8 08 2008

In my short lifetime, I’ve met at least 50 lawyers. In total, I’ve liked exactly one of them: my sister in law. She’s extremely successful at it and has a work ethic that could only come with the laser-beam focus that seems to be innate in most asian people (she’s Korean) – but best of all, she doesn’t throw the fact that she’s an attorney in your face. In fact, if you didn’t think to ask, you would never know she was a lawyer. She never talks about it, never finds a way to bring it up ‘accidentally’ in conversation, and doesn’t throw shit like ‘J.D. or Esq.’ at the end of her name in emails.

This is the way all lawyers should be. In fact, this is the way most people with any amount of education should be. I once met an asshole who graduated from UMD’s business school and had the nerve to add ‘MBA’ to his name in his email signatures. I thought this was the worst thing I’d ever seen until I recently received an email from someone who had the nerve to attach ‘B.A.’ to their name. Motherfucking goddammit, unless you have a Ph.D, shut the fuck up about your goddamn academic/professional credentials.

Figure 1: Nobody cares. Get a job and shut the fuck up.

Pretty much all attorneys irk me unless they’re litigators, and the only reason I like litigators is because without them there would be no Law & Order. For those who don’t know, an attorneys are ‘people’ who spend their undergraduate careers not knowing what the fuck they want to do with their lives, so they wind up majoring in something like English, Economics, or Political Science. They graduate completely unemployable, and decide to go to law school to figure themselves out. Next, they spend three years becoming intimately familiar with the tedium of American law, taking internships at law firms that exhibit blatant displays of evil from overbilling to sexual harassment to marital infidelity (this is a favorite pastime among partners), and becoming functioning alcoholics.

Figure 2: Is your husband a lawyer? 80% odds are that he is in this picture, and you are not.

If you have a soul, you drop out of law school and wind up doing social work or joining Greenpeace. If you do not have a soul, you complete your studies and try to pass the bar. Once you pass the bar, you parade your attorney status around like a raving jackass while people who pass their medical boards to save lives get didley fucking squat. For the next 30+ years of their professional careers, 9 out of ten 10 attorneys charge $300+ per hour to file and manage insanely complicated paperwork for people that actually make an impact on the world. Fucking awesome.

The most frustrating thing about attorneys, however, isn’t their insane rates given the fact that most of what they could do could be fairly easily replaced by a robot with a DFA algorithm. Rather, it’s the level of prestige associated with being an attorney that makes absolutely no fucking sense.

Excluding the stratospheric income of some attorneys which naturally breeds kissassery from those with lower incomes, is there any true MERIT BASED justification for this prestige? There are some attorneys who have genuinely make the world a better place. Prosecutors take crooks of the streets, and defense attorneys make sure innocent people don’t get railroaded.

Figure 3: Correction – there are TWO attorneys that I like

ACLU lawyers defend the constitution (or some shit), and environmental lawyers at least pretend to try to keep nuclear waste dumps from getting put on Indian reservations. Aside from these people (who constitute a tiny minority)…lawyers are just people who have everyone by the balls by virtue of the complicated insanity of American law. They don’t save lives. They don’t build anything. They sure as hell don’t make the world a better place.

In fact, the main reason lawyers exist is to protect people from other lawyers.

Imagine that. A profession built upon getting clients to pay you to protect them from members of your own peer group. The legal profession effectively boils down to this:

1.) You and a friend each buy a machine gun
2.) You tell your friend to threaten a rich guy on the street “Gimme $10,000 or I’ll blow your head off”
3.) You then approach the rich guy and say “If you give me $500, I’ll blow his head off if he tries to kill you.”

I suppose it’s no wonder that law in the #1 gateway into the cesspool of politics. At least the world makes sense sometimes.

Figure 4: Laywer. Seriously.

Gas Prices

10 06 2008

A couple months ago, I made the conscious decision to stop driving to the greatest extent possible. This decision was motivated by the following:

  1. Spite
  2. The imminent threat of global warming
  3. Preparing for the not-so-imminent threat of gasoline rationing

I was supposed to have lunch today with an old business associate and coworker of mine all the way across town, so today was one of the few days I actually had to drive to work. It’s been about a solid month since I’ve a.) driven in rush hour traffic, and b.) filled up my gas tank…and my reintroduction to weekday traffic brought me to a particular conclusion:

Gas isn’t nearly expensive enough.

