There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?
D-Day has arrived.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
SPREAD THE WORD!
Please everyone pray like the dickens for me this next week. Next Saturday's the most important, meaningful, and decisive day of my life thus far. Well, maybe 2nd most; I saw Top Gun in a movie theater last night. And that was pretty rad.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
S.P. Confidential
PART I
I waited outside his office in the pitch black. It was raining- I remember that much. Course, in those days a dame of my breed couldn't much trust her memory- too many dizzy, scotch-soaked nights, too many blurred, head-splitting mornings. I paced across the creaking wooden boards and listened to the hollow sound my stilletos made, wondering grimly if the floor was going to give out from under me, just like everything else I've ever been fool enough to trust in. What gives? He said just after 9, I'm sure of it. Maybe it's a sting. No, I'da read it in his eyes. I trust him. And when I go with my gut, I come out of my scrapes without a scrape. Then why do I keep looking around the corners, thinking I'm being watched? If those thugs see me go in his office they'll know I saw what I saw. And in my circles, people show up missing for lesser reasons. Still, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do. I've put it off too long already, and besides, from what I hear, he's the only man for the job. Anyway, I wasn't too worried about those crooks. I was packing. Seems like those days, I was always packing.
The rain had eased up a bit and I lit a cigarette. I heard something- laughter. So eerily out of place in these parts. Here, the only sounds are the cats in the garbage and an occasional slamming of doors. No one chit-chats, no one goes for a stroll, and nobody- but nobody- laughs. Especially on a night this black. I hide behind a lamppost- that's right; I'm just slim enough to do it, too. And to my relief, it's him. He smiles and says hello. Yeah, yeah, I say to myself, let's just get outta this rain. He strides confidently and purposefully to his door. Swift turn of they key, and he's in. You don't get to be where he is fumbling round with keys. I start to stub out my cigarette, and he stops me. "Don't put it out. Please. Come right in." So I come right in. He takes his hat off and the water from the brim trickles onto his threadbare carpet. Cozy little office. If I didn't know who I was dealing with, I'd say it looked like business wasn't so hot. But like him or hate him, anybody who's anybody knows he's the best there is. He lays low- he's never been dope enough to buy into the glamour of the business- the rocks, the cash, the penthouses, the night scene. Sure, he probably has a bankroll from here to Baghdad squirrelled away for a rainy day, but he doesn't need to flaunt it; he doesn't need to surround himself with trophies to ease the pain of his sorry existence. Not like the rest of us. Not like me.
But this was no time to think of my own heartbreaks. I looked up at the walls closing in on me. Books of every shape and size bowing down the old wooden bookshelves that lined his tiny office overflowed and suffocated. Did he actually read any of this junk? But then, I figured he probably did. Real highbrow stuff too. Books where even the titles bored me. I wasn't made for any of this, but I envied it deep down. A dame like me wants real class, and that's the one thing she'll never have if she can't give up the rest. But I don't get no complaints either, if you catch my drift.
He was rummaging around his shelves and behind his desk for an ashtray. It gave me a moment to size him up. How he lives in this godforsaken town without smoking, I'll never understand. But then, there's a lot of things about him I didn't understand. That's what intrigued me. I had never met a man I didn't understand, much less a decent man I didn't understand. In this little shoebox of an office I suddenly felt how intimidating his presence would be if I didn’t know he was on the level. He was a big man, tall and fit. His age? Impossible to tell. One thing, though, he wouldn't'a had time to build the reputation he's got in these parts if he's anything under 40. Salt and pepper hair and close cropped mustache. Careworn, sympathetic face, yet surprisingly unyielding. I'd put him at 45 or so, and a young 45 at that. He was a man's man, but he could've been a lady's man if he'da had the mind to.
An empty snuff tin was what he'd produced for an ashtray. "Thanks." And it was just in time, too, cuz the end of my cigarette was about to ash itself, tray or no tray. I sank down into the client's chair and thought I was being swallowed alive. It was too comfortable and I was afraid I was losing my edge. He sat down at his desk, and the room was so cramped I got all claustrophobic, and it reminded me of when I did my nickel up in Sing-Sing. I wondered if I was daft to come here. Why would a professional of his class mix himself up with a mess like me? And I blushed. I blushed- can you believe it? Maybe it was his integrity and sincerity that caught me off guard. I had no M.O. I had no line of attack, no technique- no angle to work a man like this. Maybe I didn't have to.
