For four days, I am at home.

I realized when stepping out of the cab at my hotel today that I could breathe freely for the first time in a long time.

I learned that New York is the kind of place where one can unexpectedly happen upon a Bastille Day boulle tournament on her way to lunch, where people are drinking champagne and flinging shining silver balls down a sand-covered court in the middle of the street.

I concluded that there are few Friday afternoons better than one spent perusing the New York Times in a favorite French/Brazilian cafe while enjoying a fresh salmon feta omelette, mesclun salad and a glass of excellent Italian pinot blanco.

I realized that New York is a place where you can still find things to do after waking up at 2:00 a.m. from a really long nap, such as finding a slice of pizza, enjoying a glass of wine at a favorite cafe and then taking in a live Pink Floyd singalong under the arch in Washington Square Park on your way home for the night, complete with guitar, flute, bongos and the aroma of marijuana smoke floating in the air.

I realized that New York is where one goes when they cannot wait to have a life at a later time.

A taste of the "good" life.

Wednesday: work from 8:00 a.m. until 1:00 a.m.

Thursday: arise in time to see dogs off on puppy bus, then catch a smidge of extra sleep before working all day and night to tie up loose ends before leaving for "vacation" (2 days off work, sandwiched around weekend)

Friday: arrive home from work at 3:02 a.m., pack for weekend in NYC and leave home at 5:00 a.m. to catch flight that leaves at 6:30 a.m.

The reward?

Go to the great city of New York and try to squeeze in some fun with friends around more work:



In other news, I received a spam email today offering me "discreet lawsuit pills." I've been looking for those . . .

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Baseball week on the blog continues . . .

If you love baseball, you should read this article by Dan McGrath in the Chicago Tribune. He is the Tribune's Associate Managing Editor for Sports and has been a card-carrying member of the Baseball Writers Association of America since 1981. And he was kind enough to share some of his thoughts after 25 years of covering The Great Game.

I have often wondered what it is about baseball that makes stories about the game such a sentimental read. This is unlike any other sport about which I have ever read. Tears spring easily to my eyes when I read a well-written baseball story, and McGrath's article is no exception.

Long live the great game.

Up early and hoping to go back to sleep.

So I'll whip out this little meme for your reading pleasure, courtesy of Betty at Old Dog New Trick (who also happens to be the mother of Jay and Kell!):

1. Have you ever been searched by the cops? No.

2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters? No way.

3. When's the last time you've been sledding? When I was a kid.

4. Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone? With someone, if it's the right someone.

5. Do you believe in ghosts? No.

6. Do you consider yourself creative? Yes.

7. Do you think O.J. killed his wife? Yes.

8. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie? Jen! Jen! Jen!

9. Do you stay friends with your exes? Sometimes, depending on the ex.

10. Do you know how to play poker? No, I am card-impaired (except for spades, which I love).

11. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight? I've come close.

12. What's your favorite commercial? I'm not sure because I don't have television.

13. What are you allergic to? Cats and Cardinals fans (just kidding, Jay!).

14. If you're driving in the middle of the night, and no one is around do you run red lights? Only if the light seems to be stuck, with no plans of ever changing to green, and then only after a very careful look around to be sure no one is coming.

15. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you? What do you think?

16. Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees? Red Sox.

17. Have you ever been Ice Skating? Yes.

18. How often do you remember your dreams? Rarely.

19. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? I don't think this is the last time, but it's the most recent time I can remember: when I was joking with a friend about going to the neighbor's house to borrow toilet paper because my only remaining stash was accidentally locked in the bathroom.

20. Can you name 5 songs by The Beatles? Hey, Jude. I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Um, that's all I know right now.

21. What's the one thing on your mind now? Whether the freak injury to Cubs pitcher Carlos Zambrano at the All Star game means there really is a Cubs Curse.

22. Do you know who Ghetto-ass barbie is? No.

23. Do you always wear your seat belt? Yes.

24. What cell service do you use? Cingular.

25. Do you like Sushi? Yes!!!

26. Have you ever narrowly avoided a fatal accident? I'm sure.

27. What do you wear to bed? Either one of my plethora of pajamas or nothing.

28. Been caught stealing? No.

29. What shoe size do you have? 8

30. Do you truly hate anyone? Until last year, the answer to that question would have been no. But now it is yes.

31. Classic Rock or Rap? Depending on my mood, either.

32. If you could sleep with one famous person, who would it be? John Cusak.

33. Favorite Song? At the moment, the version of "Sweet Potato Pie" that Ray Charles and James Taylor sing on Charles' "Genius Loves Company" album.

34. Have you ever sang in front of the mirror? I plead the Fifth.

35. What food do you find disgusting? Make that foods: grits, coconut, shredded carrots, beets.

36. Do you sing in the shower? No, I listen to the radio.

37. Did you ever play, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours"? Not that I recall.

38. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back? No--only to their face.

39. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew? Yes, and I was arrested for it.

40. Have you ever been punched in the face? No.

Things are busy

as I prepare to--gasp--take two whole days off work, making a four day weekend for me! But I could not keep this from you, this splendid clip of the best interview ever of Ann Coulter, via Defective Yeti. This interview comes from a surprising source: the radio show of Adam Carolla (who knew?). Please devote the next one minute of your life to listening to this--you won't regret it.

The definition of hypocrisy: found here and here. In this revealing exemplar, Republican Senator Orrin Hatch moves heaven and earth to help a music producer with whom he shares a lawyer. This music producer was facing criminal charges carrying a lifetime imprisonment penalty in Dubai because he was caught at their airport while bringing cocaine to Naomi Campbell's birthday party. However, thanks to a number of calls from Hatch to People With Power, the music producer is back in the U.S. and facing significantly reduced charges. Contrast this with Hatch's refusal to help the Sah family, who have been living legally in the U.S. for 16 years and now face deportation. Republicans: bringing the illegal drug users back in and shipping the law-abiding people out. Via Blurbomat, a bewildered resident of Hatch's home state.

In other news, I was "young ladied" today for the fourth time in as many depositions, by a curmudeon (this is putting it nicely) of an opposing counsel. After that, he leaned across the large conference room table in front of the videotape's line of sight, pointed his finger at me and yelled that he hates everyone in the room . . . this would include his own court reporter, a videographer, my clients (whom he never met before last week) and me. Our receptionist thinks he is certifiable, and she only heard him through the glass walls of the conference room attached to our lobby.

