Sentence of Dave Inspires Me, Alternatively Titled "My Earliest Appearances in Court"

Dave of Sentence of Dave wrote two recent Davish posts about his son's speeding tickets and subsequent court appearance, including an aside that "Alex should be thankful that he has a supportive father who accompanied him to court" just to prove that Dave wrote it.  This inspired today's post.

Almost 30 years ago I spent a summer in the Burg living with rootsy, Nelson, and Juan Moritz on Braxton Court.  This confederacy of dunces encountered a comedy of errors including broken pipes, shower fungus, and a misunderstanding of when the co-eds from whom we sublet the place expected us to be out.  But we managed to eke out some fun along the way.

I used Hoopy's name to get a job working at the Short Stop Cafe.  I think I made it through three shifts before I was fired.  I misread the calendar and showed up for a dinner shift when I was supposed to work a lunch.  The manager said "We have a policy here, no show, no call, no job."  I replied without skipping a beat, naturally, "No shit." and handed him my apron and Shortstop polo shirt.  I'm still bad at calendars but I haven't been fired since.

I was not phased by this turn of events.  I knew I wasn't cut out for the waitering life, with its formalities and expectations like courtesy and politeness.  I was too sick and rude to wait.

Shortly afterwards, I saw a sign at Paul's Deli advertising an opening for a delivery driver.  This seemed like a good fit.  I like to drive, it involved minimal customer interaction, I got a free meal on each shift, the commute was about 250 feet, and I could smoke cigarettes on the job.  It suited my 21-year-old lifestyle to a T.

Except for the part about the cops.  Williamsburg is crawling with them.  Campus Police, Colonial Williamsburg Police, Ford's Colony Police, Kingsmill Police, Williamsburg Police, James City County Police, State Troopers, all of them looking to pull over a young guy in a Japanese car with NJ plates driving 6 to 9 MPH over the limit.  All this is to say I had a lot of interactions with the local constabulary.  In these situations I would point to the pile of pizza and sandwiches in the passenger seat, explain that I deliver for Paul's, and occasionally they would let me off with a warning.  Or they might give me a ticket for improper equipment, a misdemeanor that doesn't put points on your license.  About half the time they would give me a speeding ticket for 5-9 MPH over the limit (no matter how fast I was really going).

I couldn't afford the points and resulting insurance hike so I would put on a jacket and tie, take the ticket to court and beg the judge for mercy.  Sometimes the cop wouldn't show up so the judge had to let me go scot-free.  Other times the judge would knock the ticket down to improper equipment, maybe they liked Paul's French dip (truly a hidden gem of a sandwich).  Once I negotiated with the prosecutor before the proceedings started and walked out with improper equipment instead of speeding.

My favorite courtroom appearance, to this day, arose from such a situation.  I was driving on Route 60 towards the Outlets and the myriad hotels, motels, and mobile estates out that way.  I made this run a million times and knew every crack and pothole in the road.  I also knew where the 25 MPH zone ended and the 40 MPH zone began.  I was cruising along at about 30 MPH in the 25, and once I was within sight of the 40 MPH sign I sped up.  Almost instantly, out of a shitty little hidey-hole tucked twixt two shrubberies popped Sneaky Pete.  I looked down, saw I was doing about 37 MPH, and pulled over immediately.

Radio off, interior light on, window down, rearview tilted up so I didn't get blinded by the coplights, hands on the wheel.  A Statie rolled up, a young guy.  He gave me permission to get my documents from the glove box, asked how fast I was going, and I told him "37 MPH because I could see the 40 MPH sign" and gave him my usual song and dance about Paul's.  He appreciated my honesty so he was honest too.  "It's the end of the month and I need to make my number.  You've been straight with me so if you come to court I'll tell the judge you were cooperative so he might reduce the fine."  This is why people hate the regulatory state but I didn't get into that right then and there, instead I took what the defense gave me and checked down to "Thank you sir."  After we exchanged the relevant paperwork I went back about my business with the popcorn shrimp and hot Hollies.

For whatever reason I had to appear at the courthouse in Yorktown.  The judge was straight out of central casting, a Southern fried take-no-bullshit sumbitch like Fred Gwynne in "My Cousin Vinny" and he looked like the judge from "Air Bud."  The entire proceeding irritated him and he had complete disdain for most of the lawbreakers who came before him.  He threw the figurative book at almost everyone.  Almost.

