New Year's Resolution

I never have them; never keep them if I do.

But I just thought of one for this year which I am planning to keep.

Resolved:  To use all of my gift cards.

(Conveniently, most of my gift cards have no expiration, or monthly non-use charge.  Thank you, California.)


Having gone through the stack, I have, in no particular order:


- 3 Home Depots
- an AMC Movies (also: an AMC gift certificate ticket, an Edwards Cinemas gift certificate ticket, and 2 Pacific Theaters gift certificate booklets -- clearly, I have movies to see in 2010)
- 2 Bath & Body Works
- 3 Barnes & Noble
- 1 Cost Plus World Market (did I take it when I went to Cost Plus last week?  Noooo.)
- 1 Virgin Megastore
- 2 iTunes (started using them immediately -- yay for free music!)
- 2 Bed Bath & Beyond
- 1 Disney Store
- 1 Petco
- 1 Macy's
- 1 Visa


and

- a Cheesecake Factory card with $2 left on it


There is such a shopping spree in my future.  And about a third of a piece of cheesecake.

Entries You Would Have Gotten

Yeah, been busy lately.  Here are some brief overviews of the things I would have been blogging, had I not actually been, y'know, doing them...

1.  What is it about the days around the holidays that make them "bring your kids to work day"? And, somewhat related to that, why is it that, in the, oh, thirtyish years between when I used to babysit them and today, I've totally lost my ability to relate to them?  Seriously, when I was a kid, I totally hated when any adult attempted to talk down to me in any way -- and then I go and do it with kids.  Didn't get much work done the other day, 'cause there was a random child in my office, and I ended up explaining everything on my desk to him (and, really, try explaining to a seven-year-old a paperweight with Athena on it, a Sherlock Holmes action figure, a dreidel, and a Doctor Who laser screwdriver.  Come to think of it, I have a very kid-friendly office.)  I wanted to kick him out and get work done, but at the same time, it was going well, and I figured I could use the practice.



2.  For my next month of exercise, I got myself the DVDs of Nowhere Man, which I remember watching sometime in the mid-90s.  It's been a pretty interesting trip so far, seeing as all I remember about the show is:  (a) the premise; (b) the not-entirely-satisfactory finale; and (c) very general plot summaries of three of the episodes.  One of the DVDs would not get along with the player in front of the elliptical machine, so I had to break my rule and watch that one without exercising, and I ended up watching, in the same day, two of three episodes I'd remembered.  One was an episode about a total computer geek who locked himself in his house and lived his life via the proto-internet and VR.  Now, a little under 15 years later, I can say the internet has far surpassed what the episode showed (the geek proudly demonstrated he could order food online because a nearby shop had a fax machine) but our VR still isn't that good.  Also amused how, no matter how much you blow up Bruce Greenwood, his hair remains the same.  I thank the Lord this show wasn't in the 80s and I'm not dealing with a mullet.  But it is making me uncomfortably remember that I did, in fact, rock that "tight jeans, t-shirt, and flannel shirt over it" look.



3.  Had the weirdest dream.  I rarely dream (or, probably more accurately, rarely remember my dreams) so any dream is fairly remarkable.  In this one, something like 25 of my neighbors came over one day and fixed everything in my house I don't like.  (I can tell you exactly where this dream came from, but I'm clearly surprised by how much I apparently want to resurface my kitchen cabinets.)  Also, my cat could talk.


4.  Having moved further East in Pasadena -- and past the end of the parade route -- I thought I'd be free from all the Tournament of Roses parking and traffic issues.  Ha ha, no.  The port-a-potties and temporary ticket (and food) tents have started springing up, and "my" freeway offramp will be closed starting tonight.  Apparently, I'm about a mile away from the post-parade float displays -- so while my old place of residence had to deal with horrible New Year's Eve and New Year's Morning traffic, my current place of residence will deal with it all freakin' weekend.  Still, there's something slightly exciting about watching the viewing stands and port-a-johns go up -- clearly signals the new year (and, in a way, large-scale competence, which always makes me happy).