Guessing game: where am I going this weekend (if I already told you, pretend you forgot)?

Clues:

Clever.

The most (only) impressive aspect of the Dallas Morning News is its sport section, which remarkably and consistently great despite being buried in an otherwise mediocre (pathetic) newspaper. A recent offering is this bird-watcher's guide to the Texas Rangers players, which even a non-Rangers fan (i.e., me) can enjoy. Check it out!

I may just have to declare this baseball week, in honor of the All Star game. But please be warned: if Kenny Rogers starts the game for the American League, I won't be watching or listening. A player who assaults an innocent videographer doing his job at the Ballpark isn't someone who should be showcased for the kids as the AL starting pitcher. My humble opinion.

I'm feeling sentimental about baseball tonight.

Maybe it's the fact that the Cubs won their third game in a row today, the first time they have done so in as long as I can remember this season. I'm really not sure why. But I thought I would share with you something I wrote after returning from seeing the Cubs play the White Sox at spring training in Arizona this April:

I have lots to write about my trip to Arizona and Cubs spring training, and not much time in which to write. But I wanted to touch on this before it slips away . . .

I read tonight that Marquis Grissom, a guy who was trying to make the Cubs' roster by playing well in spring training, retired today. My heart ached a bit on reading this. Not because I have long loyalty to Marquis--I really don't know much about him at all. But yesterday, I saw the last game he ever played, a spring training game between the Cubs and the White Sox.

Marquis played all nine innings in right field, and for some reason, I happened to see him often and really notice him, whether I was sitting in my seat behind home plate watching him bat or whether I was hovering near the end of the first base line, near his spot in right field, to peek at the guys in the bullpen and take in the whole scene from a different angle. And each time I noticed Marquis, I saw a certain expression on his face, a slight wistfulness, and saw that he kept looking around at the crowd when he was playing in the field. I didn't realize it then, but I think now that he knew it was his last game and he was trying to burn into his brain the memory of the sounds of the crowd, and the faces, and all of it, so that he will remember always what that feeling was like, even if the memory only came from a spring training game.

Today, he said: "When it's time, it's time," . . . "I think this is the best thing for me, at this point, to officially hang the cleats up and go home and enjoy the second half of my life and do things I've always wanted to do" . . . "The best thing about [Monday] was I played nine innings and I felt good" . . . "I'm at peace with myself," he said. "I'm happy. I feel the whole world has been lifted off my shoulders. I don't have to do it, I don't have to commit the time. It took its toll. This is the way I want to go out."

Grissom is, according to the linked article, "one of seven players in Major League history to record 2,000 hits, 200 home runs and 400 stolen bases. He was fourth on the active leaders list with 429 stolen bases and is 55th on the big league list, having stolen 20 or more bases in 10 of his 17 seasons." But what strikes me about him is his love for the game and his generosity in supporting the younger players. Today, when I realized the reason for the expression I saw on his face at yesterday's game, it touched me in a way I cannot quite explain. I hope this player who experienced so much on the field will find a new, but equally satisfying, fulfillment in the second chapter of his life off the field.

Postscript: It is interesting to me that, three months after Marquis' retirement, there are so many recent articles that mention him, according to this Google search. I feel somewhat comforted to know that players like him are not quickly forgotten.

Justice.

I was annoyed when Ozzie Guillen packed the AL All Star team with so many White Sox, to the exclusion of more deserving players from other teams. Well, karma is a bitch, as they say.

The Sox are currently embroiled in an 19-inning still-tied game with the Red Sox, and I'll bet those White Sox All Stars are getting tired! The White Sox have used 8 pitchers so far in the game, with no end in sight, and they only have one potential batter left on the bench.

HA HA HA HA HA.

One red paperclip

Do you think you could trade a paperclip--a red one--for a house? Via Kottke, the story of Kyle, whose quest was to engage in a series of trades, starting with a red paperclip, and hopefully ending with a house. If you click here, you can read a blurb on each of his trades. He's an interesting guy and it is a great story!

I am truly frightened.

You may recall my recent post on a church in Dallas that threatened a member and non-member having an affair with publication of the affair if they did not stop (short version). I was just looking for an update on the status of the resulting litigation and stumbled on this blog, where people posted their thoughts. Scroll down to the thoughts of Vince (last post), who claims to be a member of that church. His take on the matter scares the hell out of me. (Clarification: not because I am engaged in an affair--I am not--but because it shows the mindset of the religious right, which is super frightening to me).

Reflections on Ken Lay.

I am sure by now you all have heard about the surprising death of Ken Lay, who died about 24 hours ago of a "massive coronary" at his vacation house in Aspen. Although I learned of this not very long after it occurred, it took me all day to mull over my thoughts about it.

Here they are . . .



(Photo courtesy of MediaWatch)

My initial, visceral reaction to Lay's death was one of shock and sadness. This surprised me almost as much as the death itself. As you may recall, I was not impressed by Lay's attitude during his cross-examination in his criminal trial and felt that the guilty verdict he ultimately received was right on target. So, why the feeling of sadness?

For starters, my own father died unexpectedly of a heart attack, as most faithful readers of this blog are probably aware. I think that any remotely similar death, even of someone I did not know at all, strikes a chord with the part of me that remembers the shocked feeling of great loss. I learned of another odd similarity when I realized today that Ken Lay was 64, the same age my father would have been this year, had he not died eight years ago. But this realization made me mad: while I realize there are no guarantees of fairness in this world, it seems massively unfair to me that a man who lived the kind of life Ken Lay did was permitted eight more years of life--precious time spent with his family and others who mattered to him--than my own father was. I know this makes no sense, but it is how I felt.

As far as I can tell, Ken Lay and my father had only two things in common, other than their cause of death: both were born poor and worked hard to make a better life for their families. I believe the resemblances end there. Playing any role whatsoever in the financial downfall of another human being would have been as foreign to my father as the extravagant lifestyle that Lay lived . . . Lay, who lived that lifestyle while promising Enron employees he was high on the company while at the same time secretly selling his stock like there was no tomorrow. That is something my father would never have done.

