I just found out that one of my coworkers from this summer got a job offer from an agency that deferred me. They were going to give him a CHOICE of jobs - one juvenile and one adult. Despite the fact that I have work experience and a lot of connections in the city, and he has no ties at all to the city, they gave him an interview and a job offer. All I got was a letter telling me they'd hold onto my resume until they got more funding. He is turning down their offer tomorrow to take an offer with the agency that I had the WORST INTERVIEW EVER with. He said that they were really nice to him. Hmph. I got no such courtesy.
Now my coworker is 100% better at trial advocacy than I am, I'll be the first to admit. But seriously. Now I just feel really ill. Why did they pass me over for him? What am I so clearly lacking that no one wants to hire me? I keep saying that things will work out, that I'll be where I need to be. But I think I've just about run out of faith at this point. I'm really upset. All my roommates are gone to the movies. I'm sitting in bed, along, unemployed, staring blankly at a reading assignment I couldn't care less about. I don't want to be in school anymore. I'm sick of reading and writing. That's all I do, 12 hours a day. Read. Write. Sit in class. Read. Write. Sit in class. I'm sick of this all. Just let me work already.
I've run out of faith and patience.
What's probably the worst feeling is having to cry here by myself because I can't think of anyone to call.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Today's news
NY Times series on the impact of shoddy inmate medical care. Yesterday's article was horrifying, exposing how the privatization of inmate medical services puts a premium on providing as little care as possible. One nurse said, "We save money by skipping the ambulance and bringing them right to the morgue." Superfluous Sentiments does pharmaceutical work for inmates and may have some response to the NY Times expose.
Making Crime Hit Home for Offenders is an article that explains the workings and impact of informal youth courts.
And I have contracted the school's Death Virus, three weeks after everyone else gets better, as is my usual immunity routine.
Making Crime Hit Home for Offenders is an article that explains the workings and impact of informal youth courts.
And I have contracted the school's Death Virus, three weeks after everyone else gets better, as is my usual immunity routine.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
You rock, Gary Brolsma!
NY Times article on the lip-sync video found here.
I LOVE THIS VIDEO. I'm so sad to learn that My Hero, now outed as Gary Brolsma, is depressed that he's obtained such fame. I don't like the video for the purposes of pointing and laughing. I like it because it's such an upbeat song and he's having SO MUCH FUN with it! I found this video a couple of weeks ago, when I was embroiled in my interviews-from-hell, and just watching and listening cheered me up. I still watch it a few times a week just to get me pumped and to put me in good spirits. He's having so much good, earnest fun (something that is really not happening in the law school library. at all. ever) that it makes me feel like I'm having fun, too!
I really am giggling with you, not at you. Thanks for cheering me up. How can I cheer you up?
I LOVE THIS VIDEO. I'm so sad to learn that My Hero, now outed as Gary Brolsma, is depressed that he's obtained such fame. I don't like the video for the purposes of pointing and laughing. I like it because it's such an upbeat song and he's having SO MUCH FUN with it! I found this video a couple of weeks ago, when I was embroiled in my interviews-from-hell, and just watching and listening cheered me up. I still watch it a few times a week just to get me pumped and to put me in good spirits. He's having so much good, earnest fun (something that is really not happening in the law school library. at all. ever) that it makes me feel like I'm having fun, too!
I really am giggling with you, not at you. Thanks for cheering me up. How can I cheer you up?
Friday, February 25, 2005
Prisoner murdered on prison bus
Have we discussed this yet? I've been following it closely. I have an unhealthy interest in these things.
This happened a few weeks ago. Johns, age 22, was in prison "for choking an uncle with a belt, trying to saw his head off and leaving him in a closet to die." While in prison he picked up another charge for the murder of his 16 yr old cellmate (who, according to a previous article in the Baltimore Sun, was supposed to be in a juvenile-specific facility). Johns told the judge on Feb 1, while in court for the murder of his cellmate, that if he didn't get psychiatric help, he was likely to kill again.
Parker, age 20, was another prisoner. He went to court on Feb 2nd and testified on Johns' behalf that Johns was crazy, not right, volatile, etc... (although I don't know for sure, but perhaps it was a competency or insanity issue?) On the bus ride back from court on Feb 2nd, the prisoners were all on the bus on the way to Supermax, cuffed and shackled. When the bus arrived at Supermax, the correctional officers discovered that Parker was dead. None of the officers on the bus saw who killed him or how. Johns is the suspect in Parker's murder.
