My Absence

Where can I begin other than with the simple statement, "I love chocolate milk." No, that is not to invite any sexual innuendo or speculation. Last week, we went grocery shopping and there was a huge container (for you novices, that's one-half gallon) of chocolate milk, and I remembered that I had been thinking about buying chocolate milk for months now but never seemed to be able to find any fat free and hormone free chocolate milk. Yet, there it was, staring at me with its beguiling packaging, indicating the deliciousness that lay within. I repeat, no sexual innuendo intended. Later, I brought the milk home and poured myself a glass. The delicious velvety texture invited me to savor as much as I could, and me being weak, I nearly finished the glass in one drought. The versatility of this brown liquid concoction of awesome was fully revealed when it became apparent that it even tasted good with vodka because of course that's the test of any real liquid - whether it makes liquor more palatable.

And so, my friends, that's how I invented the light bulb. Wait, no that's not right. Where was I? Ah yes, my absence.

Well, the short answer is I ran out of things to write. I kept worrying about what everyone else might want to read or find interesting that I was paralyzed and could not write anything. Even when my very overweight male neighbor was seen in black dress with stockings and heels, I simply couldn't bring myself to type the words out. Oh, sure, people might find this anecdote interesting, but what's a few lines. I need more. I need something of substance. I need something special. I was also really busy and often very tired, as a result of my insomnia that seems to come and go as it pleases.

Then I woke up one morning and was over it. Partially thanks to antihistamines forcing me to sleep at least seven hours every night. Thank you modern medicine. Not to mention the healing powers of fat free chocolate milk. One could almost argue that it should be a crime for something to taste that good and not be illegal, but that someone would not be me. I am too busy arguing for other things and getting paid for it. Plus, I have better thing to talk about here than chocolate milk. I mean who would go and write a post about chocolate milk? Seriously. Oh, really? Oh. Well, never mind then.

Fumbling for a Topic

I have been at a bit of a loss as to what to write. I have also lacked the time to do so. I do not feel as guilty for not writing as much anymore, though, as I feel so few people still read my blog. That could be false. I do not really check my statistics, but I assume fewer people are reading what I have to say, as I seem to have less things to say.

I thought about saying something regarding politics, but I really have nothing to say. Unlike most people, I do not seem to like anyone running for office. As near as I can calculate things, pretty much anyone that gets into office will have done so by raising millions and millions of dollars, and I assume that lots of that money will have come from special interest groups, to whom the candidate will be beholden, and nothing will really change. All that might change is we will, hopefully, have a more articulate president. However, I still do not feel I will be adequately represented. How can someone that makes over $500,000.00 a year really know what is important to me? I just do not feel they will. There are lots of exciting sound bytes, though. I keep hearing about "change" and "experience". So, I assume we are to anticipate experiencing a change, but I have not been listening too closely.

I could talk about my trips. A few weeks ago, I spent the weekend in a house built on stilts in the middle of the ocean. There's something you don't do everyday. It was really cool to be able to wake up every morning, look out of whichever window you happened to pick and see ocean, and it made experiencing sunrises and sunsets much easier. It also made it easier to relax because really, what the hell else are you going to do. The night before we left, a few of the folks there were cleaning some fish they had just caught and out came the bull sharks, and there went the fishermen - all trying to hook themselves a shark. Unfortunately, no one was really equipped to take down a shark, but I have a feeling that in the coming months, I am going to hear a story about how one of the folks there caught a shark and now I have to come help them eat it.

This past weekend, we went hiking. Well, in Florida one does not really go hiking so much as off-road walking. However, we do have mosquitoes and alligators that keep you on your toes. For example, yesterday we saw six - that's right, I said six - alligators. One idiot was crazy enough to go walking up to one of the 'gators so that he could get a better picture. This must be why God made alligators afraid of humans - we are freaking crazy. We had enough foresight to forgo the canoing adventure, as it looked like it might rain and just as we departed, the skies opened up and released a deluge. We were left with no choice but to all retreat home, and consume an entire pork shoulder. I think my life may be less complete without various pork products.

I really have not been writing here as much as I would like. Much of it has to do with time constraints. However, another part of it is not knowing what to write. I often find myself struggling to find a good topic, or something I find interesting enough to say something about. Perhaps I should create a suggestion box.

Parents Just Don't Understand

One of the issues that often arises in probate and trust administration is that the parents frequently underestimate the ability of their children to fight like it's a holy war. They also do not effectively understand the nature of their assets or what the implications of some of their decisions during life are. For example, I once administered an estate where the single mother died in a car accident at the age of twenty-six. She had made a beneficiary designation during her life with respect to some life insurance she had through her job. In her infinite wisdom, she had designated her co-worker - not her six year old daughter or her sister or father, the people that were going to end up stepping in and actually raising the daughter but a female co-worker. This wouldn't have been such an issue but the co-worker was not the brightest bulb and when the insurance company refused to pay, she lacked the requisite resources and capacity to pursue them and try and collect. The decedent had not understood the implications of making this designation. She had expected that the co-worker would use this money for her daughter's benefit and the co-worker seemed to understand this, as well. However, it did not work out that way, and even if the insurance company had paid, there would have been nothing to force the co-worker to do so.

An estate that I am currently administering is equally interesting. The mother believed that she had almost half of a million dollars that she could dispose of under her Will. Post-death, we learned that actually, her four hundred thousand dollar account was a payable on death account, to her three children. Suddenly, we had an insolvent estate, with not enough money to go around for all the creditors that she had, and we could no longer satisfy the specific bequest she had left for her old and now blind mother. We had an additional problem, the person she wanted to be her personal representative, her son, who had been handing all her financial affairs for her prior to her death, couldn't serve as personal representative, as he was once convicted of a felony. (For those of you playing at home, a DUI or DWI is often a felony.) One more problem for the trifecta, the three children do not communicate in any sort of way that one might characterize as healthy.