And on the topic of Sherlock Holmes

Was poking around my computer and found this piece -- I journalled it back in 2003 (although I'd written it a few years before).  I would just link to it, except I posted it when this blog was on AOL and had length-limitation which required me to break it up into four parts.  I just feel like taking it out for a stroll again (in full form).

Foundations

I just finished watching "The Abbey Grange." "The Abbey Grange" is a Sherlock Holmes mystery--one in a series that was dramatized some years ago (1986) with Jeremy Brett as Holmes, which aired on PBS' "Mystery!" series. They were purchased by A&E, which explains why I just finished watching one.

I've seen them all before, multiple times. I am quite the fan of these adaptations, having gone so far as to cancel my subscription to Entertainment Weekly in protest of their review of the series. (It was, I should note, a positive review. Entertainment Weekly, however, had the audacity to imply that Sherlock Holmes stories appeal only to men, as if women would not possibly be impressed by a brilliant intellect or, at any rate, a brilliant intellect who does not sleep around.) So, yes, I've loved the adaptations, had seen them all before, and generally had little interest in watching them again (particularly with commercial interruptions).

But "Abbey Grange" is special.

"Abbey Grange" wasn't always special. It certainly wasn't my favorite Sherlock Holmes story when I first read them, nor even my favorite of the television adaptations. But it came to be an important part of my life in 1987.

At college, I took a course in the Legal Studies department which had the profound title of "Foundations of Justice." Now that all is said and done, I'll freely admit that I took the course for the sole purpose of obtaining a letter of recommendation for law school from the professor. The class was large, but I was motivated by the desire to get into a good law school, so I made certain I was known to the professor.

It turned out to be the only class I took, in college or law school, that was taught in the Socratic method. I became "the" student in the class--the one who is always called on when someone else does not have the response the professor is looking for. I knew I could get questioned in that class at any time. As a result (and, perhaps, a cause), I was more prepared for those class sessions than any other class, before or since. Although I did not quite realize it at the time, I learned a hell of a lot along the way. Really LEARNED it. In my desire to always be ready with the answer for the professor, I internalized the things he was teaching. I wasn't merely mastering the material so I could spout it back on an exam and forget it the next week; I was taking it in, engaging in dialogue with myself over the material, and coming to terms with the concepts at issue.

And what concepts they were. The "foundations of justice," I learned, are nothing less than the basic rules upon which societies are built: That before people can come together at all, they must agree to speak the truth; that doing good--justice-- is an end within itself. In my practice as an attorney, I've always respected the "due process" protections our constitution provides. But in "Foundations of Justice," I considered, perhaps for the only time, the necessity of respecting these protections, whatever the consequences, in order for the populace to continue to consent to be governed. The process must always be seen to be, and actually BE, just.

I remember arriving for the final exam in "Foundations of Justice." A three-hour written examination. The exams are set on the table, face down, in front of us. We are not to turn them over, but there is no rule against attempting to make out the type, backwards, from the back of the page. (You can tell I was already thinking like a lawyer.) There is a lengthy single-spaced fact scenario set forth, and the question beneath: a single line, set apart from the rest. I concentrate my efforts on making out the question.

"Did Holmes do right?"

For a moment, I think it is a Sherlock Holmes question. With regret, I chide myself that I am now entering the path to becoming an attorney, and future references to "Holmes" will mean Justice Oliver Wendell and not Sherlock.

But not this time. When we turn over our tests to begin, I am delighted to discover, not the fact pattern of some dry legal dispute, but the familiar story of "The Abbey Grange."

In "The Abbey Grange," a ship's captain was in love (from afar) with a married woman. When her abusive husband struck her, the captain flew to her defense. Attacked by the husband, the captain killed him. The captain then covered the crime to make it appear as if burglars had killed the husband. Holmes deduced the truth, but the authorities did not. When Holmes confronted the captain, he confessed the crime, but admitted no guilt--he believed he had done the right thing in saving the woman from her brutal husband.