There are plenty of shocking things about this incident. Baltimore seems to be concerned with the fact that these prisoners were on the same bus (apparently they should not have been) and that none of the guards saw anything happen. The guards say that the lights were broken and that they are in a protective cage that they can't leave during the ride. Nor can they stop the bus, for security reasons, during the ride. This week the guards on the bus were fired.
In addition to being appalled that this occurred, it makes me feel a little sorry for Johns. He's probably not a friendly guy, as he killed his uncle, his cellmate, and a fellow prisoner. But it's clear that he's very ill. He was battling some sort of mental illness. He asked for help, knowing that if he didn't get it, he'd kill again. He didn't get the help and he did kill again.
This happened a few weeks ago. Johns, age 22, was in prison "for choking an uncle with a belt, trying to saw his head off and leaving him in a closet to die." While in prison he picked up another charge for the murder of his 16 yr old cellmate (who, according to a previous article in the Baltimore Sun, was supposed to be in a juvenile-specific facility). Johns told the judge on Feb 1, while in court for the murder of his cellmate, that if he didn't get psychiatric help, he was likely to kill again.
Parker, age 20, was another prisoner. He went to court on Feb 2nd and testified on Johns' behalf that Johns was crazy, not right, volatile, etc... (although I don't know for sure, but perhaps it was a competency or insanity issue?) On the bus ride back from court on Feb 2nd, the prisoners were all on the bus on the way to Supermax, cuffed and shackled. When the bus arrived at Supermax, the correctional officers discovered that Parker was dead. None of the officers on the bus saw who killed him or how. Johns is the suspect in Parker's murder.
There are plenty of shocking things about this incident. Baltimore seems to be concerned with the fact that these prisoners were on the same bus (apparently they should not have been) and that none of the guards saw anything happen. The guards say that the lights were broken and that they are in a protective cage that they can't leave during the ride. Nor can they stop the bus, for security reasons, during the ride. This week the guards on the bus were fired.
In addition to being appalled that this occurred, it makes me feel a little sorry for Johns. He's probably not a friendly guy, as he killed his uncle, his cellmate, and a fellow prisoner. But it's clear that he's very ill. He was battling some sort of mental illness. He asked for help, knowing that if he didn't get it, he'd kill again. He didn't get the help and he did kill again.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Text msg battle: the aftermath.
There are times when I'm incredibly volatile. And then there are times when I couldn't give a sweet fuck about anything at all.
I suppose I should briefly describe the text message battle between myself and Mr. STF. It was basically a few msgs exchanged, mostly chit-chat and shit-talking. And it was all fun and games until he sent me a text msg with one word: 'weak.' And then, POW, BITCH GOES DOWN. I was PISSED. Drunk and PISSED. He called me a liar and then he called me weak. So anyway that just about ended that. I sent him an email, I suppose to make sure that I wasn't as pissed as I felt. He responded (yesterday, which is 4 days later) something to the effect of, "I knew that would get you ramped up, and it looks like I was right!" So it was all fun and games for him.
I had a long conversation with a friend of mine last night. She is remarkably insightful and has a way of speaking that makes me UNDERSTAND. I was rambling on and on about how I feel like I'm in this constant power struggle, and now I have to craft the perfect, friendly but cool, delayed response to his email.
Me: [Rambling incessantly]
Her: It sounds like he was just kidding around.
Me: I know! I hate it! I hate playing these stupid games.
Her: Maybe you're trying to learn the rules of a game that he's not even playing.
Me: [silence]
Her: What's in it for you? What are you getting out of this?
Me: I need to stay close to people I meet across my life, there's just something about me, that I can't let go after I meet people and enjoy their company. I may not speak to them or see them all the time, but I keep in touch with EVERYONE. And if I go back to City next year, I want to be able to hang out with him. I don't know if we'd date again, but I think we'd hang out.
Her: It sounds like, if you decided to pick up and move there 6 months from now, you could call him or write him, and he'd be happy to hang out. The foundation's there. It doesn't sound like it needs much maintenance.
She's so right. She is SO. RIGHT. So I emailed him today. I didn't worry about waiting the right number of days, or editing everything I said so I sounded witty and infinitely cooler. We're friends. He asked what I was up to. I told him.
How liberating.