Figure 1: Now THIS might get us somewhere.

Here in DC, gas prices are hovering around $4.35/gallon for premium unleaded, and it’s definitely over $4.00 for regular pretty much everywhere. In spite of the constant uptick in fuel costs, I didn’t notice any real decrease in the volume or stupidity of traffic I encountered during either the morning or evening commutes. In fact, I’d be willing to say that traffic was even slightly worse.

Keeping yourself out of your car for an extended period of time has an interesting effect on your driving – that is, you become INSANELY aggressive when you get back behind the wheel. If you haven’t driven for a month, then you’ve been used to walking around in the fresh air and sitting on the train or bus reading and/or working while some other shmuck deals with the roads scholars, soccer moms, old people, young people, asian people, and stalematers that would otherwise be driving you insane.

Figure 2: Incubator for aggressive driving

But when that day comes that you suddenly find yourself forced away from your city-paid chauffeurs, you are plunged right back into the fray and you are not ready to deal with it like a well-adjusted human being. You drive ridiculously fast, you cut people off (either before or after giving them the finger), you run red lights, and you aim your car at child pedestrians when school buses stop. You do this because you are enraged. Half of you is pissed at the seemingly infinite stupidity of the drivers around you, and your other half is pissed at the fact that you know you don’t ordinarily have to deal with this shit. You feel like you’ve been plucked from First-Class on a British Airways flight and tossed into the No-Class section of Soul Plane, with a blond-haired blue-eyed male stewardess* calling you ‘nigger’ just for good measure.

To solve this problem, the price of gas needs to go to at LEAST $50.00/gallon. The reason it needs to go so high is because people – especially white people – are making remarkable sacrifices to continue driving as long as the price of gas increases incrementally. A cataclysmic spike is what’s needed to get people off the roads, into public transit, and out of my fucking way when I need to drive every other fortnight.

I can imagine what you’re thinking. If everyone suddenly floods public transportation, isn’t the system going to become overloaded? It will at first, but it won’t be that way for long. Why? Because the government always responds when white people are inconvenienced.

Hop on any bus or the endpoints of a subway in virtually any major city in America, and you will notice that damn near everybody around you is black or hispanic. You’ll see plenty of white folks on the train once you’re in the city center where the train is more convenient that driving – but minorities are the only people you’ll see taking public transportation when it’s LESS convenient than driving. As a result, minorities make up the vast majority of public transportation users, and the government doesn’t give a flying fuck about them. That’s why public transportation is so miserably underfunded even though so many people rely on it.

But if you spike gas up to $50.00 a gallon and even whitey is forced to give up his car, then all of a sudden Average Joe White Man is going to find himself inconvenienced by crowded, filthy, and poorly maintained trains and buses…and there’s no way that the federal and local governments are going to let blue-eyed soccer moms suffer in crowded niggeriffic subway cars.

Figure 3: Interior and exterior of a public transport vehicle once white people are forced into the system

*No, this is not a typo


23 05 2008

There are times when catching the itis can be a good thing. It’s best to get it during the holidays, Christmas and Thanksgiving in particular, when you’ve just eaten a shitload of turkey and passing out will keep you from seeing Uncle Fred flash your aunt to prove that he’s still ‘youthful and exuberant’.

Figure 1: Everybody has this uncle

The itis-induced sleep is also the best and most satisfying sleep you’ll ever get, notwithstanding the inevitable nightmares.

The rest of the time, getting the itis is a pain in the ass because you always get it at work. Almost all of us have the same daily routine: you eat a shitty low-calorie breakfast, the energy of which is completely burned off by the time you get to work. Now you’re fucking starving and will continue to starve for the next four hours. Maybe you think you’re smart and you brought a piece of fruit or some shit to stave off the hunger. You eat your banana or peach about 2 hours into the day, only to realize the damn thing just made you even hungrier.*

Lunch time rolls around 2 hours later. If you brought your own lunch, the effects of the itis will probably be limited. There’s something about homemade lunches (probably the fact that they’re smaller and aren’t filled with the semen of disaffected restaurant employees) that makes them pack less of an itis punch than the alternative: going out to get lunch.

