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    Chapter 2: Night of the Living Law Prom

    2010 - 03.30

    “Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!”
    Shots – LMFAO

    Think back to yesterday. You probably don’t want to, because it was Monday, but something important happened yesterday. I wrote a blog post that is extremely relevant to your continued reading of this one. It chronicled my first day in Jacksonville for the Law Prom. I’ll now pause so you can go back and read it.

    Saturday morning started with a headache. Much like a lot of my mornings these days, but that’s just so I have something to do at work. Believe me, getting rid of a hangover headache is indeed work. That’s not particularly germane to this situation, however. I rustled my happy ass out of bed and hopped in the shower. Then Jenna and I set out on a quest to find some chow to satiate the rumbly in my tummy.

    One of her friends was out of town for the weekend and had asked Jenna to watch her dog. In return for this service, she prepared us some baked ziti. Mmm nom nom. Her friend evidently has a fairly generous cash flow, because in addition to her exquisitely furnished apartment, she had the coolest coffee maker I’ve ever seen. It’s called a Keurig Home Brewing System. It takes these little cartridges that you put in the top and hit go. A minute later you’ve got a piping hot cup of gourmet coffee. It’s a bit pricey at about $2 a cup, but as I sit here drinking coffee out of a styrofoam cup that tastes like asphalt scrapings from a motorcycle wreck, it seems like a shrewd investment.

    After gnawing on some ziti, drinking a cup of that delectable coffee, and watching the tail end of Zoolander, I was about 85% back in the game. Situations like this call for a little hair of the dog that bit ya; a liquor drink. Fortunately, one of Jenna’s friends from the previous evening wanted to go to the bar for a bite to eat and a pina colada, so that worked out swimmingly. One Dirty Caucasian later, I was back in it 100%. Time to go Charity Balls deep.

    We returned to Jenna’s apartment to get dressed up in our monkey suits and dresses, respectively. I would like to take a moment to brag about myself. I’ve got a really nice suit that I bought a year or two back and I purchased a couple of really nice shirts with it too. One of them I wear almost every time I don the suit, so I felt it was time to purchase a new dress shirt for this occasion. I called Jenna up and asked what color dress she was wearing. “Blue.” She replied. “Not sky blue, not navy blue, but regular American blue.”

    “Terrific.” I said. “I can wear the shit out of some blue.” I headed off to the department store to find a suitable shirt. After a brief argument with the Men’s Dress Clothes attendant, I was finally able to explain that any shade of pastel anything would not work. I found a shirt in my size that I thought would suffice and purchased it for half off. Upon arrival in Jacksonville, I compared it to Jenna’s dress and it was the exact same color. The mountains win again!

    In retrospect, a blue tie with a black shirt might have been a better mix of badass and eye-popping, but I have a severe penchant for over-the-top, and believe me, we were way over-the-top of blue. We’d crested the peak and were barreling, hell bent for leather, down the other side of blue. I thought we looked smashing.

    The law prom itself was held at TPC Sawgrass (Tiger Woods’ home golf course and site of his recent infidelity speech). This is about a 20-25 minute drive from the area of Jax we were in. We’d decided not to get a hotel room at the course for the evening so our plan was to drive Jenna’s car out there and cab it back when we were drunk and pliable that evening. We’d combined forces with another couple to lower the cost of the cab fare back, which led to some hilarity later in the night.

    We were one of the first to arrive, so we stood in the lobby and enjoyed our one free drink for the evening. This was possibly my only real complaint about the evening. The drinks were ridiculously expensive. $8 for a liquor drink, $5 for a 12 oz. beer. Those are Braves game prices. Jenna had had an epiphany earlier in the day that we should swing by the liquor store and pick up some of those one-hitter liquor bottles. Best idea since the spork. We figured we’d buy one or two drinks at market prices then switch to soda and add in our own libations. The only downside was I had to spend most of the ceremony with half a dozen miniature liquor bottles bouncing around in my jacket pockets.

    There were some announcements which were of absolutely no concern to me, since I don’t attend the school, but I sat there while superlatives were awarded for “Most likely to follow ambulances” and “Most likely to have an ad for their firm on the back of a phone book.” You know, law dog type stuff. Jenna herself was up for “Most likely to be a Florida Coastal professor.” I don’t think she thought a whole lot of it, but it seemed like a pretty big honor to me. She didn’t win, but I think this is one of those things where being nominated is better than actually winning. Being nominated shows dedication to your cause, but winning just means you’re an uber nerd. Uber nerdom usually just results in a perpetual Michigan tan.

