Today was a beautiful, sunny day, which made Professional responsibility extra awkward.
Our professor brought in the head of the Minnesota chapter of Lawyers Concerned for Lawyers.
She gave us the “1 in 4 of you is going to be messed up so please get help” lecture that we got about five times last year.
Our PR class is in a smaller room with tiered seating. The window is in the back of the room.
So, it’s midnight. That means it’s officially Wednesday – aka, the day my neighborhood loses its damn mind.
I hear a car running outside. When I look out of my window, I see two police cruisers in the street and an unmarked cop car on the side of the building.
I went to Wal-Mart1 after work, so I left my backpack in the car to bring my Wal-Mart bags upstairs. I left my backpack, with my school laptop in it, was in the front passenger seat of the car.
After tossing the bags in the apartment and chucking the milk in the fridge, I got the dog for the evening walk. I left my backpack in my car because the car was going to be within eyesight during the walk.2
Harley and I were about a block away when two teenage girls passed us. The girls reeked of pot and shot me the stank eye.
I’m at the Starbucks in the student union.
Barista #1 is a middle aged black woman with an accent.
Barista #2 is a teenage Hispanic student.
Me: “May I have a venti dark roast with room?”
Barista #1: “Sure. Hm, this is a refill so it will be 54 cents.”
I pull out my card.
Harley knocked over a mirror last night. It was a $10 Wal-Mart mirror, so it wasn’t a big deal. I cracked open my new box of generic trash bags1 and collected the glass shards.
When I moved to throw out the trash bag, I felt a sharp pain in my thigh – a glass shard had cut through the trash bag, through my shorts, and stabbed into my thigh.
I pulled up the leg of my shorts just in time to see the start of Bloodfest 2009. I grabbed a paper towel, pressed on the cut, and then instant messaged Gibs to see if he could drive me to the hospital.
But Gibs was at work. Drats!
The mass archive import brought on a little nostalgic tinge.
I only notice the chaos because I have Wills & Trusts at 8:30am the next day, which means that I should probably go to bed early – but I can’t – because on Wednesday nights the entire neighborhood gathers for a chorus of crazy.
Last night’s crazy started with two guys trying to jump a car at the end of the street. The car doing the jumping had a car alarm which went off every time the guy revved his engine.
This went on for 25 minutes.
Today in Wills & Trusts, we are discussing the class schedule for the rest of the semester when Professor W stops and looks at Jack:
Professor W: “Don’t bite your fingers. I can’t watch that! You can go outside and munch all you want!”
The class engages in a collective gasp. Jack throws his hand down and flushes. Giggling ensues.
I left work late, so the only street parking was a few blocks away.
When I got out of my car I noticed someone peering from the dirty white car across the street – it was Terry, the toothless man who sleeps in his car.
I nodded politely but Terry just kept giving me this blank-yet-rabid-stare. I could sense his eyes following me as I walked down the block…ugh.
After getting home and walking the dog, I realize that I left my laptop in my car. I decide that it is more prudent to fetch the computer than to explain to the cops why I left a laptop in a car parked next to a crazed semi-homeless man.
The themes of the past week? Work, fireworks, dog drama, cleaning, and crunk cyclists.
Oh, and birthday festivities. Pictures:
First off we have the awkward retro-kids who roamed into the hiphop room of the gay club:
And some vogue or…erm, whatever this is:
And Jack and his boyfriend John:
Oh, and we saw Borat roaming downtown Minneapolis… pictures and video after the jump, which are not school/work safe:
It’s 3am, and there is one car in front of me at the Taco Bell drive-thru line.
At the ordering-menu is a greasy-looking guy on a bicycle. He’s drunk.
Biker: “Ay ay, I wanna an enchilada!”
Taco Bell Employee (on the menu speakerphone): “Um, sir. We can’t serve you if you’re not in a car.”
Biker: “Ay ay enchilada! And a hard shell ta-co.”
Employee: “Sir. We can’t serve you.”
Biker: “WHAT?”
The people in the car in front of me start giggling nervously. A woman says “Oh no!” in a car behind me.
Harley is afraid of fireworks and gunfire-like popping noises.
So, he’s spent the past week cowering in the bathroom because it’s the only room in the apartment without windows.
I’m making birthday plans with Jack & Company over the phone:
Jack: “Should I just come over at 10 before we go out? I want to see the dog!”
Me: “Erm. I have to clean my apartment first.”
Jack: “You are NOT cleaning your apartment on your birthday!”
Me: “Oh, yes I am!”
It’s 1am. I’m in my boxers, crouched in my living room, wiping-up a massive pile of diarrhea.
I lysol. I wipe. I lysol again.
The trash can fills. I get a strong whiff of the nast and shoot the dog a “fuck you and die” glare.
He cowers in the corner.
My windshield wiper fluid had been empty for a week, so I was really proud of myself when I finally bought some fluid from Wal-Mart.
In fact, I was SO excited that I popped my hood in the parking lot and filled the wiper fluid right there. Just because I’m that classy.
But when I got into my car, the “you need windshield wiper fluid” light was still on.
On the way home I realized why the light was still on – I poured the windshield fluid in the radiator!
The next day I was on the phone with Valvoline. They wanted $79 to flush my radiator.
I then called my car dealership’s repair shop – they wanted $125.
I received a letter from LexisNexis today which said that “personally identifiable information about you may have been viewed by an individual who should not have had access to such information…”
The person? Yomi Jagunna, identity thief extraordinaire.
