Idea

I have an idea. It is a really great idea. I have had this idea for a few years always there hovering on the edge of my consciousness. It is the kind of idea that makes people look at you, mouth agape, and say "That is a brilliant idea, how the hell did you ever come up with it." I am not sure if they are shocked that it is a good idea, or appalled that my goofy ass came up with it. Either way it is an idea that makes you smile everytime you think of it because you think to yourself man that is a great idea, and not only it is a great idea, but I came up with it all by myself. I mean this is the kind of idea that people build societies around. The kind of idea you can be put into history books for. Squares in towns you have never heard of in countries that you never knew existed will be named for you just because of this idea. This idea is something that even your friends, once they get over the horror of not coming up with it themselves, use as a way of introducing themselves to other people. They go to parties and say you know the guy that came up with (inserting your idea here), I know that genius. We used to hang out and drink lots of beer, honest to god. No one will believe them of course, because this idea is so damn good that they will think your slug friends could never have hung out with the mind that came up with this idea. This idea gets your name on the top of the letterhead. Children will have to read books about this idea, parents will struggle to work this idea into their day to day lives. It is a really good idea. There is only one small problem. As I mentioned earlier this idea has been hovering around for a while. It is like a shadow that you sort of see when you cut your eyes really fast in one direction. It is a fleeting idea, an idea that is so good that it makes you want to really work to have it. It is not some cheap ass idea on maybe trying Korean food, it is an idea thtat will ring down throughout the centuries. Which leads us to the problem with the idea. The fundamental flaw that makes this idea like every other idea I have ever had (that is to say a generally bad idea). I have not had it yet.

Death comes for the Archbishop

Ok so my friend B_____ is not an Archbishop, and Death did not come for him he went to it, I just thought it was a snazzy way to title a blog entry. In fact, the poor fool in question was an agnostic of many years. I guess that does not stop Death from coming it may just make it a little less or more painful, or maybe it makes it more complicated. I am sure that a conversation between B____ and Death would have had some interesting moments, and probably was sprinkled with a few words that should not be repeated lest they ruin some people's moral fiber. Anyway, Vegas buried poor B______ in style or, at least in as much style as our little band could muster. Most everyone kept their dignity, but certainly did not keep their money. B_____ had his maudlin moments, but for the most part he seemed resigned to his fate, as only those who know it is futile to struggle against fate can. He is/was not a morbid fellow, except maybe morbidly obese, and he seemed to be, in the words of the Mayor, "jubilant" near the end. That may have been because he could not be bothered to walk a straight line, or finish a coherent sentence, or it may have been because even though his sand was about to run out of his hourglass, he was amongst pals and was having a very good time. I did manage to catch him in a reflective moment, he had just tottered out of the bathroom, and asked him what he thought about the world now that he was about to leave it. He valiantly tried to focus his redshot eyes, snorted, and said "in the end there is no Justice just Death" then, turned and put another one dollar bill into an entertainer's G-string.

Circles

Sorry but this is what Tidy would call a "random mind dump." When we are born we each enter into a world full of possibilities . This is what I would call our circle of possibilities. Granted we are all born into different sets of circumstances. I would not be so foolish as to believe that a Borgia or a Bernadotte's circle is the same as some child born to dirt farmers in Alabama, or one born in Zambia. Thus, before we even began to scream for air on the planet which we are going to inhabit for our entire lives our circle of possibilities has been narrowed (or maybe widened). Throughout childhood this circle is pretty much totally beyond our control. We are young, and people feed us, bathe us, and wake us on their schedule not ours. However, during this time circles are opening and closing to us, and we probably are not even aware of it (if we ever are aware). Hopefully, one day each of us wakes up or staggers out of whatever pub they have been in for the last 8 hours, and makes the decision that, as far as we are able, we are going to attempt to take control of the circles that lie before us. Not a whole lot we can do about the circles that lie behind us except to try not to let them close (sorry got distracted by a pretty girl walking past my window) any of the circles in front of us. From that moment on, each decision we make hopefully is part of a plan. Although, I truly wish I had a plan, I am not so sure that I know what that plan is. I sort of think that we make our decisions which close or open circles to/in front of us, and then in a reflective moment or in a drug induced haze, adjust ourselves to the decisions we just made. No matter how small a decision is, to go left or to stay right for example, circles open, shut, widen, or narrow in response. Getting out of bed 10 minutes earlier or later may put you at that red light some knucklehead runs through, and off you go to the hospital instead of going to work to sleep through some important meeting or to send some insulting e-mail to your boss (quite by accident of course). I guess my friend B_____ who's funeral date is fast approaching made the critical decisions that lead him to Death in Vegas. I tried to ask him the other day, but he seemed to be just a little too calm to provide me an adequte answer. All he said was "do you think I have got anything figured out?"