Holmes then appointed himself judge, and Watson the British jury. Watson, on cue, acquitted the captain and Holmes, accordingly, set him free, promising to keep the truth a secret unless some other man be brought up on charges for the murder.

The question, "Did Holmes do right?" stared at me from the paper.

I had a sudden thought that, with this particular examination, the issue was not whether I was going to get an "A." The issue was HOW I was going to get it.

I began with the simplest question--was Watson's verdict factually "right?" Did the captain deserve an acquittal on the grounds of self-defense or defense of others? Undoubtedly yes, but this merely scratched the surface of the problem.

Was Holmes legally right in appointing himself judge and Watson the jury, thereby bypassing the legal system? Definitely not, I concluded.

But would the legal system have reached the correct result? And at what cost to the captain and the lady? Did Holmes do right by reaching the right result through the wrong practice?

The resolution to each question simply revealed the next. My determination of whether Holmes did "right" changed with each successive inquiry.

Can it ever be right to usurp the legal system? Is the cost to the fabric of society greater than whatever harm might be avoided by the subterfuge? Does it matter if no one else in the society is aware of the injustice worked to the system?

I honestly cannot recall what my ultimate conclusion was, although I suspect my own bias in favor of Holmes probably played a part. But I think, as with the subject matter of the class itself, it was the procedure of getting there that mattered. Discovering for myself that "right" can be determined factually, legally and morally, and that each standard may lead to a different result. Experimenting with the interplay between doing justice for individuals and doing justice for society. And perhaps most important, realizing that it does not require Oliver Wendell Holmes to raise an inquiry worthy of a Legal Studies final examination. Sherlock will do just fine.

 

Shouldn't Jews Have Priority?

So, yesterday, I decided to engage in the standard Jewish Christmas Tradition of seeing a movie (followed by eating Chinese food).

That was the plan.

Intended to see Sherlock Holmes.  It had a 2:00 show at the closest theater to me (in a mall), and a 2:30 at a theater about 15 minutes away (in the other direction).  But the mall theater is generally crowded, and the theater in the other direction never sells out.  Considered buying an advance ticket on the web, but the theater that never sells out doesn't have online ticketing.  So, I pile myself in the car and head for the theater that never sells out.

It was not crowded.  

I want to be clear about this.  There is a nearby parking structure I always use.  When I got there, there was one other car in it.  I got the second best parking spot in the whole building.  Strolled on over to the box office where there was a small crowd, but not a huge mob.

Overheard the person in front of me ask for tickets to Sherlock Holmes.  Overhead the lady in the box office tell him that it was front row seating only.  The next show was at 4:20.


OK, sure, not technically sold out, but close enough.

Did not want to wait until 4:20.  Checked on the Droid -- the theater in the mall had their next showing at 4:00.  I could make it to the mall by 3:00, buy a ticket for the 4:00, and maybe grab a bite to eat in the unlikely event the food court was open for movie theatre snacking.

Drove to the mall.  (The mall has a four-story parking structure and a little sign in front of it which tells you exactly how many spots are available on each level.  I, of course, find myself behind the idiot going one quarter mile per hour in the hopes of finding one of the "3" spots it said were available on the second floor, rather than going up a level to the "98" free spots.  Jerk.)  Finally get parked, stroll over to the box office by about 3:05, confirm on the electronic board that they have a 4:00 Sherlock Holmes . . . and notice that the "4:00"  is alternating with "Sold Out."

Crap.  OK, screw it; I'll see Avatar at 3:25.  Sold Out too.  

Sonofa...

Fine, fine.  I'll go back to the other theater and see the 4:20.  If they had "front row only" available for the 2:30 show as late as 2:15, surely I could get a good seat for the 4:20 at 3:30.

Haul ass back to the theater which doesn't sell out.  Now there are four cars in the parking structure.  Go back to the box office.  "One for Sherlock Holmes, please."

"That's front row seating only."

The words, "Are you f*cking kidding me?" rushed toward my mouth.  I nearly got whiplash stopping them.

"Okayyyyy."

