Here’re my pics for the Emmy’s tonight. These aren’t the ones I hope will win, or the actors who, imho, most deserve recognition. Rather, I’m just putting forth a guess as to who will most likely leave tonight’s ceremony with a chunk of metal and not just a $30,000 gift basket.
Drama Series: "The Sopranos," HBO
Comedy Series: "The Office," NBC
Miniseries: "Elizabeth I," HBO
Made-for-TV Movie: "The Girl in the Cafe," HBO
Variety, Music or Comedy Series: "The Daily Show With Jon Stewart," Comedy Central
Actor, Drama Series: Peter Krause, "Six Feet Under," HBO
Actress, Drama Series:Allison Janney, "The West Wing," NBC
Supporting Actor, Drama Series: William Shatner, "Boston Legal," ABC (If I’d ever have seen Huff, I’d give this one to Oliver Platt who is, no doubt, incredible.)
Supporting Actress, Drama Series: Chandra Wilson, "Grey's Anatomy," ABC
Actor, Comedy Series: Steve Carell, "The Office," NBC (Though Kevin James will never fail to make me laugh out loud.)
Actress, Comedy Series: Jane Kaczmarek, "Malcolm in the Middle," Fox (Debra Messing is probably going to get this, but Kaczmarek deserves it.)
Supporting Actor, Comedy Series: Jeremy Piven, "Entourage," HBO
So I’m applying for jobs for next summer. Yes, already. The law school uses a website that allows me to “bid” on interviews from a bunch of firms all at once. They choose whether or not to interview me, based on my profile, which shows my name, address and whatnot, my job preferences, my resume... and a link to my personal website.
Here’s the question: should I or should I not include the Royal Toybox in my profile?
Con: it’s unprofessional. Pro: it’s accurate. Con: they might hate baby pictures. Pro: they might hate Buffalo radio. Con: could they be afraid of bloggers? Pro: could they appreciate web nerdiness?
Pro: I’m not an idiot. I see articles about these dumbasses who put “I smoke spliffs” on their MySpace accounts and then are surprised when they aren’t hired to work in a nursing home. The fact of the matter is that I’m quite proud of the RT, and stand behind everything I’ve ever written. And let’s face it: I look a thousand times better in an interview than I do on my transcript. I’m sure as hell not going to put on a fake face when I see these guys face-to-face (or better yet, when I work for them) – why should I conceal a very honest cross section of my...
I’ve started a new job. Well, no, not really a job. It’s not an internship, not a volunteer gig, not mowing lawns for Dad, Inc., but only insomuch as a graduate assistantship can be a job, is it a job. Starting this week, I’ll be a proud and able employee of the UB Office of Admissions. Sorry, I can’t get you any free schwag. I already asked.
Also school related, Mary has officially been moved into her new dorm room, very close to where I used to live with Greg, Johnny, and Jesse #1. Differences between my old apartment and Mary’s new one: Mary’s has a garbage can. Cleaning Mary’s will not mean simply stuffing more under the chairs. Mary’s stove will not be used exclusively to boil hot dogs and light smokerettes. Mary’s doesn’t have indigents sleeping on the couch. Mary’s phone speed dials are not keyed to four different fast food places and the Little Theatre Club Room. Mary’s does not smell. Mary will not need to have her significant other or mom come over to chip petrified cheese off of her dishes. Mary will never need to shave her bathroom floor. Similarities: They have a Nintendo.
Today marks the last real day of volunteer work I'll be doing over the summer. I won't say where, since I have a lot of friends who also work for this company and God knows how awkward it might be if I ran into them on the street after blogging about their men's room, which I fully intend to do.
Oh, but before I do, let me just say that this gig has been the first year law student's equivalent of winning the lottery many times over. Several mornings this past summer, I've found myself prostrate in front of the building, thanking the merciful Gods of Resume Fodder for helping me to land such a cushy gig. We thank Thee through margins aligned and powerful action words, Amen.
And of course I learned a lot. If you're ever bored, drop me a line and I'll tell you about reading contracts and writing memos and the law student's most useful purpose, looking shit up. Until then, here are a few things (questions/comments/oddities) I took away from my summer job:
-I forgot how difficult it is to sit at a desk job all day and not surf the internet. I have genuinely interesting projects on which I’m working and all I can think about is checking to see if there’s a new The Onion up yet. Thank goodness hotmail was blocked.
-This was also my first ever professional dress job. In internships past, it seems the lackey’s uniform (khakis, short sleeve button down/polo shirt) was adequate, but not here. Yeah, my dry cleaning expenses have never been this high, but I do feel rather James Bond putting on my Sunday best every morning. On a side note, thanks to BAStart for this. Turns out I’ve been using a knot called the Half SlipShod Dumbass all these years.
-If you work in an office with someone, no matter how much you love or hate or know them, you want desperately to show them baby pictures.
-I only found out today why there is no stop at the 4th floor. Sorry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.
