

In a couple of months I am possibly* running in my first 5k.  I am possibly* looking forward to the event – though it would be remiss of me to conveniently forget to mention that I will possibly* be running it with K-Shrub who will have had “the Pregnant” for almost 8 months.  She is the one who convinced me to possibly* sign up.  Her major selling point was:  “You’ll get to walk most of it and it will look like you are the nice runner who decided to walk with her pregnant sister instead of running it like you wanted to.”  Now she and I both know that I am not a runner.  She is the one who runs.  In fact, 4 of my 5 siblings are runners.  TJ and I are the only ones who refuse to lace up our trainers and hit the pavement.  Yes, I will walk 60 miles over 3 days; but I have yet to run 3.8 miles (or whatever a 5k is).  In fact, I haven’t run over a mile since college.  I am willing to consider it, however. 

My “the Office” calendar from yesterday gave me some good advice, courtesy of Darryl:

“Look, you need to pick yourself up, man up, all right? You will win this in the end. It’s all about heart and character. Be your best self . . .Yeah . . . I have no idea what his problem is. That’s just my standard advice. It’s good advice, right?”

I’ll take it.

PERSONAL NOTE:  Thanks for all that you do to put a smile on my face. I am lucky!

CONFIDENTIAL NOTE:  I believe in you. I do.