Part of the problem when you are drafting an estate plan for someone is you are limited in your knowledge. You often do not know all of the details about the client's children. If you are made aware of the potential relational issues that are sure to arise, it can still be a nightmare to plan around them, however, at least you can plan for them. You also do not know what the person did outside your office that may affect the ultimate disposition of their assets. For example, you do not know if the client has made an account payable on death to someone, like a former spouse. Oftentimes, the client is not even aware of the implications of this, or the fact that these types of designations for insurance policies, retirement accounts, and other various accounts, control.

It gets even better when the daughter, acting as personal representative, decides she needs to hold everything up because she thinks her brother absconded with over eighty thousand dollars of mom's money and you are stuck spending weeks on the phone with the bank, trying to get them to rush statements to you because she does not want the account closed until she has looked. However, you are not allowed to tell any of the other beneficiaries (who are waiting for their money) this information, as it's attorney-client privilege, and you technically represent the daughter. What the daughter fails to realize is that you still have to disclose some financial information to the other beneficiaries when they ask you, and that if you do not, they will end up getting their own attorneys and commence litigation and watch that four hundred thousand dollars evaporate in a matter of months.

It would be more funny if these types of things were not common occurrences. It is almost an estate planner's standard day to encounter heirs that just do not get along. For while the picture perfect families seem to exist on television. They do not appear to exist in our offices, and people need to plan with this in mind.

Tarnish

"Where have you been?"

He could tell from the sound of her voice and the frenzied look upon her face that he was not going to be able to simply slide off his shoes and climb into bed, which was just about the only thing he wanted to do at this point. There would now have to be explanations and discussions. He would have to reassure her and comfort her, and relive the details and he was simply not looking forward to it. He had been dreading it the entire way home, and had even considered spending the night in a hotel. He had only decided to come home because he figured sooner or later, he would have to get it over with. He would have to explain. She was never going to understand.

"Look, Susan. Can't we just say that I am a busy man? Sometimes, I just have to leave at a moment's notice."

"But we were in the middle of making love. You don't just get up and run out the door in the middle of that."

"I sensed that I had to go. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, and who would understand? Maybe this Lois woman? Hmmm? Well, I'm not Lois and I am tired of being compared to her. Is that who you went to see? Is it?"

He was tired of the accusations. He could not help who he was or the call of duty he felt compelled with every waking moment of every day. He was not like ordinary men and it was a struggle for him to try and keep his relationship together while still trying to fulfill this duty he felt the need to fulfill. He knew his psychologist would have something interesting to say. Probably along the lines of, "Why do you feel the need to save everyone?" or "Perhaps you should focus on yourself and your needs," but how could he do that when the forces of evil were out there waiting to pounce upon the land and topple the bastions of freedom in the world. How could he possibly compare his relationship to such high stakes things. Lois would have understood. Then again, maybe she wouldn't. After all, hadn't she left him too - right at the alter, saying, "I just can't do this," as the sound of bullets filled the air. They wouldn't even let him have a moment's peace on his own wedding day. Just thinking of it made his blood boil.

"I did not go to see Lois. I don't understand why you always think I'm going to see her. Did you think my life was going to change when we started dating? That the world was going to somehow need me less?"

"I do not understand why you always seem to feel all of these people need you. I am not looking for someone that I have to share with the "world,'" her fingers encircling the word. "I want a husband; I want someone I can share my life with."

And there it was, that sound of exhaustion and resignation in her voice. He did not feel that he could comfort her. What was he to do? Tell her the whole truth? He could not risk that? The ride was over - once again faster than a speeding bullet. How could he find the balance that he so desperately searched for in all of this. He did not want to say goodbye to Susan, but he did not want the world to fall into the clutches of evil either. Maybe J'onn would be able to help. He often seemed insightful on these matters, which was odd given his heritage. He struggled to find the words for her; something to tied her over until he could arrive at something better. "Always trying to save everyone - patching up everything but never truly healing," the words of wisdom he paid to hear every week.

"Please. Don't leave. I will try to be better. We'll work on it."

Reluctance appeared in her face.

Swamped

Every night, I have been coming home thinking, "I wish I had written something in my blog today." Heck, I often wish I had written anything that day, other than some legal document. I always wish I had more time to read and write for pleasure, but it never seems to materialize. I think it has to do with outside distractions and television.

This past weekend, my girlfriend and I went camping. It was a lot of fun, even if it did completely pour and get us and our tent totally drenched on Sunday morning. We read and we talked, toasting marshmallows and questioning why in the world we were trying to build a roaring fire out of hardwood. I suppose it was because that was the wood that they were selling. We even went kayaking, dodged alligators and saw several osprey. It was really so much fun and there seemed to be so much time.

I was suddenly able to take an hour-long nap in the middle of the day. Granted, I had heat stroke and awoke with the sensation that I was about to burn alive in the sweltering inferno that did not exist. However, even after it subsided, I still had plenty of time to do other things, including getting incredibly overpriced kite string. (I already happen to own these really nice fabric kites, but have not been able to fly them for a few years, as I no longer had any good kite string.) I even had time to read. It was fantastic.

With the writers on strike, I have been trying to make a concerted effort to read more. Nothing on TV? Let's see what this person has to say, as I slide out my current novel of choice. Granted, I could be blogging, fleshing out a couple of the characters I have recently conceived or writing something introspective and thoughtful, but I somehow do not have the time. (When I say "conceived" it means I thought about it for about 30 seconds and said, "Wow, that's cool. I should write that" because that, my friends, is how I conceptualize my characters.)

I arrived home at 7:30 Tuesday night, ate dinner and wanted to fall asleep, awaking before 5:00 the next morning to go to the gym and try to keep my lazy butt motivated. Where did the time go and why can I not find the time to organize and clean my apartment? I feel like I should be able to find the time to do these things. I feel like there should somehow be more time or less dust, or both. I do not know how those TV families do it. I think I would need someone to clean and iron my abode every day.

Vista Sucks

When I got my new laptop, I had no choice but to get it with Windows Vista. While I know some laptops are still available with Windows XP, mine was not and there was not a lot I could do about it. Begrudgingly, I played the Bill Gates game and got my shiny new laptop.