Dorian Grey

One of my friends has a co-worker that she refers to as Dorian Grey. Dorian Grey? I asked? Why him? She proceeded to tell me about her co-worker, and I think I agree. Tell me what you think. It seems she and this guy work in the same office in our typical cube environment. Lots of fun as I am sure we all know. It seems this forced day to day closely knit (forced) share living has led her to believe her co-worker is a prime example of a modern day Dorian Grey. He seems to think that no matter what he does, no matter how vile or disgusting he acts it has no affect on his personality or reputation. According to her, he makes Waylan Smithers toadying look amateurish. He is constantly planting his lips on the bosses ass. Like most offices, their office has layers of command. She says that it does not matter which bosses ass he kisses, he kisses them all. Making sure that his smiling face is always there when any chance for self-advancement crops up. However, just like Mr. Grey he does not realize that the rest of the world is looking at your "portrait." This portrait is the picture the rest of us see when we glance in your direction. She says that when she looks at him her "lunch struggles to stay in her stomach." It seems the true tragedy of his toadyism is that the "main" boss thinks he is ready for promotion. Sorry there is not really a lesson to learn here folks, it is just something that strikes me as a sad commentary on today social mores.

Death in Vegas

In two weeks, my friends and I have a funeral to attend in Vegas. Myself, Lefty, The Mayor, P Diddy, JPK, and a couple of others will board our separate flights, head to Sin City and lay our dear friend B_____ to rest. It is not that sad of a story, our buddy had a good life of nearly 38 years at least half of which he enjoyed. I mean if you are happy 50 percent of the time you are doing fairly well. You may wonder how we know it is in two weeks, and why it is in Vegas. Well it seems B_____ planned it that way. He took the fateful steps that lead him to Death in Vegas about 6 months ago. None all of us knew it, I am not sure he knew exactly what he was doing at the time, but here we are 6 months later trying to piece it all together. We do not know if we should be terribly sad, or terribly happy about this turn of events. We do know that a lot of drinking, and remembering the corpse will take place. We are also aware that all the King's horses and all the King's men are not going to be able to put B_____ back together again, and as the date of his funeral draws closer, I for one, think that maybe, just maybe he wanted it that way.

The Horror

No, this is not a post about The Heart of Darkness that is another story entirely. This is merely a quick post to bemoan the fact that I have been for the past two weeks utterly bereft of ideas to blog about. I wonder if Zola or Hemingway had this problem? I also wonder what they would do about it. My boon companions and I have a slogan that solves most of our problems. It is a simple slogan "DRINK THROUGH IT" it works most of the time. Notice I said most of the time. No plan is perfect, and when you are throwing up in the bushes at 5 a.m. the idea of drinking through it does not really seem to be a great idea. Perhaps the solution is, and it is the one that obliquely I am attempting is to write through it. Though as I stare blankly at the blinking cursor that is taunting me by saying "you do not have a single cogent thought worth writing down." Writing through it may not seem the best idea either. However, as your faithless correspondent I feel at least some small obligation to my world-wide readership to attempt to shake the "blog bloc" that has afflicted me in such a horrid way. Perhaps this is what Zola or Flaubert tried simply writing something down in the hopes that it would shake something loose. Though for those two gentlemen their writing was never good enough. To write what seems to be gold one day, go to bed content with your days work, and to wake up read it again and find that somehow, overnight your gold has turned to lead is a terrible thing to happen to any writer. I share this affliction, though for me it does not take overnight. I return to my post almost immediately after publishing it, and find to my amazement how it all went so horribly wrong.
Though I believe that this post has acheived something worthwhile. In the immortal words of Frank Constanza "I'm back baby!!!!!!!!"

Dear M

Yes, I know I have a habit of blogging about failed friendships. It is a gift. However, this does warrant its own post.

