On Friday, at our Grand Party, I ran into a woman with whom I had interviewed at the PD’s office (one of my twenty million interviews there, if my dear readers recall). She introduced herself to me and I reminded her that I interviewed with her and that she did not hire me. I said to her “I wanted to work for you, but you didn’t hire me so I had to work at Blah Blah and Blech and (gesturing around my fab office) now look what happened.” Its the stuff that dreams are made of.

I’ve been working hard at mastering the laws in this freaky state. I think I took for granted that they would be similar to New York, but I was quite wrong. First of all, they care about what the Supreme Court says around these parts. I did appeals for years and years, and I think I quoted the supremes when it came to the baseline of the law, but if they chipped away at rights, I paid no mind unless the Court of Appeals followed suit. Second of all, the whole misdemeanor = life in prison thing makes no sense. How is it possible to be convicted of a misdemeanor and spend your life in prison? Its as ass backward as anything I’ve ever heard.

Maybe I’m an elitist. I think being from New York does that to you, even if you are from hick country. There is something about having eaten a real bagel and good pizza that makes you think you are invincible. There is something about having at least one sports team that doesn’t break your heart that makes you strong.

There are days when I miss New York terribly. But, I don’t harbor the same dreams of going back that I once had, mostly because I’ve got my name on the door on a great office with great partners. I think its like my dad and Afghanistan. See, Afghanistan really wasn’t all that great when he was there, but he’s nostalgic about it because he only remembers the good things. New York is my Afghanistan.

I promised to write more often so I wouldn’t ramble. But it seems that the rambling continues.