I suppose I should briefly describe the text message battle between myself and Mr. STF. It was basically a few msgs exchanged, mostly chit-chat and shit-talking. And it was all fun and games until he sent me a text msg with one word: 'weak.' And then, POW, BITCH GOES DOWN. I was PISSED. Drunk and PISSED. He called me a liar and then he called me weak. So anyway that just about ended that. I sent him an email, I suppose to make sure that I wasn't as pissed as I felt. He responded (yesterday, which is 4 days later) something to the effect of, "I knew that would get you ramped up, and it looks like I was right!" So it was all fun and games for him.
I had a long conversation with a friend of mine last night. She is remarkably insightful and has a way of speaking that makes me UNDERSTAND. I was rambling on and on about how I feel like I'm in this constant power struggle, and now I have to craft the perfect, friendly but cool, delayed response to his email.
Me: [Rambling incessantly]
Her: It sounds like he was just kidding around.
Me: I know! I hate it! I hate playing these stupid games.
Her: Maybe you're trying to learn the rules of a game that he's not even playing.
Me: [silence]
Her: What's in it for you? What are you getting out of this?
Me: I need to stay close to people I meet across my life, there's just something about me, that I can't let go after I meet people and enjoy their company. I may not speak to them or see them all the time, but I keep in touch with EVERYONE. And if I go back to City next year, I want to be able to hang out with him. I don't know if we'd date again, but I think we'd hang out.
Her: It sounds like, if you decided to pick up and move there 6 months from now, you could call him or write him, and he'd be happy to hang out. The foundation's there. It doesn't sound like it needs much maintenance.
She's so right. She is SO. RIGHT. So I emailed him today. I didn't worry about waiting the right number of days, or editing everything I said so I sounded witty and infinitely cooler. We're friends. He asked what I was up to. I told him.
How liberating.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Hey there!
What's up. I'm feeling a little lonely. How have you been? What's going on with you? How was your day? Anything you want to know?
P.S. Best quote I've heard from Will & Grace this week, from Karen to Will: "This isn't happy hour at the Cockpit. This is a court of law! Now go litigate, bitch!"
P.S. Best quote I've heard from Will & Grace this week, from Karen to Will: "This isn't happy hour at the Cockpit. This is a court of law! Now go litigate, bitch!"
In legal news
Condemn-nation: This land was your land, but now it's my land. Dahlia's Dispatches from the Supreme Court. The idea that government can just come and TAKE YOUR LAND really creeps me out.
Johnson v. California was decided today. Categorizing by race is STILL NO GOOD says the Supreme Court, despite Scalia & Thomas's dissent pointing out that California means well. My opinion: don't know, actually.
Johnson v. California was decided today. Categorizing by race is STILL NO GOOD says the Supreme Court, despite Scalia & Thomas's dissent pointing out that California means well. My opinion: don't know, actually.
Riddle me this
Is it possible to kidnap a dead person?
Sounds simple enough, no? BUT TRY CITING SOME AUTHORITY, BUSTER.
Sounds simple enough, no? BUT TRY CITING SOME AUTHORITY, BUSTER.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
untitled
Ooooh. Rejection letter from Feb 8th's debacle just rolled in. Not
really a disappointment but I'm still REALLY ANGRY about it. At least
they were quick. They didn't even think twice about keeping my name
around for consideration.
The list of employment possibilities is dropping rapidly!
BUT... I read my tarot cards two nights ago. (This is what I do when I feel out of sorts. Don't ask for an explanation). And my tarot cards told me that I'd get some money. Which I knew had to be a big fat lie. I did my taxes last night, however, and I'm getting a month's worth of expenses back in taxes. Which is sweet, since I'll be UNEMPLOYED and at least I just bought myself 30 days. So I read my tarot cards again last night. They were completely unhelpful in regards to my future, but my tarot cards told me that I have the strength to make it through this. Which was nice to hear. Because the tarot cards don't lie.
really a disappointment but I'm still REALLY ANGRY about it. At least
they were quick. They didn't even think twice about keeping my name
around for consideration.
The list of employment possibilities is dropping rapidly!
BUT... I read my tarot cards two nights ago. (This is what I do when I feel out of sorts. Don't ask for an explanation). And my tarot cards told me that I'd get some money. Which I knew had to be a big fat lie. I did my taxes last night, however, and I'm getting a month's worth of expenses back in taxes. Which is sweet, since I'll be UNEMPLOYED and at least I just bought myself 30 days. So I read my tarot cards again last night. They were completely unhelpful in regards to my future, but my tarot cards told me that I have the strength to make it through this. Which was nice to hear. Because the tarot cards don't lie.
