Introduction

So, here I am with my brand-new ankle bracelet. I feel like a piece of livestock, but when I consider the alternative - 60 more days in the can - I think I came away pretty nicely.

Why, you ask, was this thing strapped to me earlier this afternoon? Because I earned it. How? About 2 years ago I apparently decided to take off in my car while hammered off my ass, and got pinched shortly thereafter (making it 2 for 2 within 9 months... not real smart). I blame nobody except myself for that action and I have no complaints about the punishment I received. Most importantly, nobody got hurt and nothing was destroyed. A very good attorney was enriched to the tune of several thousand dollars, the city of __________ in __________ took another couple grand off of me for "improvement" fees (believe me, they do need it), and on top of that I actually had to pay Sheriff __________ USD 1,440 to go to jail for 60 days. That particular experience was quite unpleasant (I may get into the details of it later) and is what makes me happy that I am here now instead of back there.

Why am I required to spend another 60 days in pseudo-confinement, you ask? It stems from a counseling requirement that they court imposed on me. I somehow got off with an assignment for 65 hours of brainwashing... er, counseling, which is apparently the minimum number of hours necessary for my profile (i.e., being a dumbass twice within a year, each time being above a certain BAC). While that may not sound like a lot, it seems to take close to a year to complete and I wasn't about to pass up a plum job in __________, one of the most awesome cities in the world, when I could take a shot at convincing the judge that I could do those hours over there. Apparently I can be pretty convincing sometimes, because he bought it and let me leave. However, once I found out that the rest of the world (meaning those countries not America) doesn't look at a DUI the same way as the powers that be (and their corporate associates) here do, I realized I was in a bit of a pickle. No hospital, psych ward, psychiatrist, or anyone else in __________ could believe that I had to follow that particular program. It wasn't a matter of cost because I was willing and able to pay for it (all ~two thousand bucks of it), but rather a matter of incredulity on the potential treatment providers' part. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, had heard of anything like it and they weren't willing to go along with some agency's program they had never heard of because they thought it was complete bullshit and would do no good for the patient.

I wasn't about to leave when I was right in the middle of doing large international corporate finance deals at __________ and developing my own client base, so I tried a few tactics. I postponed deadlines, wheedled minor changes in terms, and offered explanations as to why it was troublesome for me to stick to the program as laid down by the court. Some of these motions succeeded; more failed. Flexibility on an individual case-by-case basis is apparently not in the cards in that particular court. After it became clear to both sides that there was no way to follow the letter of the requirements while overseas, the Man put out a piece of paper with my name on it. The title of this document was "Warrant of Arrest".

I only heard about that from __________, an associate of mine who happens to be the Man too (no further indentifying details will be provided). When one calls up the front desk of the court, they don't mention that they want one's ass on a silver platter, even if asked directly. The information I had indicated that I would be clapped in irons the moment they ran my passport through the computer at immigration when I re-entered the country. That particular tidbit made for some interesting excuses on why I couldn't go to New York to work on one of our projects. After a while, I decided enough was enough and that I would come back to face the music. I figure it's better to get it out of the way and move on - after all, does the government ever forget that they have a piece of you? It's been my experience that it's the exact opposite - every year I end up owing any amount on my taxes (one time it was under $20) the IRS is after me on April 16th. One time they screwed up and owed me close to a grand, and how long did that take to see? Almost a year. Surprised? Don't be; it's one reason why I can be a little cynical.

Anyway, I put the world of high finance on hold for a few months and came back. It was quite an interesting 12-hour flight into __________ assuming that I was going to get picked up on the way in. The events that transpired in the 48 hours previous to leaving are a whole other story, but they definitely made things more interesting. To top it off, there was a big line at passport control. Imagine the wait, knowing all the while that your trip is about to be rudely cut short.

As I walked up to the desk, I greeted the officer in the booth with some variety of meaningless pleasantry. He replied in kind, looked at my customs form, ran my passport through the scanner, looked at the computer screen, started to hand it back to me, and then glanced at the screen again. I wasn't surprised - until I was waved through without any problems. Maybe my information was wrong?

When I got off the connecting flight into __________ and called up the airport police to turn myself in, they couldn't find any warrants on me. After realizing that I was now stranded with no place to go, I organized myself a place to sleep and get cleaned up. The next day I took off to consult with family and friends in __________. A month later, I waltzed into court after not having been there for about a year and a half - they were pretty shocked. Apparently somebody screwed up the paperwork at some point during the process (your tax dollars at "work" again), which is why the aforementioned airport cops didn't put the arm on me. To make a long story short, there was in fact a warrant issued for me. They put me in front of a judge who told me to make a decision on the spot - no lawyer - about what to do: take the 65 hours of counseling or go back to jail for 60 days. Since I wasn't psyched to hang out here in __________ any longer than necessary, I opted for the latter. Somehow I convinced the judge to let me do that time at home - I think it had something to do with the fact that I showed up from overseas in his courtroom out of nowhere after having had a clear out. This apparently isn't considered a serious thing, and they never would have extradited from another state for it, and as I saw at the airport, neither the cops within the state nor the federal customs guys wanted me. I was pretty much free to come and go anywhere I wanted.

However, I think coming back was a wise choice. This will bury the whole thing and I'll never have to worry about it again. After all, now I can sit at home (a friend's place, actually) and write this. I also have 2 dogs to play with, a house to watch, a high-speed Internet connection, cable (although I don't really watch much TV), and a comfortable bed. Let me tell you this: one of the worst things about going to the can is the sleeping arrangements. The mattresses are about an inch thick and they're laid on top of a sleel rack. It's a good thing I went to school at __________.

The other benefit is that I can actually still do some contract work in the same field, so I won't be getting totally screwed on the professional side. This may actually be tolerable!

That's about it for the background. In the future I'll (probably) write more about the parameters of this exercise and what I can and can't do while I'm here. I'm already wondering how 60 days of staying in the house is going to change my outlook in the short-term (the previous 60 days had quite an impact).