    When the announcements finally ended, it was time to get down to the business of partying. We quickly downed our drinks and headed up to one of the hotel rooms to do some shots. I made a quick stop by the restroom and as I ponyed up to the urinal, I quickly realized what kind of evening this was going to devolve into. There was one guy standing a couple urinals down from me and as I was taking care of my business, another guy walks in and says to the guy peeing, “So what are you gonna do man?” Peeing guy responds, “I don’t know man. She’s trashed and she’s already yelled at me once.” Guy one says, ” Well here’s what we’re gonna do…” I chuckled to myself and they heard me as I turned to wash my hands. Guy one says, “See? That bitch already has guys in the bathroom laughing at her.” I told him not to sweat it and that I’d been there before as I washed my hands and headed for the door.

    Outside the bathroom door, there was one incredibly drunk young lady, who may or may not have been crying. “It could be worse,” I thought. “It could be my problem.” Just then, Jenna came skipping around the corner with a lovely grin on her face and I counted myself among the extremely fortunate for being in the company of such a delightful girl for the evening. We wandered off upstairs to take shots with the movers and shakers of Florida Coastal. Tra la la la f’n la!

    The evening sort of took a turn for the fuzzy around here. After a few drinks and some hilarious photos which I’m unable to show you because people are trying to find gainful employment, we went dancing. Going into the evening, I expected there to be bit more of this, but some days you’ve got it, and some days you don’t. For some reason, I just wasn’t really feeling the dancing thing. My vibe was off. Maybe it was the 11 year old daughter of some faculty member who thought it would be a terrific idea to bring her youngan to a ball full of drunk college kids (law school or no, they’re still college kids, and they still drink like I remember). It might have been the monkey suit. I don’t know.

    One of the guys in our group, I believe his name was Brandon, was dancing up a storm and it was hilarious. He was quite eccentrically dressed and really looked more like the lead singer of the B-52s than a law student, but who am I to judge? I wear t-shirts with pictures of myself on them. The point is, if I ever need an aviary defense lawyer, I’m keeping this guy’s phone number on speed dial.

    We partied in some other folks’ room and possibly got propositioned for a swingers party (I’m still processing the information on that one), but like all good things, the evening had to come to an end, but not before a bit more action…

    We went to the front desk of the  hotel and requested a cab back to civilization. The concierge said it would be a short wait and that one of us should wait outside for it to come so no one else grabbed ours. I volunteered, since I figured it was a job I could handle. I was wrong.

    As I waited outside, a van taxi pulled up. This was ours, since we had a group of five. Two other guys who were waiting hopped in it, so I went up to the driver and said “This is our taxi, it’s cool if these guys ride with us, but do you mind waiting a minute for my friends to get out here?”

    He responded, “I’ll wait for a couple of minutes, but hurry it up. Where are y’all going?”

    “Umm,” I said. “Back into town, I don’t really no where. I’m just visiting.”

    “Well, you got two minutes.” He replied.

    I stepped away and called Jenna and told her to rally the troops because our driver was an impatient SOB. A minute or so later, they turned up. One of the guys had to grab something out of his car that was in valet, so Julie told the driver it would be another minute.

    “No.” He said.

    “What do you mean no?” she fired back. “You’re gonna miss out on $50 with of fare if you leave. Just wait 30 seconds.”

    The guy was a dick so I just told her to let it go and we’d get the next one. I didn’t really want to ride with that old bastard anyways.

    She told the guy to beat it and one of the guys in the back of the taxi said something to the extent of,  “Blah blah blah elitist bitch.”

    My ears immediately perked up at this, and Julie went to town on that doucher.  She’s all of about five feet tall and just a little ball of fire. It was awesome. She cursed him up one side and down the other and I’m pretty sure I heard the words “fucker” and “mother” used copiously. I was about tapped out for the evening, but that little exchange gave me a nice memory to lay my head on that evening. Me thinks those guys got more than they bargained for.

    We waited for the next taxi cab for no more than a couple of minutes and that driver was more than happy to make a quick $50 off of us. All in all, a delightful evening. Perhaps not the craziest I’ve ever had, but I’ve got a few nights that are almost impossible to top and I’m not even sure that I’d try to top them if given the chance. That being said, I think my first law prom was a resounding success. Maybe they have Charity Balls in PhD school and I can parlay these dashing good looks into an invite to Doctor Prom from the one Ms. Jenna.

