Anonymous-Looking White Guys Put on Blue Shirts and Infiltrate Firm

I've long held a theory that if you are holding a clipboard and act like you know what you are doing, you can probably enter a lot of places from which you would otherwise be excluded. Shad has a similar theory involving carrying a computer monitor--it is applied in situations where you need to explain the need to park illegally. In fact I had such confidence in this theory in undergrad that I regularly parked in front of Murphy Hall on Church Street, an area that is not even close to being a legal parking spot (and that is conveniently located within a four-second walk to the front door of the J-school) with the intention of explaining that I was delivering a computer monitor if I was ever caught. Somehow I was never ticketed, which simply emboldened me. Now that I am old and wizened, I feel proud of Young Anna's audacity; I'm sure now that I wasn't ticketed because whoever was in charge--They--assumed no one would be stupid enough to park on the sidewalk in front of the building unless there was a damned good reason for it.

I digress. Here is the story: I work in a big firm, but I do recognize my coworkers. Yesterday I saw two men milling around my floor whom I did not recognize. But they were wearing blue button-down shirts, which gave me pause. They must be lawyers, right? This is the uniform of lawyer-dudes. (If my current workload lets up I am going to walk around the firm and conduct a survey of shirt colors. I'm guessing 60% blue; 30% white; 10% other.) But I was suspicious; I was not going to be tricked by the blue shirts. I conducted an investigation and eventually found seven contract lawyers locked in a room reviewing documents. (Four of the seven (57%) were wearing blue shirts.) So, they say they are contract lawyers, but I believe it is actually a cabal of blue-shirt vigilantes who are emptying all the paper trays and staplers when I'm not looking.

Senior Partners Remember Young Associate Works For Them

Shit! Here I thought I was going to be able to continue hiding in my office reviewing documents forever. In fact, I came to realize that I didn't want to do anything else. I decided I simply didn't want to do anything hard. Possibly ever again. (A therapist might say, pityingly, that this was merely an attempt to empower myself.) But then work starting coming. And coming. Suddenly I am facing a bunch of deadlines and am reporting to seven different people. I miss the old days.

It occurs to me that the definition of "mid-week" changes the longer you practice law. Right now, for example, I like to define mid-week as "sometime Thursday." But I seem to be working for an attorney who defines mid-week as "Tuesday morning." I respectfully dissent, since I know for a fact that she regularly works Saturdays, which, I think, should allow me in good faith to turn in that project on Friday morning.

To complicate matters, I apparently volunteered to host a sock puppet show at some point during a debaucherous evening a few weeks back. This of course is a story line we've seen before, with slight variations, involving me and that wondrous punch at the Red Dragon. When I got into my car the following morning, I faced one of those sobering situations where the CD player blared out of the speakers as soon as I turned the key; glancing at the passenger seat I found a black headband of unknown origin. I slowly began to remember tromping through The Wedge the night before with a couple of girlfriends, wearing these ridiculous headbands, making plans to return in one week to see how many hipsters had picked up on the trend. Pleased to have solved the headband mystery, I declined to unravel the rest of the night: the karaoke, the random acts of craftiness, the offer to host a sock puppet show one month hence. I sighed, put the headband away, turned the radio down, and drove to work. I was reminded of my obligations when an invitation was mailed in mid-April, inviting a crew of crafty puppeteers to the show.

But no fear! I have put quite a bit of thought into the sock puppet show. After considering several worthy candidates, from Chekhov to Twain (and including one of my own authorship, ultimately jettisoned and rightly so), I have decided--I think--on an ancient Greek tragedy.

Minneapolis Woman Lazily Passes On Someone Else's Poached Fish Recipe

Due to the boring state of my current affairs and a lack of imagination or energy to stir up drama in the mundane, I am reduced to posting a recipe. It's quick, easy, and elegant. I picked it up from The Minimalist in the NY Times. There's even a nifty little video.

It's possible that the main reason I enjoyed this dish is because I made it with halibut, and in my household, we thoroughly enjoy our halibut puns.

Halibut you'll never guess what I picked up at the store. I'm going to poach it in white wine and butter, just for the halibut. Go on, try it, halibut you'll like it. Etc.

Lettuce-Wrapped Fish

Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Several big leaves of romaine lettuce, Bibb lettuce or white cabbage
1 1/2 pounds thick white fish fillet (rockfish, cod, hake, snapper), in pieces about 3/4 to 1 inch thick, 1 inch wide, and 2 inches or less across
1 cup white wine, approximately
2 to 3 tablespoons butter.

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Take as many big, intact leaves of lettuce or cabbage as you have pieces of fish. With large outer leaves, cut out center veins 2 to 3 inches up from bottom of leaves, to the point where the leaf is more pliable; with inner leaves this may not be necessary. One or 2 at a time, blanch leaves in boiling water until they are tender and flexible, 30 seconds to a minute. Remove and drain on paper towels.

2. Put a piece of fish on each leaf and sprinkle with salt and pepper; fold or roll fish in leaf so edges overlap. It is not important to make a tight seal, but it is nice if package covers all the fish. When done, you can cover and refrigerate packages until ready to serve, or continue.

3. In a large, broad skillet or casserole with a cover, bring wine to a boil with butter. Reduce heat to a simmer and add fish packages. Cover and simmer until a thin-bladed knife easily penetrates fish, 5 to 10 minutes. Remove fish to a warm platter.

4. Over high heat, quickly reduce liquid in skillet; it is likely there will be more than there was when you started. When it is thickened a bit, pour over fish and serve.

Yield: 4 servings.

Minneapolis Woman Finally Creates New Music Mix

For those of you who have been wanting to gently nudge me on the topic for the past, oh, 18 months or so, you can thank joLynn for stepping up to the plate. She and Amy were over for dinner recently feasting on SPAM- and duck-stuffed game hens (this was during the--happily, short-lived--SPAM phase, wherein I invited unsuspecting friends over to dinner and served different variations of SPAM) and, toward the end of the evening, joLynn broached the sensitive subject of the unchanging playlist. Now the criticism is not totally fair--I did add about ten new songs to the existing mix in August 2007. But Franz Ferdinad and Kings of Leon, though I love them so, apparently grow old after awhile. (To some people.)

But let me tell you an unrelated and, of course in my opinion, fascinating, story. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it was true. I had to replace some dying tulips earlier this week. I pulled them out of the vase and tossed them out the back door.* It had snowed heavily that day, and the back yard was blanketed in about six inches of soft, sticky snow. I lobbed the bouquet into the air, and, mid-arc, each tulip righted itself and landed, like a lawn dart, straight up in the fresh snow. It was a beautiful, miraculous sight: it was still snowing, and the world was quiet and white except for these twelve red tulips standing perfectly straight up in the ground.

*I am not, by the way, in the habit of chucking all unwanted items into my backyard. But I do tend to occasionally toss organic matter into the snow in the belief that it will naturally decompose or get eaten by birds before spring arrives. Which really just basically indicates that I should move my compost bin to a more accessible location.

Mood Fouled By Simple Math

A couple of days ago I figured out how many days I have left to live if I grow to be as old as my great-grandparents. I've been feeling gloomy ever since.