When I was in undergrad, shock video reactions were all the rage. Here are the best two. Caution, there is screaming:
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When I was in undergrad, shock video reactions were all the rage. Here are the best two. Caution, there is screaming:
RSS readers: if you can’t see the videos above, please click here.
The same thing happens every night.
Harley hears me brush my teeth, dashes into the bedroom, and lunges on my bed.
I then spend the next 15 minutes explaining to him why he can’t just commandeer my sleeping space, as he shoots me the “bitch boo bye” look.
Harley then closes his eyes and starts snoring, and I get frustrated and shove him out of the way.
The compromise usually consists of half the 100-pound snoring-farting-mess sleeping on my leg…
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.
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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.
I’m standing in front of the soda fountain at Super America when this large woman with a poorly dyed bun walks past me. She goes to the fountain, pulls out a 44oz cup, and then presses the root beer button.
The fountain makes a hissing noise and then starts spraying root beer like a lawn-sprinkler. The woman screams, drops her cup, and stumbles back from the machine.
One of the cashiers, a younger girl, runs to the machine and tries to stop the root beer sprinkler with her hands.
Cashier: “Ah! What the hell!”
The larger woman is in hysterics. I reach for a 44oz cup to help catch the soda-spray.
The cashier then reaches into the nozzle of the root beer, lets out a loud grunt, and yanks the nozzle.
The soda stops spraying. The cashier takes a glob of napkins to wipe her hands.
Cashier: “Whew. That was odd. Maybe someone pushed it in or something…”
I put the 44oz. cup down and say,
Me: “Heh. Maybe. I think I’m going to go for some coffee.”
Cashier: “Oh, no, it’s fixed! Have some pop if you want to! It’s just the one…the other drinks should be fine!”
Me: “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that coffee seems like the less chaotic option.”
Just then a little boy walks up to the machine, presses the Coke button, and totally gets shot in the face with everyone’s favorite beverage. The boy sputters and the cashier launches to the rescue. I fill up my coffee cup and leave.
I’m embarrassed by how funny this was to me:
Stay classy Minneapolis.
Today in my Wills & Trusts class:
Professor W: “So this widow gets $810,000. Is that enough to raise two kids?”
Jill: “Of course!”
Professor W: “Really? They have to grow up, be fed, go to school, go to college…”
Jill: “Shop at Wal-Mart and send them to public school, they’ll be just fine.”
When I walked to my car this evening I noticed two Somali teens on one side of the street and T, the neighborhood drag queen, on the other side of the street.
One of the Somali teens says something loudly and starts snickering.
T takes offense.
T: “What was that?!”
The boys stop laughing as T marches across the street and stops right in front of my parked car.
T: “What? Hm? What was that?”
Boy #1: “Oh, uh, nothing. He was saying something to me about our, uh, friend.”
T: “Oh no he wasn’t. Do you think I stupid? What was it? SAY IT TO MY FACE!”
Boy #2: “Nothing, nothing.”
I get in my car, but I can’t drive off because T is still standing right in front of it, telling the Somali boys exactly where to go and how to get there…
T: “I know who the fuck you were talking about. You want to say something funny? Huh? You want to disrespect me? Well let me tell you that you don’t know who the fuck you’re dealing with little boy.”
The Somalis are freaked out. I start my car and T looks at me and then steps on the sidewalk to curse the boys out more thoroughly. I was surprised they didn’t run…
And as much as I love to see busted drag queens beating down foreign teenagers... I drive off.
A few hours later when I pull onto my street, I see T in front of my building screaming1 at downstairs neighbor’s window.
T: “PAULITO! PAULITO! Open this god damn door right now! PAULITO! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE PAULITO!”
T and Paulito have been blaring music all night… I … don’t know what to think. But as long as she’s not screaming at me I’m okay. But I hope she’s not a regular presence in the building…we have enough crazy in this here-yonder as it is.
1 Someone needs to tell “her” that screaming isn’t lady-like…she speaks like RuPaul by the way…And no, she’s not nearly as tall or fabulous.
This is my view 20 minutes before my Professional Responsibility class starts:
I am on the off-ramp of 35W1 when this random blond lady passes my car on the grass of the off-ramp.
The fact that it’s already week 5 of summer is sort of scary.
I’m half-way through my summer classes. My law school application essay was about my desire to become an estate planning/probate attorney, so of course I love my Wills & Trusts class.
Professional Responsibility has also become much easier since I’ve stopped using my laptop. Without the laptop I’m that obnoxious, fully engaged boy. Now if only someone could just stop the girl who sits in front of me from playing full-screen video games…
This has not been a good week for Harley, who was diagnosed with Heartworms. The medicine and animal hospital stay completely discombobulated him:
The night after the hospital stay, Harley and I were leaving my apartment building he starts peeing on downstairs neighbor’s door… I was mortified! I drag him outside, and inadvertently created a trial of urine from the hallway, down the stairs, and out to the street.
And yes. That was joy to clean up. My 4’6 Mexican neighbor pointed and laughed as I scrubbed the floors. And I politely informed him if he found dog poop in front of his door that I wasn’t me…
The songs that made me want to shimmy and shake, for the month of June…
Actually, yesterday I decided that there was no way that my 9am vet visit was going to happen because I was out late at Jack’s b-day extravaganza and Gib’s afterparty.