-Over the summer, I’ve worked here on average twice a week for about four months. Every day, I use the bathroom at least twice, and never at exactly the same time. There’re two sinks, one urinal, two toilet stalls, and a motion sensing paper towel dispenser. What I’m trying to say is, I’m quite familiar with the men’s room here. The oddity? I’ve never seen anyone else in there. Not going in, not using the stall next to me, not leaving. I seem to be the only volunteer/intern/clerk/fellow/assistant with his own private restroom.
Today is neither good nor bad, but just a little off.
Oh wait: first, Maeve is awesome. She farts a lot. Maeve: my little GasBaby.
And though my off day does indeed have to do with her, don’t think for a second it’s because she’s any less awesome than she ever has been. On the contrary. My off mood is because of her overabundance of awesomeness. She’s so awesome, it could be said, that to not be with her is to not have a day that is not off. That made sense in my head. I’m not going to correct it – you can figure out the multiple negatives if you want, or you can just take my word that I’m sad when I’m not holding her, congratulating her on her professional-grade pooting.
Lisa just texted me a pic of her smiling. Heart… melting…
Last night was a milestone for us in the sleep department. We noticed that young Maeve did considerably better in her crib with some background noise. She liked the Brahms played by her mobile, and she loved the simulated ocean sounds played by an attachment on her playpen. (Duh, of course it’s simulated. Unless they can actually fit an ocean in a playpen, and I think the only thing capable of holding that much liquid in the nursery is Maeve’s bladder.)
Anyway, the problem was that both those toys turned off after ten minutes or so, and Maeve would wake up, and her cries would wake me from my dream where I’m eating bread and butter with the cast of Big Love in the Roswell Park emergency room. Our solution was to throw money at the problem.
One quick trip to Target later and the baby has her own very own CD player. It’s pink. We also got a new-agey, “Ocean Sounds” CD that combines Maeve’s love of crashing waves with her love of sleepy-time music. Unfortunately, because of the baby monitor, we can also hear this Enya-meets-Poseidon fusion album all night long. So, while the situation certainly combines our love of Maeve sleeping with our love of us sleeping, my dreams have a lot less to do with biking and a lot more to do with Kenny G, drowning.
Here are some lyrics we thought up before passing out last night:
“IIIIII’M an ocean! IIIIII’M an ocean! IIIIII’M an oceAAAAAN!” “I have fish swimming through MEEEEE!” “I’m composed of two Hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom…” “Did you read that book, Moby Dick? I play a big part in that!” “I miss Pangaea. I was so big theeeeen …”
Before I get into it, take a look at what I wrote one year ago. I can’t even begin to imagine how that could have turned out. Bless you, UB Law, for comin’ ‘round.
Okay, I lied about running into Alan Thicke, but our week in Canadia was memorable regardless. It was a bit of a test – can brand new parents travel to the northern outback with their three week old and not kill each other? Yes, yes they can, so long as they have television and air conditioning.
On Wednesday, we lost our television and air conditioning, by the way. The storm of the century rolled through that afternoon and knocked out what little power Canada had tucked away after keeping their ice rinks and garage beer fridges cold. Fortunately, I had a fully charged DS to keep me sane, so we made it through without too many injuries.
Aside from the electricity-forsaken 24 hours when we just Swiss Family Robinsoned it, we spent the week eating and drinking and sunning and passing Maeve from one pair of loving arms to another.
Here are a few shots. Aunt KT was a constant presence, holding the peanut whenever Lisa and I ran off to get drunk. Though it appears this picture was taken in the lovely parking lots of Ontario, it's actually just a shady spot we found near the beach:
Maeve's had a chance to bond with her great grandmother. Here they are holding hands:
The resort where we stayed had amazing gardens, and if we had more time I'd have taken more pictures of them. Screw that... here's another picture of us and the nugget:
Gramma B holding Maeve, Mom putting on makeup in the background:
We actually took this shot today while young Maeve was in a good mood. I think she has my double chin. Hopefully, she hasn't inherited my acne:
Four weeks old and she can already hold up her head! Prodigy! If I were less classy, I'd make a joke about how Maeve wants Twinkies for lunch:
Okay I’m back and I’ll post for reals in a minute, but first I just wanted to get this picture up here, because it really tells a story quite nicely.
These are Lisa’s cousins, her sis, her grandmother, and The Garveys, standing lakeside in Muskoka, Ontario. As shown here, Lisa comes from gorgeous genes, truly the stuff of expensive clothing catalogues or episodes of The OC. Only somewhat evident in a picture like this is just how saturated with class and style these people are. You just know they all sat at the cool kids table in school.
And Lisa is no exception. I married above my caste in terms of Good Lookin’. Unfortunately, when she took my name, she also assumed my inability to take a good picture.
If this pic ever found its way into a book of some sort, here’s what I expect the caption might say:
Front Row, (L to R): Gorgeous, Gorgeous, Gorgeous Back Row, (L to R): Gorgeous, Gorgeous, Gorgeous, “Gurh-durrrr!”, “Vvvvvvvv!”
PS - Speaking of pics, I added a bunch of Maeve shots to my flickr account. PPS - If you haven't seen this OK Go video, touted by both sarah and sarah, then stop complaining that you've never seen men dancing on treadmills and watch the damn thing.