"What can I do for you?" he asked briskly. As if he didn't know.
"Let's can the small talk." I said. "You know why I'm here. You know why or else you wouldn't've agreed to see me this late."
"Maybe I've got an idea. I want to hear it from you though." He never called me lamb, sugar, doll, or any of those other greasy names girls gotta put up with just to get through a day. My tough front started to give way when I realized this was a real gentleman I was dealing with, but he ain't no sucker either. I continued to smoke leisurely, trying to get my head together.
"I got a job." I waited for a response, but he just kept his keen gray eyes fixed on mine. He already looked somewhat concerned. I had to make him interested.
"Here's the proposal, black and white." I took the proposal, about two pages, double-spaced, out of my attache. I start to hand them over and he reaches cautiously, not looking away, still trying to get inside my brain by way of my baby-blues. I pulled back my left hand suddenlike and pretended to consider. With my right hand I take a final drag and blew the smoke gently across the room. Through the brief haze I saw that he was still unflinching, still letting me think I had control. He's keeping up the ruse, so why don't I? I wasn't ready to admit, not even to myself, that I was dealing with someone smarter than me. But he knows. He's gotta know.
"This requires discretion. My whole future's on the line here. And while that don't go for much in some places, it's got sentimental value to me."
"I give you my word," he said all serious-like. Somehow that actually seemed good enough.
I gave him the proposal and watched him read it. And he watched me watching him, from the corner of his eye. He nodded after he finished and tossed it lightly onto his desk. He stretched back into his chair with his hands behind his head, apparently waiting for me to initiate the conversation.
"Well?" I was getting anxious.
"Well, what?" He said laughingly. "It's a job in my line of work; I do jobs in my line of work. What are you asking me? Will I accept it? Sure, I could use the dough." He smiled broadly. Everyone knew his clientele was regular and paid top-dollar.
"I wasn't asking you if you could get it done," I replied hurriedly. "I need this handled real carefully. I need to know that whatever happens to you from taking this job- and believe you me, you might wish you hadn't- you'll remember that you're working for me. When this unravels I need to be somewhere safe and I can't afford to worry if my bases are covered. People- friends of yours maybe, are going to put the squeeze on you to get to what they think I know, and I need to know you're behind me every step." I stopped short when I realized I didn't need to say any of this. I ain't telling him anything he don't already know about this dirty business. People like him is maybe the only kinda clean people in this racket. I ain't in no place to make demands. Maybe I should just come right out with it. His eyes said as much and they shamed me.
I stood up, as if I was getting ready to leave. As if I could leave. As if I had a choice other than stare down the only person who's ever really made me question myself. Yeah, I said it. Something about him made me wonder what this crazy world's all about and I don't know that I liked it. But he can't know that. Life's tough and I got to be tougher, tough as nails if that's what it takes. He stood up and leaned against the desk, matching my glare, dagger for dagger.
"I just got one question." My voice wasn't shaking like I thought it might. But my blood was rising fast. I couldn't say if I was angry or what, but I was fearless. I ain't new at this either, Mr. Hotshot.
"Ask it then," he said quietly, goading me on with his self-control, which wasn't contrasting too nice next to my agitation.
My chin stopped trembling and my brow relaxed. I challenged cooly,
"Are you man enough for the job?"
I waited outside his office in the pitch black. It was raining- I remember that much. Course, in those days a dame of my breed couldn't much trust her memory- too many dizzy, scotch-soaked nights, too many blurred, head-splitting mornings. I paced across the creaking wooden boards and listened to the hollow sound my stilletos made, wondering grimly if the floor was going to give out from under me, just like everything else I've ever been fool enough to trust in. What gives? He said just after 9, I'm sure of it. Maybe it's a sting. No, I'da read it in his eyes. I trust him. And when I go with my gut, I come out of my scrapes without a scrape. Then why do I keep looking around the corners, thinking I'm being watched? If those thugs see me go in his office they'll know I saw what I saw. And in my circles, people show up missing for lesser reasons. Still, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do. I've put it off too long already, and besides, from what I hear, he's the only man for the job. Anyway, I wasn't too worried about those crooks. I was packing. Seems like those days, I was always packing.