There are two ways to go out and get lunch – you can go by yourself, or you can go with other people. If you go with other people, you can pretty much count on a full-scale itis assault because, for whatever reason, going out in groups makes you eat more food. This is likely because when you go out in groups you tend to go to nicer restaurants that serve bigger portions. If you go out by yourself, you’re prone to just go to a little deli somewhere and you’ll be relatively safe (the term ‘relatively’ is important here) as long as you don’t order the turkey sammich.

No matter what you do – dine in, dine out alone, or dine out with others, the itis is going to get you in one way or another.

Figure 2: Destiny

The form the itis takes will depend on which of the three options you picked:

1.) Dine In – if you dine in, then you open your sack lunch and scarf it down while screwing around on the computer. You may play excessively addicting games like this one or this one, or spend an inordiate amount of time on or youtube, or maybe CNN. As you eat and fuck around, you slowly lose sight of the fact that you’re at work – and you also are unaware that your desire to do anymore work for the rest of the day is being completely shattered.

Finishing your dine-in lunch is the saddest part of your day, because you realize two things: 1.) you have to stop screwing around, and 2.) you are getting sleeeeeeepy. For about the next hour, you will stare blankly at your computer screen without a single thought in your head. The only thing in your mind right now is a thin background thread telling you “do not fall asleep and bash your skull on the keyboard” and another one saying “I wish I had another sammich.”

Lucky for you, you smallness of your lunch means that a quick run up and down the stairs is probably enough to jolt you back into productivity and keep you out of trouble for another day.

2.) Dine Out Alone – this option is about as safe as the dine in option in terms of minimizing the itis. You’re not at your computer fucking around on non-business related websites, so you never get the illusion that you’re at home (which is a HUGE catalyst for bringing on the itis). Offsetting this, however, is the fact that you’re going to eat a much bigger meal with way more calories that come in the form of butter, oil, and other itis-inducing shit cooked into your meal that you don’t really even see.

Figure 3: Say goodnight, fucker.

Unlike the in-diners, this form of itis takes a little while to hit you. Chances are that you walked to your restaurant of choice, so after you eat you walk back and this gives you a little boost of energy when you get back to your desk. You sit down and start to work for awhile, but in about 20 minutes you start to notice your eyelids getting heavy. If you’re reading something, you realize that you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over again for the last 5 minutes and you have no idea what the fuck it’s about. If you’re looking at your computer, you begin hallucinating and thinking that your desktop wallpaper is a real place.

You find yourself daydreaming before long, which is almost certainly the best way to get in trouble at work. Your best option at this point is to find the cleanest bathroom in the office and take a ten minute nap, because no amount of walking or running around is going to snap you back into shape.

3.) Dine Out With Others – you’re fucked. You and your 10 officemates decide that going to P.F. Chang’s is the best idea anybody’s ever had. You order everything: water, soda, appetizers, and an entree that’d blow up the insides of a bull buffalo. This itis starts to kick in before you’re even done with your meal, and when you actually get done – you know the show is over. You look as shitty as you feel.

Large groups tend to drive or cab it to the nicer restaurants. You fall asleep on the car ride back in the most embarrassing manner possible: head cocked all the way back, mouth wide open and, if you ordered the short ribs, there is a single line of drool making its way down your chin. You are awakened by uproarious laughter (directed at you) as your officemates pull into the parking lot and realize that you’re in the back seat looking like a fucking retard.

Figure 4: White girl with Itis

The walk to the office feels like the Bataan Death March. Your legs weigh 1000 lbs each and have no muscle in them. You make it to your desk and plop down in your chair, convinced that this is where you will die. Your eyes are rolling around in your head and your mouth is still open. If someone were to walk in on this scene out of context they’d think you were performing an exorcism on yourself. The thought that you’ll be in this state for the next four hours is making you suicidal. You WILL fall asleep at your desk and you WILL get in trouble if you don’t get the hell out of there.

The lone out-diners have the option of taking a quick nap in the bathroom, but you’re way beyond that point. If you fall asleep in the bathroom you will be there for hours and both your legs will be asleep from the hips down when you wake up. This’ll set you up for a public bathroom faceplant which is about the most disgusting thing that could possibly happen to anyone. Your only viable option is the car nap: you take your ass down to your car, park in the most remote corner of the lot, and fall genuinely the fuck asleep.

Try not to let the nap last more than an hour, or your ass is getting fired.