My feelings circled around again by the end of the day. Now, this Houston Chronicle editorial says most accurately what I am feeling: (a) Lay's death is a loss for those who sought penal and financial closure for his wrongdoing; and (b) Lay's death cost him the opportunity for atonement and redemption among those whom he wronged. Finally, my heart goes out to Lay's family, as I know very well the pain of incompletion when a loved one passes without warning. I can only imagine that their pain is compounded by the fact that they view him as having been unfairly persecuted over the last few years. Enron was not their fault, as far as I can tell, and I am sorry for their pain.

Maybe I will feel something different tomorrow, but that is where my feelings end up tonight.

Want to travel around the world?

You could do that with Megan, a Chicagoland girl after my own heart. Megan began a round-the-world trip in 2004; the trip was cut short when her father became ill. She spent a bit more than one year at home and recently hit the road again. This blip from her explanation of "phase 2" of her trip explains a lot about her travel philosophy and why I like her without even knowing her:

To my mom's horror, I have decided to not only finish my original trip, but have added on a few other countries along the way. If I were to start where my original plan left off I would be going to Tibet first. It's impossible to fly to Tibet directly from Chicago so I would have had to fly from China. My reasoning is, that if I'm already adding China into Phase 2 I might as well add in Mongolia--it's right there! And to get to Tibet from Mongolia I could go along the Silk Road and take a little detour to Central Asia... and it snowballed from there.

Check out her blog!

On another note, here are a few pictures from what was a really nice day yesterday:

My friend and her daughters, pre-parade:



The kids whose yard we watched the parade from:



Dog in a car!



All dressed up and no parade to watch (yet):



My favorite firework (I love blue):

Happy Anniversary, America.

On this, the Fourth Day of July in the Year 2006 . . .

I believe the future of our country is tied to that of The Great Game for more reasons than one. But this is one of those reasons.



The constant trampling of civil liberties and blundering mistakes by the current administration make me long for leadership like that of JFK, who said:

A nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and falsehood in an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people.

. . . . .

The very word 'secrecy' is repugnant in a free and open society; and we are as a people inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths, and to secret proceedings.

They say that history repeats itself. I think that is true. These excerpts from Martin Luther King's Letter from the Birmingham jail sound so familiar to me right now:

While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your recent statement calling my present activities "unwise and untimely." . . . . .

. . . . I am in Birmingham because injustice is here. . . . . .

I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds.

. . . . .

My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals. We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.

. . . . .

There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. . . . . . One may ask: "How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the Brat to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all"

Now, what is the difference between the two? How does one determine whether a law is just or unjust? A just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: An unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust.

. . . . .

Let me take note of my other major disappointment. I have been so greatly disappointed with the white church and its leadership.. . . .

When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we would be supported by the white church felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; and too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained-glass windows.

. . . . .

By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an arch defender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent and often even vocal sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true elixir and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom, They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us.

They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jai with us. Some have been dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment.

I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives are at present misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham, and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom.

. . . . .

Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Comparing the current administration to the awe-inspiring dedication of JFK and MLK could be a source of sadness and disappointment. It is my hope that it will instead be a source of inspiration. We can overcome this. We can turn this country's fortunes around. It will not happen as we sit passively by, waiting for a new day to arrive. and it will not happen overnight. But it will not happen at all if we do not begin acting as a force for change now. In the words of JFK:

All this will not be finished in the first hundred days. Nor will it be finished in the first thousand days, nor in the life of this administration, nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin.

Yes, Virginia, there is a god.

This is what I thought as a Houston Astro just hit a three-run homer, to put his team up on the Cubs 7-2 in the sixth inning. Had I traveled all the way to Houston for this, it would have broken my heart. Instead, I'm at home with my dogs and a glass of wine, listening to the game and sadly thinking that this is the lowest I have seen my team in a long, long time. (knock on wood)

A Confession.

The Way We Were is the one movie that will make me cry every time I watch it, without fail.

Well, I WAS grumpy.

Does it make me a bad person to take such unbounded joy in the Cubs' 15-11 win over the Hated White Sox and even more joy (if that is possible) in reading the Angry Rantings of White Sox Fans during said win?

From Bleed Cubbie Blue, this classic quote, funny in the context of one of the Cubs' worst seasons in recent memory:

"We still have our dignity!" -- unidentified semi-drunk Cub fan, walking up the stairs in the LF bleachers during the 15-11 win over the White Sox on July 2

Sign #271 that I am not meant to be a parent.

Among things that I find very annoying, one of the very most annoying things is this:

A person responsible for a child in a public place--whether it be Starbucks, a restaurant, a sidewalk, etc.--looks expectantly at me, as if I should be as delighted as she is by the child's existence. It is almost always a she, not a he, who displays this expectant and delighted look. What is the cause for this "surely you must be as impressed by this child as I am" kind of look? At that moment, the child is invariably emitting a piercing screech in an otherwise quiet restaurant, touching things he/she should not touch with his/her filthy hands, delaying a long line of coffee customers waiting to order as the "responsible" adult breathlessly awaits a 2 year old's pronouncement of what he/she wants to drink, creating a dangerous situation by wandering in front of waiters balancing heavy trays, or engaging in some other annoying and/or dangerous behavior.

When I encounter this "look" from the person responsible for the child at the very moment when the child should be least likely to evoke admiration or delight, it takes every ounce of energy and willpower I have not to say, "If I wanted to hear screeching with my breakfast/taint all the products available for purchase/delay morning coffee orderers/injure a waiter by tripping him, I would have given birth to my own child and brought him here. But I didn't."

Respectfully submitted,

Lisa The Grump.

In a twist of the truly surreal,

the ex-boyfriend who called me last week has sent me a lawsuit to handle for his company. I am flattered that he has entrusted me to handle this very important matter for him and am excited that it will require me to travel to a state I truly love to visit.

You may recall that he left me a voice mail last week in which he mentioned that he is now married and expecting his first child. When he reached me "live," J filled me in on the precise date and place in which he proposed to his wife, the date on which they married and the date on which they conceived their child. Yes, this was too much information. But we quickly moved on to the state of my love life, which offered a really short transition into how fulfilled I am by my work. Um. So ... then we turned to talk of travel, and the conversation became significantly more comfortable for me.

Sometimes, life throws you into a truly unexpected situation. My philosophy is to see where it takes you, as I do not believe in accidents or coincidences. Lest I be misunderstood, I am not implying that there will be any romance with this guy--even leaving aside the obvious (that he is married), it was clear to me then, as it is now, that this was a connection better left unconnected. But other good things may come of this!