Upon receiving the laptop, I immediately tried to install XP Professional, but quickly realized that it did not have all of the drivers my machine needed and was really just going to be more of a hassle than I wanted. I decided I needed to try to learn to love this new operating system of mine, and there were some things that Vista did better thanXP ever had. For example, my startup time was about 30 seconds and it could go to sleep and wake up almost as well as a Mac. However, its constant warning messages and odd idiosyncrasies were driving me up a wall. After I figured out how to deactivate the bulk of them, I was greeted with the now familiar warning I get every time I start my system, alerting me to the fact that my system is not fully protected. Moreover, the Internet security suite that shipped with my system was not actually compatible with Vista. Yay, for me.

After finally getting Vista to run sort of the way I wanted, and getting the security suite removed, I started finding all the other programs it was not compatible with, including my journal program. Imagine my horror and misery when I found out the program that I was assured would continue to work with Vista no longer worked, and the more I looked, the more problems I had. Suddenly,iTunes was having issues and they were not going away. Now I had programs, and hardware related to those programs that would not work correctly. Bill Gates was ruining my life, piece by piece.

This weekend, I had to replace my flash based mp3 player. The one I used to take to the gym had decided to only turn on when it felt like it, and even once it had turned on, could turn off at any moment, without provocation. I tried negotiating with it. I tried multiple new batteries, but nothing was going to convince it. It was done. So, I went and bought a Sansa Clip. It was really a great little player, about the size of the newer Apple Shuffles but with FM radio and twice the amount of memory, for a much smaller price. Brilliant! Well, it certainly was perfect until I hooked it up to my computer and Vista said, "What the hell is this?"

I called Sandisk and explained the problem to the tech support guy. At first, he tried to tell me that it was just me, until I pointed out that other users on the Sandisk support forums were having my exact same problem. At this point, he confessed that some users did experience this problem because some versions of Vista had shipped with the required drivers and others had not. It seemed to him that mine had not, and what I would need to do is go to this Microsoft Web page and request that Microsoft send me a Hotfix (patch). This was awesome. I could not just go somewhere and download the driver I needed to run my new hardware, I needed to ask the Microsoft gods and hope that they heard my plea.

A few hours later, Microsoft emailed me back stating that they could not find the Hotfix I was looking for and telling me to call them, which I promptly did. The operator could not figure out how I had got this number and was dumbfounded at the idea that someone at Microsoft had told me to call it. Finally, he decided my story was too crazy to be a lie and connected me with technical support. I, once again, explained my issue, in excruciating detail, to the tech support dude (who sounded quite Indian). He was completely baffled as to why I was calling him. You could sense that he was hoping to be able to read to me from a script and "solve" my technical problems. This fell completely outside of the parameters to which he had grown accustomed. However, he made his best efforts, asking me if I was using Windows Vista, and that's where things went downhill.

I replied that I was using Vista and that it was the worst operating system ever. To which he tried to tell me it was an excellent operating system and I lost it. I pointed out every glaring problem with the operating system. I noted how many people and organizations were still unwilling to purchase it and how even Microsoft is starting to promote its next operating system, seemingly trying to brush Vista aside, and say, "Look at this really cool new thing that might actually work in a way you will like." I even pointed out the fact that the new Service Pack release forXP is supposed to add most of the best features of Vista to XP , making it almost completely pointless for anyone to upgrade, at all. It was right around this point that he decided he needed his supervisor, as I clearly knew too much.

The supervisor (another person sounding Indian, dots not feathers) and I traced the same path regarding the horror that is Vista and all the problems I have had with it. However, as we came back to focusing on my problem of the day, she remained completely bewildered as to how I had even gotten transferred to her department and insisted that I needed to provide her with theHotfix ID number. After I asked her for the third time where I was supposed to find such a thing, she decided I needed to call Sandisk back, as obviously Sandisk knows better than Microsoft how to patch Vista.

It was at this point that I took my new Sansa Clip, walked it straight back to Best Buy and spent $20 extra to get a new Shuffle. Sure, it has half the memory and no FM tuner, but it works and keeps me from having to deal with Microsoft, and you simply cannot put a price tag on that. Besides, if I decide to go Mac in the coming months, it will still work with my new system.

Harder To Breathe

Several years ago, a doctor started me on an asthma medication called Advair. You may have seen the commercials for it. The medicine comes in a purple discus and actually contains two different medications. Its goal is to prevent you from having asthma attacks at all so that you do not have to use your fast acting inhaler and scar your lungs. Excellent things to strive for in my opinion. However, my insurance company decided to re-categorize Advair as a much higher tier prescription medication. Suddenly, I was spending much more on the product. A representative there recommended that I switch to the generic form of both medications in the Advair, which saved me a lot of money, but was quite a hassle. So, I just stopped taking my medicine entirely. Thank you, United Health Care.

After about a week of not taking the medicine, however, I seemed to actually be sleeping better. No, I was no Rip Van Winkle and I still sometimes had trouble making it past seven or eight hours, but I really was sleeping seven or eight hours. This was fantastic. I looked online and found that a possible side effect of the medicines in Advair is trouble sleeping. Well, guess what, that possible side effect page was written for me. It even said the medicine could worsen your asthma attacks and cause death. That was a little scary.

I now seem to be sleeping pretty well. Not all the time, but on a much more frequent basis. My body is even able to return to sleep sometimes after it is awoken. I am in complete awe of this crazy new thing called sleep. However, my lungs are a little less than happy. Sure, I have not had any sever asthma attacks and nothing bad enough to force me to use the fast acting inhaler (which I do not have), but I have had bouts of shortness of breathe and occasionally my girlfriend will look at me with those questioning eyes that say, "You aren't really going to go run a mile now are you?"

Now I am faced with the ultimate question, would I rather breathe or sleep. Somehow, I feel the latter will prevail, as I am just too tired to think about these difficult questions.

Twelve Days of Christmas

This year, I feel like Christmas is like the holiday that will just never end. It seems every time I turn around, I still need to get a gift for someone. Most of this is resulting from the fact that my best friend and my girlfriend both have birthdays that fall within weeks of the Christmas holiday and also by the fact that some of my friends are impossible to shop for and the older they get, the more restrictions are in place.

