Dot-free dot column today...

DEK points out the real culinary reason why I'm all excited to be back in SoCal. Actually, by emailing me that site, he pulled off the nearly impossible feat of making me ill with a picture of meat and cheese.

Oh yes, and getting your Pro Bowl linebacker shot in the ass a week before the season starts is most definitely FRAUGHT. For that matter, going to the Colorado-Colorado State period may be fraught at this point.

I'm taking on a second LSAT class Tuesday and Thursday nights. Basically it's no more preparation time but a good bit more money. Of course, when I actually sit for the LSAT in five weeks, I'll probably be so sick of the damn thing that I bomb it. OK, I don't rally think that or else I wouldn't be doing this--but if it were six more weeks I'd have my doubts.

Good '70s throwback: VH1's "I Love the '70s" is almost as good as the '80s version (though I'm wary of "I Love the '80s Strikes Back"--not that I won't watch every episode, of course).
Bad '70s throwback: Waiting in a longish line the other night to pay $2.07 per gallon for gas. At Arco, which means it was ten cents cheaped than anyone else.

What ever happened to the Macintosh apple? It used to be basically the good alternative to the horribly misnamed "red delicious" (which, to be fair, is in fact red). Now we have fuji, gala, pink lady, granny smith, and many others, but I can't remember the last time I actually saw Macintosh apples in the grocery store.

The case I'm working on might have some general interest, but obviously there are confidentiality agreements and such, so I need to be careful. Basically there were some murders in L.A. and some murders in Las Vegas, and several people including our client were convicted. We're arguing that he should get a new trial based on various errors. Specifically, we're in federal habeus proceedings (and no, I don't quite know what that means yet) for the Vegas murders. Personally, I think we should be arguing inadequate defense on the part of the original counsel based on their failure to try the "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" defense. But then I haven't actually been to law school yet, so maybe we'll leave those decisions to my boss. I'll just continue making witness lists, doing mail merges, creating databases and whatnot.

Don't forget to check out the second edition of The Average Wright anytime after 10 PDT Sunday night at The Athletic Reporter!

Finally, I was at the laundromat (or, more accurately, lavanderia) today and had the type of experience I truly hate--a possibly homeless and definitely crazy woman just started talking to me for no good reason. Do I exude some sort of vibe that says, "Good listener" and/or "Has never quite figured out how to extricate himself from conversations he doesn't want to be in"? The weirdest moments came at the beginning and end. At first she saw my Ohio Valley Greyhounds t-shirt and asked if I like greyhound races. I said no. She then said, oh, you're one of those people who just grabs a t-shirt from the laundry and puts it on. I said sure. She then says that she does that too, and then as she starts explaining further, I realize then that she's actually talking about doing a Helena Bonham-Carter from Fight Club thing where it's not actually her own laundry she takes clothes from.

Now I'm in this awkward conversation where we've both admitted to petty larceny, but which I didn't actually do, and in addition to wondering how to get out of the conversation, I'm trying to figure out if I should be worried about my clothes if I walk away to play Bust-a-Move, which I ultimately do. I come back 20 minutes later, start folding up my clothes, and the conversation continues weirdly, including a bit about her schizophrenic son's various movie-viewing habits depending on whether he's on or off his meds. Finally, I'm done, and I start to mutter "Nice talking ("listening" was tempting) to you." As I'm starting to leave she asks me if I have pets. I say no, and she's vaguely saddened. She says, "Yeah, we've got over 30 babies at home," and reaches up to her shoulder.

And as I take one last look before walking away, I realize for the first time that I have spent much of the past half hour in the laundromat talking to a disturbed woman carrying around an enormous iguana.