A minute later I’m on the phone with Lexis, restraining myself from asking “What the hell?”
Unlike the letter I received, the Lexis rep tells me that it was a former Lexis employee who was going around selling people’s information.1
Me: “Information like that? I don’t remember giving anything particularly sensitive information to Lexis…”
Rep: “I’ll transfer you to a 800-number that will give you more information.”
I’m transferred to the 800-number and get much closer to the “What the hell?” point.
Me: “So what information was ‘possibly’ shared?”
New Rep: “Well, LexisNexis is an information provider, so they search public records like car titles and…”
Me: “I know what Lexis is. What did these people have access to?”
New Rep: “Well, possibly your name, address…social security number…”
Me: “What what?”
New Rep: “Lexis provides this information for legitimate business purposes!”
Me: “What legitimate business purpose does a private company have in brokering my social security number when they can’t even keep it out of the hands of identity thieves?”
New Rep: “Uh…do you have any more questions sir?”
Me: “No thank you. Have a nice day.”
Fail. The breach apparently occured sometime between 2002 and 2008 – when I was in high school or undergrad – but the letter claims that the USAO did not allow Lexis to inform me about the potential identity theft until now.
The Justice Department’s press release on Jagunna’s guilty plea is here: Queens Man Admits Supplying Social Security Numbers to Fraud Ring (PDF).
MSNBC reported the story in 2005:
LexisNexis theft much worse than thought
The company reported last month that intruders may have accessed personal details of 32,000 people via a breach of its legal and business information service LexisNexis’ recently acquired Seisint unit. It now says that figure is closer to 310,000 people.
See also LexisNexis to limit access to personal data.
1 The news reports make it seem less likely that it was an actual Lexis employee. Maybe the rep got her facts confused?
I’m driving to work when I realize that I forgot to bring my water bottle, so I decide to pull into White Castle and order a large drink, so I had something to use as a water-cup later…brilliant right?
White Castle Employee (through the drive thru speaker): “Thank you for choosing White Castle, what are you craving today?”
Me: “Uh, may I have a large diet coke?”
Employee: “Okay.”
Me: “That’s it.”
Employee: “That’s it?!”
Me: “Yes.”
Employee: “What about a slider?”
Me: “No. Just a diet coke.”
Employee: “Fries?”
Me: “No thank you. Just a diet coke.”
Employee: “You’re not craving any food?”
Me: “Nope. “
Employee: “None at all? Onion rings?”
Me: “Uh. No. I am only craving a Diet Coke today…gotta watch my youthful figure.”
Employee: “Uh?”
Me: “Nothing. JUST THE DIET COKE PLEASE.”
Employee: “Fine. Pull up.”
Me: “Thank you.”
So I pay for a Diet Coke and a nasty glare, and then drive off to work.
Although I forgot my water bottle, I did remember to bring my coffee tumbler. So I march up to the office building, cup and tumbler in hand, in my professional Express slacks, with a briefcase stuffed full of snacks (like unsalted peanuts and apples) feeling thoroughly prepared for my day. Que bring it! Si si si!
So of course the hot mess starts in the elevator…
I’m in the elevator with three people, and I sense the small Indian woman in the corner staring at me – or rather – staring at my butt. She looks confused and shocked.
She catches me giving her the “what the hell?” look and says,
Woman: “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that your peanuts are sticking out!”
So, of course everyone in the elevator stops and gawks at the big can of peanuts that is precariously hanging out of my briefcase.
And then they all watch me awkwardly juggle my coffee tumbler and White Castle cup so I can cram my peanuts back into my food-stuffed briefcase.1 A flap on the briefcase comes open, revealing more food, and I get the “Fatty!” look from everyone.
And yes, they totally started snickering when I left the elevator. They couldn’t even wait for the doors to close.
Ugh.
1 I was wearing a shoulder strap, so the briecase was on my side, hence why it looked like she was staring at my butt. Although nice thing about working at a ginormous company is that it’s unlikely that I’ll ever see those people again since they don’t work on my floor.
This has been the week of random celebrity deaths.
Ed McMahon died on Tuesday, Farrah and Michael Jackson died on Thursday, and Billy Mays died on Sunday.
I was at work when Michael Jackson died. It was incredibly interesting to watch the major news outlets catch up to TMZ – who reported everything, including his death, an hour before everyone else.
By the time I left work, every news agency had finally caught up to TMZ and Michael Jackson was officially dead. Michael’s greatest hits were on most radio stations.
I turned on the car radio, rolled down my windows, and joined the collective Michael jam session blasting from every car in Minneapolis.
I started bawling when “Don’t stop till you get enough” came on.1 I was crying not because I was sad, but because I was disappointed and pissed off that someone who had so much talent turned out to be so weird and creepy despite himself.
Michael’s death made it clear that he could never turn himself around, and it was a shame.
What distinguished Michael from the typical pop culture disasters2 is that Michael was actually talented, and his strangeness was probably a mental illness issue instead of the usual drug and alcohol combo.
I couldn’t blame Michael for his crazy so I just had one good cry for him while driving home.
Later that night, I left my apartment building with Harley. As I led my dog down the apartment steps, a young-ish black woman with a small child approached on the sidewalk. She saw the dog and said,
Woman: “Woah, that’s a big dog!”
Me: “Yep.”
Woman (passing me): “He’s big and bad! He’s bad! He’s really really bad!”
Yes. He’s bad…and kid friendly!
1 My favorite MJ song.
2 Those scenes are from Factory Girl, the biopic about Edie Sedgwick.