Handed down today: Smith vs. Massachusetts. A defendant's right against Double Jeopardy was violated when the judge acquitted the defendant mid-trial of a charge, then reinstated the charge before it went to the jury. I think that sounds like a fair ruling, except that the opinion seems to indicate that if MA had an explicit rule of procedure that permitted reconsideration, it would not violate Double Jeopardy. I disagree.
SO BORED
Instinct: To go to all my classes and do all my homework. Read the boring tax book and my boring seminar books and write my boring memos.
Desire: To see if it's possible to pass all my classes if I go through the rest of the semester under the influence of tequila.
Ugh. I'm so bored.
Desire: To see if it's possible to pass all my classes if I go through the rest of the semester under the influence of tequila.
Ugh. I'm so bored.
reservations
A good entry about the forced dump over at Stay of Execution. Part of the entry struck a nerve with me:
I pre-emptively dumped a fine fellow not long ago when he was calling me promptly and cooking me nice dinners and inviting me to the movies. He was charming and solicitous but there was a distance, an ever-so-slight coldness, about him that made me feel like six months down the road, I'd be attached and he wouldn't.
That's exactly how I felt about Mr. STF. After our drunken text message battle this weekend, I can't shake the nagging feeling. There's just something about him, or our acquiantanceship that just ain't right. I like him a lot, I find him attractive, I think he's smart and good at what he does. We share similar interests. But I find myself always guarded - even over text message! - when I interact with him. He's considerate, thoughtful, flattering, and yet I question the sincerity of it all. I suspect an ulterior motive but can't figure out what it is. I feel like we're in a power battle over who is the coolest or edgiest or smartest and I don't know how in the world that started. I'm admittedly very uncool, not at all edgy, and certainly not the brightest bulb in the law library basement. But for some reason he made me think that that's how he regarded me, and I've felt the need to demonstrate that. I have a difficult time stepping away from a challenge.
I'm still really irked by his concluding text msg. Fucker.
Last night I got an adorable voicemail from my summer coworker. "Holla atcha boy" he said. I glowed. I miss him. Can't wait to holla back. So very crushworthy.
I pre-emptively dumped a fine fellow not long ago when he was calling me promptly and cooking me nice dinners and inviting me to the movies. He was charming and solicitous but there was a distance, an ever-so-slight coldness, about him that made me feel like six months down the road, I'd be attached and he wouldn't.
That's exactly how I felt about Mr. STF. After our drunken text message battle this weekend, I can't shake the nagging feeling. There's just something about him, or our acquiantanceship that just ain't right. I like him a lot, I find him attractive, I think he's smart and good at what he does. We share similar interests. But I find myself always guarded - even over text message! - when I interact with him. He's considerate, thoughtful, flattering, and yet I question the sincerity of it all. I suspect an ulterior motive but can't figure out what it is. I feel like we're in a power battle over who is the coolest or edgiest or smartest and I don't know how in the world that started. I'm admittedly very uncool, not at all edgy, and certainly not the brightest bulb in the law library basement. But for some reason he made me think that that's how he regarded me, and I've felt the need to demonstrate that. I have a difficult time stepping away from a challenge.
I'm still really irked by his concluding text msg. Fucker.
Last night I got an adorable voicemail from my summer coworker. "Holla atcha boy" he said. I glowed. I miss him. Can't wait to holla back. So very crushworthy.
Monday, February 21, 2005
identity
Happy Black History Month. In addition to celebrating our country's notable Africa-American leaders, I've encountered some celebrations of African culture. Which always leaves me wondering whether other black Americans feel left out. For instance, Caribbean cultures. The Dominican individuals I've met speak Spanish, so does this make them Latino and NOT black or African-American? How do they regard Black History celebrations of African culture? I was listening to a song by Blackalicious that talks about African-Americans not being American, referring instead to brothers all around the world.
Of course, the most important question is, why does it matter? Individuals identify themselves differently, and how they perceive themselves is more important than how I perceive them, at least in regards to race/ethnicity. The manner in which I interact with them is unlikely to change. Some people I've met see themselves as black Americans, some people I've met see themselves as having strong African roots. I imagine that being African and being African-American in the U.S. probably means very different things. But what? and why?