"Maybe I'll get you a bottle of wine."

"I am not allowed to really drink very much anymore."

"Maybe some good food."

"Yeah, not allowed to really eat very much anymore either. I will be able to again after all this medical stuff is over, but for now, I really have a bland and limited sort of diet."

"Dude, you suck."

"Yeah, I know."

One of my friends is a Jehovah's Witness and all I can think is that she gets off so light, never having to worry about picking out gifts for all her family and closest friends. Great gobbly googly. However, I feel like if I did not have the holidays to remind me to get people gifts, I would forget and then people would say, "He never gets me anything."

However, the more I shop and the more my friends and I shop for one another, the more I get confused as to the point. My friends and I often ask one another how much we are going to spend on the other person. After all, we "need" to get the other person something comparable in value. One of my friends had a guy buy her a $50 item and she had only planned on giving him something small. An extended conversation between us ensued. More and more, I am failing to see the point of spending a lot of money on someone if all they are going to do is spend a similar sum on you. Would it not have been easier if we had gotten each other cards and said, "Go buy yourself something nice."?

Some will say that is not very thoughtful, but I feel like it's plenty thoughtful. I mean, you did pick out the card, right? And what's the difference between that and a gift card? I have been using my gift cards to buy gifts for other people. At first, my friends saw this as flawed - "Those cards are for you". Yes, I know. I am using them so that I do not have to spend my own money - that is using them for me. It is almost like a gift of cash, except not as good as cash because you actually have to use it at the store that the card is for. If you ask me, cash is plenty thoughtful. However, if my friend gives me $50 and I give them $50, what have we really achieved? Same thing, for me, when it comes to gifts. If my friend gets me $200 worth of gifts and I get that friend $200 worth of gifts, what have we really achieved, other than spending each other's money - in a more indirect way.

At the end of the day, I think it should be the thought that matters the most, which is why a card and maybe a small token should be sufficient for almost everyone concerned because this attempt to match everyone with equally priced gifts is giving me an enormous headache.

I can see gift giving for a couple people in your life, but all of them just seems excessive and a recycling of currency. Getting gifts for children makes sense, as they are not going to get gifts of an equal value for you, and because how else are they going to get that really cool overpriced toy. And, of course, with your significant other and maybe a friend or two, you may be able to pick out something sweet and thoughtful, but when all you are doing is telling the person what you want and having them go buy it for you so that you can go buy them a similarly priced object, what is the point.

My New Food Processor

So, after wanting a food processor for well over a year, but always not being completely certain where I would find room for one or which one I wanted, my best friend chose the holiday season to remove all of the guess work and bought me this really amazing looking one made by Kitchen Aid. It has so many attachments, and I do not even know where to begin in figuring out what to do with them all or how to exactly do it. I think the entire thing struck me as overwhelming, from the day I received it and unpacked it, washing all of its individual parts, until the day I started trying to make recipes calling for the use of one. I still have not found the recipe that explains to me how to chop with it. Can I chop multiple things at once? Do I chop only a little at a time? How does it avoid not chopping some things too much? It also has a slicer. How the hell is that supposed to work? And a dough maker attachment - that seems more intuitive.

So, on Christmas morning, after I had finished making a roasted garlic, balsamic vinegar sauce to cover my main dish, I was trying to wash the processor, and forgot the rule I had heard at least a few times before on The Food Network - remove the blade. Gravity being what it is, the blade fell from the unit and it appeared as though it was going to plummet into the garbage disposal. Instantly, I reacted the way I always do when I see something headed towards the garbage disposal, I moved to grab it and as I reached out and succeeded in snatching it from, what I mistakenly perceived as, its doom, it gently sliced into my middle finger on each hand, producing a lovely flow of red - how festive. If only I had had green band aides.

I think I have finally been able to stop the bleeding, however. So long as I can keep my fingers from impacting with hard objects. It seems every time I am injured, I become exceedingly aware of how much I really do seem to use that thing I never noticed. For example, when I had shoulder surgery, I never knew just how many times one uses their shoulder in the course of a day until I started trying to function normally again. And now I sit at my keyboard, typing away with two fingers, and you can pretty much forget about handwriting anything. However, the holiday was still a lot of fun for me, and once I heal, I'll begin my continued pursuit of mastering my new food processor.

As an aside, I know a few of my recent posts seem to indicate physical injuries in the kitchen. Fear not, my loyal readers (all six of you); each injury is a lesson for me of what not to do, and so long as I do not permanently lose the use of a digit, I try to look on the bright side and move on, a little wiser, if a little bloodier.

I Don't Understand

I wanted to write, but do not have very much to say. I got my first round of immunizations for my trip to Costa Rica next year. Just two more rounds, and I'll be ready, immunologically speaking. The woman that gave me my shots was really nice and seemed to know everything about diseases and which shots and medications I needed, and where to get a free, small supply of Cipro and everything else one could want when planning a trip to a foreign country where you could get Malaria and die.

Instead of continuing to bore you, however, I leave you with this small wisp of fiction that I wrote without thinking.

"I don't understand," she said, as her eyes welled up with sadness.

He had seen this look before, too many times, and knew the tears were about to fall. He hated the tears - they were the worst part. He would have done almost anything to keep them from falling. Instead, all he did was stare coolly at her, attempting to affect some sympathy and understanding in his eyes, but it was the end of the day and they were tired. He silently hoped she would hold it together just a little.

"I am really sorry to have to deliver the news, ma'am, but your husband is dead," his stare slightly softened. Usually, about now the reality would start sinking in. He really wished his partner was there, she was so much better at delivering news like this. Figures she had to be out sick today. He saw two small children contained in the picture over the woman's shoulder. They were probably at some after-school event, completely unaware at what news they were about to uncover when they came home. Something was burning in the kitchen.

"He was shot?"