*******

In other news, I was thinking of a North Carolina vacation in August/September, but am now thinking that if I have 10 days off in a row, I should spend it in another country, as that is a rare occurrence. So now I'm shopping for another country to visit and am feeling totally undecided. I haven't officially scrapped the NC trip and spent a lot of time today scouting out possible places to stay along the way. But I find that I feel most refreshed after returning from a place where people speak a different language. Am even considering Cuba or places southward, a direction in which I have never before traveled. Thoughts?

P.S. A big shout-out to Phil of The Archer Pelican site, who was nice enough to provide me with detailed thoughts on the NC trip and to solicit feedback from his readers, too. I know if I don't make that trip this year that I'll do it another time for sure.

*******

P.P.S. I have now had 5,999 visitors to this site--the next visitor will be number 6,000. Welcome!

Oh, no!

I'm not sure how I overlooked this, but my beloved Cubs will be just a few hundred miles away--in Houston, Texas--to play a July 4th series against the Astros. There are amazing tickets still available for July 3rd and 4th. HOW FUN WOULD THAT BE??!?@?@

Argh.

Weird week.

Hey, all,

I don't know about you, but it has been a weird week for me. Work was weird, personal stuff weird. Not in a bad way--just strange.

Tonight I found myself thinking about what little trip I could take for my birthday this year. Was pondering flying into Charleston, SC, spending the weekend there, driving up the coast to the Outer Banks for a few days, then going to Charlotte, NC, to see my friend and her little boy (whom I have not yet met) before flying home. If you have made this drive and have thoughts on its enjoyability factor, please let me know. Thoughts, please.

Tomorrow is "jeans day" at my office. Ah, the small joys.

Need a laugh? Check out Kate's blog, with her link to and commentary about an amazing Bjork video. Yes, you heard me right: a Bjork video.

The least beautiful photo I have ever taken.

I needed to think for a while about one of the photos I took this weekend before posting it.
I needed to think about what it means to me, and what it could mean to you, and whether it could possibly make a difference to post it. My hesitation was borne of worry that I would be invading someone's privacy by posting it.

This is ironic, given that the man in the photo has no privacy. He is homeless. I photographed him sleeping outside, in midday, with his head propped on his shoes and his dirty socks hanging out there for all the world to see. What I assume are all of his worldly possessions were at his side in a stroller (in a truly illogical effort to battle homelessness, Dallas outlawed possession of shopping carts by those who do not own said carts, resulting in homeless folks pushing their belongings around in anything with wheels that is not a shopping cart).

I was moved by him and I hope you are, too:



There is no excuse for a country with our means to have citizens living under these conditions. No. Excuse. Whatsoever.

Please read here about some of the many ways in which you can help the homeless, both generally and in New York. The Doe Fund is a program to which I have donated for years, because I like their creativity, dedication and effectiveness. If you want to point your time and/or money in a local direction, I'm sure there are organizations in your hometown--please look them up!

Bless you, Derrek Lee

The Cubs' beloved but injured First Baseman/All Star has returned. Prematurely returned, due to the Cubs' utter suckage, I mean, bad luck with so many player injuries. And Lee is telling it like it is, in a way that even Cubs manager Dusty Baker, who is paid to be angry and kick things when they suck, has not.

Lee says, regarding the Cubs' 8-1 loss to the Minnesota Twins on Sunday:

It was surprising . . . [t]o me, [the attitude is to] come to the yard every day ready to play. I don't think we showed up [Sunday]. That's not excusable. I think we have to understand we have to do a better job than that.

. . . . .

We need to win games and make [an] effort to be respectable again.

You have been missed, D Lee. Welcome back!

See the biggest

baseball manager meltdown ever. Here.

Some weekend photos with the new lens . . .

Lisa and the Boys

I will guiltily admit to you that I read this column, because it is what reminded me of a phenomenon I truly regret: the "married guys can't hang out with girls anymore" rule. I thought of this earlier today, while sipping a Sangria swirl with a view of a patio on which my buddies and I whiled away many a weekend afternoon after I moved to Dallas:



Weekends and even many week nights in my late 20's/early 30's were filled with outings with my dear guy friends. We helped each other move (okay, so they helped me move), took ski trips together and downed pitchers of margaritas on any number of patios on warm-weather days. We threw parties together. Retrieved towed cars together. Sat together on the hard metal bleachers at the old Arlington Stadium where the Rangers played before they got a pretty park. Took day trips to see the Cubs play in Houston. There was the time I tried to reward them for helping me move by cooking a lasagne feast for them--only to find that the oven in the house where I had lived for the past 6 months was not functional. Lots of stories.

In short, we had lots of fun adventures together, all while being platonic friends.

Then, about three years ago or so, it all began to change. I think J was the first . . . although (or perhaps because) he had been married and divorced young, he was a ringleader of our group, the guy who got his first tattoo while his car was being towed away, leading to yet another adventure we would reminisce about for years. But then J met K, a perky and resolute almost-divorced mother of young twins, and before we knew it, J was married and the father of two.

Not long thereafter, M married a woman who was also freshly divorced and mother of two young children. And M became an instant father, marrying a woman who thinks Dr. Phil is the best thing since sliced bread and that anyone who doesn't understand that must just feel that way "because you've never been married." (Yes, this is something she said to me while seated next to me at dinner one night).

It wasn't long after that before our buddy S took a transfer with his company out of state, ultimately ending up in California. There, he met the woman who is now his wife, and they were on the road to being parents even before their wedding, to which none of us were invited. I still haven't met his wife. I don't know much about her other than that she is liberal and is the kind of person who doesn't send a thank you note after receiving a really nice baby gift from an old friend of her husband's. I know that when I was recently practically in their neighborhood during a visit to San Diego, S wasn't allowed to come visit me, nor was I invited to visit them. I know that when S finally won our long-held Cubs/Red Sox/World Series bet (such a serious bet that it had been reduced to a contract) when his beloved Red Sox became the World Champions, he wasn't allowed to collect his prize--tickets to Opening Day the next season--even when I said that his wife was welcome to attend also.

I don't mean to sound bitter and I don't think I am bitter. The truth is, I am sad that our old gang has been broken up. I stay in touch with the guys sporadically and I know the guys stay in touch with each other a little bit, too . . . now more difficult with J having moved with his family to Virginia recently. But even for them, it isn't the same. And when they do get together, they have to label it a "guy's weekend" in order to buy the time. Because by virture of me being a girl, if I'm included, the wives argue that they should be included, too. The guys don't come out and say this, but I know that is how it is.