The rain had eased up a bit and I lit a cigarette. I heard something- laughter. So eerily out of place in these parts. Here, the only sounds are the cats in the garbage and an occasional slamming of doors. No one chit-chats, no one goes for a stroll, and nobody- but nobody- laughs. Especially on a night this black. I hide behind a lamppost- that's right; I'm just slim enough to do it, too. And to my relief, it's him. He smiles and says hello. Yeah, yeah, I say to myself, let's just get outta this rain. He strides confidently and purposefully to his door. Swift turn of they key, and he's in. You don't get to be where he is fumbling round with keys. I start to stub out my cigarette, and he stops me. "Don't put it out. Please. Come right in." So I come right in. He takes his hat off and the water from the brim trickles onto his threadbare carpet. Cozy little office. If I didn't know who I was dealing with, I'd say it looked like business wasn't so hot. But like him or hate him, anybody who's anybody knows he's the best there is. He lays low- he's never been dope enough to buy into the glamour of the business- the rocks, the cash, the penthouses, the night scene. Sure, he probably has a bankroll from here to Baghdad squirrelled away for a rainy day, but he doesn't need to flaunt it; he doesn't need to surround himself with trophies to ease the pain of his sorry existence. Not like the rest of us. Not like me.
But this was no time to think of my own heartbreaks. I looked up at the walls closing in on me. Books of every shape and size bowing down the old wooden bookshelves that lined his tiny office overflowed and suffocated. Did he actually read any of this junk? But then, I figured he probably did. Real highbrow stuff too. Books where even the titles bored me. I wasn't made for any of this, but I envied it deep down. A dame like me wants real class, and that's the one thing she'll never have if she can't give up the rest. But I don't get no complaints either, if you catch my drift.
He was rummaging around his shelves and behind his desk for an ashtray. It gave me a moment to size him up. How he lives in this godforsaken town without smoking, I'll never understand. But then, there's a lot of things about him I didn't understand. That's what intrigued me. I had never met a man I didn't understand, much less a decent man I didn't understand. In this little shoebox of an office I suddenly felt how intimidating his presence would be if I didn’t know he was on the level. He was a big man, tall and fit. His age? Impossible to tell. One thing, though, he wouldn't'a had time to build the reputation he's got in these parts if he's anything under 40. Salt and pepper hair and close cropped mustache. Careworn, sympathetic face, yet surprisingly unyielding. I'd put him at 45 or so, and a young 45 at that. He was a man's man, but he could've been a lady's man if he'da had the mind to.
An empty snuff tin was what he'd produced for an ashtray. "Thanks." And it was just in time, too, cuz the end of my cigarette was about to ash itself, tray or no tray. I sank down into the client's chair and thought I was being swallowed alive. It was too comfortable and I was afraid I was losing my edge. He sat down at his desk, and the room was so cramped I got all claustrophobic, and it reminded me of when I did my nickel up in Sing-Sing. I wondered if I was daft to come here. Why would a professional of his class mix himself up with a mess like me? And I blushed. I blushed- can you believe it? Maybe it was his integrity and sincerity that caught me off guard. I had no M.O. I had no line of attack, no technique- no angle to work a man like this. Maybe I didn't have to.
"What can I do for you?" he asked briskly. As if he didn't know.
"Let's can the small talk." I said. "You know why I'm here. You know why or else you wouldn't've agreed to see me this late."
"Maybe I've got an idea. I want to hear it from you though." He never called me lamb, sugar, doll, or any of those other greasy names girls gotta put up with just to get through a day. My tough front started to give way when I realized this was a real gentleman I was dealing with, but he ain't no sucker either. I continued to smoke leisurely, trying to get my head together.
"I got a job." I waited for a response, but he just kept his keen gray eyes fixed on mine. He already looked somewhat concerned. I had to make him interested.