"Yes, ma'am. It looks like he was not the intended target. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two other people were shot with him. We believe it was a gang related shooting, but the investigation is still pending." Poor bastard was probably out trying to do some good. His fingerprints had been listed in the police files database, having been a social worker years ago. He had since gone into private practice working with the down-trodden. Perhaps trying to heal a partially fractured soul, after years of screwing the little guy in the big corporate rat race. No way to know, just now. It may even end up that he was an intended target. One thing was clear, the victim should have just stayed home with his lovely wife and enjoyed a quiet fall day in bed with the missus. What the hell was he doing in that part of town? He should have known better.

He began cautiously questioning her, gently probing for details, "Any idea why your husband was out that way; Did he have any enemies", etc. It was probably just going to end up being another case filed away as collateral damage, but he had to go through the motions. After twenty years on the job, the one thing Grady had learned was that routine was your friend.

Are You Still There?

"Have you been updating your blog?"

"Yes, once or twice per week, but I have not been writing the thoughtful introspective posts that you prefer."

"Why not?"

"I just have not had the time, or enough sleep to really let my brain wander onto such subjects."

I have had mild insomnia for years. I cannot really call it "insomnia", however, as I do sleep. I just have trouble staying asleep for extended periods of time, and then when I wake up, whenever I wake up, that's pretty much it. On rare occasions, my body finds a way to transport itself back to the land of dreams, but more often than not, I am met with nothing but hours of fatigued wakefulnesses.

I used to date a woman that often seemed to do nothing but sleep and, at the time, it drove me a little crazy. I have since stopped caring about such things. I now take pleasure in my girlfriend's uncanny ability to sleep for hours. She can sleep at least eight hours every night, and to me it's a marvel because I think I can count the number of days I have accomplished that feat in the last three months on one hand. Even more impressive to me is that if I accidentally wake her up, she simply rolls over and falls back to sleep, often never remembering ever being awakened, or even having a full conversation.

I frequently puzzle over how much I have changed in a matter of years. Things I have realized about myself or things that have just changed. Many of the items I instinctively knew would change; a coming of age that I was sure was upon me, but also in other ways that I never really saw coming. It also appears that I was not alone in my metamorphosis. Some of my friends have changed in significant ways, with religious awakenings (both toward and away), marriage, children, illness, death, etc. The lives of the people around me suddenly seem more complex, like prisms reflecting the light of their lives in a variety of colors.

Although, I sometimes feel a tiny fraction of my friends' changes are not necessarily for the best, or have the effect of making the person less appropriate for my life. For example, I have a friend for whom religion is nearly a cult, and it unnerves me slightly. For I often do not feel like he is the same person I knew. His opinions no longer feel like his own, but are more akin to a doctrine of sorts. Keeping the hard line. I suppose that is how it goes sometimes, but I wonder if an extreme of any religion, no matter the purity of intent, is the correct path to pursue. Many of his friends seem to be asking questions similar to this and I am not sure anyone has a good answer. Perhaps there is no answer. Perhaps the only answer is that sometimes you can no longer be the same with a person as you were before.

(This post sort of meandered on through my stream of consciousness, but I felt it got cumbersome and was unlikely to be read in full. So, I cut about half of it out.)

Turkey Crisis of 2007

Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, we wound up with two turkeys for Thanksgiving. You needn't ask how because it would only lead to a convoluted story culminating with me completely mournful that I somehow had to find something to do with this extra turkey before Thanksgiving, as it simply was not going to last.

For those of you still reading, let me briefly recap. We were going out of town for Thanksgiving and not cooking *our* turkey meal until Sunday, for an intimate gathering of friends. One of the turkeys we got was simply not going to last until Sunday. There was discussion and some extensive online research on the subject, and various "professionals" were asked, but all this lead to a completely inconclusive conclusion. As such, we decided to err on the side of caution and cook it before leaving, which did not leave much time for dilly dallying.

Finally, inspiration came to me in the form of a maple tree, or technically the sticky substance therein - a maple glazed turkey, with bacon. Sounds delicious, right? I mean combining both turkey and the savory deliciousness bacon, and gravy too? I had been wanting to try this recipe anyway, so I looked at the turkey as an almost blessing - a large, time consuming, potentially germ infested, blessing. However, I have to say that it completely worked out, except for the fact that the turkey cooked faster than expected and I did not quite get to the bacon part of the recipe before the thermometer alarm sounded. (Yes, I have a thermometer with an alarm on it, and I'm not afraid who knows it.) Because of the seemingly premature completion of my fowl creation, I now have a veritable plethora of bacon in my refrigerator, yearning to be rendered and eaten. It's a hard life. The turkey, however, was delicious and juicy even without the bacon. The maple flavoring got into the gravy and the vegetables I had roasted beneath the turkey. So every bite had this subtle, beautiful, warm accent of maple syrup. I could have eaten all night.

Our meal on Thanksgiving was also quite good, mostly because it involved eating copious amounts of food all day, including one (oh, I made more than one) of my pumpkin pies with homemade whipped cream and yet another turkey (this time prepared by someone else) with all the fixin's. Sure, I might have put on five pounds in a day, but gosh darn it, it tasted so good. Besides, I needed all that food to build up my energy for Sunday, where we ate another turkey (this one having been brined for the twenty-four hours prior), another pumpkin pie with homemade whipped cream (this one was probably better than the first), fresh cranberry citrus compote, apple sausage stuffing with some other various items thrown in, acorn squash cooked with a butter, honey, and mustard concoction, and my girlfriend's chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese filling. All the guests got parting gifts of the leftover food, in an effort to somewhat preserve what little waistline I had left.

Overall, I am happy to report that the crisis was handled with great style and the we emerged victorious, if all a bit heavier.

The Vanishing J

These past couple of weeks, I had such good intentions to write more. I even sometimes had random topics on which to write, but then a cataclysm of software incompatibility hit and I was stuck with my face plastered to a computer screen, trying to set right what this incredibly overpriced software package made wrong on an estate tax return. See that, your eyes just glazed over, didn't they. I said "tax" and you zoned out. Your brain said, "Oh no, tax. I don't understand numbers," giggling like a girl and it was over. It's ok, tax can be a little mind numbing, but nowhere near as mind numbing as fixing and reworking over 500 assets on schedules for an IRS Form. I assure you that's much, much, much more tedious.