It makes me sad that we old friends--our gang--cannot relive the old days in a way which would not do any harm to any of their relationships. It is very hard for me to understand why we are not permitted to do that. I hope that if the day comes when I marry, I will remember this feeling and give my husband the space he needs to spend time with those who "knew him when," regardless of their gender.

Best American cities for me

(stolen from Jay):

American Cities That Best Fit You::

70% Boston

70% Chicago

65% New York City

65% Philadelphia

60% Los Angeles

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

Also stolen from Jay, the European City to which I am supposedly best suited:

You Belong in Amsterdam

A little old fashioned, a little modern - you're the best of both worlds. And so is Amsterdam. Whether you want to be a squatter graffiti artist or a great novelist, Amsterdam has all that you want in Europe (in one small city).

What European City Do You Belong In?

Another old Dallas theatre lost.

While I was in a 12-hour mediation this week, Dallas lost one of its oldest theatres to a six-alarm fire:



(Picture credit to DEM Deep Ellum Music)

In the middle portion of the photo, the Arcadia Theatre is marked by its bright orange painted trim. To its right was Nuevo Leon, which is one of my favorite Mexican restaurants in town. I was just there a few months ago to pick up dinner for my friend and me--I sat at the cool, dark brown bar and drank a nice frozen margarita while waiting for my order to be ready.

It's a sad day for the Lower Greenville area of Dallas, and for those of us who love that area.

This is how lazy I am.

Last night, I planned to make two stops on the way home: one to pick up dinner for myself, and one to pick up dog food, as we were totally out. Instead, I made the first stop to purchase my own dinner and while there purchased nice, warm cheesesteaks for my dogs to eat for dinner.

Peanuts dancing to Outkast

Don't miss it!

On another note, I'm starting to wonder if my ability to write on this blog is tied to the fortunes of the Chicago Cubs. They are floundering, and so is my writing ability.

This is how tired I am.

I had a hearing today and upon beginning the drive back to Dallas, realized I could not bear to wear my suit for the rest of the day. So I dropped into a nearby mall and bought comfortable clothes to wear for the rest of the day.

I left work early (8:00 pm) to go home and get more than 5 hours' sleep for the first time this week.

Upon arriving home, after stopping at a favorite restaurant to pick up dinner, I realized I had spent time both at work and at the restaurant with my zipper totally unzipped and my new casual pants gaping wildly in the front.

Off to bed now . . .

Bits and pieces.

Hey, all! My voice is back and so am I! There is so much to share . . .

So, Friday night, I did something I rarely do, which is gamble. My friends were kind enough to invite me along to an outing with the husband's colleagues at a local horse racing track. They made me engage in a game of "spot the lawyer," which was hatched when I said I would only attend if there would be no lawyers, and they said, "there is one, but you won't be able to guess who," so I was roped in and they were right, I couldn't guess which one was the lawyer and had to be told. And I was only required to talk to her for a little while and because we didn't figure out each other were lawyers, there was no lawyer talk, so that was all good.

In between playing that game, we drank and ate from a buffet that included a "choose your own pasta ingredients" and watched races and bet on those races. I won $41 and it only cost me $50 to do it! The strangest win was when my friend's husband and I each, without knowing it, bet the same exacta box (picking 2 horses to finish first and second, in either order) and won. Sadly, I missed seeing that actual race and having the pleasure of watching my horses win, because I ran into a former colleague who wanted nothing more than to regale me with the sad tale of her experiences at my former firm, when I would like nothing more than to forget about the very existence of that firm, forever. She is not a person who senses these things, however.

Saturday brought a delightful breakfast out with newspaper, much-needed massage, much-needed shopping, then some work, but not an unbearable amount of work. Sunday brought more of the same, minus the work, and with the addition of watching the Mavericks' sad loss with friends. I treated myself to a long-wanted zoom lens for my camera and now will be a menace to all who cross my path. This is the same lens that I saw on a man's camera in San Diego, which inspired me to cry out, "that is a big lens that you have!", much to the amusement of my friends and to the gratification of the guy involved.

Received a call today that carries on my perfect track record of every man I have dated marrying the very next woman he sees after me. Seriously, mothers, if you have a son you want to marry off, have him date me, then you are guaranteed to find a daughter-in-law in the very next woman he sees. It is foolproof. I'm sure we can work out some sort of arrangement. No, I really did not want to marry this guy--it never would have worked--but I would rather not have such a perfect record in this regard and must admit that there is a bit of "good lord--if he has a match out there, how can I not?"

Slightly heavy heart . . .

Brooks Brothers

I was reminded while reading the delightfully satirical (or is it?!?!) Anonymous Lawyer blog today of the role of Brooks Brothers in my legal career. I was a second year lawyer about to participate in my first mediation, meaning a meeting attended by both parties, their lawyers and a third party who tries to negotiate a settlement between them. I would be making a presentation at the beginning of mediation to tell the other side why they should pay my German clients some money, then would be spending the rest of the day in a room with my clients as we tried to reach a satisfactory resolution.

I wanted to look nice for the day, which would represent one of my first real responsibilities as a young lawyer. I thought, "What better place to purchase heavy-hitter clothes than Brooks Brothers?" and purchased a red wool coat dress with buttons down its front, which they tailored for me because it was too long. Picture this, only in red wool, with no belt:



On the big day, my partner (an unfailingly well-dressed Southern Woman) and I waited patiently in the lobby with our clients to be invited into the main meeting room. We stood up after being called into the room, and at that time, the bottom button on my dress fell off. I didn't mind, as it really was too close to the hem anyway post-tailoring, so I picked it up and joined the others in the conference room.

I arose when it was my turn to deliver the opening statement for my clients, and as I did so, the next button on my dress fell off, letting the front swing open almost all the way to my, well, my place where my legs meet each other. I spoke for about 10 minutes, all the time standing just so in the hopes that my dress would not swing open. I managed to procure a safety pin from a secretary on the way to the room where we would spend the rest of our day, just the German clients and I, and was satisfied that I would not expose anyone to anything unseemly after that.