Of course, the most important question is, why does it matter? Individuals identify themselves differently, and how they perceive themselves is more important than how I perceive them, at least in regards to race/ethnicity. The manner in which I interact with them is unlikely to change. Some people I've met see themselves as black Americans, some people I've met see themselves as having strong African roots. I imagine that being African and being African-American in the U.S. probably means very different things. But what? and why?
Sunday, February 20, 2005
I may hate myself in the morning, but I'm gonna love you tonight.
I curse my roommate for foisting her country music upon me.
Last night saw about 15 people, about that many bottles of wine, the
spirit of Jose Cuervo, a hip-hop dance-off in my living room, and an
intense conversation until 6 am.
That's right, I stayed up so far past my bedtime that I went to bed at the
time I usually go to the gym.
The lingering effects of last night include wine withdrawal tremors,
muttering words to booty call country songs, and a hazy recollection of a
volatile text message battle with Mr. SummerTimeFun. Oh dear God.
Best. Night. Ever.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Love the kiddos
This week I have to direct and cross two child witnesses. In my former life as a child protection worker, I spent the majority of my time interviewing children. My interviews had to be sufficient to support findings in court, but also had to be as trauma-less as possible. I think I'm pretty good at interviewing child clients. But I'm pretty rusty, as it's been at least 2.5 years since I conducted my last interview.
I'm not excited about cross-examining kids. I think kids are great. As far as I'm concerned, every little hellion out there is precious. I have to do my direct examination as a defense attorney in a civil case, but I have to do my cross examination of a defense witness in a drug case. Yikes! So not only am I the evil prosecutor in the second case, but I'm the evil prosecutor trying to smear this poor kid on the stand. Have I no shame?
I love working with juveniles and I'm psyched to work with kids this week. I'm sad that I have to cross-examine one of them in such a nasty way, but I suppose it'll be good practice for the future.
I'm not excited about cross-examining kids. I think kids are great. As far as I'm concerned, every little hellion out there is precious. I have to do my direct examination as a defense attorney in a civil case, but I have to do my cross examination of a defense witness in a drug case. Yikes! So not only am I the evil prosecutor in the second case, but I'm the evil prosecutor trying to smear this poor kid on the stand. Have I no shame?
I love working with juveniles and I'm psyched to work with kids this week. I'm sad that I have to cross-examine one of them in such a nasty way, but I suppose it'll be good practice for the future.
Friday, February 18, 2005
untitled
This article by Sports Guy is DEAD ON (re: OC vs. 90210.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/050218
Orange and Limericks
A friend of mine pointed out that I've been pretty bitter lately. I don't deny it. I walk through my day in a haze, doing a lot and nothing at all, really not being able to focus or accomplish anything. The job stuff is weighing heavily on me. I know that everyone is concerned about finding a job. I think my anxiety is unique though.
Other people have lives that just work. Things go the way they are supposed to. My life is the exact opposite of that. I get really annoyed by people who live carefree, fancy-free, without concern. I envy them, but I also have little tolerance for irresponsibility. Because how do you know that things won't just all fall apart? One day my parents were married, the next day they weren't. One day I was living in one state - the next day we moved to another. One day we had a rickety old car that worked - the next day we didn't. One day I had an extended family. Then I didn't. My adolescent years were on food stamps and welfare. My time was split between babysitting my younger siblings, trying to get schoolwork done, working part-time, and running every organization at school I could get my hands on. I patched two pairs of jeans my sophomore year of college and wore them for months, with patches in unattractive locations, because I couldn't afford new jeans.
I've learned that just when you think things get bad, they got worse. I've learned that nothing is certain, and life can get pretty bad pretty quickly. For a variety of reasons involving the aforementioned things, I've been a control freak for as long as I can remember. I plan well in advance. I move quickly. I work hard. I direct, charm, and threaten others to conform with my plans. I almost always have a deep knot of anxiety or insecurity underlying everything I do. I need structure and security.
Despite lacking anything by way of material possessions, I've lived a rich life. I've never done a semester abroad, or traveled to Africa or Asia, dressed myself in fine clothing, imbibed in the world's finest wines, or owned a car that others regard with respect. Instead, I've surrounded myself with a good number of incredible individuals.
My favorite color is orange. I am drawn to everything orange. Orange is warmth, energy, vibrance, and light. I soak up these things from others. I'm curious about what other people care about and why, and what makes them that way. I wonder if people think the same way I do - not whether we agree, but whether we process information the same way. I'm an intense observer. I love watching people get excited about what they're talking about, or what they're doing. There are so many people in the world and they each have things to teach me. The only thing I feel compelled to do in my life is to hang out with people. I'm rarely capable of focusing my energy on anything else.