Dear M______,

It is with some degree of remorse and sadness that I respond to your last correspondence with bad tidings. You tell me that I blow hot and cold, that it is "too much work being my friend." These facts I do not dispute, they are for the most part true. It probably is a lot of work being my friend. I ask a lot of my friends. Truth, loyalty, honesty, and dedication being just a sampling of things I expect from my friends. However, in my defense, I do not ask anything that I am not willing to give. It may be hard to be my friend, but I think it is worth it. If you are my friend, I will go to the wall with/for you. Whatever you need just ask. If it is within my power to give it to you it is yours no questions asked, and no return of favour is expected. You and I have reached the logical conclusion to our friendship. No further discussion is necessary. We have known each other for almost 6 years. We have had our ups and downs, our good times and bad times. At this stage we have reached a down that is permanent in nature. No amount of tinkering can fix our friendship. It is broken beyond repair. You tell me I blow hot and cold, that is fine, that is your opinion, and I suspect it has some merit. Towards you, from now on, I am cold. Please do not test me on this. Someone who knew me long before you did, and in a similar way once told me that I was "the coldest person she had ever met." Do not make me prove it to you. From now on we are finished, we are not connected you and I, at no point do we touch. This is indisputable. I advise you to move on with your life, and I am sure you will. In the future when I think of you, if I think of you, it will be in the past tense. I wish I could say that I am sorry it ended this way, but honestly I am not. This is the path we both chose there is no need in denying it. I hereby declare a "break" with you. Relations between us have come to an end. Quite simply, we are done. We have "run our course," and no longer have anything to discuss. Bon chance.

Cezanne Part Deux

It seems my previous post about my painter ex-friend was, shall we say, a little off. The problem I had with my friend was not necessarily the choice he made, but the fact that he had a choice to make at all. For all of us pluggers in the world I was upset. This is not sour grapes it is simply angst at seeing talent tossed to the winds because of a "bad" attitude. I should mention that my friend has had a problem with authority and rules for the majority of his life. When we were younger it was quaint and cool. Once we reached thirty it just looked like surliness. Here he was with this gift that people would give their first born for, and he, in a fit of pique, decided to piss away a chance to better his career. He was certainly no Cezanne or Monet but he had talent, and he worked very hard to be good at what he did. He was committed to his art, and to see him refuse to "seal the deal" was extremely frustrating. I certainly did not want to live his life for him, I have enough trouble living my own life. This is merely a cry of mediocrities everywhere when they see genius wasted.

The Lady or The Tiger

A long, long time ago in a place far, far away the following events happened. A kingdom existed that you or I have probably never heard of. Its king a typical king not a great monarch, but not a foolish one either. It so happened that one of the customs of this kingdom was to throw people accused of high crimes in an arena where there were two doors. Behind one door was a beautiful maiden, behind the other was a very, very hungry and slightly pissed off tiger. The trial of the accused was simple, they were led into the arena and told to choose a door. They were told to choose wisely because if they choose the wrong door they were food for the tiger. The logic was fairly simple, if the accused chose the lady they were "innocent" and were allowed to take the beautiful maiden as their wife regardless of their previous marital status. If they chose the tiger they were "guilty" and were rightfully punished by feeding the tiger. This custom was a very ancient one, and deeply ingrained in the kingdom's tradition. However, our "typical" king just so happened to have a lovely daughter that had taken a lover that was far below her station. The king when he became aware of this was duly outraged, and ordered his daughter's lover into the arena. Now pay attention boys and girls because this is where it gets tough. The king's daughter always was privy to the secret of what was behind each door in the arena. As she sees her lover tossed into the arena she is aware of what (the lady or the tiger) is behind which door. Our problem, our dilemma, our tragedy is simple. Does the king's daughter give a signal to her lover to tell him to pick the door with the lady, thereby assuring his survival, but knowing he will marry the beautiful maiden, or does she signal him to pick the door with the tiger, assuring his death, but never having to see him happy in the arms of another woman? Obviously, I would love to hear your opinions. Who does our young lover chose the Lady or the Tiger?

P.S. No, this is not original this is a famous thought experiment based on a short story that I was forced to read a long time ago, and to write a creative response.