*This is kinda like “putting in the tip” instead of having sex. In the end, it leaves both parties angrier and wishing they’d never met

Fake CEOs

8 05 2008

Quite some time ago, Stuff Educated Black People Like offered a post on Conferences (this post has since been inexplicably removed from the site). I railed lightheartedly upon this post in my now-infamous Master’s Degrees post. I can’t believe that during that tirade I failed to mention the single most offensive part of attending a motherfucking conference:

Meeting a bunch of self-proclaimed executives.

Anyone that’s ever attended any networking event of any kind has been victimized by uncountably many idiots passing out business cards that list their title as:

  1. CEO
  2. President
  3. Chairman
  4. President and CEO
  5. His Majesty and Liege Lord of All Surveyed By His Eyes

They will give themselves these titles even when they have no employees, no partners, no elected officers, no board, and (very commonly) no fucking revenue. This is what makes entrepreneurship such a giant pain in the ass – you’re bound to meet other entrepreneurs out of necessity, a good 90% of them will introduce themselves with one of the bullshit titles above, and for some reason the cops have the nerve to arrest YOU when you stab them in the eye with the free letter opener that came in your conference bag.

Figure 1: That black dude wants to kill everybody in the room

What’s amazing about this phenomenon is how ironic it is. People give themselves the CEO title in an effort to sound important, wealthy, and powerful, but at the same time they (should) know full well that anyone running around telling people they’re a CEO is the exact opposite of all of these. Real CEOs don’t make deals and connections at a fucking minority business conference, you fucking asshole. They make deals on the yacht of some rich guy named Sven who signs your $20 million contract while snorting coke out of a hookers navel.

These fake CEOs are the same ones that pull up to the club in their entry-level luxury car (BMW 3 series, Mecedes C class, Infiniti G35, Audi A4, etc.) while wearing their Banana Republic jeans-and-blazer combo in an attempt to delude themselves/others into thinking they’re wealthy…when in reality they’re just one missed paycheck away from losing their shirts and getting kicked out of their shared apartments by their greasy-haired roommates. Ironically, most chicks don’t see the reality for what it is and they actually fall for the bullshit of the fake CEO. This system of positive reinforcement is exactly why the fake CEO continues to exist and, by extension, is why my blood is always at a rolling boil.

Aside: CUFFS

As a reaction against the behavior of the Fake CEO*, I developed and currently live by a system called CUFFS – Condoning of Ubiquitous and Ferocious Financial Spite. CUFFS is a program designed exclusively for up and coming (or already-came-up) men, and serves a threefold purpose:

  1. to demonstrate that indicators of wealth are often (and usually) misleading
  2. to demonstrate that people who do not feel the need to exhibit displays of wealth may indeed be the wealthiest of all (it should be noted that certain white people, Jews, and Arabs have been doing this for decades)
  3. to promote humility among the financially successful, or those on their way to financial success

Practically speaking, CUFFS involves controlling and minimizing superficial displays of wealth and class, such as cars, clothing, gadgets, speech, and other outward facing items – so people who actively subscribe to CUFFS are said to “be wearing CUFFS**.” The oath of the CUFFSman is as follows:

  • I shall evermore shun symbols of wealth and class to the greatest extent possible, insofar as doing so does not interfere with building further wealth

The qualifying clause in the oath is important, because it permits CUFFSmen to a.) own smartphones (needed to check bidnass-related email on the go thereby building wealth), and b.) own well-appointed homes in good locations (making property more attractive to renters so the CUFFSman can accumulate multiple properties over time instead of always selling his personal residence as soon as he gets tired of it). It’s also important because it allows me to be a hypocrite and get away with it.

For those esteemed and highly principled folks looking to wear some CUFFS themselves, here are a four practical ways to get started:

1.) Start using public transportation. Hop your ass on the subway or bus and let somebody else do the driving while you spend your morning commute reading, working, or disciplining other people’s children.

Figure 2: There are at least 60 kids on this train in need of a beating

2.) Buy a shittier car. You don’t have to drive a Gremlin to wear cuffs – you just need to own a regular car that does not exude wealth. You can even buy a new car. Nearly any Honda or Toyota will suffice for those testing the waters of CUFFS. When you’re ready to dive a little deeper, pick up a used Saturn or Kia. When the bottom is in sight, grab something fucked up like an old deuce and a quarter with holes in the floor. When you finally reach the bottom of the abyss, sell your car(s) outright and start running everywhere.

