Finally

11:14 p.m.

Man, what the hell, everyone? These days it seems like every time I get in the mood to write an entry I go in and the servers are full. You guys need to quit thinking that your lives are more important than mine. Especially those of you that keep writing two sentence entries about how you hate your parents and nobody understands that the reason you wear your fake vampire teeth is to express your individuality with your friends Gus "Nikkolai" Jenkins and Linda "Dark Mistress Isabella" Goldbergh at your late night role playing games in your garage (AKA "The PainKeep").

Cut that shit out.

So I ended up paying my ticket. You'll understand once I tell this story. I caught my law professor before class because I wanted to ask him what I could expect by contesting that stupid thing in court. See, I've never actually been to court before, and I wasn't totally sure what I was supposed to do.

Prof: Well, okay, it sounds like you've got good grounds to contest this ticket so long as you've got a fair court to hear it in. Which pretty much leads me into this question: Did you get this ticket here?
Lee: No, I wouldn't dream of contesting it if I got it here, what with all the horror stories I've heard.
Prof: Okay, well, then, let's see.....as long as you didn't get it here, or....was it Madisonville?
Lee: Uh....well....yeah, it was.
Prof: Pay it.
Lee: Wha-?
Prof: Come see me after class.

So I check in once class is over and he tells me we need to go to his office. My first thought is that he's talking about his law office clear on the other side of town (he teaches at A&M because he loves this school - in actuality he's a full-fledged lawyer with his own local firm here and he practices pretty much all over this county where need be), but he assures me that he can show me why I need to pay my ticket from his teaching office on campus.

So we head up to his office and he pulls out this rolodex and flips straight to the number of a certain Judge Ruth Closs - the judge on my ticket - of the Madisonville Municipal Court. He dials the number, explaining to me that "she ought to be in recess at about this time" and then puts the phone on speaker so I can hear everything, signalling for me to keep my mouth shut. After a quick talk with her secretary, we're connected to the Head Honcho herself.

Judge: Keith, what do you want?
Prof: Judge Closs, this should only take a minute - I had a student in my class today tell me that he got a speeding ticket in your jurisdiction and was wondering what he should do about-
Judge: Did you tell him to pay it?
Prof: Well, now, hold on, hear me out - I think he may have a genuine case to contest. *begins telling her the details of my story - gets to the part where I get a ticket for going 56 MPH in a 55 MPH zone*
Judge: So he got a ticket for going one mile over? If you ask me, that was just one of our officers doing him a favor. The odds are good that he was going faster than that.
Lee: *mouthing* Holy shit.
Judge: For the sake of argument, who was the officer?
Lee: *writes name of officer quickly*
Prof: Officer Nees.
Judge: That's a good officer, and he has a good track record for showing up to testify in ticket cases - I'm sorry, Keith, but if he comes I'm going to side with him. And even if he doesn't, I have a hard time believing that another one of these A&M students passing through our town wasn't speeding. Tell this kid to pay it. I really don't need any more of my time wasted with these things.

And this is why I wrote a $65 check the very next day and mailed it to Judge Closs. Somehow having the judge tell me I was going to lose before I even stepped into her courtroom was a pretty good motivator.

But I learned a valuable lesson. I'm never entering Madisonville again for as long as I live. I'm going around it. You think I'm joking. I'm not - I will fucking cicumvent that shit.

Okay, let's get off this subject. I'm still sore.

Get this: I am now the proud owner of a badass Nikon N2000 SLR camera with a 50 mm lens and flash attachment. Oh, yeah. It's a way sweet camera. While I was home my dad just whipped it out of his closet and told me I could have it because he hasn't used it in years and never intends to again.

I already drained one roll of film just taking pictures of Sara and Amy and Ryan as we all hung out in my room. I have to apologize for the fact that Sara and Amy aren't on my cast page - I kept waiting to get pictures of them before I put them up there. Now that I have roughtly eleventy billion thanks to my photographic spazz-fest, I'll have those two up here just as soon as the development finishes up.

And now, to answer email questions:

"Lee, what music are you listening to these days?"

I'm glad you asked. As we speak I happen to be jamming out to Dr. Dre's epic masterpiece, "What's the Difference?" In addition I've been raising the roof to "Good Times" by Chic, "Oakland Blackouts" by Hieroglyphics, and "Roll it Up" by Crystal Method. Unless I'm in my car, in which case I've been raving to Trance Nation Volume 4 - a two-disc compilation of fine, classy techno - for over a week.

"Lee, why don't you wear contacts?"

I have this thing about shoving my finger in my eye. Nah, not really. To be honest, I wear glasses because I feel like they're a lot less hassle, and I've had them for so long that I almost think I look kind of stupid without them. True, the ladies don't get an unobstructed view of my crotch-tinglifying green eyes, but I haven't exactly been getting a lot of complaints about my eye-coverings, so I don't see myself changing my ways in the near future.

"How did you learn to write so good?"

Well. You meant to say, "How did you learn to write so well?" The answer is simple. I was schooled in the trade by a troupe of rogue novel-writing gypsies.

"I'm Canadian and I didn't see you when you came to visit our fine country! How dare you ignore me!"

Sorry about that. I swear, I meant to drop by. But you know, things got away from me and next thing I knew it was just really late and it killed me to leave all those ladies alone at such an ungodly hour. I hope you can forgive me and still find it in your heart to invite me to your treehouse birthday party. I'll bring root beer and a family-friendly pornographic video - no penetration shots. I totally pinky promise.

I hope that answers all the questions I've received. I find it sort of awkward to get questions in my email from people reading a web page that's only about my stupid life, but if you guys really want to know this shit, I guess I can see no reason to deny my readers the information. If anyone ever wants to know anymore of my deep, dark secrets, feel free to drop me a line. As long as the question has nothing to do with my awe-inspiring apparatus, I'll probably answer it here.

I'll let you come to your own conclusions what apparatus I'm talking about.

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