One of the longest relationships I've been in is also one of the most abusive. There are some incredible moments mixed in amongst the angst and tears, but in general, it is a total beat down that puts my my self esteem in peril. But after each round, I find myself saying "Golf, I wish I could quit you." When I was asked to play in the South By Southwest Golf Tournament this year, I jumped at the chance. But as the day of the event got closer, I stalled finishing my registration and tried to think if there was a creative way to back out. I love *the idea* of an afternoon on the links, but in reality often find it to be an afternoon of wallowing in self pity as I trudge into the rough and sand traps looking for yet another errant shot.

So when the morning rolled around, and the insanity of SXSW had caught up with my immune system and sent me into a pretty decent allergic reaction to the storm system of urban hipsters smoking hand rolled cigarettes on the streets, I though that I perhaps had an out.  But, not wanting to miss out on the chance that "things would be different this time" I went back to my tormentor with my hat in hand.  The first three holes were just what I remembered: hooked tee shot, sliced fairway wood, divot exploding 8-iron, faster-than-I-though greens.... repeat.

But then, just as I had resigned myself to being the course's whipping boy for the day, it happened.

*Plink!*

My tee shot launched itself over 260 years down the dead center of the fairway.  The rest of the guys in the foursome give me an awkward collection of fist bumps, high fives, and the very strange in between fist/hand. There was talk of me sandbagging them on the first few holes. I was feeling good.  Especially, because I hadn't swung a golf club in about 18 months.  The rest of the day was a mixed bag of shots, some more wonderful and some more awful. But, there were enough good shots that made it look like I knew what I was doing. Just enough to have me looking for another chance to deepen my abusive relationship with the sport of Golf.

Last fall, I was struggling with finding some tangible motivation for hitting the gym hard. Then the fiasco with the TSA and the body scan machines kicked in.  So, on the chance that I would be selected for a random full body pat down, I hit the gym hard. Today it happened.

And it wasn’t that random.

Expecting the cab out to JFK to take a long time because of morning traffic, I left earlier than I normally would.  And perhaps that is the reason that we hit no traffic.  Arriving at JFK a full hour ahead of my flight’s boarding time, I was feeling adventurous and a tad bit snarky.  When I was pulled out of line for the full body scanner (which I have done a million times, no problem) I decided it was time to see the fruits of my gym regimen.

“I’m opting out.”

“Really? You want a full body pat down?” The TSA women looked at me and asked.

“Yes I do.”

“Male assist!” she barked out with a slight snarl.

Then, all the sweat in the gym paid off.  Two male TSA agents, that I have no doubt played defensive end earlier in their life, looked at each other, back at me, and then back at each other. Saying nothing to each other, they each put out their right fist in front of them and locked eyes.

“One, two, three...” and they began a best 2 out of 3 match of rock-paper-scissor.

My morning, no, my week, was made in that exact moment.  Two huge TSA agents farkling over who had to pat me down.  The winner, raised his hands in the air, did a little dance, and went back to sitting around.  The loser, looking like someone just told him that he had to go on a diet, wandered over and with sad eyes and gave me the full treatment, blue gloves and all.

Moral of the story for the general public: the TSA hates patting you down as much as you hate being patted down.

Moral of the story for the TSA: if you keep entertaining me like this each time, I’m going to keep opting out

To say that I am goal oriented would be an understatement of epic proportions.  If I don't have some kind of bigger objective in mind, I tend to lose interest and my motivation stalls.  Recently, I have been in search of the bigger motivation for going to the gym.  At a certain point, the sacrifice of early mornings in the gym outweighed the hint of vanity that keep me going.  Especially going into the winter season in New York City. My aspirational six pack abs and rippling biceps probably would not make many public appearances when the snow is pilling up and it's below freezing outside. But this week, while traveling for the holiday, I found my new motivation for hitting the gym hard when I get home. The potential of a TSA pat down.  I have a pretty decent amount of traveling coming up between now and the end of the year, and the chances are pretty good that it is going to happen to me.  So, when those blue latex gloves gingerly makes their way across my chest and then up my inner thigh until it "meets the resistance," the last thing I want is Officer Smith judging me for finishing the turkey leg and that second helping of stuffing on Thanksgiving day.

Hoping to get to second base with the TSA: my new motivation for going to the gym.

The Social Network only came out this past weekend, but alarming statistics have begun pouring in from legal firms located near Ivy League schools.  This huge spike in inbound document requests likely stems from the fact that the geniuses of each campus were just introduced to the term "Lawyer Up." Rewind to just last week and picture this: 3 roommates in a dorm room, beers in hand, Dorito dust caking their fingers, all attention focused on their whiteboard.  On the white board is an idea that has the potential to change their lives and the world for forever and for good. The toast themselves, their idea, and the friendship they've enjoyed that led to this discovery and they then set about making it happen.

But, this week, the week after The Social Network, things have looked different.  Still roommates, beers, Dorito-dusted fingers, and a white board, but the beers are untouched and the white board is blank.  (The Doritos still dusting the room, you can't get rid of the Doritos.) The conversation is cagy and the big idea, that is right in front of them, is yet completed.  You see, there are also 3 lawyers in the room.  Each has advised their client to not say anything but just observe what the other "co-founders" might do next.  Each lawyer has a drafted LLC, LP, buy-sell, and golden handcuff agreement in their leather folio waiting for the moment that genius happens and their client becomes the next Zuckerberg.

Across the nation, Lawyering Up is finally giving the excess of law school graduates something to do after graduation. The daycare for mid-twenties something that many law schools have become truly has prepared this new crop of opportunistic "next big things." Mimicking Justin Timberlake, they're taking their geek friends to clubs and reminding them that a million dollars isn't interesting as they inviting their cute paralegal friends to join the party.  With pizzazz and gusto that their litigation class taught them, they're declaring "this is our time!" as they order another round of shots.  Passing the bar has a whole new meaning for these hangers-on to these soon to be 'accidental millionaires.'

So, if you have an amazing idea, the first thing you need to do is not work to make it a reality, no, you need to get yourself some representation.  Don't be the Winklevosses of this story, be the guy that has suited men falling behind him as he wanders the computer lab.  Take a queue from the movie that defines your generation, get out there with your whiteboard and Lawyer Up.

Excited about being up and showered and ready to kick start this week before my alarm had even gone off, I quickly grabbed a little breakfast to take with me on my walk to the office this morning at 6:15. I quietly grabbed a bagel and silently spread on some peanut butter and wrapped it up in a paper towel, ready to go. It was shortly there after that I found out that our jar of Peanut Butter looks a lot like our jar of Curry Paste, but Curry Paste doesn't taste that great on a bagel.