I write limericks for my friends. I've done this for as long as I can remember. In college, I sent limericks via instant message. Now I leave them on people's desks. I hug, pat, pet, kiss frequently. I love cooking comfort food for people. I like having people sit on my couch and play cards, or watch sports, or eat cookies. I love cleaning my room while my roommate belts out bad country music while cleaning the bathroom and my other roommate bakes banana bread. I love lying in bed debating the state of the world and Donald Trump's hair next to a friend or paramour.
Yeah, I'm bitter about the job thing. I'm about to graduate with $150k in debt and nothing to show for it. I'm afraid that things have been going too well for too long. It's nice to remember that people and orange and limericks are free.
Other people have lives that just work. Things go the way they are supposed to. My life is the exact opposite of that. I get really annoyed by people who live carefree, fancy-free, without concern. I envy them, but I also have little tolerance for irresponsibility. Because how do you know that things won't just all fall apart? One day my parents were married, the next day they weren't. One day I was living in one state - the next day we moved to another. One day we had a rickety old car that worked - the next day we didn't. One day I had an extended family. Then I didn't. My adolescent years were on food stamps and welfare. My time was split between babysitting my younger siblings, trying to get schoolwork done, working part-time, and running every organization at school I could get my hands on. I patched two pairs of jeans my sophomore year of college and wore them for months, with patches in unattractive locations, because I couldn't afford new jeans.
I've learned that just when you think things get bad, they got worse. I've learned that nothing is certain, and life can get pretty bad pretty quickly. For a variety of reasons involving the aforementioned things, I've been a control freak for as long as I can remember. I plan well in advance. I move quickly. I work hard. I direct, charm, and threaten others to conform with my plans. I almost always have a deep knot of anxiety or insecurity underlying everything I do. I need structure and security.
Despite lacking anything by way of material possessions, I've lived a rich life. I've never done a semester abroad, or traveled to Africa or Asia, dressed myself in fine clothing, imbibed in the world's finest wines, or owned a car that others regard with respect. Instead, I've surrounded myself with a good number of incredible individuals.
My favorite color is orange. I am drawn to everything orange. Orange is warmth, energy, vibrance, and light. I soak up these things from others. I'm curious about what other people care about and why, and what makes them that way. I wonder if people think the same way I do - not whether we agree, but whether we process information the same way. I'm an intense observer. I love watching people get excited about what they're talking about, or what they're doing. There are so many people in the world and they each have things to teach me. The only thing I feel compelled to do in my life is to hang out with people. I'm rarely capable of focusing my energy on anything else.
I write limericks for my friends. I've done this for as long as I can remember. In college, I sent limericks via instant message. Now I leave them on people's desks. I hug, pat, pet, kiss frequently. I love cooking comfort food for people. I like having people sit on my couch and play cards, or watch sports, or eat cookies. I love cleaning my room while my roommate belts out bad country music while cleaning the bathroom and my other roommate bakes banana bread. I love lying in bed debating the state of the world and Donald Trump's hair next to a friend or paramour.
Yeah, I'm bitter about the job thing. I'm about to graduate with $150k in debt and nothing to show for it. I'm afraid that things have been going too well for too long. It's nice to remember that people and orange and limericks are free.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
news flash
BarBri has TUITION ASSISTANCE for bar review programs. Why was I not aware of this?
I is po'.
I is po'.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
HOLY STRING OF CURSES
Next week is the last week in February. Which makes the week after that MARCH.
SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP.
I've just about finished law school. All these things that were supposed to come LATER: like petitioning to sit for a particular state's bar, interviewing for real job positions ("Oh, it's fine that I still don't have a job, they don't make offers until LATER"), registering with BarBri ("I don't have to decide what state I'm going to prep for, I can do it LATER") and you know, being a 3L (I'm a 3L and want to just chill the fuck out, but I can do that when this madness ends LATER).
Later is NOW.
Shit shit shit.
Recap:
Job: None. Rejection letters piling up.
Income: None. Must remember to take stripper classes.
Relocating to: I have no idea.
Relocating when: Also do not know.
I have no idea what comes next. and NEXT is not very far away at all.
SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP.