When I wasn't doing that, I was arguing with the software company and explaining to them why their program not only sucked in the way they already knew about ("it's a known issue") but failed to ever tell us about, but also in a number of other ways that they had never been made aware of in such exacting detail, with circles, arrows and everything. However, at the end of the day, none of it really mattered because no amount of explaining was going to fix it for this Return and I was still going to have to go through, asset by asset and fix it.

The other problem I often seem to have with writing is that I usually do not feel justified in posting unless I have read all the unread posts in my RSS feed, which is probably a completely failed system, as I sooner or later catch up on them all and then I am too tired to write anything myself or I have to get back to work, or do something outside the box. (That was a pun for those of you playing along at home.)

The weekend was a much welcomed respite. I even got to see Beowulf. Although, I was not terribly impressed with it. I also further planned our Thanksgiving feast. We actually are going to have two. For the first, we will be going out of town and spending it with friends. The second will be on Sunday and I'm cooking that one. I think I have decided on my turkey recipe and I have more or less finalized my stuffing recipe in my head. I love the cranberry sauce I made last time, so I think I will stick with it and I believe there will be acorn squash and pumpkin pie. However, the rest remains hazy. And for only a few people, I feel like much of it will be overkill. So perhaps I will just stop there. Besides, the only dish most people really seem to be requesting is my stuffing. The problem with my stuffing is that I change the recipe every time I make it, as I never remember how I made it the year before. So, all I can hope for is that it turns out as good as everyone remembers.

I hope to add more fiction here and maybe a few more random tales regarding relationships of others, as mine is too good and stable to be exciting, soon. Until then, I hope you all have a fun and delicious Turkey Day.

Are You My Plan Administrator?

In an effort to entertain and educate, I thought I would begin sharing some of my legal war stories* as they happen. This way you can learn from other folks' mistakes and maybe end up better off, in the end.

Most recently, I have been handling the probating of two estates. That statement is slightly inaccurate, however. For one estate (the wife's), I have only begun the process to determine whether probate will even be necessary. Despite what you may have heard, not all assets in an estate are subject to probate. However, it can often be difficult to figure which assets are and which are not. For example, the wife had an IRA and a 401(k), among her other assets. The IRA is not subject to probate, as she named her husband as a beneficiary. However, the 401(k) might be.

The 401(k) was administered by her employer. The company she worked for recently went out of business, and so I can no longer locate the plan administrator or any beneficiary designation forms. As such, I was forced to contact the U.S. Department of Labor and report the case. The agency will attempt to investigate and find my plan administrator, but they warn that it could take several months to do so, if they are able to find him at all. I also had to write a letter to the company managing the money and ask them what would be needed in the event we cannot find the beneficiary designation form. Hopefully, they will actually get back to me. The likelihood is that if a beneficiary designation form cannot be located, the proceeds from the 401(k) will be payable to the decedent's estate, and I will have to begin probate proceedings for her estate, at that point. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing, and it is going to have the effect of delaying the full administration of both estates for several months.

This all could have been avoided if these people had kept all of their important documents together. Instead, they seemed to keep quite a bit of everything. The heirs are having trouble digging through the mounds of extraneous documents in the home and it is nearly impossible for them to discern what is important and what is just something that should have been thrown away years ago. As it is, the heirs barely found the Wills at all. If, however, these two had kept all their important documents together in one safe place, this could have all been averted. Important documents include: Wills, Trusts, Durable Powers of Attorney, Living Wills, Health-Care Surrogate Designations, insurance documents, beneficiary designation forms, current addresses and phone numbers for all of your beneficiaries. If you thought enough of them to put them in your Will, maybe you should also keep a phone number for them in a conspicuous place. Bank account information, and anything else you think would help someone reconstruct your asset and creditor picture are ideal things to put with these other documents, as well.

*Note that this will now be a category.

An Apple a Day(?)

Not knowing any of my immunization history, and figuring that it would be far worse to acquire lock-jaw over a weekend, I called my doctor and had him give me a tetanus shot.

Seeing as several people have asked, I should probably explain what I learned about tetanus. (I am no doctor, but I did stay at a Holiday-Inn Express once.) According to the nurse I spoke with and some Websites devoted to providing information on tetanus, any type of injury that breaks the skin can lead to a tetanus infection. The tetanus bacteria itself is found in dust, soil, and manure. So dirty implements are more likely to have the bacteria on them. However, the bacteria can also enter the wound after the laceration has been made. The only safe way to avoid getting it is to have a tetanus shot every five to ten years. Quite a gap there, huh? I still do not quite understand that part and everyone seemed to have their own opinion on it. However, absolutely every medical person I spoke with agreed that I needed one. In comparison to the flu shot, I have to say that this one had much more lingering pain, but I am not sure if that is attributable to the medicine itself or if maybe the nurse somehow hit a muscle. However, they were all really nice about it.

In other news, Apple has annoyed me quite a bit. I have been using an iPod for a little over two years without incident. However, ever since they released their recent patches, to make sure all those unlocked iPhones would no longer work, I have found it completely impossible to get iTunes to recognize my iPod, or if it does, iTunes will generally then crash. It got to the point that I just didn't think I could even use my iPod anymore. So I wrote Steve Jobs and one of Apple's tech people emailed me back, requesting some follow-up information. This was great. I was so impressed. I was even more impressed when a tech tracked down my number through their internal system, and called me. Unfortunately, they called me while I was at work and my computer and iPod reside at home. So, they had to schedule a service call for the weekend.

The weekend came and went and Apple never called me. So, I emailed them and they apologized and promised to resolve the issue. A new tech guy called me a few hours later and scheduled a callback for the next weekend (last weekend). Well, once again, I never got a phone call, until hours later, when I was no longer anywhere near my home. We are now on week three, but they swear they are going to call me this time. I still at least give them props for contacting me. I doubt I could have ever gotten a response this easily out of Microsoft. Plus, they did not invent Vista - an operating system that seems doomed to fail and go the way of Windows Me.