So we spent several hours, the Germans and I, huddled in a room, occasionally meeting with the mediator, and trying to get their case settled. Later in the afternoon, the folks in the office had cleared out and only my clients and I remained, along with the other party and their lawyer in a room across the office, with the mediator shuttling in between. It was at this time that a third button dropped to the floor, something I realized only when I looked down and saw an expanse of my silk slip showing in the region of my chest. Mortified, I excused myself and searched the law office for another pin, but could not locate one and basically rigged the thing together with baling wire and tape and hoped desperately that my clients, two older and very serious men, had not noticed.

I quietly returned to my clients just before the mediator paid us another visit. He asked, "How much longer do you think you guys are willing to stay?" And then the client who was the short Hardy to his business partner's Laurel said in a thick German accent, "If ze buttons on Leesa's dress keep falling, vee vill stay here all night!"

I was not much comforted when, riding the elevator up to my building later that night to return my papers to the office, I was telling the story to a good friend/colleague, only to realize that he wasn't really listening because he was too busy oggling my chest, where my rigged solution had given way and my slip was once again in full view.

All I wanted for Fitzmas . . .

was a Rove indictment. And apparently, that isn't meant to be. Sigh.

In a sign that the world may be turned completely on its head, I was so involved in trying to solve a client issue tonight that I completely forgot about the Cubs game until I arrived home after dinner.

Funniest voice mail I received so far this week: one from an old boyfriend/friend, in which he played "word poker" with my name and spent the length of an entire voicemail coming up with words that can be made from the letters of my first name. Hilarious.

I fear that

Kip (my dog) is eating the decorative seashells off the pillows on my couch. I hear him crunching, but cannot catch him in the act so as to remove the offending object from his mouth.

I am so, so tired. If proof of this is required, it took three tries to type the word tired, with the first two attempts resulting in "sired" and "dired." And now, possibly, tipsy.

After I dropped my co-counsel off following the deposition today, I picked up dinner from my favorite Tex-Mex place and a bottle of my favorite California Chardonnay (Kendall Jackson--I'm a simple girl). I feel good (not just because of the wine) about how the depositions went this week.

If it is any sign of how well things went, both my co-counsel--who was in from out of state--and my opposing counsel invited me today to come work for them. I sprang my most powerful smoking gun during today's deposition and was gratified to find that my most detested opposing counsel had not taken the time to find it among the documents I had produced, and that it took both him and his client totally by surprise. Ah, joy.

I almost don't care that the Cubs are losing 9-1 at this very moment. Almost.

Hi there!

I hope that you all had a fabulous weekend! Tell me: what wonderful things did you do?

I spent my weekend preparing for some big depositions I am taking tomorrow and Tuesday. I'm looking forward to them, but also looking forward to having them over with! So, probably no more posts until Tuesday or Wednesday night, depending on how much wine I drink Tuesday night to celebrate being finished. Happily, my voice seems to be returning, just in time to talk for 6+ hours straight, two days in a row. But it's better than squeaking or rasping (Demi Moore-style), as I did all week!

Until we meet again . . . think good thoughts!

Okay, Jay--Meme Friday.

Here's what Jay is doing, and I thought I would do it, too, even though he (kindly) did not tag me . . .

Three important events occurring on my birthday, September 2:

1901 - Vice President of the United States Theodore Roosevelt utters the famous phrase, "Speak softly and carry a big stick" at the Minnesota State Fair.

1946 - Ayn Rand began writing Atlas Shrugged.

1972 - Chicago Cubs pitcher Milt Pappas threw a no-hitter against the San Diego Padres (which would have been a perfect game if not for the idiocy of home plate umpire Bruce Froemming)

There are a number of important births on the same day as me and I couldn't limit the selection to two:

• 1948 - Terry Bradshaw, American football player
• 1948 - Christa McAuliffe, American schoolteacher and astronaut (d. 1986)
• 1951 - Mark Harmon, American actor
• 1952 - Jimmy Connors, American tennis player
• 1961 - Eric Dickerson, American football player
• 1964 - Keanu Reeves, American actor
• 1965 - Lennox Lewis, Canadian-British boxer
• 1966 - Salma Hayek, Mexican actress

I was also surprised to see many interesting deaths on my birthdate:

• 421 - Constantius III, Roman Emperor
• 1910 - Henri Rousseau, French painter (b. 1844)
• 1969 - Ho Chi Minh, Vietnamese president and prime minister (b. 1890)
• 1973 - J. R. R. Tolkien, British writer (b. 1892)
• 1997 - Viktor Frankl, Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist (b. 1905)
• 2001 - Troy Donahue, American actor (b. 1936)
• 2005 - Bob Denver, American actor (b. 1935)

Ho Chi Minh left this world on the exact same day on which I arrived in it.

Here's a September 2 holiday:

Vietnam - National Day (independence from France, 1945)

But my birthday often falls on Labor Day, which I have frequently used to have a nice 3-day weekend jaunt to celebrate my birthday.

Tidbits.

Last weekend, I spent a good chunk of my Saturday at work. No one else was working in my office and no one ever seems to work weekends at the other business that occupies our floor, so it was a very solitary-feeling kind of day. The restrooms for our office are located outside the office in the common hallway and at one point, I bounded through the door nearest to my office to cut across the floor's elevator lobby en route to the restroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that I was not alone. A twenty-something girl was seated and leaning up against the wall next to the elevator. She wore a Starbucks apron and a Starbucks cup and little paper Starbucks paper sack (holding an unidentified snack) rested at her side; she was talking to someone on her cell phone. I was a little nervous because it is so odd to see someone who doesn't "belong" on my floor, but mostly it just seemed surreal--like a puzzle piece in the wrong box.

I received some really good news the other day over a lovely strawberry and walnut salad. I can't talk about it yet, but it gave me some wonderful peace of mind, something I don't remember feeling for quite a long time.

Yesterday, I accomplished something new: I conducted a conference call at a time when I practically had no voice. I made the call intending to reschedule it, but a person on the other end would not be deterred and I was forced to verbally hobble through the next hour and a half. Today I'll do the same during a court conference, which thankfully will be held in the close proximity of the judge's chambers, rather than in an open courtroom in which one must really speak up to be heard.

Winning is so much more fun than losing.

