To Those Seeking a Challenge

Lately I've been talking with some of my single female friends and I've noticed a disturbing trend among them. The first commonality is they won't have sex with me, which is why we're friends who actually talk, as opposed to friends who say nothing beyond guttural moans and drunken phone calls. The second, and slightly less important topic upon which they agree is that they are all looking for a guy who is a "challenge." Then they will turn to me and ask whether I'm looking for a girl who is a "challenge," to which I reply "hell no."

If I wanted a major challenge, I'd go climb Mt. Everest after running the New York marathon with a Sherpa on my back the whole time, not decide to start dating someone. Maybe it's me, but I think life should be challenging enough if you're doing it right, and why in the world would I want the person I'm dating to make it harder instead of easier? And this idea goes to the fact that I believe my friends, along with many others, are overlooking the inherent difficulties that make life a struggle. If you want to find a real challenge, check out a homeless person on the way to work, or ponder how pretty much everything created by man is poisoning our atmosphere.

For my friends, I think their problems began when they bought into the whole work hard/play hard mentality that has become the omnipresent mantra in overachieving yuppies of a certain age. Sure, I can see the value of the work hard thing, and, even though I don't practice it, how that might benefit a person professionally. However, when it comes to playing hard, there couldn't be a bigger oxy moron going. Play shouldn't be hard, it should, dare I say, be relaxing, joyous, and if its not, then it's not play but more like work. I think my friends and those like them have taken this philosophy to its logical extreme and applied it to their relationship lives as well. For you see, it can't be enough to enjoy someone's company and simply savor the moment, but they want this guy to be a challenge, just like they expect from their work and play. The expression should now be: Work hard, play hard, date hard.

The downside is of course that at some point no challenge is enough. People of this ilk switch jobs and hobbies always looking for the bigger test, and they tend to switch partners just as frequently, all the while complaining about how they got bored. So it seems to me that the answer my friends need is to stop looking for someone who "challenges" them and to start looking for someone who "compliments" them. Someone who might not be the walking equivalent of a half finished rubiks cube, but who holds them when they've had a bad day or eats the onions they take off their burger. They also need more friends with benefits, particularly a guy they already know and who is good at keeping a secret. I'm not sure if my friends are going to take any of my advice, but they would be a lot happier if they did.

[Challenge] [Mt. Everest] [Female Friends] [Girls]

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Christmas with the Mazes

For those of you wondering what the holidays are like in my household, here's a little recap of this year's attendees who made the annual Maze Christmas spectacular so special.

Bradley-me-Generally during family gatherings I will sit in the corner of the room and occasionally nod in agreement with something that's been said. Every once in a while I'll be asked to get someone a drink with no ice.

Mama Maze-Mother-fringe member of Gambler's Anonymous, and was, as always, draped in her prized Harrah's Casino pullover. She still will only ride in the car with Bradley if she is allowed to place her hands over the dashboard to brace herself in case of collision.

Sandy-Cousin-Chain smoker whose hobbies include talking about smoking and doting over her three grandchildren, two of whom she suspects to be gay.

Max-Cousin-Genius engineering professor who spends five days a week working in the city to avoid spending time with his wife Sandy at their home (See above). Vows to continue working until the good lord strikes him down (See Sandy above).

Bernard-?-Not sure how he is related to me but he suffered a heart attack on the 24th, and then defied everybody's expectations by still making Christmas dinner. He loves horseradish, and will put it on anything. Reputed to suffer from: diabetes, a pacemaker, botulism, e-coli, asthma, sickle cell anemia, night sweats, mumps, shingles, multiple white tiger bites, bubonic plague, rickets, the bens, etc.

Lois-?-Bernard's sister. She monitors his numerous health problems. During desert Bernard tried to eat a slice of pie, and Lois responded by reminding him of his diabetes. Bernard ignored her, and in a fit of rage Lois wrestled the pie away from him before trying it herself and proclaiming that "its too sweet for me, but Bernard would probably like it."

Mike-cousin on my father's side-A reputed anti-Semite who spends the majority of dinner wondering how he winds up spending every Christmas with so many Jews.

Al-Uncle-Owned a convenience store that he thought would someday rival 7-11 before it went bankrupt. Has a garage filled with over 10,000 baseball cards that he purchased from his son for $25,000 in 1998. In his younger days, he was considered to be the greatest amateur bowler in the history of Jersey City, NJ. He once poured an entire pot of hot soup on an opponent during a fight.

Beattie-Aunt-Married to Uncle Al. Described by medical professionals as chronically obese. Grew up in Vienna, Austria where as a little girl she developed a lifelong love of teddy bears and fudge.

Lenny-Godfather/Family friend-retired Spanish teacher and current labor agitator for the New Jersey teacher's union. With his spare time he harbors several illegal immigrants in his home, and they repay him through cooking and yard work. He also recently bought a pontoon boat.

That was this year's lineup. The sad part is its all true. I hope this explains why I live in Virginia instead of New Jersey.