A Slice of Life

It's good to have goals. My goal this season was to cook more with squash. No, not the yellow and zucchini squashes you so often see. I am talking about spaghetti, butternut, and acorn squash. Mmmm. The types of squash I have always been intrigued and fascinated by but never attempted to do anything with because they are foreign and unknown. It's fairly easy for me to figure out what to with everyday squash, but these are different and weird.

So, I started small. Spaghetti squash with herbs and butter. Delicious. Easy. Next on the menu was pasta with butternut squash and eggplant in a yummy sauce. The trick was that the recipe called for the squash to be peeled. Getting home, I stared at the oddly shaped squash, considering how I was exactly supposed to peel it. It did not appear to be the typical vegetable one can peel with a peeler. I probably needed a knife. Reducing it to a manageable size, I began trying to cut away the flesh from the peel. Suddenly, the knife slipped from the squash, sailed through the air and sliced straight through my skin, plunging deeply into my thumb. Oh, and did the blood flow.

Did I need stitches? I was not really sure. Clearly, I needed to get the bleeding to stop, but was it bad enough for an ER visit and lots of money in the form of a co-pay? Finishing dinner, I elevated my hand and let the cloth towl adhere to the wound, eventually replacing it with a bandage that would similarly adhere, but look less obtrusive.

Yesterday, I kept wondering if I needed stitches, looking at pictures online and comparing them to my own gaping wound, it still seemed unclear. It sure looked like that one there that needed them, but it also looked a lot like this other one that didn't. I called a nurse through my insurance company. "When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"That is truly excellent question. Unfortunately, my last doctor lost every medical record I had and I have been spending the last month trying to track down pediatricians and other previous doctors, piecing together my past." Some fear a large company like Google or Microsoft being in-charge of maintaining our medical records, but to be honest, I'd feel more comfortable having them all in one place, in a hopefully safe and secure format. Not out of any concern that others might hack in and steal them. I assume they could do that at my doctor's office now. But more out of a concern that they too would one day just lose all my records and ask me if I was sure I was ever really a patient. I cannot imagine how wonderful it will be to be able to call one place and obtain all of my medical records from one source. No multiple offices to call, and multiple release forms to fill out. Sure, it sounds stupid and silly, but when you suddenly really need to have this information and cannot locate it, it becomes really, really important.

On the bright side, the squash dish turned out to be delicious, and the wound appears to be healing. However, I still do not know if I need a shot or if I will develop lockjaw or something equally as bad in the coming days. Of course, if I do, it will give me another exciting event to post about.

Paranoia

It seems that every few weeks, something dramatic happens at my office - an attorney gets disbarred, someone gets fired, a death or illness strikes someone related to the people in our office, etc., and last week was no exception to the rule.

Two weeks ago, another small firm moved into some of our then vacant office space, which formerly housed the offices of an attorney that soon found the need to expeditiously retire from the practice of law. It seems like a great arrangement had emerged, a new happy office coming to join our office of misfits. Of course, that was week one, or as I like to think of it, the calm before the paranoid and psychotic yelling that ended, as all good dramas do, with police involvement. As with all incidents at my office involving the police, and I believe there have been at least two in the last year I have not been there; I am always away when all the cool and exciting stuff goes down.

Returning from lunch, I saw a police car parked downstairs. Briefly, I considered that perhaps they were here for our office but then quickly dismissed this notion, assuming that they must have other important business to attend to within the hallowed walls of our building. It was not until I set foot in the office that I learned that not only had someone been fired, but that the police had to be called on the terminated employee. It took until the following day for me to get all the relevant details, not from a lack of trying to bury my head in the stand and remain aloof and uninvolved. Sometimes, people just *need* to share and I seem to be close at hand.

Apparently, one of the legal secretaries for the law firm that just moved in to our office became convinced that a member of her staff, one of the attorneys or another secretary, was stealing her passwords and messing around with her bank accounts and email. This led to outbursts of racial slurs against not only another legal secretary who is dating a black man, but also against one of Florida's finest. Needless to say, the law firm had no trouble convincing the police that the woman had quite possibly come unhinged and they were more than willing to assist in any way they could. Unfortunately, there really was not too much they could do and the people in the office had to leave the building later with caution, as the one taking a ride over the cuckoo's nest was taking a detour, circling our parking lot.

One may think the story stops there, but one would be wrong, as now there seems to be people thinking that perhaps the woman that only days before was considered delusional and potentially dangerous was on the right track and that this new firm is not all nice and friendly but sneaky, dirty, and underhanded, or maybe there is just one bad apple in the bunch. I have no idea if they are right, but if they are, I am sure it will lead to another exciting installment down the road.

Look, I Wrote Something

So, for all of you out there that think I do not write enough, I share with you my very recent letter to the editor of the New York Times. I very rarely write any letters to the editor, but the article annoyed me a lot.

You ran an article called "A Need for a Will? Often, There's an Online Way" and I had a few comments about it.

The article seemed to suggest that many people can save money by having their estate planning documents prepared online. I am an estate planning and probate attorney in Florida, and I have had the chance to see the finished products of some of these online companies, and I have to say that all the documents I have seen from these online estate planning companies are terrible and miss many significant issues.

In Florida, if you die and your Will does not have a notarized affidavit attached to it, the family has to go find one of the witnesses to the Will, get them to the county in Florida where the decedent died, and pay an officer of the court to administer an oath. Finding those witnesses and getting them to the courthouse can often prove quite daunting. For example, if the Will was executed in New York, but the decedent lived in Florida at the time of their death, your heirs will likely have to fly the person down. Worse, the witnesses may not be able to be located or they may be deceased.

The forms almost never cover Florida homestead issues. If a deceased person owned their Florida residence individually and is survived by a spouse and minor children, the home will vest a life estate in the surviving spouse and a remainder interest in all of the decedent's children, irrespective of what the Will says. Many people have no idea this happens, and their heirs are caught completely unaware. Now, what happens if the surviving spouse needs to sell the home? Who can sign on behalf of the minor child? Your heirs will probably need to hire a guardianship attorney. What if some of your children do not want to let the spouse sell the home? There could be litigation.

