iamthelaw

I have undertaken a major undertaking:"Infinite Jest," by David Foster Wallace.

This is not your average subway reading. It is a getaway go-fast boat, an interdimensional portal. It speaks telepathically.

A good fucking book.

Last night, I rediscovered how nice it can feel being human, thanks to soul-stirring music courtesy of Royal Pink featuring pirkko. Stripped down punk rock with smart lyrics that combine humor with hot nastiness and sweet romance and heartbreaking harmonies, it melted my glacial black heart.

The Vesties opened and blew my mind. They make Joan Jett look wimpy.

It managed to teach and...
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One. Single. Plop.

Throw everything away. That's what I try to keep reminding myself. That number bib from that race I got thousandth place in, that probably won't carry a high price when they auction off my personal effects to my adoring fans and sycophants at the end of my life.

That stupid paper turkey I made during the Thanksgiving themed art class by tracing...
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They say you're only as old as you feel. Today, my face says 32, but my ass says pushing 70. A classmate suckered me into running in a long-distance relay across Westchester County to raise money, as one of the organizers put it, "for domestic violence issues." (I couldn't resist seizing the opportunity to be snarky, and yelled over the crowd of hundreds: "Wait... We're...
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A former coffee house queen and an old friend, at 27-years-old, has reinvented herself as a trauma nurse and an aspiring Buddhist. (I'll spare you her gory tales of caved-in sternums, shattered legs and minds lost with damaged brains). Yesterday, we took a long bike ride, from the top of Manhattan in the 200s, to the bottom at Battery Park, and then up to my...
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... OF BETTER BOROUGHS

When you're looking for apartments in New York City, Craigslist is the source of both high hopes and deep disappointments. You can see what wonderful things the world has to offer only to see them turn to dust as you reach out for them.

When my former partner and I were moving up here from Atlanta, we swore we would spend...
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FROM THE FUTURE LAWYERS OF AMERICA FILES


Below, I have pasted a G-chat exchange between two of my brilliant classmates. It is an important discussion about the merits of various Seasame Street characters and Muppets.

I removed the names associated with these genius theories to protect them from the sex-crazed mobs of Sycophants who will surely seek out their minds and bodies once this hits...
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My name is Matt, and I'm a recovering journalist. (Hi, Matt). My last journalism job was in the Virgin Islands, a strange and beautiful place to cover business and politics. There, rum is cheaper than milk. I lived on St. Thomas. Us reporters often referred to it as "St. Trauma." In Hunter S. Thompson's semi-autobiographical account of working a similar gig on the neighboring island...
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OVERHEARD IN HARLEM

In a significant personal and physical upheaval, I recently relocated from Long Island City, Queens to a sublet in East Harlem. (Not the gentrified part).

I'm getting to love the neighborhood, although it's probably temporary. I plan to settle with a law school friend among Brooklyn's self-satisfied hipsters in the next few months.

But in the interim, I am digging the street...
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I can't remember when the following words crossed my lips: "Man, I'm really hungry. Is there a McDonald's around here?"

I won't do it. I just won't.