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    The Law Prom Weekend: Chapter 1

    2010 - 03.29

    Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the shit-show. This past weekend, I attended the Florida Coastal Law School Charity Ball, a.k.a. “Law Prom,” with one of my lady-friends, Jenna. You may remember her from the We Started One Letter Rappin’ and That’s How it Happened post. It’s a convoluted series of events that led to my being invited anyway, so I guess I should get that out of the way first (besides, I like telling the story). I’ll present the tales of the weekend in two chapters, since it’s quite lengthy.

    So I actually met Jenna last June, the night before the One Letter Rappin’ incident. I was at Fontaine’s as per usual and she came in with a group of mutual friends. She’s a law student at Florida Coastal in Jacksonville, so she was in town visiting. We were introduced, chit-chatted a bit, no big deal. I didn’t think much about it until the next day when I showed up at Anna’s house to go to the Braves game for her birthday. There Jenna was again, oddly enough.

    We had a blast hanging out that day and when she left for Jacksonville again, I added her as a friend on Facebook. We’d comment on each other’s statuses and that sort of thing, then when Christmas rolled around, I sent her a message. Since her parents live near me, I thought she might be home for Christmas. That was the case, so she gave me her phone number. It was all down hill from there. A constant stream of text-babies were made, culminating in an invite to Law Prom with this Bonnie Lass.

    I left Friday for Jacksonville in my new truck. For the first time in my life, I own a vehicle with less than 100,000 miles on it. I intend on keeping this one a while. I burned five Iron Maiden albums to cd to entertain myself during the five hour drive. The drive itself was fairly uneventful, but I did notice that a lot of people in Florida like to leave the freeway at a high rate of speed and slam their cars into trees. I’m serious, I saw wreckers pulling cars out of the woods no less than three times during the trip.

    I made it relatively unscathed and after some sightseeing, Jenna and I joined one of her friends for dinner at one of those faux-classy new-age Mexican joints. The food was good and the cold adult beverages were cold and adult, so you’ll hear no complaints from me. Whilst we were consuming our comestibles on the patio of this restaurant, we noticed a rather large contingent of middle-schoolers milling about in the courtyard area between the restaurant and some other stores.

    Middle-schoolers by themselves are no real threat, but all these kids were dressed to the nines and even more disturbingly, all alike. All the boys were wearing black suits with white shirts and all the girls were wearing blue dresses. My first thought was that they were Heaven’s Gate reincarnated, but that seemed unlikely, since that cult essentially killed itself off. As we finished our supper, the kids seemed to be congregating by the patio fence near our table. Since I recently watched Lord of the Flies, I made sure to yell out that I had the Conch, but I believe the reference was missed. Kids these days just aren’t as cultured.

    Julie, our other acquaintance, was the first to speak up. “Are y’all going to serenade us?” She asked of the girl standing nearest. “Um, no. We’re waiting for that table.” She responded, “Why do you ask?” (It should be noted that these dozen or so kids were all lined up beside the fence glaring intently at a large table of patrons.) “You’re all dressed alike and you’re grouped together like you’re about to burst into song.” (I’m pretty sure that she didn’t actually talk like this, but she’s from Pittsburgh, and their speech patterns just don’t translate to text well.)

    This seemed to startle the girl, and she wandered off to the back of the group. They stood there for a few more moments until the patrons at the table noticed them, then the teens toddled back over to the fountain to sway awkwardly from foot to foot while they discussed how angsty their lives were.

    God ‘tweens are creepy.

    After a change of clothes, we decided to hit up some of the beach bars. The scene there is slightly different than I’m used to. I typically avoid the “fist-pumping” crowd, but that’s exactly what the scene was here. Guys in Affliction t-shirts with faux-hawks. They’re also all ripped, although that shouldn’t be viewed as an insult, since I’m a lazy narrow-ass. Basically, it looked a lot like the Caucasian Jersey Shore.

    Probably the coolest thing about the bars are the size of the drinks. We walked into one bar and one of the other girls got the first round of drinks. Somehow, I wound up with a Vodka and Soda. Not my favorite, but it came in a FREAKING PINT GLASS! I was not aware that Large Farva was an available alcoholic beverage size. Totally tits!