But for whatever reason I wake up at 8am and decide that I probably should drag myself out of bed and take the dog to the vet.
So, an hour later I’m standing in an examination room listening to a chipper veterinary assistant run down a list of extensive care plans for the dog.
I was quietly calculating how many hours worth of wages I was going to burn on this visit when the young-ish vet comes in.
The vet looks freaked out.
Vet: “ Oh my god, your dog’s heartworm test is positive!”
The assistant (gasping): “Oh my god!”
Me: “…um, okay, what does that mean?”
Vet: “Oh my god, I can’t believe he tested positive! I mean, I haven’t had a positive case in two years!”
The assistant gasps again. We all look at the dog as if we expected him to drop dead right there. Cue the ominous music.
Me: “Well is he going to die or…?”
The vet then adopted that tone that TV doctors use when they tell parents just how painful their child’s cancer death is going to be.
Vet: “No, well, I mean, probably not. We don’t know how serious it is because if he has had the worms for a while then they may cause heart failure. See what happens is that the heart enlarges…lungs filled with fluid…then horribly painful death… gory details… But I need to do some x-rays to be sure they are about $200. Sign this paper.”
While the vet left to re-check the test results, I called madre.
Me: “I’m at the vet’s. Harley has heartworms.1 It’s going to be like $700.”
Madre: “Hm. Well, how good is the prognosis? Because that’s a lot of money to spend on a dead dog…”
The vet did not take my mother’s practical question very well – although the vet explained the three levels of heartworm (and the fact that the third level was basically untreatable) he seemed aghast at the notion of putting a dog down.
Vet: “Well, we will talk about our, uh, options, when we get there. We need to keep him here today to observe him just in case he has an adverse reaction to the medicine and faints or dies or something…”
Me: “Dandy. I’ll be at work.”
Vet: “Great. See you at 5. You have to go to the reception desk and put down a down payment. That’s our policy for all of our costly procedures.”
Dandy.
So I drive off to the suburbs and worke for 5 hours before heading back to the animal hospital.
Apparently Harley did not take his stay very well.
Assistant: “So I took him out but he didn’t go. But when I put him in the kennel he just looked at me and started peeing a lake!”
Me: “Oh my.”
Assistant: “Oh, and you were right about the flatulence.”
Me: “I wouldn’t joke about such things.”
Assistant: “Oh, and he also pooped in the kennel as well. It was soft just like you said it would be!”
Me: “I wouldn’t joke about such things either!”
They brought the dog out. He looked tired, unamused, and like he just got beaten up.
Vet: “He’s going to be a little sore, but that’s to be expected. Here’s his medicine. And remember he cannot get excited or exercised for the next few months OR HE WILL DIE. Okay? Short walks are fine, but nothing strenuous.”
Well, gee.
Brought Harley home and went back to work for another 5 hours.
When I back home Harley and I are going on a brief, non-strenuous non-death-enducing walk.
1 So about this heartworm business…according to the assistant it takes 6 months for heartworms to show up in test results. I got the dog in March, so he had heartworm when I bought him. I call the animal rescue where he came from and the rescue manager says, “Oh, that’s a surprise! But yeah, we don’t test the dogs for heartworm. That costs extra. You gotta tell me first if you wanted that done.”
The dog’s shedding.
For the past few days I’ve found little tumble-weeds of dog hair all over the apartment. I expected that cacti and cowboy shootouts to materialize any moment…
When I got home today there was a little mound of hair near Harley’s kennel and I had had it.
I looked at the dog and informed him it was on.
So a few minutes later I was wrestling a 100lb dog into the bathtub…and Harley got his first-ever bath.
So yeah. He was not thrilled.
But I’m glad I did it because:
I know. Ew.
But better in the tub than all over the apartment!
I’ve said this before, but the hilarity is in the footnotes.
Today’s case is from my Wills & Trusts class: Succession of Bacot aka, “the gay will contest.”
There’s a noteworthy discussion at the end of whether a man can be a concubine of another man. “A concubine is as essential to a state of concubinage as a ghost is to Hamlet.”
Fact section after the jump.
Today started with a tour of a book manufacturing plant. I had never thought about what it takes to make a book before, so I was pretty amazed by the massive amount of machinery that goes into each book.
I will never complain about the cost of a textbook again. Seriously, there were things buzzing,whirling, stamping, and beeping… it was like an academic Wonka factory, with honking forklifts…
After the tour I worked and then went to school.
I had Professional Responsibility today. Halfway through the class I heard a rumbling noise from outside—it was pouring—and of course my umbrella was at home.
Luckily, the rain paused to let me get home from school, but then started again (had how!) once I got home.1
After two hours of waiting it out, I finally took the dog on a very soggy walk. Harley was so excited to get dried off afterward that he jumped up and did a little “Look I’m Dorothy ala The Wiz!” heel click… hm. Yes it was odd.
Hopefully things dry out tomorrow.
1Um, dear Mother Nature: I have a dog to walk. I’m going to need more than a 10 minute break okay?