[Christmas] [Holidays] [Family] [New Jersey] [Gambler's Anonymous]

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A Massage Story with a Real Happy Ending

"Google Options Make Masseuse a Multimillionaire"

Keep studying kids. The link is below.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/12/technology/12google.html?em&ex=1195016400&en=e5d6c0dae476cfbe&ei=5087%0A

[Massage] [Masseuse] [Millionaire]

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The Modern Lawyer

The inevitable question, “What do you do?” As if reading from a script, people at almost any social gathering will move down their mental checklist and utter these four simple words right after feigning interest in your name and hometown. Because in our society one’s employment is viewed as providing an almost total insight into their personality, earning capacity, values, likes, and dislikes, the response to this seemingly innocuous inquiry will result in a label indelibly etched into the memory of all those within earshot. Members of certain vocations relish these opportunities, and stand with eyes wide and lips pursed, eagerly anticipating an opportunity to expound upon the many virtues of their chosen profession. For others, this is a moment of dread, when an otherwise pleasant conversation will become uncomfortable and tense, as you wait to see whether those with whom you are speaking will continue undeterred, simply sigh before prematurely ending the conversation, or, worse, go on an extended diatribe about how you and those like you are systematically destroying all that is good in the world.

In case you couldn’t guess, lawyers, along with anyone else who introduces themselves as a murderer, devil worshipper, or terrorist, are often on the receiving end of the tongue lashing described above. Generally, these moments present the ideal occasion to reflect upon the years of schooling, many stressful examinations, and mountains of debt accumulated in order to become part of this select class. Once the lecture has ended, there are a few moments to plead your case - i.e. that you are different, not like other lawyers, and that you really wanted to be a writer but you went to law school in the meantime - before your company disbands for the evening.

This was not how it was supposed to be. When I was growing up, being a doctor or a lawyer meant instant respect and admiration. Somewhere along the last few decades, doctors have managed to maintain their status as an honorable profession, while lawyers are regarded as ambulance chasing con artists, less concerned by the nuances of the law and the pursuit of justice than by trying to bilk every penny from powerless clients. In fact, I have repeatedly witnessed the greed and dishonesty of lawyers blamed for personal bankruptcies, the acquittal of dangerous felons, as well as vicious, drawn out divorce proceedings. Fortunately, it has been confirmed that the Titanic was sunk by an iceberg, or else there is little doubt that lawyers would have been held responsible not only for sinking the mighty vessel but also for the subsequent cinematic demise of Leonardo Dicaprio.

Can lawyers really be this bad? As with most complex issues, the answers are ambiguous at best. Surely, there are way to many of us, due in large part to the unnecessary proliferation of law schools and lax bar requirements that have made becoming an attorney more a matter of reasonable persistence than a case of tremendous ability. With the numbers crunch, lawyers unable to find meaningful work and having to repay huge financial burdens are likely more tempted to undertake cases and conduct themselves in a manner that a less desperate attorney might not, as contrary to popular belief, the average lawyer, including this one, is far from rich. Also, with this overabundance comes a sense of competition and rivalry among attorneys that does little to foster any sense of kinship that might make it easier to efficiently address the many problems facing the legal community.

In spite of these glaring deficiencies, I maintain that lawyers are really no worse than any other vocation. Look at the recent financial collapses of Enron and Worldcom, where an army of businesspeople and accountants conspired to defraud millions of people out of their hard earned pensions. Doctors have become less about healing the sick then pedaling Botox and liposuction to otherwise healthy individuals obsessed with their own vanity. Computer engineers and scientists have succeeded in creating a world of less human interaction and easier access to porn (which, I suppose some would argue is not such a bad thing). Real estate developers and builders help to turn swaths of pristine wilderness into cookie cutter duplexes and strip malls. Priests, once the essence of purity, are now at the center of investigations alleging child molestation. Yet, somehow these are the types of people who often feel that they possess the moral and intellectual superiority to condemn lawyers.

The core reason could be that whenever an atrocity is committed, the public sees the lawyer front and center answering questions in place of the accused. Therefore, even though we might not ourselves commit the appalling act, we are seen as somehow justifying it, as though carrying out our duty to represent our client to the best of our abilities makes us co-conspirators. The public still does not understand that being someone’s lawyer is not an endorsement of their views, or even a sign that you would like to have them over to your house for a fourth of July barbecue.

Let us remember that attorneys usually do not initiate lawsuits to represent themselves, but bring them on behalf of somebody else. Until we as a society can come up with a better means to settle our disputes, or possibly regain the medieval affinity for jousting, utilizing attorneys will remain the most effective method to do the job. Those individuals who continually harp about the wickedness of lawyers would probably have their objections fall on deaf ears if they ever had the chance to stage one of their patented sermons before the countless individuals who are unable to afford counsel and are defended by industrious, dedicated public employees, or the beneficiaries of the hundreds of thousands pro bono hours put in by lawyers and firms across the country.

Maybe it is telling that the main way through which I am able to extoll the virtues of my profession is not by pointing out our esteemed contributions to society, but to malign other occupations for their sins. Maybe these other groups would argue that I am overlooking all the good they contribute by stereotyping what they do and disregarding the principled majority in favor of focusing upon a couple of bad apples. Maybe, this is starting to sound a little too familiar, and you could mercifully spare me from having to spend my next night out listening to your trite and misguided rhetoric.