    My intent was to try and keep it between the ditches that night so I was in good shape for the actual Charity Ball on Saturday, but when you have pint sized liquor drinks at reasonable prices staring you in the face, even the best laid plans of men and mice go awry. Needless to say, we got liquored up. We danced, we laughed and we cried and we watched an endless stream of Persians hit on Jenna’s friend. It never gets old.

    One more quick note before I sign off until Chapter 2. We got a taxi back over towards the apartments, and we dropped off Jenna’s friends first. The taxi cab driver told us we could pay with a credit card so that’s what we decided to do. This worked out swimmingly for Jenna’s two friends, but when it came time for me to pay, conveniently enough, the driver was out of imprint slips. This resulted in us having to go to the damn ATM so I could get cash and of course he charged me for that. I knocked it off the tip though, so take that, Taxi Man!

    Stay tuned for Chapter 2: Night of the Living Law Prom…

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    The Beverly Hills Oil Field

    2010 - 03.23

    Sometimes you come across something that just utterly astounds you. Today is one of those days. If I was to stand here and tell you, straight-faced and looking you in the eye, that there are four active oil wells in that bastion of uber-douchiness, Beverly Hills, CA, you’d smack me right square across the mouth for such blasphemy. Nonetheless, that’ s exactly what I’m here to tell you.

    Here’s a link to the wikipedia article for more extensive reading, but here’s the quick rundown: The Beverly Hills Oil Field was discovered in 1900, it’s by no means huge, but it is one of the very few oil fields in a densely populated area. These wells were first activated around 1900 and today produce about a million barrels of oil a year. All the wells utilize side-drilling technology so they can capture oil from areas not directly beneath the well. This means that property owners in the surrounding vicinities get royalties from oil sales.

    If the idea that there are oil wells in Beverly Hills isn’t mind boggling enough, here’s the kicker: one of these oil wells is located on the campus of Beverly Hills High School. This nets the school roughly $300,000 per year from royalties. If you’re unfamiliar with Beverly Hills High School, it’s famous for its “swim-gym,” a gym where the basketball court is movable to reveal a pool. It has also seen its fair share of famous students, such as Slash, Betty White (haha), Jamie Lee Curtis, and Lenny Kravitz, among others. Oh, and Nicolas Cage too. It was also featured in the greatest film (heavy sarcasm) of our generation, Clueless, starring Alicia Silverstone and our late, dead friend, Brittany Murphey.

    Hint: For a less retarded experience, click on “View Larger Map.”
    Anyway, here’s the Google Streetview of the BHHS Oil Well:

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    Here’s the Streetview of the largest well:

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    Here’s the Streetview of the smallest well:

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    (It’s behind the trees, on the grounds of a country club.)

    And finally, the Streetview of the remaining well.

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    For good measure, here’s the location of a well abandoned in 1990 on an unused backlot of Twentieth Century Fox Studios:

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    All these building are sound proof and have no windows, and if you drove past them, you’d be hard pressed to identify any of them as an oil well. If we can get away with drilling for oil in the middle of FREAKIN’ BEVERLY HILLS, someone please tell me why we can’t drill 30 miles off the Gulf Coast to help us become slightly more energy independent.

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    Cover F’n Letter

    2010 - 03.17

    So like much of America, I hate my job. I’ve been applying to a good many positions, trying to get out of the tire business, but as you are well aware, the job market is sucking left hind tit. For each position you go through the typical motions; application, cover letter, resume. I’ve got my resume all dolled up. No typos, it’s all mostly true, and it sounds good. That’s pretty standard fare. The cover letter is where you get some freedom of expression. I’ve been doing it the so called “proper” way with little to no real results. It’s time for a new tactic. Below is my new and improved BVL Cover Letter

    Biloxi Von Lutz – [insert contact info here]

    [company name and address here]

    Dear Hiring Manager,
    The economic apocalypse is upon us.  The political landscape is tumultuous. Everywhere we turn we see unease. This is not the ideal climate to pursue a new career. It is, however, an incredibly opportune time for [insert company name here] to acquire an invaluable asset. More specifically, me.

    My resume is included for your review, but although it contains my employment history, I don’t feel that it captures the true essence of my nature. One cannot simply write on a resume that they can do everything and expect to be believed. The vast majority of my work experience is in the tire industry due to the fact that I was essentially born into it. It is not the sole domain into which my skills lie. Ignore this at your organization’s own peril.

    I would like to include a list of some of my more arcane skills, so as to convince you that I am utterly essential to the continued financial prosperity of your company.