Cezanne

Much like Zola knew Cezanne (they grew up in the same town, and were fast friends for a long time before Zola wrote his book The Masterpiece). I knew a painter once. He wasn't a natural genius when it came to painting. He went to your typical school of Beaux-Arts, and learned his craft much like the rest of us do. However, he did have some natural talent he just chose to use it painting. Not sure it was his "calling" or it was just something he decided to try. Either way he became very adept at painting small landscapes and still lives. Nothing too complex, but something that did take some skill. It was always my opinion that after a while he started to "settle" painting things that he knew would sell enough to earn him a decent living. Needless to say, this opinion caused a little friction between us, but it was not anything earth shattering. My friend painted this way for about 3 years when one day he was offered a "commission" to begin painting larger, more complex types of painting for someone with a little too much money, and a desire to appear cultured by being a "patron of the arts." My friend thought long and hard about accepting this commission. He was content, for the most part, doing the paintings he knew he could do as well as anyone else, and was not sure that this "patron" could fulfill any great desire of his. In fact, I think that my friend did not really have any major desire to be a great painter or anything else for that matter. He was just simply a very smart, fairly talented guy that just sort of cruised through life. It was at times very frustrating being his friend. Being the less talented sort, and seeing your buddy with all this skill just easing along through life. Eventually, my friend turned down the commission to become "someone's lapdog" as he put it, and continued to paint the paintings he knew he could accomplish with his eyes closed. I was furious to see my friend turn down something I felt he was extremely qualified to do for no "real" reason made me want to strangle him. Being the type to let my feelings known I told him that he was being a fool, and cutting his nose off to spite his face. His response, and the last words he ever spoke to me (we have not talked since) were "It is my nose, and it is my face."

Housman

'Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?'

Ay, the horses trample,
The harness jingles now;
No change though you lie under
The land you used to plough.

'Is football playing
Along the river shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?'
Ay, the ball is flying,
The lads play heart and soul;
The goal stands up,the keeper
Stands up to keep the goal.

Is my girl happy,
That I thought hard to leave,
And has she tired of weeping
As she lies down at eve?'

Ay, she lies down lightly,
She lies not down to weep:
Your girl is well contented.
Be still, my lad, and sleep.

'Is my friend hearty,
Now I am thin and pine,
And has he found to sleep in
A better bed than mine?'

Yes, lad, I lie easy,
I lie as lads would choose;
I cheer a dead man's sweetheart,
Never ask me whose.


A.E. Housman

Expulsion

Once upon a time in a land not so far away there lived six, count them six, average people. These six people all had jobs, families, and all the other day to day bullshit that makes up people's lives. Things were going relatively smoothly; they had their bumps here and there, but for the most part the group was in fairly good shape. There was a seventh person amongst this group a shaman/medicine man type who was sort of the "one in charge." He was older and wiser than anyone else in the group, and the group looked to him for answers to their tough questions. He was far from perfect, had his flaws but the group admired him all the same. Then one day for no real reason the shaman was disposed by an "outside" group. It was a bit like a coup d'etat, and the other six members of the group each reacted to this situation according to their personality. Mostly though, they were a little saddened at the loss of the old shaman. This sadness was both noticed and commented upon by the new regime. The new regime was unable to understand why our six heroes were demoralized. Sadly, our band of heroes did not posses anyone clever or brave enough to stand up to the new regime, and to tell them the reasons for their sadness. Needless to say, this situation was extremely uncomfortable for our heroes. I realize that stories are supposed to have both a happy ending and a meaning, but this tale has neither. It is a work in progress, and as yet unfinished. Apologies for all of my mulitude of readers who were expecting something better.

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown,
We people on the pavement looked at him;
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich–yes, richer than a king–
And admirably schooled in every grace; In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head

Edward Arlington Robinson

Prometheus

Prometheus 0% Extroversion, 100% Intuition, 27% Emotiveness, 14% Perceptiveness

You are most like Prometheus, and you probably knew that before you even took this test. You probably aren't deliberately altruistic, but you still tend to do things that benefit everyone, even at great expense to your health and personal relationships. You aren't ruled by your emotions, but you still have a strong sense of justice. You make good descisions, but they can sometimes backfire (and this isn't due to a flaw in your reasoning, but due to faulty premises instead). You are very reasonable, you understand systems, you can quickly pinpoint flaws and you know how to correct them. You pride understanding and knowledge above everything else, and your greatest fear is to appear to be incompetent. You tend to be contemptuous of authority, but you don't accept leadership roles yourself until everyone else has demonstrated their own incompetence. You've built a very specific skill set. You know exactly where your strengths and weaknesses are, and you pride yourself on this kind of self-knowledge. You distrust tradition, which you see as arbitrary, and you rely instead on your own judgements. You also pride yourself on your pragmatism. You're also a very private person. Most of all, people think you're arrogant, but screw them! They're the ones who benefit from your ideas and discoveries, and if they took the time to understand why it is that you say and think the things you do, they'd realize that you only appear arrogant because you are exactingly precise when it comes to your area of specification, and most of all because, when you don't know something, you don't have an opinion about it (unlike most of the loudmouths that you have to deal with on a day-to-day basis). Relationships are your kryptonite. It isn't that you don't want them -- in fact, you would very much like a very close relationship with someone who understands you. They're just the one thing in the world that you're naturally bad at. Famous people like you: Niels Bohr, J. Robert Oppenheimer, Werner Heisenberg, Issac Newton, John Maynard Keynes, Erwin Schrodinger Stay Clear of: Apollo, Icarus, Hermes, Aphrodite Seek out: Atlas, The Oracle, Daedalus

Death comes for the Inquisitor?