I got there a little bit before the appointed time, and that was a stupid move--this court also has jurisdiction over maritime issues so I had to sit through an hour of boating and crabbing shenanigans.  And they really were shenanigans.  In the maritime session, a Vietnamese guy tried to fight a ticket for taking some undersized crabs.  The judge lit into him, "This is whyyyyeh we don't have enough cray-yibs innymore!  Becuz pyeople lahk yeeeew are tayehkin' unnersahzed cray-yibs en overcrabbin' the bay!"  The defendant couldn't follow what was going on and barely managed to say anything in English in response.  The judge yelled some more and hit him with a $750 fine.

Very next guy up was Jimmy Joe Jim Bob John from Croaker or Norge or whatever.  The cop explained the facts--same as the previous guy, except he had two coolers full of too-small crabs.  The defendant was incensed.  "Judge" he said, "Ah've bin crabbin the bay since ah wiz knee-hah to a grasshopper en ah've nivver bin tickitted fer sumpin lahk this!!"  I swear to god he said knee-high to a grasshopper.  The judge was suddenly accommodating and said "Sir, ah unnerstan how yew fee-yil, buuht the sitchy-ation here is bay-yid.  Pyeople are overcrabbin the bay!  An if yew keep takin 'em fore they're ole nuff tuh reeper-duce, sum day we wone have inny lift!"  Jimmy Joe Jim Bob John adjusted his mesh baseball hat, put his hands on his hips, and screwed up his face as if to say "Ah cay-yint argue with tha-yit."  The judge turned him out with a $250 fine and an admonishment to consider future generations of crabbers.

White privilege is real.

Eventually they got to the landlubber moving violations.  The defendants were called based on the cop who caught them, so that each cop worked through all his criminals in one batch, allowing him to promptly get back to eating donuts and giving himself testicular cancer with the radar gun.  The judge demolished everyone, he didn't want to hear anyone's excuses or stories about anything until a pretty little girl went to the defendant's table for a ticket written by Sneaky Pete, the same guy who wrote mine.  She was accompanied by a guy who I assumed was her father until he entered an appearance as Sam Slickness from Dewey Cheatam & Howe.  The cop explained that he pulled her over making a U-turn at a stoplight that had a "NO U-TURN" sign.  Open and shut, right?  No!  Slickness did his dizzle.

First he asked the cop if the little girl had any other moving violations on her license.  She didn't.  Then he asked if she was polite when pulled over.  She was.  Then he asked if any drugs or alcohol were involved.  They weren't.  Slickness then said "Yer onner, as you can see, li'l Suzy Sweetness nivvir did innythin lahk this before, she was pulaht to the ossifer, en there are no extenyatin circumstances with the incident.  She jus gradjeeated from Yorktown Hah School, she's about to be a frishmin at the University of Virginia, en her daddy, Poppa Sweetness, is on the town council here in Yorktown."

The judge leaned forward and grinned like the Cheshire cat.  "Li'l Suzy Sweetness, dew yew promise yer nivvir gonna do this agin?"  Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth as she coyly relied "Yessir" and batted her eyes.  "Aw-rite thin" purred the old judge, "ahm givin yew a ticket for im-proper equipmin.  Run along now, en ah don't wanna see yew in my courtroom agin," smiling the whole time.

Then they called me.

Sneaky Pete explained the facts as he recalled them and based on his notes, ending with 37 MPH in a 25.  Then I did Slickness's dizzle.

I did not know anything about precedent or stare decisis, but I figured I should say what the lawyer just said, adapting to my facts of course.  The only differences were (1) I was within sight of a sign that allowed me to do what I was doing, and (2) my daddy wasn't on the town council here in Yorktown.  I assumed there was no way he couldn't let me off if I did what the lawyer did, otherwise it would be clear that the only reason Suzy Sweetness skated was her father's position on the town council.

So I asked the cop if I had any other moving violations on my license.  I didn't (thanks to all those "improper equipment" trips to court previously).  I asked if I was polite when pulled over.  I was.  I asked if any drugs or alcohol were involved.  They weren't.  I asked if I was within sight of a 40 MPH sign when the cop hit me with the radar gun.  I was.