    • I have an amazingly large vocabulary. When measured in cubic feet, it is larger than most of your clients’ homes.
    • I am built for speed. God (or Allah, praise him) designed me to get from point A to point B before you or anyone else. This is invaluable when there are deadlines to be met.
    • I’m a non-smoker. This means lowered health insurance costs and no loss of productivity due to smoke breaks.
    • I have an absolutely amazing head of hair. Studies show that men with full heads of hair live happier, more fulfilling lives, and make superior employees.
    • I am not scared of heights. This enables me to change lightbulbs in a fraction of the time it takes my coworkers.
    • I’m a white male. While this may not help you from an affirmative action standpoint, I’m far less likely to get arrested or get pregnant than other prospective employees.
    • I can jump my leg. “What’s the point of this,” you ask? Primarily, it’s a cool skill. People with cool skills are much more likely to succeed as employees.

    Based on my resume, and the reasons listed above, it would be devastatingly foolish to miss this opportunity to hire a delightful, engaging young man such as myself for the position of [insert desired position here].

    Most faithfully and indomitably yours,
    Biloxi Von Lutz

    If this doesn’t get me hired, then nothing will.

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    P’Tree Screet

    2010 - 03.11

    The road system in Atlanta is an atrocity. I swear, the plans were drawn up by someone smoking copious amounts of weed who then threw up on the proposal for good measure. Aside from the interstate system, which is a travesty unto itself, there’s the 71 Peachtree Streets. Yes, you read that right. There are 71 streets in the metro Atlanta area that have some variation of Peachtree in its name.

    Today I’m going to help you navigate the cavalcade of confusion caused by all the Peachtrees…

    First off, Peachtree Street is the main drag in Atlanta. It’s like Broadway in New York City. There are other Peachtree’s but they all cower before this one.

    Peachtree Street –  Midtown: The Connector to N. Druid Hills Road

    I consider this section of Peachtree Street to be the heart and soul of Atlanta. It runs through its nicest areas, Midtown, Buckhead, and Brookhaven. The Fabulous Fox Theatre is also on this stretch.

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    Other Peachtrees to watch out for:  West Peachtree Street runs parallel to Peachtree Street. for a few miles in Midtown. It connects with Peachtree Street. on the north end, so it shouldn’t cause too much trouble. There’s also Peachtree Place and Peachtree Circle, but they are smaller roads and there’s no need to be scared of them.

    Peachtree Road – N. Druid Hills Road to I-285

    Note: Peachtree Street changes to Peachtree Road after you cross I-85. As you head north on Peachtree, Peachtree-Dunwoody Road splits off in Brookhaven and then the road itself becomes Peachtree Industrial Boulevard as you near I-285.

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    Other Peachtrees to watch out for: As I mentioned above, Peachtree-Dunwoody Road splits off and heads towards Dunwoody. A smaller Peachtree Road continues for a couple of miles after the Peachtree Industrial Blvd. split, but it runs back into Peachtree Ind. by the old GM plant. There’s also a smaller road, N. Peachtree Rd., that bisects Peachtree Ind. right before you get to I-285.

    Peachtree Industrial Boulevard – I-285 to Buford

    This is the confusing part of the Peachtree Adventure. Peachtree Ind. Blvd. goes straight up to Buford, but there are several places where another Peachtree bastard child bisects it. I swear, it’s like navigating Henry VIII’s wives.

    The good news is, PIB is a limited access road through the first section, so you have to work at it to get lost at Peachtree Corners Circle. The big problem on this end comes when you get to Peachtree Parkway. It splits off to the left and keeps the 141 highway designation while PIB continues north to Buford. A lot of people will refer to this as Hwy 141, which is technically true, but pretty confusing if you’re coming from the south.

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    Other Peachtrees to watch out for: Peachtree Corners Circle, Peachtree Pkwy (Hwy 141). Also be careful in Downtown Norcross. They have their own W. Peachtree Street and N. Peachtree Street There’s also a S. Old Peachtree Street in the area, but it only lasts for a mile or so.

    Peachtree Street – Downtown: Connector to Whitehall Street

    This is the Downtown stretch of Peachtree Street It’s the only Peachtree in the area, so you shouldn’t have any problems. Watch out for the prison as you get near Whitehall St.

    View Larger Map

    This concludes our Peachtree Street education for today. Hopefully you’ve learned something about navigating the grandest route in all of the ATL (Besides Ponce, of course.)

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