Welcome to The OC, Bitch.

My sister, in what may be her most awesome act of sisterly love to date (kidding), bought me this, supposedly because she never bought me a birthday present back in February and needed to finish using an Amazon gift card that she had for a while.

It's fucking awesome. All 92 episodes. Remastered. Commentaries. Retrospectives. Deleted scenes. Music compilations. Totally cheesy and awesome packaging.

This definitely beats the motion I won today on the excitement scale.

Also, unrelated, this makes me sad. And mad. And, fuck, really mad.

What also makes me mad? The fact that a bug just landed in my glass of wine. Serves me right for trying to save money on my Con Ed bill by opening the window and giving the A/C a break.

Newsbreak.

Has everyone heard about this case?

I hope this doesn't out me in any way, but considering I've already said I went to law school in Boston, and Boston has numerous law schools, I'm gonna admit that I worked for Mr. Entwistle's attorney while I was in law school. He is a formidable man. I remember a trial I second sat with him, my first real trial experience, and what did he drill into me more than any other legal concept?

The prosecution has the burden of proof and production of evidence in a criminal case.

If you've read/scene any of the coverage of the verdict, you'll see he's stuck to this concept. I mean, it's obviously correct, and he is an excellent attorney, but it just shows that, boy, they had NO CASE.

And what does this semi-criminal defense lawyer say? Good riddance, Mr. Entwistle.

I know I'm supposed to be anti-violence and all...

but can we just assassinate the leaders of Myanmar already?

Ya know, cost-benefit and all.

I Never Knew What "Goosebumps" Were.

Until I read this article this morning. (To note, I do read the rest of the Times as well. I just read the style section first. While the coffee's kicking in.)

I've started and erased a few posts today.

Just my usual Sunday overthinking thing that I do. Gotta stop that.

_____________________________

And now I've edited this tiny post twice. This second time because I just saw that I went to school with one of the happy brides profiled in the weddings section. Fuck. As if I need another reason to feel bad about myself. Then again, my former classmate (who I remember as sweet, intelligent, and pretty and I really should be happy and not bitter) could always wind up here.

If US scientists and engineers are so fucking brilliant,

why can't they figure out a way to prevent any more people from getting trapped and killed in coal mines?

Sad.

Also sad, the fact that Anderson Cooper, who I used to love but who lately seems to have become less ballsy, is doing an entire show on these poor miners when there were a lot of other deaths today in Peru and Iraq (like that's anything new, I know, but still).

Family Matters and Sprained Elbows

This may turn into some sort of rant. I suggest you get a drink.

I had a very long and not very pleasant phone conversation with my sister today. It started out well enough. Chatting, gossiping, whining, as per usual. And then she made a joke that...didn't go over well with me. I'm not gonna get into the substance of it or why exactly it bothered me, at least right now. Maybe later. But it opened up a can o' worms that has stayed pretty well closed the last, oh 8 years or so. It rears its ugly head now and then, but we overeducated supposedly emotionally open and available liberal thinking heavily self-analyzing types quickly push it back beneath the surface before things get too tense. But my sister and I didn't do that today. Things were then said on both sides that needn't have been said. Truths were spoken.

Now we all know that sometimes speaking the truth serves no purpose other than to hurt or piss off the other person. Like when a friend asks how she looks and you say fine (read: you lie) but then suggest she wear X instead because right now she looks totally hideous/frumpy/stupid/inappropriate. But the tables turn when you're talking about people and issues that have and will continue to affect your entire lives. Is it really better to lie and let your loved one continue to delude themselves and refuse reality? I don't know.

There was some eventual crying. And some cursing. And some rationalizations. (A lot of rationalizations. They're more important than sex!) And some realization. And some more cursing.

We didn't exactly end the call on a warm and fuzzy note. But I said "I love you" because I'm paranoid that the one time I don't say it the other person is immediately going to be hit by a car/struck by lightning/killed by terrorists or the like and I'm never going to get over the guilt of not telling him or her "I love you." But that doesn't mean I have to like them.

Jesus christ I'm sick of the iphone commercials. Yes, they're neat-o. We get it. Yes, I kind of want one. When the price drops and the kinks are worked out. They're fucking awesome, ok? WE GET IT. Now shut up, Apple.

My right arm fucking hurts. The majority of the soreness from that maniacal body sculpting class the other day has subsided (although I'm sure I looked like a retarded monkey while out running yesterday), but whenever I straighten my right arm I feel the need to scream. Fab.

I also found out today that a young man I once knew, not knew well but knew nonetheless, who joined the army after he graduated college in some warped attempt to please his military male heritage (I'm sorry. But it's true.) was killed in Iraq last week. I don't have anything to say about the war that hasn't been said by those who are far more eloquent than I, but the immense sadness, frustration, and pure anger that I can feel on behalf of someone I didn't know that well makes me weep for those who have lost so much more.

I miss the summers of my childhood. Which is funny, considering I've always preferred winter to summer. Maybe they're fake memories, conjured up from media-based images of lazy summer days where children frolic around barefoot drinking lemonade and slurping ice cream and sneak into movie theaters to escape the heat. I miss that. I'm not sure if I ever did it, but I miss it.

"It's a crime in our community to snitch."

This is big in Boston right now. Has been for a few years now, so much that the chief justice of the Massachusetts Superior Court banned "no snitching" t-shirts from courthouses. I haven't heard so much about it in NYC, probably because I'm not working in a district attorney's office anymore like I did during law school, but it's around, and it's highly disturbing.

I have to say, I don't get it. No, I'm not a poor young black kid from the inner city, (although I was at one time a poor young half-Jew/half-Indian kid from the redneck countryside where inbred imbeciles drew backward swastikas on our windows) and I don't listen to Young Buck, Cam'ron, Akon, or Busta Rhymes. But honestly, I don't give a flying fuck about this being a race thing. I certainly can't explain it better than Geoffrey Canada. Yes, inner city communities often have a tempestuous relationship with the police, but if this continues, young African Americans are truly going to become their own worst enemy.

That wasn't very coherent. But I'm tired. I shouldn't watch Anderson Cooper before bed. His rile-me-up reports are not very sleep-inducing.

I'm usually against the death penalty. But.

Just once, I wish one of these fuckers would not shoot himself after the rampage, just so we could do a live autopsy of his brain to find out where the hell things went wrong. And after we got some answers, we could put him out of his misery ourselves.

I remember the day after Columbine (8 years ago this Friday) my assholic socially inept arrogant as all hell AP Physics teacher, who no one had ever seen in anything other than bow ties and tweed, came into class wearing a long black trench coat "as a joke." For those of you still in school, I hope one of your profs, in whatever class is most appropriate, takes some time to discuss this. In a non-assy way.