Figure 3: This might be pushing it a little

3.) Sell your jewelry. Jewerly is for girls anyway, and it makes you look like a fucking asshole. With the exception of wedding rings and class rings, pile up all your precious stones/metals sell it on eBay, or stuff it in a heavy duty sock and go around town beating Fake CEOs bloody with it (Homey the Clown style) until the cops catch you. Then sell it on eBay.

Figure 4: This could, and probably should, be you

4.) Alter your dress. Don’t throw away your suits, because you’ll need them to make more money. But make sure you wear those suits as infrequently as possible. Don’t dress like a hobo; you just want to look good without wearing anything that says “I PAID $60 FOR THIS T-SHIRT!” The master CUFFSman will buy from high-end places infamous for having their pompous logo shamelessly emblazoned all over their garments (Armani is a great example), but will ONLY buy those few items that carry no indication of the designer at all. All the expense with none of the reward, and for no apparent reason. That is spite, and that is the true essence of CUFFS.

Figure 5: Again, don’t get fucking carried away

* This is also a reaction against in-your-face intellectuals and people in general who display an utter lack of humility

** ‘Wearing Cuffs’ also works on a metaphorical level for men, because subscribing to this philosophy will significantly restrain your ability to attract women, and will cost you more pussy than you could possibly even begin to imagine.


4 04 2008

You’ve been at work for nine hours. You sat at your goddamn desk the whole time doing whatever the hell it is you do for a living. You survived the pointless meetings, filling out timesheets and TPS reports, and the inane conversations with co-workers that neither of you want to participate in yet you both feel obligated to start.

You get in your car happy in the knowledge that you finally get to go home. You’ll get to cook dinner, read a little, watch some TV, exercise, and otherwise goof off. But before that happens, you know you’re going to have to deal with this:


Figure 1: MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!

If you live in any major metro area and are unfortunate enough to leave work at the height of rush hour, you are going to run into traffic and you are going to want to kill everyone within a ten mile radius. Running into traffic causes people to, for a very brief time, become students of automotive existentialism. We see the wall of brake lights and ask ourselves “why?”

I’ll goddamn motherfucking tell you why traffic is fucked up:

1.) Soccer Moms: a soccer mom is a tiny white woman who drives a Ford Expedition despite having only one or two children, and is always on the phone for no goddamn reason. She buys such a large SUV because she knows she’s a shitty driver, but instead of staying off the road or taking the bus, she prefers to cause traffic accidents anyway and insulate herself against physical harm by driving an indestructible vehicle.


Figure 2: Dangerously inconsiderate uterus-monger with her Aryan litter

If you pass by a giant SUV (that isn’t a Cadillac, because that’s us) during rush hour, you’re almost guaranteed to find it being driven by a soccer mom with a phone held against her empty head while putting on eyeshadow, doing her taxes, and reading a copy of ‘Elle’ magazine as she cluelessly runs over puppies, kittens, baby deer, and the scientist that just cured breast cancer.

2.) The Roads Scholar: this is the fucking goddamn asshole who seems to think reading a textbook, novel, or fucking newspaper is a good idea while driving. Everyone reading this has seen the fucking guy with a newspaper COMPLETELY opened to its 30″+ width on the steering wheel WHILE THE CAR IS FUCKING MOVING!!!!!


Figure 3: “Welp, at least I got to read the Style section…”

Do you really need to read the newspaper that bad, you steaming pile of wolverine shit? Is it really so hard for you to be alone with your thoughts for a few minutes instead of having to be constantly entertained by print media? Is this reliance on the ideas of others the reason you’ve hit a career plateau in your late 20s? Do us all a favor and drive your car into the side of a library.

3.) Old People: the elderly usually wait until Sunday to fuck traffic up, but every now and again they’ll come out on a weekday. When they do, it’s never pretty. This tiny old person will be pulled up with his face six inches from the steering wheel looking like he’s trying to spot a gnat on the hood. He REFUSES to drive more than 35 mph and REFUSES to get out of the passing lane.