The 3:55 Avatar is also sold out.  Next IMAX 3D showing is at 7:00.


Next Sherlock Holmes is at 4:50.  Well, at this point, what's a half hour?  I buy a ticket to the 4:50.  It is, at this point, about 3:45.  I go in the building and there's a line forming already.  Well, we're a small mob, really, but the helpful theater employee eventually lines us up.  He has to -- there needs to be some way to separate the 4:50 Sherlock Holmes line from the 3:55 Avatar line and the 4:20 Sherlock Holmes line.  Otherwise, chaos would ensue.

(I ask myself where the hell all these people came from.  And, more importantly, where did they park?)

I wait.  Standing there.  Annoyed and hungry.  I realize that my lunch is either going to be a 425 calorie hot dog or a 450 calorie bag of popcorn.  (The popcorn wins, but I decide to wait till the movie.  I know that my movie watching has decreased a lot in the past few years, and I wonder whether the fact that I generally don't want to waste my calories on popcorn has anything to do with it.)  There are two women in line behind me, snacking on candy and ice cream, and debating the merits of the various Twilight novels.  (There's a poster for New Moon around the corner, and one of them snaps a picture of it with her cell phone to show the other so they can both giggle over it.  I glance at them -- gotta be well into their 20s.  Well into.  I very politely look away without rolling my eyes.)

We are eventually let into the theater.  As I was near the front of the line, I get to pretty much sit wherever I want.  I stake out a good place.  Leave my sweater on it to hold it, and ask the person to my left if she would be so kind as to kill anyone who attempts to take my seat.  (She promises strangulation.)  I go off for my lunch popcorn.


I return to the theater.  My seat is still there, but someone has sat down to my right.  She's elderly.  Wearing blue socks with white Mary Jane pumps.  Has brought a blanket to put over her legs.  Has a cup of coffee in the armrest between us, which I am pretty sure she's going to whack into my lap with her shawl.  She comments to the person she's with about every single preview -- generally letting everyone nearby know which movies she intends to see and which ones she doesn't.  (Also telling us in which other movies each of the actors has appeared, and whether she liked their performances.)  I am certain she's going to be trouble during the movie, but the theater is packed and the only place to go is the front row.  Not bloody likely.  Besides, it's just the previews; maybe she'll quiet down during the actual movie.


She starts talking about 40 seconds into the movie.  I lean over to her and softly say, "Can you please keep it down?"


And she says,


"WHAT??"


Ahh.  This explains much.


I raise my voice a bit and ask again, explaining that we can hear everything she says and could she be a bit quieter?  She quiets, although I have to ask her again about halfway through the movie, and she seems horribly offended that I would interfere with her ability to exclaim to everyone in a ten-yard radius that "Oh!  He doesn't know that guy is Holmes!"


(When she leaves at the end of the film, I am surprised to discover that the person she's with is, in fact, a generation younger than she is -- probably a daughter.  This really annoys.  Two elderly people speaking loudly to each other is one thing, but I expect your kid has some responsibility to tell you when you're being too loud in public.)


Was the movie any good?  Ehh... it wasn't worth an hour and a half of ping-ponging between theaters, standing in line for 45 minutes, having a lunch of stale popcorn, and sitting next to a woman who treated the movie theater like her own private living room.  Then again, I'm not really sure what would be.


The Chinese food was good, though.

That's Right Neighborly, That Is

OK.  Last week, my neighbors made some brownies and left me some in a little bag by my door with a little "Happy Holidays" note.

I reciprocated with a dozen chocolate chip cookies (from my friend who has started a home baking business).

Today, they emailed to thank me.  They also told me that our "block captain" is displaying a bell outside her house, which is our reward for having 100% block participation in the holiday decorating.  (That being:  tying Pokey to the tree.)  I responded that I was glad my pitiful solar spotlight (which doesn't so much illuminate Pokey as bathe him in an eerie glow) didn't get us marked down, and commented that I'd have to start shopping earlier next year to find an outdoor spotlight which actually plugs in (rather than one which needs to be attached with electrical cable -- which was all the stores had left).

