Watched a movie. Hung with Pongo. Worked. Admired. Posted.

Meeting with a new client in the morning, then after lunch all the personalities got together and decided to hold an off-site conference at the pool. Now that the mandatory staff meeting’s over, there’s just enough time left in the work day to do a Workman’s Comp claim for the sunburn.

Very happy and surprised with the outcome of Lawrence v. Texas. Apparantly Justice O’Connor was the only one who openly agreed with me that criminal laws that make the status (gender or race) of the accused or victim an essential element of a criminal charge represent a bigoted and narrow-minded view (my words, not hers). According to the press reports, the majority simply went with the view that all laws criminalizing consensual sodomy are unconstitutional invasions of privacy and avoided the equal protection argument completely. No arguments here, just pleasant surprise.

Despite many theories to the contrary over the years, Howling Point is proud to present proof of the following:

- There is no stick up Chuck’s ass.
- There are no bugs up Chuck’s ass.
- Chuck’s head is not up…well you get the idea.

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See. The interior portions of Chuck’s behind are nice and pretty and no foreign objects whatsoever currently reside there. For reference, the light area to the bottom of the image is my prostate, and the dark spot above it is Peet’s Garuda Blend resting comfortably in my bladder. As of this morning, there is even less fleshy material. Shortly after the ultrasound was taken ten snips of my flesh were skillfully and artfully biopsied in the interests of my long life and continued health (results due next week).

For some of you, I’ve probably already crossed that too much information line. For the rest of you, read on.
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Swimming and blogging. Blogging and swimming. Two activities so different, but both becoming more and more essential to maintaining some type of balance.

While I enjoy my work, even in my reduced-stress practice (ahh … transactional work … omm … omm) I can see the tendencies for it to reach in and grab too much of my life. There’s always something sitting on the desk, or in voice mail, or in Eudora’s in-box trying to grab my attention. There are always people who think they need more of your time, at least until the invoice arrives. Almost everyone you meet is a potential client, or has ‘a simple little question,’ or just wants to ramble on about some political issue that is somehow legal related. Tough to go out and just completely unwind because even in a big city like San Diego, communities are pretty small and anything said or done has the potential of coming around again in unexpected way.

Blogging has been wonderful because it lets me vent without hurting the people I love, as long as I self-edit. Yes, some IRL people have crossed over into this part of my life too. It lets me write creatively, or at least with a non-billable purpose, and I enjoy it. It was the perfect DIY therapy when life in Monterey/Salinas was going to shit not going well and I really needed a contained space to vent.

While blogging is still fun (and the day it stops being fun I’ll be out of here), swimming has lately become another essential componant of the Howling Point DIY Therapy program. Moving through the water cuts the ties to the land: no chatter, no electronics, no distractions. Isolation can be a good thing. The ability to completely block out the external voices, even if it is just for a limited period of time, is a welcome relief. The internal voices get some needed time to run amok. They can sort through the options and laugh at the things that aren’t there. These are the voices that the blog’s self-editing has kept quiet, and they’ve finally found a safe outlet.

Balance is important. The blogging complements the swimming and the swimming has inspired some good blogging.

So I haven’t been posting as much as I used to. That’s not a bad thing.

…and even online a lot. Maybe too much. Just haven’t had much to say here. Lots of work and lots of swimming. No pictures of either, and no details of the former. For those who want details of the latter…
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Call A Friend. Your Voice Will Bring A Smile.

So writeth the mystics and busboys of the ancient order of chinese fortune-cookiedom. So why the reference to phone sex? A good friend here has convinced me that these fortunes are invariably more accurate and more relevant if you add the modifier in bed afterward. You just have to adopt the philosophical interpretation that the ancient busboys are not wrong; the modification is so obvious their precious (and holy) time shouldn’t be wasted repeating those two additional syllables over and over and over.

My theological problem? Where to insert the ritual phrase.
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On the 163rd day of 2003, the unnatural stretch of health, long life, and missing corpses that has made up the Amish Tech Support Dead Pool has come to an end. Regretably, despite the fact that a number of tyrants’ and despots’ lives are in play, and the continued effort by Uncle to award myself and others points for Saddam and Osama, a good newsman and a great actor had to pass to move the game forward. Rest in peace.

Beating my head against a wall built of writing blocks. Lots of blocks seem to have somehow become neatly stacked and linked together. Together they’re forming an impressive block wall that’s starting to hurt. Normally I’d just go over the wall and go to the gym or the pool until time eroded the wall into a speed bump, but this morning I’m chained to the desk waiting for a scheduled conference call. Grrrr…time for more aspirin.

The relaxation, bliss and good food that made it a great weekend are now but a memory, and Monday’s here. Monday sucks. ‹singing› I don’t like Mondays.‹/singing› A few weekend things tried to drag me into reality, but I bookmarked them for reading today. Most of them relate to money. A morning chat with Quicken reminded me about them.

I love my work. I love the direct interaction with my clients and the feeling of accomplishment when I get good results for them. Living in California is expensive. Opening a business in a skidding economy sucks. Too many friends are un(der)employed for me to think this is unique to me and my situtation. I never want to work in someone else’s law firm again. I don’t want to leave California in general and San Diego in particular.

So, this weekend and this morning, with Quicken trying to remind me yet again that despite good business, reserves for cash flow crises’ are not yet what they should be, I read a lot of other bad money news:

A series of articles on the rough times in the New York Times Magazine. I thought the Matthew Brzezinski piece was particularly good, as was the Harris Collingwood article on the ‘sink-or-swim economy.’

Similar thoughts were made more personal by Jhames’ Saturday post. His story hits too close to home, and even though I finally have some health insurance, his listing of Vinnie’s expenses, and Jeff’s reporting on Hannah’s unexpected weekend medical bills, just serve to remind me of Pongo’s costs and potential costs. When he was chomped on last year the medical bills totalled over $1000. Despite the fact that the other dog’s owners eventually paid the direct costs, it was only through the intervention and cash flow of some wonderful people that he was able to get medical care that night.

So this morning, more than many mornings, it was helpful to see some good news. A small business where the owners seem to love their work AND do well financially. Wow. Don’t hear about those often enough these days, especially among my circle of friends. Maybe there is hope. Light of unknown source at the end of the tunnel and all that.