"Here's the proposal, black and white." I took the proposal, about two pages, double-spaced, out of my attache. I start to hand them over and he reaches cautiously, not looking away, still trying to get inside my brain by way of my baby-blues. I pulled back my left hand suddenlike and pretended to consider. With my right hand I take a final drag and blew the smoke gently across the room. Through the brief haze I saw that he was still unflinching, still letting me think I had control. He's keeping up the ruse, so why don't I? I wasn't ready to admit, not even to myself, that I was dealing with someone smarter than me. But he knows. He's gotta know.
"This requires discretion. My whole future's on the line here. And while that don't go for much in some places, it's got sentimental value to me."
"I give you my word," he said all serious-like. Somehow that actually seemed good enough.
I gave him the proposal and watched him read it. And he watched me watching him, from the corner of his eye. He nodded after he finished and tossed it lightly onto his desk. He stretched back into his chair with his hands behind his head, apparently waiting for me to initiate the conversation.
"Well?" I was getting anxious.
"Well, what?" He said laughingly. "It's a job in my line of work; I do jobs in my line of work. What are you asking me? Will I accept it? Sure, I could use the dough." He smiled broadly. Everyone knew his clientele was regular and paid top-dollar.
"I wasn't asking you if you could get it done," I replied hurriedly. "I need this handled real carefully. I need to know that whatever happens to you from taking this job- and believe you me, you might wish you hadn't- you'll remember that you're working for me. When this unravels I need to be somewhere safe and I can't afford to worry if my bases are covered. People- friends of yours maybe, are going to put the squeeze on you to get to what they think I know, and I need to know you're behind me every step." I stopped short when I realized I didn't need to say any of this. I ain't telling him anything he don't already know about this dirty business. People like him is maybe the only kinda clean people in this racket. I ain't in no place to make demands. Maybe I should just come right out with it. His eyes said as much and they shamed me.
I stood up, as if I was getting ready to leave. As if I could leave. As if I had a choice other than stare down the only person who's ever really made me question myself. Yeah, I said it. Something about him made me wonder what this crazy world's all about and I don't know that I liked it. But he can't know that. Life's tough and I got to be tougher, tough as nails if that's what it takes. He stood up and leaned against the desk, matching my glare, dagger for dagger.
"I just got one question." My voice wasn't shaking like I thought it might. But my blood was rising fast. I couldn't say if I was angry or what, but I was fearless. I ain't new at this either, Mr. Hotshot.
"Ask it then," he said quietly, goading me on with his self-control, which wasn't contrasting too nice next to my agitation.
My chin stopped trembling and my brow relaxed. I challenged cooly,
"Are you man enough for the job?"
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
For the record, could we go off the record?
So I've been sending emails to admissions offices for my 5 or 6 gee-I-hope-I-get-in-but-it-would-be-a-miracle law school choices. The email is thus:
"My cumulative GPA will be about a 3.15 but I expect a high LSAT score. Could you please give me a rough idea, off the record, of what I would need my score to be to probably be accepted? I realize there are other factors to consider, but I'm sure there is a range of what's usually statistically acceptable."
Apparently the way they respond to this general inquiry is:
"Without reading your full application, we, unfortunately, cannot give you an idea of what score you will need. We recommend that you just try your hardest. Good luck!"
Try my hardest? Hmm... so...simple. And yet, so... BRILLIANT!!! Why did that never occur to me?
They just want my non-refundable $70 application fee. Greedy jerks.
"My cumulative GPA will be about a 3.15 but I expect a high LSAT score. Could you please give me a rough idea, off the record, of what I would need my score to be to probably be accepted? I realize there are other factors to consider, but I'm sure there is a range of what's usually statistically acceptable."
Apparently the way they respond to this general inquiry is:
"Without reading your full application, we, unfortunately, cannot give you an idea of what score you will need. We recommend that you just try your hardest. Good luck!"
Try my hardest? Hmm... so...simple. And yet, so... BRILLIANT!!! Why did that never occur to me?
They just want my non-refundable $70 application fee. Greedy jerks.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
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