Obviously not making light of death (see mine and Tidy's recent posts on the subject), but I think I may have had a peek at a possible cause of my death. Other than wanking myself to death (which I have been trying to do for years, or falling off some or down some great height while drunk, I think that it is going to be "Death by MATA Bus." Obviously, MATA is the transit authority in my town. I truly believe that one day there is going to be a MATA bus with my name on it. I think that the powers that be when to an asylum, and picked the 50 most suicidal sons of bitches they could find, and gave them bus keys. Saying here you go here is a monster machine, we need drivers and we do not care what happens. I can almost picture the "test" for becoming a MATA bus driver is like the Kramer and Newman test for ricksaw drivers (where they wanted to use homeless people). These people are insane AND seem to think that the rules of the road do not apply to them, hell I am beginning to wonder if they think the rules of physics apply to them. So, dear readers do not be surprised if one day the headlines scream "Inquisitor run down like a dog by MATA bus, for once it seemed he was sober."

Midweek Poetry

BEAUTY
Conceive me as a dream of stone:
my breast, where mortals come to grief,
is made to prompt all poets' love, mute and noble as matter itself.

With snow for flesh, with ice for heart,
I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx
begrudging acts that alter forms;
I never laugh, I never weep.

In studious awe the poets brood
before my monumental pose
aped from the proudest pedestal,
and to bind these docile lovers fast
I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:

The timeless light of my wide eyes

Or put another way

Je suis belle, o mortels! comme un reve de pierre,
Et mon sein, ou chacun s'est meutri tour a tour,
Est fait pour insirer au poete un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matiere.

Je trone dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeru de neige a la blancheur des cygens;
Je hais le mouvement qui deplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poetes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austeres etudes;

Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartes eternelles!



Charles Baudelaire

Reunion

So it appears that next May it will 20 long years since I graduated from high school. Since we Americans are big fans of reunions and such I just got the "invitation" to "get the gang back together." What follows is my open letter to my former classmates.

Dear Ex-Classmates,

Yes, it is difficult to believe that it has been 20 years since we all graduated from ________ High School. Two decades that have seen the Berlin Wall come down, the Trade Center bombings, two wars in Iraq, and numerous other life changing events. I regret that I will not be attending the reunion. You see, I am not unable to attend quite the contrary I could be there in less than two hours, it is simply that I am unwilling to attend. Twenty years ago I was a goofy, dorky, confused 17 year old teen age boy with no clue as to what I was going to do with my life. Now, twenty years later, I am probably still a little goofy and dorky and probably more confused now than I was then. However, at this point in my life I can rest assured that seeing a group of people I did not like twenty years ago is something that I do not want or care to do. It is simple, most of you maltreated me then, and I have no desire to dredge up old sad memories of a life that ended twenty years ago. I would not piss on any of you if you were on fire. We were merely "friends" only because we happened to live in the same school "zone." I certainly would not choose any of you as friends today, and certainly do not want to waste any length of time pretending like I care what has happened in your life over the last twenty years. There is a reason that I did not keep in touch with you people. I do not like you it is just that simple. So, erase me from the "list" pull a Stalin and erase me out of any class photographs you may have. That is fine with me. I wish I could say that I wish you all the best, but truth be told, I really do not give a tinker's damn what happens to any of you. I moved away and on a long, long time ago. Please do not think that I ever want to see any of you again.

