Boondoggles

Alas, my pets, I've returned to you. I went on the closest thing I ever get to a boondoggle, which
is the annual conference for the Oregon District Attorney's Association, which this year was held in lovely Seaside, Oregon .

Before writing about more important topics, the highlights of the ODAA Conference were few. First,
I had the joy of once again hanging out with my old pals from the Marion County DA's office, which I left solely for financial
reasons and which I miss greatly (although I like where I am now). I once told them, jokingly, that
if they'd pay me as well as I'm paid in Portland, I'd come back. They pointed at me and laughed to the point of tears, and I kept thinking I heard them saying "good riddance" or words like that, so I may not get that invite.

Second, our main class was on the art of speaking, designed to help prosecutors deal with the media, but
the presenter promised the content of his message had wider application. The presenter's name was Arch Lustberg . Now, this guy is about 90 years and he walks around in a powder blue suit that looks like it's
served through the better part of the last half-century. His main point is that while speaking we should say "uh" less and speak with what he calls "an open face."

During his presentation, he had us practice the open face so that he could show us how much better it made
communication. The open face, so that you know, is accomplished by raising your eyebrows to the point that you create wrinkles in your forehead. By looking like this while you talk, you allegedly "open your soul" by exposing your eyes, and talking to someone while making this face is guaranteed to be more effective than talking to someone with, say, your back to them.

We practiced the open face on the person sitting next to us. Next to me was Briam, a lawyer from my
old office, who first demonstrated the practice usage of the open face on me. After he started talking, I realized the
open face really actually looks like the look someone makes when they are about to ask you about a cancerous growth or a third
nipple or something, so you are captivated to the extent that you want to hear them when they ask you about some physical
defect you don't know you have.

Apparently, my open face looks a little more ominous. "Stop that," Briam said, "you're pretty scary.
You look like that serial killer...you know..." I didn't. "I'll think of his name. Just never, ever make
that face again."

I did. Briam fainted.

So much for the open face.

Finally, Seaside was fun because at night we engaged in karaoke. If you've never taken part in karaoke, the basic concept is this. You go to the smokiest, trashiest
local bar you can find. Inside, you will find a frustrated musician or stand-up comic with a microphone, a TV set, and
a special DVD player designed to feed you the words to the world's most infamous songs, and your goal is to drink as much
as it takes to get you singing in front of the other participants in the room, while still maintaining enough sobriety to
read the screen and actually pronounce some of the words.

The first night, I'm not entirely clear on how my performance was. There had been substantial pre-func-ing
(short for pre-functioning, this is what we did in college to save on the bar tab by drinking prior to the bar experience,
because God forbid you actually wait to go to the bar to do your drinking), and by the time I got to the bar things were starting
to get a little hazy. From what I'm told, I sang a version of "Piano Man" where I changed all the verses to mini-stories
about old workmates, then sang another song which frankly escapes me at the moment prior to stumbling back to my motel.
I think it may have been "Just a Gigolo," which was the song I sang the first time I ever did karaoke. On night two,
I was still reeling from night one and therefore stayed entirely sober all night as I sang a rousing version of "Sweet Caroline",
followed later by Poison's "Every Rose Has a Thorn," which truly is one of the more underrated songs of the late 20th century.
I'm told that I did nicely on all songs, and I actually look forward to the release of my first CD in 2009.

So, that was my boondoggle. I suppose it doesn't really count as a "boondoggle" in the strict sense
of the word. Per dictionary.com, "boondoggle" means "an unnecessary or wasteful project or activity." Now, in
the classic sense of the word in the working world, the money you waste is your employer's. Wisely, my employer
made me pay for my conference fees and my hotel room, so this only loosely qualifies as a boondoggle in my mind.

So Lance Armstrong won this Tour De France thing. I don't have much to say about that. It's
simply awesome that anyone could win that thing 6 times, let alone that all 6 times happened consecutively. The sheer confluence of good training and good luck (no serious falls or equipment issues) which has to come together to get a man through several of these events is amazing.

I scoffed the other day as I listened to Rob Dibble on ESPN's Dan Patrick Show seriously claim that the TDF was not a sporting event, because it only involved a guy riding his bike. This guy will claim NASCAR qualifies as sports (where it's just a guy driving in circles), as well as golf (where it's just a guy driving a ball). Dibble claims that his career in baseball qualifies as a sporting career, although he was just a guy that came into a game for an inning every 5 days or so and threw the ball 15-20 times. What a wanker.

Anyway, the cool thing this year was to buy a yellow wristband to support Lance, but also to support (as
Mrs. 12 says) "the cancer kids." The bands (called "Livestrong" bands because of the word molded into it) are essentially
nice rubber bands that just fit around your wrist. They were available through Nike and through the Lance Armstrong Foundation website.

The first time I saw one of these was when my friend Hozay was wearing one. I scoffed at him.
Hozay's a good guy, but he always makes a point to being fashionable, and sometimes trendiness must be mocked. The next
person to have one was C-Mac. Then I stopped seeing them for awhile.

Then, while out to see the Bourne Supremacy, I became aware that I was the only person in my social circle not to have one of these cool rubber bands to wear. The Missus had one, Lady Lowe had one, JLowe had one (which he was stubbornly refusing to wear out of contempt for hipness), and the 12's had one. I was the only person without one, and at that point I broke.

I went out on Saturday and got one. On Sunday, the TDF was over. And on Monday C-Mac accosted
me for still wearing the bracelet. Apparently, the bracelet is a limited duration item.

So now I can be un-trendy by wearing this thing until it breaks. My weakness in acquiescing to social
pressures will turn into stubborn victory as everyone else wonders whether I got the memo about the deadline on my clothing item. I will, once again, be gloriously uncool.

Anyway, I'm glad to be back and it's always a pleasure to waste your time with non-stories and useless crap.
Let's do it again tomorrow.

Until then,

Catch ya later.