This is so-o-o-o depressing. Starting Monday, I'm back to being just a lawyer. Ah well, some parts of it will be familiar. For example, when people want me to do something for them, they'll still have to pay. At least now they can write the checks out themselves rather than having their kids and secretaries do it. And I can send the bills out from my own office, and not have to camp out at Janik's.
The worst part is going to be keeping those infernal timesheets. When you get paid by the hour, you have to keep track of everything you do for clients and how long it took. Then there are all the hard questions, like who do you bill for bathroom breaks, etc.
Just to get back into the swing of things, I've been practicing keeping timesheets the last couple of days. It's tough making sure you write down every minute's worth of activity, but I think I'm getting back up to speed. Here are my hours for yesterday:
Coffee with Kim Kimbrough - 0.6 hours
Pack personal belongings - 1.8
Back waxing - 0.9
Phone call from N's first wife with message from N - 0.1
Review rejection letter from Bergstein - 0.2
Think about changing mind on various issues - 0.2
Review executive search listings - 0.3
Lunch with Pete Mark at Arlington Club - 1.5
Change mind - 0.1
Farewell visits with colleagues - 0.2
Phone call from N's second wife with additional instructions - 0.2
Review hate mail - 0.3
Liquor store - 0.4
Dinner at Pastini with George Passadore - 2.0
Wash and wax Vespa - 0.6
Listen to "Rigoletto" highlights - 0.4
Rehearse farewell speech with Fluffy - 0.6
Regain composure - 0.3
Trim nosehairs - 0.4
Session with gap-toothed voodoo doll - 0.5
Well, I guess this is it, bloggy. I looked into getting "emeritus" access here, so that I could continue to write about my passions, which are money and status. But that idea is going nowhere. So it's so long for now.
But I'll be back. You bastards.
Mem'ries,
Like the corners of my mind
Misty water-colored memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures,
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? could we?
Mem'ries, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it's the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember...
The way we were...
The way we were...
It's been a heckuva week. All those teary-eyed speeches about Mom and What's-His-Name. "It has been a privilege to work with him" -- I thought that was a good one on my part. Not half as much of a privilege as getting rid of him.
Well, it's time to get ready for the Inauguration. Not the public one that everybody's all clucking to get their invitations for, but the top secret one that only a few of us are going to be there for. They're going to swear Grampy in at 12:01 a.m. on New Year's in the men's locker room at Police Headquarters, and then he's going to put a helmet on and head out to Pioneer Courthouse Square to quell any rioters over there. If they start looting before midnight, Mom's going to handle it from her city car, but at 12 the cops are going to drop her off at her house and meet up with Grampy downtown. I hear the cops are planning to ask the crowd to withhold all brawling until the stroke of midnight so that their arrest and release can be handled more efficiently.
The actual swearing-in promises to be interesting. Homer Williams is going to hold the bible, and Bernie Giusto's going to administer the oath. Diane Linn's going to say a few words, but depending on the scene in the square, it may be have to be a quickie. I'm in charge of the alcohol-free refreshments, and they may let me drive the police car if things turn out to be slow.
I can't wait 'til the end of next week. It's gotten positively brutal around here.
The Christmas party (or whatever I'm supposed to call it -- the Generic P.C. Year-End Holiday) was a disaster. I told V. it was a bad idea, but she insisted we do a "secret Santa" gift exchange again. Last year she got a mirror from Twist in the deal, and I guess she figured somebody would go all out this time for her big send-off (which goes on and on, BTW).
Anyway, the trouble started when the Scone opened up his present, and it was a bottle of paraquat and a leash. E. snickered so hard that egg nog shot out his nose, which drew some pretty icy stares from the hapless recipient of that gift. As if he weren't already in the major downer mode. He kind of misted up and went back to packing his banker's boxes.
Big Pipe got a subscription to Penthouse, which was o.k., but then the Boss opens hers and it's a $20 gift card from Jiffy Lube. At which point she launches into her speech about moving I-5, which of course leads to the whole Legacy Thing, and by this time everybody's looking to get over to the V.Q. as fast as possible to start pounding some serious whiskey.
I tell you, I'm looking forward to my six months off.
Another glowing tribute for me on the front page of the paper today. The whole country is debating what my legacy will be; it's good to see the media finally catching on to the big story of the year. Any day now, the phone will ring and it will be The New York Times.
The poor dears, they left so much out, though. They said nothing about my brilliant plan to put toll booths on the Willamette River bridges, or the way I fought so hard for Homer, and his shining condo towers and aerial tram that Portlanders love so dearly. Not a word about the Convention Center expansion, which is some of the smartest public money I ever spent. They forgot to give me my due for the streetcar -- the revolutionary mass transit that's slower than walking. And what about all those years I carried water around here for Neil, the most powerful visionary of them all?
They did say one thing that tickled me no end. That sweetie Bridget Barton is quoted as saying that I turned Portland into "a quasi-New York-style, urban center." Oooh, Bridget, bless your little Lake Oswego, BMW-driving heart. That kind of talk gets me hotter than a Women's Half-Yearly Sale.
Ah me, it's not the last time they'll be writing me up. They don't realize that I have no intention of retiring. Already I'm making plans to sit with that nice Diana G. on the Art Committee for the South Waterfront. You know those $1 million totem poles we bought for Jameson Square in the Pearl? I'm going to make sure we don't make the same mistake again. Those colors are all wrong. And when you put a credit card in the Euro parking machines down there, they're going to play "It's a Small World After All."