Sincerly,

The Grand Inquisitor

my own personal editor

my own personal editor is one harsh son of a bitch. he is unflagging in his criticism. he belittles what little output i am able to create. he obviously knows best, and rather refuses to come to my defense. he is very good at showing me where i went wrong. he is one acerbic bastard. when he raises his voice i quail and run for cover. he tries very hard to keep me from being so bitter that i am unreadable. it is a constant struggle between the two of us. one of us always has to be wrong, and the other one has a tendency to rub his nose in it. the fact that we haven't killed each other yet is a miracle. the last post i managed to squeeze out is a perfect example. for once i was proud of myself, and considered myself to have done a good job with my subject. i felt that i had "captured the mood" quite well, and had gotten my point across with some force. he, on the other hand, recognized the valid nature of my point, but proceeded to take an axe to my attempt at expressing myself. it was both painful, and a learning experience. i suppose it was a painful learning experience. i will say one thing for the bastard, while he is not the most experienced or the most educated editor in the world, he certainly makes some valid points. sad to say this makes him even more unsufferable. perhaps one of these days i will be able to please him. however, until then i will continue to peck out imperfect posts for him to chop up like cordwood. so, bear with me dear reader(s) this is still after all a work in progress just like i am. i can only hope that the lack of any capitalization in this post will cause the son of a bitch to stroke out and give me some peace.

How to Save a Life

a little of Tidy's bad day, a little Scrubs, and a little of the Fray. How to save a life. Of course at the end of the day you cannot save a life. The end result of all of them is not a happy ending. Sit down and talk it through. Hold onto conversations you have had that were important to you. Remember the foolish foolish things you did together or on their behalf. Or the foolish things they did for you. Being a fool is being alive it comes with the territory, and isnt always a bad thing. Do not worry about where you may have gone wrong, focus on how to save a life. Treasure it beyond compare this may very well be all there is grab it by the throat and live it to the best of your ability. We all leave, some of us leave messily some of us leave quickly, some of leave slowly. The point is look around at the lives you are in (and even the worst of us are in more than just our lives) and realize this is important. Do not allow bitterness or anger to keep you from saving a life. Remember the sound of their voice, focus on the feeling you get when you saw them walk into a room. Do you smile when you see them? When they aren't around do you think of things that you want to share with them? Stupid stories/things that happen to you (to all of us) during our day that makes us think ______ would love this story. Those are the things to hold onto. Sure they made you mad, maybe they made you cry or made you lose faith in yourself, but whether you like it or not that was your life. Remember you affect other people as much as they affect you. Be careful of missing something important because you were not paying attention. Focus! Be conscious of the fact that by being alive, and in someone's life is a extremely large responsibility. One day you might make it into their journal, diary, or a letter to a friend. Years later that person's grandchildren may be cleaning out their attic, and run across that page (or pages) and there you are in two people's lives without evening trying to be. Stay up with them all night if you have to, bail them out of jail if you they need you to, drive them where they need to go. That is what we do, and we should not have to be asked but once to do it. Be there if they need you, get the hell out of the way if they want you to, but keep the phone turned on just in case that tirade they just directed at you runs out of steam (and it will run out of steam). Finally, remember them, cherish them, hate them, love them, romance them, cry with/over them, share them, be jealous of them, tell them their faults, revel in their triumphs, console them in their disasters, laugh with them, accept them, and keep them. This is how to save a life.

RE: Judges

In response to Tidy's comment. Judges do just that they judge they listen to all the dross and big words us moronic lawyers toss at them, shift through it and volia! MAKE A DECISION! At least in the normal world. Some judges make their minds up right away, and all the king's horses and all the king's men are not going to change it. Some will listen to you blather away, and then fly in the face of all logic and do something that completely flies in the face of the proof before them. DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT SPEAKING OF ANY PARTICULAR JUDGE!!!! Judges, despite some of thinking otherwise, are people too, and with that humanity comes all the baggage. Some are brilliant, well-read, well-spoken jurists that are deeply committed to being as just and fair as possible. Some could not spell CAT if you spotted them the C and the T, and are more concerned with trying to avoid getting on the news. When a judge makes a ruling for or against me I can usually respect it, if there is a sound reason for the decision (Although I will admit, I HATE TO LOSE, so it usually takes about an hour for me to realize that I was not just robbed of a verdict by a total fuckwit). Generally speaking, the cases that go to trial have issues that are truly debatable (very generally speaking). That is why you have two lawyers in monkey suits "making their case" judges (the brighter ones) know these arguments as well and take the time to weigh both sides before rendering a verdict. Also, for the most part, both sides will (hopefully) have/make some valid points. Therefore, in my humble opinion, a verdict that "splits the baby" is (generally) a verdict that a) makes both parties mad, and b) is probably the closest to "justice" you get. Hope that explains it, dear Tidy, without getting me either fired or sued for libel.

The opinions expressed above are really not opinions there are obviously the ravings of a madman, and should not be taken with any seriousness "signed" The Grand Inquisitor's legal team.