Chi Cubs (23-33) Won 1	Chi Cubs 8, Houston 0 Today's Boxes 6/5/06 NYY 13, BOS 5 BAL 4, TOR 0 WSH 5, ATL 4 TB 4, LAA 0 MIL 5, SD 2 CIN 8, STL 7 PIT 5, COL 2	Houston (27-31) Lost 5
	June 5, 2006 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E Chi Cubs 0 4 2 1 1 0 0 0 0 8 13 0 Houston 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0
	Standings thru 6/5/06 | Wrap | Gameday

Chi Cubs AB R H RBI BB SO LOB AVG Pierre, CF 4 0 2 0 1 0 0 .246 Womack, 2B 5 0 0 0 0 0 3 .304 Barrett, C 5 1 1 1 0 1 1 .301 Walker, 1B 4 2 2 0 0 0 0 .312 a-Mabry, PH-3B 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 .182 Ramirez, 3B 4 0 2 1 0 0 1 .246 b-Nevin, PH-1B 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 .213 Jones, RF 4 1 2 2 0 1 2 .310 Murton, LF 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 .276 Bynum, LF-RF 4 1 1 0 0 2 2 .222 Cedeno, SS 4 2 2 0 0 0 2 .307 Zambrano, P 3 1 1 4 0 0 2 .080 Ohman, P 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1.000 Totals 39 8 13 8 1 5 13 a-Grounded out for Walker in the 9th. b-Struck out for Ramirez in the 9th. BATTING 2B: Ramirez (11, Buchholz). 3B: Cedeno (4, Buchholz). HR: Zambrano (1, 2nd inning off Buchholz, 2 on, 2 out), Barrett (7, 3rd inning off Buchholz, 0 on, 0 out), Jones (11, 3rd inning off Buchholz, 0 on, 2 out). TB: Pierre 2; Barrett 4; Walker 2; Ramirez 3; Jones 5; Bynum; Cedeno 4; Zambrano 4. RBI: Ramirez (32), Zambrano 4 (4), Barrett (25), Jones 2 (32). 2-out RBI: Zambrano 3; Jones. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Womack; Barrett; Zambrano. SF: Zambrano. Team LOB: 6. BASERUNNING SB: Bynum (4, 2nd base off Buchholz/Ausmus), Pierre 2 (19, 2nd base off Buchholz/Ausmus, 2nd base off Buchholz/Ausmus). FIELDING DP: (Cedeno-Womack-Walker). Houston AB R H RBI BB SO LOB AVG Biggio, 2B 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 .280 Lane, CF 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 .193 Burke, CF-2B 4 0 0 0 0 1 0 .273 Berkman, RF 3 0 0 0 0 2 0 .289 Ensberg, 3B 2 0 0 0 1 1 0 .263 Lamb, 1B 2 0 0 0 1 0 1 .341 Wilson, LF 3 0 1 0 0 1 0 .263 Ausmus, C 3 0 0 0 0 1 2 .301 Bruntlett, SS 3 0 0 0 0 1 2 .297 Buchholz, P 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 .045 Borkowski, P 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 .000 a-Taveras, PH 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 .262 Totals 27 0 1 0 2 8 5 a-Popped out for Borkowski in the 9th. BATTING TB: Wilson. Runners left in scoring position, 2 out: Bruntlett 2. GIDP: Lamb. Team LOB: 2. Chi Cubs IP H R ER BB SO HR ERA Zambrano (W, 4-3) 8.0 1 0 0 2 8 0 3.09 Ohman 1.0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4.81 Houston IP H R ER BB SO HR ERA Buchholz (L, 3-5) 5.0 11 8 8 1 2 3 6.25 Borkowski 4.0 2 0 0 0 3 0 4.08 WP: Zambrano, Buchholz. Pitches-strikes: Zambrano 126-72, Ohman 9-6, Buchholz 102-70, Borkowski 51-35. Ground outs-fly outs: Zambrano 8-8, Ohman 1-2, Buchholz 7-6, Borkowski 6-3. Batters faced: Zambrano 26, Ohman 3, Buchholz 27, Borkowski 14. Umpires: HP: Kerwin Danley. 1B: Gary Cederstrom. 2B: Jim Reynolds. 3B: Tim Welke. Weather: 72 degrees, roof closed. Wind: 0 mph, None. T: 2:29. Att: 32,814. Box score official statistics approved by Major League Baseball Office of the Commissioner

I have no idea what got into me.

I awoke remarkably early for me--before 8 am on a Sunday--even before my alarm rang. Other than that, the day began as most Sundays do, with me eating breakfast in a hip urban diner while devouring the Sunday paper. Usually I read the New York times, but I saved that for later when I found myself wondering what is happening locally, swallowed hard, then dropped six quarters in a box and pulled out a copy of the Dallas Morning News. While reading that paper, I found the stories I wrote about on my blog earlier today and also pondered what possesses a man to wear his sunglasses hanging from the back of his shirt collar.

I drove home, a bit tired from the exertion of breakfast, as I had not yet fully recovered from the illness that kept me home on Friday. The Friday on which I was so exhausted, I left a full trash bag on my front porch, rather than carry it to the trash bin on the curb. I noticed Friday evening that an animal had ripped into the bag, but I was too feverish to deal with it. Climbing the dark red concrete steps to my house, I realized that the trash bag was gone. Apparently, someone saw the pathetic state of the trash bag took pity and carried it out to my trash can. I felt stunned that someone would care enough to perform that unenviable task for me.

Inside, I was surprised to find that I took an interest in how the inside of my house looks, something I have not cared about in a while. I washed three loads of laundry, emptied and filled and ran the dishwasher and whisked around my beloved little hand vacuum, giving the dogs treats to munch while I worked. I took pleasure in the process and was even inspired to shop online for new bedding while listening to the Cubs game.

What happened next is one of the most bizarre incidents of the day: I purchased bedding that is pink. Pink sheets, and a white duvet cover with various shades of large, abstract pink flowers. Pink. I'm sure you do not know this, as you only know me "virtually," but my bedding is all neutral colors (white and gray for summer, brown sugar colored for winter), and my wardrobe does not often stray from black, brown or other neutrals. There is very, very little pink in the wardrobe. But there is about to be pink and white in my bedroom.



Could this be the beginning of a renaissance? We shall see.

A Favor

Because you are kind enough to visit my blog and look at the pictures I post infrequently (here and on my other blog), I have a favor to ask. If you had to choose my 5 best photos, which ones would you choose? Define "best" however you would like.

Thanks, and I'll explain later!

