Enlarge your penis.

I'm trying to convince Chris to take penis-enlarging drugs.

Why?

Because I think it'd be awesome if his penis shot lasers. Like the Monster Cock.

Clarification: No, I don't really want Chris to get a penis enlargement. He already has a Monster Cock. Really, folks. He's hung. Hung like a jury with a seriously nagging doubt. (I love you, Chris. Thanks for putting up with me discussing your genitals in a public forum.)

On Hebrew school and improper word usage.

My parents made me go to Hebrew school when I was a kid. It started off as once a week in Kindergarten. By fourth grade, I was going twice a week. And by sixth, it was thrice weekly.

Hebrew school was awful. We learned bible stories, and the teachers weren't too fond of my questioning the faith. The rabbis? Oh, they loved my silly questions, but the teachers were young do-gooder types who weren't quite sure how to handle my rambunctious ways.

Because of this, my folks let me become a Hebrew School Dropout in the eighth grade. The teacher was an ass and we'd all had enough.

And speaking of asses... The most irritating thing about Hebrew school (to me, at least) was improper word usage. In the seventh grade, we had some sort of ceremony (for what, I do not recall). Each of us presented either an English or Hebrew recitation of one of the Ten Commandments.

Saving the best for last, I was to recite the English text of the Tenth Commandment:

You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, his male or female slave, his ox or his ass, or anything that is your neighbor's.

You know what they made me do? They made me say the word "donkey" instead of "ass." If they had let me just go ahead and use the A-word, everything would have gone smoothly. But because I was so very irritated that they changed the text for purposes of political correctness, I was so theatrical and so ridiculous in my recitation, that I was the only reciter who got a laugh from the audience.

The most egregious example of word usage tampering during my religious education was during the translation of my Torah portion during my Bat Mitzvah. I read Leviticus 26.3 through 26.13. To be sure, the text of Leviticus 16.13 is as follows:

I am the Lord your G-d who brought you out from the land of Egypt to be their slaves no more, who broke the bars of your yoke and who made you walk erect.

See the problem? If you guessed it was the word "erect," you are correct. Ding ding! I had to say the word "upright."

We all know of my penchant for proper syntax and my distaste of evolving usage (e.g., the fact that "melancholy" is now used as an adjective instead of a noun, the proper adjective form being "melancholic"). Given this, combined with the tampering with religious text for the sake of cleaning it up, is it really any wonder why I grew to hate organized religion?

"Why I need a spinal tap." Or, "Lenscrafters be damned!"

Back in September, LensCrafters send me a coupon. A huge discount on new frames. Fifty percent off lenses. Yay! Since my glasses are more than two years old, and my visions seems to be a tad blurry in one eye, I went in for an eye exam, and to purchase some new specs.

I got my eye exam, and the optometrist told me that the prescription in my left eye was actually a bit higher than it needed to be. So she wrote up a new prescription. Then she told me that she saw something a bit worrisome in the back of my eyes and wanted to dilate my pupils.

I had never had my pupils dilated before. I get squeamish when it comes to eye drops. Also, I've always been extremely sensitive to light. But because I live only two minutes from LenscCrafters, and because the optometrist was insistent, I reluctantly agreed.

The dilation threw my balance off, and I had to drink a lot of water to keep from throwing up. (Please note that ever since I punctured an eardrum more'n a decade ago, I am particularly affected by anything that has the potential to throw my balance off.) Twenty minutes after the drops went in, I was back in the chair getting lights shined in my eyes.

After that, the optometrist wanted me to take visual fields test to check my peripheral vision.

I failed.

The eye doc sat me down again and explained that she was concerned. I had inflamed optic nerves, the likes of which she had learned about, but never seen. Even more distressing to her what that I seemed to have huge blind spots in my peripheral vision. She referred me to a neuro-opthamologist (there are only two in the state), and wrote him a letter herself.

Last week, I had my appointment. I was given more tests, and my visual fields were tested yet again. And again, I failed. The doc dilated my pupils again and told me the same thing: Inflamed optic nerves. However, he told me my case was "interesting."

"Most patients I have with inflamed optic nerves present with different symptoms," he explained. "They have intense headaches that last for three days. Debilitating headaches with headaches. They also have loss of vision for up to a minute at times. You don't seem to have any of these symptoms."

Right. So what was wrong?

Doc told me that what I have is most likely a congenital defect that I've always had; no one had ever noticed before. The fact that I never noticed a loss of peripheral vision means I've probably always had huge blind spots. The defect is called optic disc drusen. It is un-treatable, yet harmless. However, there is no way to diagnose it.

No way to diagnose it, that is, except for ruling out anything else it could be. Like stuff that would cause pressure on my spinal chord. Like tumors.

Hence the MRI and spinal tap.

Damn, you LensCrafters!

Roller Girl!

A law school friend and I have decided to take up roller derby.

I am uncoordinated and unathletic. This'll be awesome!

Check up with me in a month to see if I've done it. I'm hoping it won't be like the swing dancing lessons I never took.

Ouch!

I have to get a spinal tap.

I hear they hurt.

Not cool.

Love the one you're with?

For a long time, I maintained that the song Escape (more commonly known as The Pina Colada Song) is the saddest song ever written.