Then I said to the judge "Your honor, I have no other moving violations on my record, I was polite when pulled over, and there are no extenuating circumstances with the incident.  I was doing 37 MPH because I was within sight of the 40 MPH sign, and I was speeding up in anticipation of entering the 40 MPH zone.  I deliver food for Paul's Deli so I'm familiar with where the different zones begin and end.  I'm about to be a senior at the College of William & Mary, and I promise I'm never going to do this again."

The judge was livid.  He saw exactly what I was doing, and exactly why he couldn't throw the book at me.  He leaned forward and through clenched teeth asked me "Suuun, did yew say yer a stewdin ay-it the laaaw skoo-wul?"

"No sir" I replied, "I'm just an undergrad delivering pizza to pay some bills."

He could've spit nails. "Ahm fahnin yew fer im-proper equipmin, yew be-yin the im-proper equipmin!!  En ah don't ever wanna see yew in mah courtroom agin!!"  Then he banged his gavel.

Some of the poor slobs waiting their turn before this hanging judge gasped.  One or two cheered a bit, there was even a brief smattering of clapping.  I left the courtroom to pay my fine and a middle-aged woman ran after me.  She caught up to me and panted, "That was incredible, how did you do that?"  I replied "I just said what the lawyer right before me said, I figured if it worked for him it should work for me."  Stunned, she smiled and went back into the courtroom.  I like to think that everyone else followed my lead and went home with im-proper equipmin fines too. 

Other Paul Newman Things I'd Rather Have Than Paul Newman's Paul Newman

Paul Newman's Rolex "Paul Newman" Daytona sold last week for $17,752,500, making it the most expensive watch ever. This was surprising in horological circles. The fact that this was Paul Newman's Paul Newman was cool, as was the full back story, but this is a lot for a watch that was unloved for decades, and it wasn't a limited edition from the Holy Trinity of Swiss watches. My father-in-law has one for God's sake! If you want to buy one, read this first.

Anyway, $17,752,500 is a lot of scratch. I can think of a lot of Paul Newman's other stuff that I'd rather have if I had that kind of money.

For example, Adam Carolla (not Toyota Corolla) bought Paul Newman's 1979 Porsche 935 for $4.4 million. I'd rather have Paul Newman's 935 and $13,352,500 than Paul Newman's Paul Newman.

Paul Newman's house is on the market for $5.5 million. I'd rather have Paul Newman's house and $12,252,500 than Paul Newman's Paul Newman.

Paul Newman's Organic Italian Salad Dressing is $2.99 at Target. I'd rather have Paul Newman's Organic Italian Salad Dressing and $17,752,497.01 than Paul Newman's Paul Newman.

After all, as cool as Paul Newman is I bet Steve McQueen could whoop his head.

Untitled . . . or Monkey Wrench, Whichever

Gheorgheness occurring is worth celebrating these days, what with some decidedly un-gheorghey people barking most loudly.

Dave Grohl did a cool thing, one which probably didn't require a large degree of skin off his back, but (a) plenty of folks in his position don't do that and (b) it was still very kind and very thoughtful.

Personal backstory: I don't boycott many things in my life, in part because I enjoy a lot of stuff and in part because I don't have the will power to see it through.  But I boycotted Dave Grohl for a while.

I formally abstained from the Wendy's on Lee Highway in Arlington when I was living with Rob (when he boycotted Best Buy).  They mangled every drive-thru order, just total and complete ineptitude.  Never to my advantage.  I let them off the hook in 1996, and on the very first run-through they forgot my order of chili.  I don't eat much fast food these days, but since that night that particular Wendy's has had a lifetime ban.

I have consistently forbidden myself to frequent Paul's Deli in Williamsburg, Virginia since 1989. Our fraternity was banned from entering for a semester for throwing snowballs at the place during an inter-frat pelting one snowstorm in late '88, my freshman year. Banned in a really heavy-handed manner by the owner, George.  Then he proclaimed in the spring that we were once again allowed to resume spending our limited funds at his establishment.  Didn't go over well.