[Lawyer] [Vocation] [Doctor]

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Bradley's New Year's Resolutions

I will stop believing that dancing and dry humping are the same activity.

I will ensure that I no longer appear in pictures as drunk and queer (Drunk or queer maybe, but never again will I be both).

I will love myself less-in all ways.

I will love other people more, even those I loathe, who are many.

I will stop referring to myself as the the thinking man's Howie Mandel, the poor man's Zach Braff, or the white man's Marlon Wayans.

I will understand that a football stuffed in a beer scented brown paper bag is not an appropriate gift for a women, no matter how much she enjoys football and alcohol.

I will sleep less because 8 hours is the recommended amount of time to spend resting, not being awake.

I will no longer consider sex with unattractive women to be community service on par with that done by Habitat for Humanity or the Red Cross, nor will I argue that it be should be entitled to a charitable giving tax deduction.

I will recognize that lowering my belt beneath my gut so that I can use the same number of holes is not fooling anyone, and at the current rate of expansion I will soon be wearing it just above my knees.

I will not watch the Hills at 9pm Wednesdays on MTV and in so not watching I will be completely unaware of Lauren and Whitney's drudgery at Teen Vogue, the deterioration of Spencer and Heidi's relationship, and Adrianna's penchant for wearing tight, form-fitting tops.

I will downplay the contents of this list by January 2nd, and forget its existence entirely by January 4th.

[New Years] [Drunk] [The Hills] [Football] [Beer] [Zach Braff] [Howie Mandel] [Marlon Wayans] [Dry Humping]

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If a Man screams in his cubicle does it make a sound?

The notion that the cubicle is the modern day wasteland is nothing new. Whether you want to liken it to one of the chains that binds us to our own personal Platonic cavern, a cage not unlike those used to constrain animals at the zoo, or merely part of the Matrix that occupies one's thoughts as futuristic machines harvest their bodies for nutrients, it is easy to see why few embrace their tiny enclosures. I used to be one of those who despised the cube, and would frequently join in with the haters lambasting its shortcomings and citing its existence as yet another sign that corporate America loathes its employees and seeks to humiliate them whenever possible.

I often fantasized about pushing down the wall to my cubicle like in the movie Office Space, so that I could finally bask in the natural sunlight that reached everybody’s desk but mine. During other days, when my neighbor would spend hours gabbing on the phone, my day dream involved taking a sledge hammer to the partition between us and creating a breach through which I could emerge on the other side, much akin to Stephen Tyler in the Aerosmith/Run DMC video. Only instead of singing Walk This Way, I would melodically urge my boisterous co-worker to take a moment to consider the effects her unabated personal discussions have upon those in her general vicinity and refrain from such inconsiderate personal conduct during business hours.

But today, as I sit back and admire my space, I can't help but ponder my cubicle's seemingly contradictory virtues. You see, my cube is both rigid and confining, yet is still open enough to allow people to enter without knocking. My cube is continually gripped by a state of disarray, yet it remains organized enough that I can locate what I need when I need it. My cubicle looks flimsy and temporary in design, yet it is somehow sturdy enough to withstand decades of use.

In fact, I am certain that my cubicle will exist long after me, and centuries from now, when we are long gone, and space alien archeologists descend upon our world, it will be the abandoned rows of cubicles that will represent the ruins of our generation. As these futuristic Indian Jones meander from office building to office building they will try to piece together the evidence to get a sense of how we lived as a species. They'll ask the basic questions about our thoughts, behaviors, and values, not out of spite, but because they'll assume that we at least contemplated the answers.

So I can only imagine what would happen if out of the millions of candidates, the explorers were to somehow choose my cubicle as their primary excavation site. Here, they would uncover notebooks filled with drawings created during meetings, at least fifty empty bottles of Propel fitness water, and a copy of a certificate stating that I had successfully completed the company's anti-pornography training. Based on these relicts, they'd think whoever occupied the cubicle was inattentive, over-hydrated, and neutered. I think that pretty much sums it up. The company wouldn't want it any other way.

[Matrix] [Indiana Jones] [Cubicle] [Office Space]

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Another Sign of the Apocalypse

Thumbelina, billed the world's smallest horse, is the size of a cocker spaniel, and is touring the country to cheer up sick kids. If I were a sick kid, and got plopped down in front of Thumbelina, I might suggest to her owner that instead of spending all day playing Darwin and creating unbelievably small horses maybe she could instead pour her time and money into other scientific pursuits, like fighting cancer or AIDs. I mean, its great we can create really tiny horses, it is, but it just seems to me that mini-horse people could help sick kids more with something along the lines of a cure for cancer. Besides, at this rate, in ten years the tiniest horse will be microspic and little Johnny will have to wheel himself over to a microsope so he can see Thumbelina X licking herself in a petrie dish.

Just a thought.

[Horse] [Thumbelina] [Darwin]

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