I've just about finished law school. All these things that were supposed to come LATER: like petitioning to sit for a particular state's bar, interviewing for real job positions ("Oh, it's fine that I still don't have a job, they don't make offers until LATER"), registering with BarBri ("I don't have to decide what state I'm going to prep for, I can do it LATER") and you know, being a 3L (I'm a 3L and want to just chill the fuck out, but I can do that when this madness ends LATER).
Later is NOW.
Shit shit shit.
Recap:
Job: None. Rejection letters piling up.
Income: None. Must remember to take stripper classes.
Relocating to: I have no idea.
Relocating when: Also do not know.
I have no idea what comes next. and NEXT is not very far away at all.
Thanks to a link from Arbitrary & Capricious, I got more visitors to my site yesterday than I usually get in a week! It made me feel popular for a moment. Thanks for visiting! Feel free to stick around.
Last night for homework I had to drink a beer and make drugs. All in all a successful evening, I'd say.
Last night for homework I had to drink a beer and make drugs. All in all a successful evening, I'd say.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Free! Help yourself!
I'm not sure whether the person who left the double chocolate swiss cake rolls in the kitchen for me to encounter when I went to get my carrots and hummus is my friend or my sworn enemy.
It is what it is.
Slate on why torture lawyers are a lot like Stewart. Except, of course, no one's gone after them.
I'm reading a repulsively dense book on the theory of language and power. The book starts off on theories that are completely unfamiliar to me regarding the idea of a dominant language and a dominated language. Anyway, eventually the author works to the idea that there is a power of the dominant class that gives them the authority to say particular things. The author points out that it is difficult to tell whether the authoritative words of a person are true as they exist, or are true because they become true once spoken by the right people. Reading this Slate article about how these torture attorneys say the law is what it is, that's what comes to mind. Does the law actually say that? Or does the law now say it because you said it does, and people in this country are willing to be dominated by you?
I'm reading a repulsively dense book on the theory of language and power. The book starts off on theories that are completely unfamiliar to me regarding the idea of a dominant language and a dominated language. Anyway, eventually the author works to the idea that there is a power of the dominant class that gives them the authority to say particular things. The author points out that it is difficult to tell whether the authoritative words of a person are true as they exist, or are true because they become true once spoken by the right people. Reading this Slate article about how these torture attorneys say the law is what it is, that's what comes to mind. Does the law actually say that? Or does the law now say it because you said it does, and people in this country are willing to be dominated by you?
Monday, February 14, 2005
every bus needs a public defender.
I had some more interviewing today. It's pretty clear that I've lost all
confidence in myself after Tuesday. For instance, at one point, I had
absolutely no idea what I was doing in a cross-examination, froze,
flashback to Tuesday, froze, stammered, and then inadvertently blurted out
a question that hung my client out to dry. Even the interviewer visibly
recoiled. Sweet.
I'll continue to poke fun at myself because it's the best way of getting
over utter shame and embarrassment, but truly, I'm deeply traumatized by
these experiences. It sucks to feel like you are eternally stupid and not
good at anything, even the thing that you thought you might be good at if
you worked really hard.
I was on the bus home, frantically biting my fingernails and alternating
between not caring that I suck and really, really caring that I suck, when
I finally decided that maybe these people are right and I'm not public
defender material, and I should just suck it up and move on. I'm
convinced that Allah himself intervened right about then, in the form of
the drug task force of Boondocks Bus Depot. This 'force' consisted of a
cop, a cop in jeans with a hat and badge, and Fido the Drug Sniffer. I
saw them hanging out as the bus pulled up. As they were standing right
outside my window, I glared at them menacingly. They didn't seem to
notice. After sitting there for a while, everyone was ordered off the
bus. The Task Force entered the bus as soon as everyone was off - they
were adamant about no one being left on the bus. I watched with my eagle
eye, trying to see whether they were searching anyone's bags (namely, my
own). They rustled around for quite a bit in the bus, in the luggage
compartment, in the bus again, and some more. Fido was pumped. But
clearly they weren't finding what they were looking for. All this time I
was getting more and more angry, thinking, can they do this? Really? And
shuffling through random crim pro bits in my head I think the answer is
yes. But if it were my client, the answer would absolutely be no, for the
record.