Think about it: A guy who's tired of his lady (we'd been together too long; like a worn out recording of a favorite song) responds to a personal ad. Despite the fact that he has a girlfriend, he agrees to meet up with the woman at a bar in Southie. He gets there. She walks in. And who is it? His own lovely lady. And she says, "Oh. It's you." Then they laugh for a moment, and he says, "I never knew that you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, and the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne." To me, the guy sounded like a total douche. He didn't know anything about his girlfriend. They both tried to cheat on each other via the personal ads, and then found each other. Sad, sad, sad.

But then I realized that there's an even sadder song. Two sadder songs, in fact. I realized this during my third year in law school when I was canoodling with AIDS Boy (the boy who convinced himself I gave him AIDS, when he didn't have it -- I clearly didn't, either). I realized it when he told me that the reason he was marrying his fiance, despite the fact that he cheated on her at least thrice, was because she was the "least crazy" woman he'd ever dated.

He was settling down because he thought it was what he was "supposed" to do. He was marrying the girl he'd been with since he was sixteen years old for the same reasons he'd gone to law school instead of film school: (1) His parents wanted him to; and (2) it was the path of least resistance. It was expected of him. It was the right thing to do. Somehow.

The two of us were driving around town once, having eaten lunch and on our way to The Puppy Center (to look at baby Golden Doodles). A song came on:

And if you can't be with the one you love
Love the one you're with;
Love the one you're with.
Don't be angry, don't be sad,
Don't sit cryin' over good things you've had,
There's a girl right next to you
And she's just waiting for something you do...
Love the one you're with.

It fit him. I told him so. "You're marrying this girl just because you you figure you should love the one you're with." He agreed, sort of. He told me how he wanted a wilder woman, a woman who doesn't dress in twin sets all the time, who's less conventional. This soliloquy, of course, ended with the predictable: "I've never met a girl like you before." Which can be a compliment, it's a statement that can make me all melty at times. But not from someone who's engaged. But since he couldn't find a wild woman, a fun woman, an open-minded type, since he always attracted the twin-set-and-pearls type, he was marrying the girl he'd been with for nearly a decade.

Love the one you're with.

In that moment, I decided that Love The One You're With is a sadder song than Escape.

Then I got home and downloaded the song. Or rather, I downloaded a little ol' medley of two songs. And I pondered these lyrics:

You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometimes, well you just might find
You get what you need.

Whether my friend got what he needed from Twin Set Fiance, I can't say. But that little medley struck me as a marriage of the two saddest songs ever written.

Because after all, if you can't always get what you want, you may as well love the one you're with.

What is your city built on?

As many of you know, Jefferson Starship believes that "this city" was built on rock and roll.

In an effort not to work on my motion to suppress scheduled for tomorrow, I have decided to do some research regarding what various cities have been built on. Because surely, they can't all be built on rock and roll.

As it turns out, the city in which I live is built both on "compliments by many people" as well as on "the Connecticut River flood plain." Not as exciting as being built on rock and roll, is it?

So I've turned to the city in which I currently work. Ah. It's built on "low and level ground."

Boring!

What about Columbus, Ohio, where I went to high school? A tad bit more interesting: "The real Columbus is built on the people whose families have been here for more then a century, the hard working men and women who work the land." This should not be confused with the Knights of Columbus, which is built on patriotism. (Clearly, Columbus, Ohio is not built on patriotism.)

I've lived in other places, as well. Like Boston. And let me tell you, Boston is a jackpot. It's built on "specific types of man-made land." Other parts of Boston are built on tidal flats. In short, Boston is built on a collection of peninsulas.

And so it goes. Having established that few, in any cities, are built on rock and roll, I ask you, gentle readers, to share: What is your city built on?

The only thing I remember from torts...

This may very well be the only case I really remember from first year torts class (not counting Palsgraf, of course).

"We are called upon to determine whether United Airlines took adequate measures to deal with that elementary notion of physics - what goes up, must come down. For, while the skies are friendly enough, the ground can be a mighty dangerous place when heavy objects tumble from overhead compartments."

Andrews v. American Airlines

What not to do the morning after Thanksgiving.

Go to the gym.

Suffer through a workout burping up turkey and pie.

Not a good idea.

Don't use Bank of America.

Let this be a recommendation not to use Bank of America.

I was formerly a BankBoston customer. Which then got bought by Fleet. Which was then bought by Bank of America. My primary checking account is t an online checking account that bears an interest rate of over 4%. I still maintain my Bank of America account so that I can deposit my house-mate's rent check without having to mail it in. That is the only thing I use it for. However, to avoid a maintenance fee, I need to keep a balance of $750 in the account. While I can do this, I find it annoying.

So. I decided to see if there's any way I can reduce my minimum balance without paying a maintenance fee (which is ridiculous, really; they're the ones making money by holding my cash; I get little out of it). I saw a Special Offer(!) on the web site. For a Limited Time Only, Bank of America was waiving the service fee on a different account that did not require a minimum balance.

Awesome. I called and switched.

Then I read the fine print. And called back.

As it turns out, in order to waive the fee, one needs to have at least one monthly direct deposit into the account. Unless, of course, one opens the account online. 'Cause it's an Exclusive Online Offer. Which, as I mentioned, is for a Limited Time Only. I don't do direct deposit on that account; it goes into my online interest-bearing account.

So I called back. And confirmed that they are, indeed, assholes.

Me: So you're telling me that your existing customers have to pay the fee, while new customers do not?

Phone Rep: Well, it is a promotional offer.

Me: Well, switch my account back. Which I will be closing next week.

Phone Rep: Sure. Is there anything else we can help you with today?

Don't use Bank of America.

I'll keep you posted on who has better deals.