Tonight.  8:15.  A knock on my door.  My neighbor.  With a spare outdoor plug-in spotlight.

I tell him that's awful sweet of him, but seeing as I hadn't found the spotlight, I hadn't bought the necessary extension cord.  He says no problem, he has an extension cord.  He offers to run it along my driveway and light up Pokey.  I thank him, tell him he couldn't possibly stand outside at 8:30 at night and tape an extension cord along my driveway, and say that if he loans me the equipment, I'll put it up on Christmas day.


He leaves to get the stuff.  I go back inside.  Put on a jacket and some shoes -- figure I'll go up to his house and at least save him the walk back to my driveway.


By the time I get outside, he's already here with a massive box, containing about a quarter mile of extension cord, a power strip, a couple rolls of electrical tape, and a timer.  He's already got the light on Pokey and is planning a route with the cable.


Wouldn't even let me make him a mug of tea or anything.


I'm so touched.

Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t

Sound the sirens!  It's a holiday present emergency!

OK, here's what happened.  On Black Friday, Best Buy had a really good DVD sale.  A really good one.  I purchased the Firefly complete series for the low, low price of $15.  This was to be part of a gift for a close friend we'll call "Close Friend."

Sometime later, I came up with a much better (and rather more expensive) gift idea for Close Friend.  I couldn't give her Firefly in addition to the more expensive gift (indeed, someone else is splitting the cost of more expensive gift for Close Friend with me).  So, Firefly is just sitting around my house in the Emergency Gift Cabinet.

Last week, I was invited to a holiday party with a round-robin gift exchange.  I think, for a variety of reasons, that Firefly would be a good gift for this group.  (If anything, my one concern was that they'd all seen/owned it already.)  So, I wrap Firefly up for the party. 

On Thursday, the day before the holiday party, I discovered I needed a small gift for a friend at work.  We'll call her Office Friend.  I may have mentioned her earlier -- she's the one I went "stalking" Nathan Fillion with.

(Smart readers can see where this is going already.  Wish I had.)

I decide on the perfect gift for Office Friend:  the DVD of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.  I'm pretty sure she's never seen it.  I order it from Amazon.  It should arrive today.

Meantime, I take Firefly to the party, see that it finds a good home, and congratulate myself on an excellent use of a spare gift.

I run into Office Friend at work this morning.  She tells me that, over the weekend, she got Dr. Horrible from Netflix.  Watched the whole thing.  Including the special features.  Listened to the commentary.  She has fully done the Dr. Horrible thing.  There's nothing left for her to do with Dr. Horrible.  I smile outwardly and think,

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit"

That's OK.  I can fix this. 

Well, I could fix it if I still had my $15 copy of Firefly. 

Black Friday sales being over, Firefly is now back up to $39.99 at BestBuy ($38.50 at Amazon), which is considerably more than, y'know, the "small gift" for Office Friend which I was looking for.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

OK, new rule:  Everybody has to have an Amazon wish list and nobody is allowed to buy themselves anything between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day.

How Not to Hit on Me

A couple days ago, I got a sandwich at Subway for lunch.  Walking back to the office, a homeless guy asked, "Hey!  I'm really hungry.  Could I have your sandwich?"

"Sorry, no."  I kept walking, although I thought I probably should've bought the "$5 footlong" and given the other half to someone who needed it.  I'm just about to file this thought away for next time, when he says, "Could I have your number then?"

Really?  I'm a fallback position to food?  That makes me feel so special.

And then, today, just now, after 11:00 p.m.  My cell phone rings.  Takes a minute for me to gently remove the sleeping cat from my lap.  I pick up the phone, say, "Hello," and hear:

"Can I talk to ... wait a second, I dropped my files.  OK, can I talk to [insert name of some dude I don't know]?"

"No.  Sorry, you have the wrong number."

"Are you sure?  This is his parole agent."

I laugh.  "Yes.  I'm really sure.  You have the wrong number."

And then he says, "You sound kind of lonely..."