Not having planning forms is almost as bad, however, as many people believe that their money will just go to their spouse at their death. This too is a false assumption. Under Florida intestacy law, if you die without a Will, one half of your assets pass to your spouse (irrespective of whether you are separated) and the remainder passes to your children. If any of your children happen to be under the age of eighteen when they receive an inheritance, a guardianship estate will likely need to be established and administered, producing additional attorneys' fees.

The article also neglects to mention that if an estate planning document drafted by an attorney fails to produce the desired results, and costs the decedent additional money, the attorney's malpractice carrier should cover the difference. As an illustration, your article mentions a man who lost 80% of his estate to the IRS because he improperly drafted his own document. If that document had been drafted by an attorney and it had not produced the outcome intended, it is quite likely that the attorney would have been responsible for the additional taxes and the heirs would have received all of their money.

No one wants to spend money. However, in this case, you get what you pay for. Unfortunately, it will not be you that has to live with the consequences of going the cheaper route but your heirs, the people for whom you originally attempted to protect. Additionally, if one shops around, one can often find reasonably priced attorneys who can prepare simple documents for somewhere in the neighborhood of $500. Yes, it costs more, but it may save you and your family substantially more in the end, and give everyone added piece of mind.

Lack of Tension

I suppose I really do need to blog more. I have not been very good at sticking to it. Every week, I think I will be better at it and every week, I don't seem to be. I guess I often feel that I do not have anything interesting or exciting to say. Back when I used to blog more, I had a lot of exciting things happening, with terrible dating stories and reflections on relationships, dating, and women. I know there were some other things thrown in there, but I think that was a lot of the subject matter. After a while, I sort of ran out of things to say and I started dating someone and we didn't breakup. Suddenly, my life, while becoming more full, seemed a lot more boring. I guess that is probably a good sign - not having colorful fights every week and having large issues going on all the time probably is an indication of something fairly healthy. However, I also feel less exciting. Suddenly, Kevin Smith's blog title, My Boring Ass Life, makes a whole lot more sense to me.

So many of the sitcoms and movies you see are about the boy getting the girl, but not many of them actually involve what happens once that quest is achieved. Even if the hero does somehow manage to catch the object of his affection, it is likely not going to last very long. Something bad is bound to happen, and there will be tension and drama once again. One would assume that the reason for this is that actual normal relationships are probably just plain boring to anyone watching. To the people in them, there are the twists and turns, but the nuance is probably only barely grasped by the casual observer.

One of my best friends recently sent me a cookbook. She said that she had thought of getting me this book months ago, back when my blog seemed to be more about food. I thought the gift was so sweet of her, as I really do enjoy cooking. However, I felt a little sad because I still do cook, I just neglect to ever share that part of my life on here any more. It just no longer occurs to me that I still do some of those things that I used to think blog worthy. For example, my girlfriend and I recently bought a slow cooker. I was reading a blog or something and one guy mentioned that he cooks some big stew or something every weekend in a slow cooker and he and his girlfriend slowly consume it here and there during the week, letting them eat more home cooked meals, but not spending a ton of time doing so. I thought this was a great idea. So, we got one.

This weekend, I made chicken chili which tastes absolutely amazing. I am extremely picky when it comes to chili, especially chicken chili, but I absolutely love this one. I also love that as the slow cooker cooks for eight hours, the smells that fill my apartment are completely stellar. Granted, I still cook other things and I really enjoy it. But this just adds a new dimension to everything. I can have one thing cooking and still be making other things during the day. This week, I plan to make a spaghetti squash and herb dish, with this rather large squash we bought at out neighborhood farmers' market.

On Saturday, we woke up at the crack of dawn to go participate in a 5K to support a group that helps people out of domestic violence situations. It was really surprising to see so many people up that early on a Saturday. A good number of them even appeared to be high school kids just out there to support the the cause. I thought that was really cool. The run took place right next to the ocean, and we tried to watch the sunrise, but it was overcast. Still, it was a great experience, even if I did have to wake up at 4 or 5 to do it.

On Sunday, we went to church, had lunch with my best friend (I have a few), went to the gym, and ate chicken chili. Yum. I also succeeded in getting my haircut. Small goals. Next weekend, we are going to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal in Orlando. I love how much cheaper it is to go there as a Florida resident. We have a hotel and everything, and we will also get to see some of my friends while we are up there.

In That Kiss

I have heard countless women say that they can tell if a man is good in bed by the way he kisses or the way he moves his hips on the dance floor. Although, I now have at least one friend that can personally attest to the fact that a man's prowess with his lips bears no relation to his abilities in bed, and that apparently, hips do lie. Most recently, a girlfriend told me that it all depended on how a man hugs. I am not even sure I follow the logic there, but it is likely just as good of a system as any of the former ones discussed. A good way, perhaps, of separating the wheat from the chaff when you are out on the prowl - looking for love in all the wrong places.

I have never much bought into any of these theories about how you can tell if someone is a good lover based upon the way a person kisses, dances, or hugs. It all seems too unrelated to me. However, I do have a method for selecting who I kiss, or at least a way of immediately disqualifying promising candidates. I wait to see if they end up with a cigarette dangling from their hands; the telltale puff of smoke haloing their head as they coolly extract the cylinder from between their lips, exhaling with that cool, calculated, devil may care expression. It kills it for me.

However, this was not always a standard of mine. I was young and naive, out with the girl I was dating at the time. As she continued to consume copious amounts of alcohol, she lit up a cigarette, an act I had never seen her perform in the past. I will never forget the lingering taste as our lips met. It was like what I imagine kissing an ashtray would be like. The bitter acidic flavor permeated my entire body and it became a mission to escape from her embrace as quickly as possible. Please, dear God, let me go. From that night on, I was a devout follower of a new doctrine: no matter how hot she is, if there's something round and long between her lips, it better not be a cigarette.

To this day, I continue to marvel, not just at the fact that people continue to smoke, but that these people actually find other people willing to kiss them, let alone procreate with them. I cannot imagine having to suffer through that experience every day for any period of time, and I have dated women with some of the most devastating and debilitating halitosis of all time.