The containment vessel ruptures and a nice block party

This evening was a wonderful counterpoint to the rest of the day. I spent a delightful hour and a half out in the neighborhood and on the really great porch on LaElu's craftsman style house handing out candy, visiting with neighbors, and talking to kids. I continue my strange journey to giving good if unsolicited advice by telling a couple of grim-faced dads who were taking their kids around to enjoy these times now, because they grow up soooooo fast. LaElu was out with me most of the time, and that's the longest uninterrupted conversation we've had in a while. This is an old neighborhood (LaElu's house is the second oldest one on the hill, built in 1925) and is just a real pleasant place to live. The only cousin I'm close to came in town and stayed with my Mom, because she lives out in the sticks and just enjoys the hell out of the little kids. My Mom really enjoyed the company.

There was a nice spot in the work day. Tina the Crack Dealer called me from jail, and we had a nice chat. She calls me "sweetie," and I call her some endearments, and it's genuine. Here is a person who is having a very difficult time in her life, and she remains nice. I don't think she's ever had much of anyone give a shit about her. That's sad. I hope she finds some peace while she's locked up. She'll end up at a fairly open prison, on a par with a very low class summer camp.

However, when I got to the office this morning, there was a fax sent late last night by the lawyer who reneged on a deal yesterday. This was a "motion" which contained lots of factual allegations and which was sent directly to the judge (that is an ethical violation) and the facts alleged were false (and that sure as hell is an ethical violation.) I was really peeved last night, and this morning I went over the edge. I sat down to write a paragraph letter to him, something on the nature of "what part of 'a deal is a deal' are you having trouble understanding?" It MIRVed into a 3 page righteous diatribe. I shared it with Dave (the case is in another county, so it's nothing he'll ever see) and he was both amused and understanding, because he knows how irrational I get when I blow. I showed it to Friend Dacey (a damn fine lawyer), and she lovingly kicked me in the ass for revealing a strong emotional response. (Criticism is a good thing - it's honest, it's thought-provoking and it is indeed a loving thing.) And as I sit here tonight, I'm still really peeved. Do something stupid, hell, that happens. Screw off on something, who hasn't done that at times? My Dad always said that the person who doesn't make mistakes obviously isn't doing anything. Get mad at me, tell me off, hell, I'm a big boy, I can take it. But, by God, do not fucking lie to me.

Darn, I need to return to the block party mode.

Amy gave me a book today by a guy named Osteen. It's a self-improvement book, and is fairly religious. Me & Jesus, we're buds. But religion, I don't know what to make of that sometimes. It was very nice of Ames to give me the book.

I need to run more contests. I'm running out of shelf space again.

In solidarity with JeanMarie and Kathy, both of whom are doing the chemotherapy stuff, I'm going to hit the barber early tomorrow and get totally shorn. I'll keep the moustache, though. Let's see, my moustache is 36 years old.

Pippa passes. Mizpah.

R