P.S. I am not asking you to go back and sift through photos--if one or two pop into your mind when you read this, please describe them as best you can and I'll track them down. What I'm looking for are any photos that you found particularly memorable or special. Judging by your reaction at the time, I'm guessing this is one of them:



This is one I haven't shared with you yet--what do you think?



Here are JD's choices (I think):









(not my house, but the neighbor's house--is this the one you were thinking of, JD?)

Jenn's pick:



Jay's picks:

Lots of interesting things in the news today . . .

First, in the New York Times, an article about how French is making a comeback in Maine. Does this remind you of anything:

People of French descent poured into Maine and other New England states from Canada beginning in the 1870's and became the backbone of textile mills and shoe factories. But resistance developed, and people began stereotyping the newcomers as rednecks, dolts or inadequate patriots. In 1919, Maine passed a law requiring schools to teach in English.

. . . . .

"There was just a stigma that maybe you weren't as bright as anybody else, that you didn't speak English as well," said Linda Wagner, 53, of Lewiston, who takes classes to reclaim language lost as a child.

Yes, I believe there is a parallel to today's "anti-Spanish" movement. I'm sure that an "English is the official language of the U.S." proclamation cannot be far behind Bush's recent "no gay marriage" push, given that he appears to have completely discarded any notion of the federalism principles that were supposed to be the cornerstone of his party.

It's a shame that I was under the weather this weekend, as it appears I missed a rollicking good time at the Texas state Republican convention in San Antonio. There, a party leader declared that God "is the chairman of this party." Also:

The party platform, adopted Saturday, declares "America is a Christian nation" and affirms that "God is undeniable in our history and is vital to our freedom."

Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, you could be free, too, if you would convert.

In another Dallas Morning News story about the convention, we learn that the Repubs adopted a new platform, which clearly reflects this "faith-based" leaning of theirs:

The platform, a statement of the party's principles, calls for constitutional amendments to outlaw abortion and gay marriage. The party calls for denying benefits to domestic partners and making it a felony to issue a marriage license to same-sex couples. In addition, the party would bar homosexuals from adopting children.

. . . . .

The party also advocates making English the official language, withdrawing membership in the United Nations, banning homosexuals from serving in the military and allowing display of the Ten Commandments.

Finally, for those of you interested in the "church shaming" story I wrote about last week, here is an update, with more detail. Among the facts revealed: not only is this "minister" trying to "out" its own (now former) member who confessed having an affair (allegedly because the guy agreed to be subject to discipline in papers he signed upon joining the church), but he also wants to report the guy's paramour to her employer, even though she was never a member of the church, saying:

Mr. Wagner said this week that he believed he was obligated to contact the woman's boss even though she never signed up for Watermark's discipline, because all Christians are obligated to one another.

"If a sister sins, she is a sister in Christ," he said. "We are commanded to love our neighbor."

Give me a break. I'm curious, though, if that stance will cost them their "no interference in church business" defense at the Court of Appeals, as it does not, in the paramour's situation, turn on a congregant's agreement upon joining a church.

Finally, your Sunday photo: trophy wife, Dallas style (go to the second photo in the show).

Best anti-umpire rant ever

Courtesy of Batgirl (who else?):

But you know what I do mind, Mr. Umpire Man? When a kid's—no, no the Kid—has got a no hitter in the sixth—yes, a no freakin' hitter, not a one-hitter or a two hitter, but a no hitter which means he has not allowed a hit—and there's a close call at first you better be damned sure you get it right. And you know what, you blue bellied boobie? You blew it. Carbrea was out by half a step and you cost the Kid his bleepin' blargin' no hitter because you have a depth perception problem and you've been too embarrassed to tell anyone because you're an ump and you can't be an ump with a depth perception problem (clearly) and then they'd fire you and you have no other skills, except for macramé, but that doesn't pay very well and besides every time you express yourself in macramé your brother Stan beats you up and it hurts and maybe that's what's responsible for your depth perception problem in the first place because when Stan found you hiding in the closet making a macramé owl he hit you in the brain and you've never been the same since except for the one thing that you are and always have been a total freakin' moron and a stupid-ass crap weasel and I hate you.

Perspective

Before I let myself have a single moment of sadness or stress over things like the Cubs' imminent loss of this game or the fact that I have an awful lot of work to do this weekend, having missed work today and been wholly non-productive yesterday due to my illness, I have to mention this.

Have you read this? It is the blog of a family that thought they were sitting at their recovering daughter's bedside, only to learn this week that she died in the van wreck and that one of her fellow students was the recovering person for whom they had been caring. It is difficult to imagine a pain much greater than that.

Is it possible to run out of words?

I hope not. But I will admit I have been preoccupied with other things and have not been a faithful updater of my blog lately. I figure there is only so much self-loathing you guys will put up with before bailing altogether, and my immersion in work recently hasn't left me with much energy for observation of things outside my own head. This, too, shall pass, I think.

I am home today, experiencing the joys of a summer cold/very sore throat combined with a fever. The handy thing is how I can warm my cold hand on my hot cheek. I'm so out of it, I just had to think hard about how to spell "cheek" (with a "ck" at the end, or with just a "k"?). You may find amusing, as I did, this missive from an opposing counsel who is handling something we're working on together in my absence today:

I hope you are feeling better and I am sure you will soon. I can not
imagine a Lisa unable to talk.

Neither can I. So, although I know my voice will return, I hope I haven't run out of words for my blog.

In other news, I took some steps this week to move forward with my civil rights work dream. Just making some progress, any progress, gives me a sense of hopefulness and peace. Whoo!

In other other news, my Cubs, who have made quiet little gasps of life in the last week, will play the much hated Redbirds (aka Cardinals) in a weekend series starting tonight. So I must stay with it enough to hear these games, yes, I must. O, Cubs, please continue your winning record against these hated Redbirds, whom I saw you sweep at Wrigley back in the lovely month of April.

In other other other news, I haven't yet finished "Reading Lolita in Tehran," but have turned to "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss, as it's a page turner and was sitting there taunting me after I heard the author read from it a few Fridays ago. The story is beautiful, though you have to pay attention to keep from getting lost in the shifting but parallel story lines.

In Highland Park, kids just want to watch "porn" on their own, not with teachers.

Finally, a public service message: if you want the federal government to protect you from terrorists, be sure not to fax something they wanted emailed.

Napping now . . .