Gin and Tonic Lounge: May 2007

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

The Dark Side

Tomorrow, I go over to the dark side. At least, that will be the general topic of bon-voyage conversation through out the day. There will be much hand shaking and a few hugs. I anticipate a high level of non-committal well-wishing as the hours drag on.

The dark side. Certainly not a Darth Vader level of darkness, but a switching of sides to be sure. Then again, Darth Vader did switch sides himself a few times, didn't he?

I've switched before. I've gone from plaintiff's work to defense work, and now back again. The last time I switched, folks on the plaintiff's side said that I was going over to the dark side. Quite frankly, I'm not sure I even know which side is really the dark side. Perhaps I went over to the real dark side, simply when I passed the bar exam...

I sat today in what will be my new office. Coincidentally, it happens to be Leah's old office from several years ago. (The Portland legal community is small...) I sat across from what will be my new desk. My friend from the new firm was talking on the phone with his family as I waited to go to lunch.

As I sat there, I noticed his file folders sitting on what will be my new shelves. Hell, they may end up being my new file folders. Anyway, what I noticed was that they looked just like my old ones. Brown accordion-style file buckets, stuffed with pleadings, letters, medical records and deposition transcripts. They're no different than any file I've worked-up on the defense side for the last five years, and they're no different than the other plaintiff's files I worked up before that.

It's like driving a car, or perhaps wielding a light saber, If you're familiar with the pieces, you can operate the damn thing. My job is to represent someone else who invariably wants something, and that something is almost always money. Whether it's an insurance company, the government, a private business or an old lady with a sore neck, they all want money.

So, the dark side? Sure, why not? Maybe I'm a dark wizard like Saruman or Voldemort, summoning the wicked powers and consolidating power.

Maybe I'm the gluttonous monster, Baron Harkonen, weaving evil plots within plots.

Maybe I'm Attila, riding my Mongol Horde across the virgin land, pillaging and plundering along the way.

Nah... I'm going to stick with Darth Vader, a powerful puppet to an even greater evil. Looks bad, and has a few tricks up his sleeve, but in the end is nothing more than a blubbering old man who does right by his kids.

Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

Sale Pending

I sat outside in the warm spring night air. The moon was nearly full. The wind was still.

I enjoyed a fine cigar, given to me in celebration of the birth of my son.I enjoyed a glass of good scotch, because hell, I always enjoy scotch...

The usual din of the freeway at the bottom of the hill was dulled. The dog slept at my feet.

All was perfect out on the deck, or nearly so.

There was one irritant, one point of distraction, one flaw in the perfect late-night scheme to relax.

It was a light. One light, shining brightly from the open laundry room window in the vacant house next door. It has been on the market now for a couple of months, and they leave that goddamn light on 24 hours per day.

Why?

What is the purpose? Why not the front porch light? Is it supposed to ward off intruders? Is it supposed to make meth-head miscreants re-think a forced entry?

"Hold on Jethro, we can't bust into this one, there's a light in the laundry room!"

Well, all that is about to change. Finally, after months of anticipation, the real estate sign out in front declares that there is a sale pending.

It's exciting. It's like a fresh start. It's like going on a blind date. Albeit, a blind date with your arranged spouse, whom you've never met, but with whom you'll be living for the next dozen years...

Still and all, it can't be that bad can it? neighbors are just neighbors, right?

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Prodigal Blogger

The doors are open. The tables are clean. Your bartender is back, behind the bar where he belongs.

The Lounge is open for business.

Changes have been made. Adjustments. Fine tuning.

The boy was born, and is doing well. 10 fingers and 10 toes, while exceptionally long, have all been accounted for. He has a voracious appetite, or, perhaps, he just likes boobs.

I have a new job. The old one will end with the month of May. I will miss my co-workers. Well, some of them at least. I have made good friends there. I will not miss the billable hours. I will not look fondly back at justifying my existence with .1's and .2's.

The new job will involve getting, at the very least, a motorcycle safety course and a motorcycle endorsement. With luck, it will involve the acquisition of an actual bike.

I know! Stop laughing!

And speaking of the DMV, fuck them. In fact, fuck the entire Oregon Department of Transportation. It's now three minutes past midnight, May 28. As of three minutes ago, I am off restriction. See, due to a small series of unfortunate events, I was able to rack-up three minor moving violations in 18 months. So, in its wisdom, the Oregon DMV restricted my driving privileges between the hours of 12 a.m. to 5 a.m., from April 27 to May 27.

And let me tell you, I've learned my lesson!

Lastly, my grandfather is still in steady decline. As there will be a two-week gap between the old job and the new one, the entire G&T family will be traveling to the Southland for the first week in June for a visit. (Thanks to Fred for tending to the homestead and shepherding the animals while we're away.)

The focus of the trip will be the pre-bucket-kicking party my family is throwing for Granddad. What's the sense in waiting until after you're gone to throw a wake?

For my friends who still live in that godforsaken land, I would love to see you. Well, except for Tom. (I still have that restraining order...) I'm thinking: Bar-B-Q... We'll see.

OK, Words words words...

Here come the pictures:

Here is the Girl in her Oscar the Grouch Fairy Ensemble. My kid will kick your kid's ass in a bare-knuckle throw-down cute-match any day of the week.