Figure 4: My hero

I can’t be too mad at the old folks, though. There’s something heroic and even patriotic in their defiant refusal to give up their cars in spite of the overwhelming lack of sense in their continued driving. Personally, I can’t wait to be the world’s first blind 115 year old driver.

4.) Young People: with high schoolers being involved in more sports and other after school activities than ever before, more and more of them are winding up on the roads when the rest of the working public is driving home. Young drivers fall into two categories: the extremely overconfident, and the extremely underconfident.

The overconfident drivers are the ones who think driving a car in real life is like driving in a video game. You can (and must) drive as fast as you can under any conditions, and other motorists are little more than poles in their automotive slalom of death. They also try very very hard to look cool while driving. They turn the volume of their shitty Linkin Park CD all the way up, lean back as far as they can in the seat, and drive with one hand. Inevitably, they will turn a blind corner or misjudge braking distance, slamming into the back of someone’s car and causing a four hour fucking traffic jam.


Figure 5: More dangerous than the Watts Riots

While overconfident drivers are usually boys, the ranks of the underconfident drivers are filled mostly with girls. Underconfident drivers are very much like old people in that they refuse to drive over 35mph, and they’re pulled up so close to the wheel they could (and probably should) steer the car with their tits. Unlike old people, they have absolutely no clue what the fuck they’re doing. You can recognize the underconfident driver by the look of sheer terror on her face, constant and unnecessary checking of blind spots, and complete inability to parallel park.


Figure 6: Tragic Comedy

5.) Asian People: my brother claims that the ability to concentrate intensely on a single item like a laser beam that makes asians so good at academics makes them, at the same time, incredibly inept in the multi-tasking environment of driving. I’m inclined to agree with him.


Figure 7: Why bicycles were so popular in Chinese cities

This theory is backed up by The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, in that all the asians who were expert drivers were also unmitigated jackasses. If they were the typical asian overachievers or FOBs with whom we’re so familiar, FF:TD would’ve been a four minute film about a 50 car pileup in an otherwise empty parking lot featuring a bunch of confused and bespectacled asians all pretending not to be able to speak english.

6.) Stalematers: this situation happens on two-lane parkways all the fucking time. Someone who has no business in the left lane will inevitably be in the left lane. Someone goes to pass them in the right lane. Then the fucking asshole in the left lane speeds up enough not to get passed. The two continue adjusting their speed upwards until neither is willing to go any faster and they wind up hogging both lanes, side by side in an automotive stalemate at the same goddamn speed. In this infuriating game of speed limit chicken, everybody loses – especially the hundreds of angry people behind the stalematers who want to pass but physically can’t.


Figure 8: The only time Stalemating is OK

Stalemating is the reason I’ve been lobbying congress for the last ten years to let me attach a battering ram to the front of my car. So far they’ve ignored my requests. I suppose they have more important things to do, like persecuting baseball players for steroid use while the country’s fighting two wars and looking into the mouth of a recession.

Leap Year

29 02 2008

Salaried employees around the country get their thumbs stuck up their asses every four years. Why? Because you spend one more day working without getting any uptick in pay, and that basically amounts to slavery.


Figure 1: My great-great-grandfather on February 29,1876*

*probably not true

Why would I be conflicted about slavery? Because leap year is the one day that non-Black people sorta kinda get to feel what it’s like to work for jack shit, and this can be a very enlightening experience, particularly to white people**.

**I’m anticipating a number of people who may think – “but white people volunteer their time all the time. And a lot of them work for non-profits. White people enjoy working for free.” This is bullshit. First off, you get paid for working for a non-profit, and even the guy (or girl) who founded it is probably using it as a 501(c)(3) tax shelter. Secondly, volunteers may not be working for money, but they get a lot of other things in exchange – namely, bragging rights among other white people, and the opportunity to meet chicks (incidently, the latter is the same and only reason I still have a gym membership…pushups, situps, and burpees are free, and are all a real man needs. I digress.) Working for free on Leap Year is entirely different, because no one can brag about droning away in the office for eight hours working for the Man, and you’re not gonna meet any chicks because, if you work in an office, they’re probably ugly enough to qualify as walking, talking justifications of the Pro-Life movement. I may be exaggerating a little.

If Obama gets into the White House, I’m demanding February 29th be renamed Kunta Kinte Day, so people will finally realize what the Man is getting away with for one day every four years.


Figure 2: Me on my way to work this morning