A huge group of our gang rolled into Paul's one afternoon.  George was all smiles, very welcoming.  Everyone lined up and ordered sandwiches one by one, and ordered some pitchers.  The sandwiches were being made.  The pitchers were all poured.  And just as it was time to pay, one of our most smart-assed brethren said for all to hear, "Eh . . . let's go over to College [the adjacent, rival deli]."  Mass exodus.  Permanent ban of our fraternity!

The permanence of that ban was severely tested.  George forgot about it after some years.  Meanwhile, some of our less-imbued fratres caved very early.  Others over time.  I have never purchased food or drink there since, and although I don't really care at all, I'll go ahead and take advantage of the opportunity to mockingly question any of our vintage who do.

Worth noting that George bought the College Delly some years back.  Point totally moot at this point.  But still . . .

In 1997 or 1998, I was living in Arlington, fairly newly married.  Sitting on the couch and watching Kilborn interview Dave Grohl on the "Daily Show" prequel.  Kilborn asked Grohl what kind of music he listened to, other than that which he created.

Out of nowhere, utterly unprovoked, Dave Grohl responds:

"Why, what do you listen to, Craig?  Bruce Springsteen?  because if he's the Boss, then I quit!"

I remember shouting angrily and shaking my fist -- with no one around.  Always a bad sign.

That was it.  The boycott was on.  I told Evan and he would have boycotted Grohl and the Foo Fighters as well, if he had been otherwise interested in that band at all.

That ban lasted for a few years.  Signifying nothing, of course, but it was the principle.  Those years were the apex of my chronic CD-buying time, and I steadfastly refused to buy their album.

Sometime after acknowledging that "My Hero" and "Everlong" were great tunes and I was only impacting myself with the ban, I later broke down and eventually bought The Colour and the Shape.

Used.  Ha ha!!  Take that, Dave Grohl!

Over time, of course, Mr. Grohl cemented his reputation as a top-shelf music composer and performer, as well as an all-around great dude.  No more boycotts.

Makes you think, though -- did my punishment help turn him into who he is today?  One has to wonder.

Fast forward to now.  Among a number of other cool things, Dave Grohl reached out to a mourning fan and did this:

Dave Grohl Sends Heartfelt Note to Husband of Fan who Died of Cancer 

The band is expected to dedicate 'Everlong' to his late wife at Glastonbury.

Dave Grohl has a big heart, as he proved yet again by sending a touching note to the husband of UK Foo Fighters fan who recently died of cancer. 

 The woman, Laura Plane, suffered an eight-year battle with the disease before she died last year. She and her husband Jon were huge Foo fans. When they were married, they danced to the band’s song “Everlong” for their first dance and they had planned to attend a Foo Fighters gig to celebrate their 10th anniversary. But Laura was too ill to make the show. So her husband posted a note to the band to ask them to play “Everlong” at Glastonbury festival in her honor. 

After the post went viral Grohl wrote a response to Plane on a piece of scrap paper: “Jon – Dave here,” he wrote. “Heard about Laura. Sending you much love and hope and light. Will be thinking of you at Glasto. Take care mate.”

Full article here.

Kudos to Dave Grohl and the gheorgheness he brings on a pretty routine basis.

Immortalized in Meat

This Friday night, the William & Mary Alumni Association will be having their annual fundraising auction, which they alternate yearly between Washington DC and New York City.  Given DC's ongoing sharknado it's a good thing that this year's shindig is in NYC at Tom Colicchio's Riverpark restaurant.  Mrs. Marls and I have been the last few years and it's always a good time, especially as you try get your money's worth at the open bar without puking on the shoes of the school president.  If any G:TB'ers or FOG:TB are going to be in or around NYC on Friday, I highly recommend it.

One of the highlights of this year's live auction is an item that the Teej mentioned to me in an email today.  Paul's Deli, right across from the William & Mary campus, Zman's former employer, and a favorite dining spot of many not named Whitney, donated the right to name a sandwich for life.  

That's right folks, you can now immortalize yourself, someone else, or something in meat and cheese.  I say immortalize because I sincerely doubt that George will be checking the national obituaries in order to revise the menu board.   They had this item on the block last year as well and it went for over $10 grand.  Unfortunately, Mrs. Marls and I are not in the right tax bracket to be dropping 5 figures on such frivolity, but it can't stop one from considering the possibilities...