After about 15 minutes of this nonesense, we were permitted to reboard the
bus. The Task Force, sans Fido, reboarded the bus, thanking us for our
patience and letting us know they were expecting someone to come through
with something. Then they asked the young man behind me if he would mind
speaking to them outside. I started shaking my head no and trying to
telepathically advise my bus friend NOT TO SAY A DAMNED WORD. He agreed
with the cop and asked whether he should bring his bag. NO YOU SHOULD NOT
OFFER TO DO THAT. The cops said it would not be necessary. They were
outside for a few moments and my bus friend reboarded. My bus friend was
not my friend until he was approached by the cops, at which point in my
head we became best friends. My bus friend is probably 20 years old, I'd
guess of Dominican descent, he was wearing a large puffy jacket, the
baseball cap with the straight brim and sticker on it (as is the style now
apparently) and his Timbs. He sat back down behind me and after a few
moments, I threw etiquette to the wind and I turned around.
"What did they ask you out there, if you don't mind me asking?"
He replied in a shy, soft-spoken manner that surprised me. "The dog
smelled the plaintains that I have in my bag. They asked me if there was
anything in my bag, I told them no. But I guess the plaintains made him
bark."
He went on to tell me that they asked, "Are you sure? Not even a little
marijuana or something?" He assured them that there was nothing in his
bag and offered to let them search it. DO NOT DO THAT. They declined.
"I'm so embarrassed," he said softly.
I remember the attorney for whom I worked this summer, when teaching
street law, would always tell the youth that they had to do what they
needed to do to keep themselves safe. For instance, if the cops are going
to beat the shit out of you or shoot at you for walking away, then maybe,
even though you believe you have the right to walk away, it isn't the best
idea to do so. My bus friend was in the same position. If I were him, I
can't say I would have done differently - I've got nothing to hide, let's
get this over with. But on the other hand, there is a large part of me on
the inside screaming to challenge this bullshit. Had he been following
the advice I was giving him in my head, he probably WOULD have been patted
down, bags searched, and maybe even taken a gratuitous ride in a cop car.
We chatted for a while longer, as the bus was still going nowhere, and
neither were the cops (who were no longer on the bus but lingering
outside). Many minutes elapse and the cops reboarded the bus again,
announcing that they had found what they were looking for. They showed us
what they called a substantial amount of cocaine. I'm no good with
weights and measures. Don't ask me to judge distance. But this cocaine
looked exactly like the round handsoap you would get in a hotel - wrapped
the same way and everything. I was psyched that the cops were showing me
cocaine, and I'm certain that one cop mistook my smirk of public defender
snarkiness as, 'Thank goodness you were here to save me from that soap! I
mean, substantial amount of cocaine!'
I was on a bus in college once and also had the occasion to observe the
cops at work. We stopped, people had boarded, and then we didn't go
anywhere. The cops started poking around the luggage compartment and then
boarded the bus, asking who got on at that stop. They informed us that
the car dealership next door had been robbed at gunpoint and they
suspected the perpetrator might try to flee via bus. Snazzy. Well, the
cops looked around at who got on at that stop and must have decided that
all those people LOOKED nice enough. Until they came to the guy that
could not speak English. They asked him several times if they could look
in his bag. He could not understand what they were saying, so they took
the liberty - literally took his liberty - of searching his bag. The
man's voice and words grew increasingly agitated. The cops thanked him
and returned his bag. I remember FUMING about that.
I told my bus friend that I don't trust cops one whit. He said that they
just wanted to show everyone that they were doing their job. Funny, that.
The white woman in a suit with a briefcase being the nosy cop-hater bitch
on wheels and the young hip-hop Latino man being shy, soft-spoken, and
embarrassed. He knows how to fry plaintains though. I'll be looking for
his face out on the town this weekend.
confidence in myself after Tuesday. For instance, at one point, I had
absolutely no idea what I was doing in a cross-examination, froze,
flashback to Tuesday, froze, stammered, and then inadvertently blurted out
a question that hung my client out to dry. Even the interviewer visibly
recoiled. Sweet.
I'll continue to poke fun at myself because it's the best way of getting
over utter shame and embarrassment, but truly, I'm deeply traumatized by
these experiences. It sucks to feel like you are eternally stupid and not
good at anything, even the thing that you thought you might be good at if
you worked really hard.
I was on the bus home, frantically biting my fingernails and alternating
between not caring that I suck and really, really caring that I suck, when
I finally decided that maybe these people are right and I'm not public
defender material, and I should just suck it up and move on. I'm
convinced that Allah himself intervened right about then, in the form of
the drug task force of Boondocks Bus Depot. This 'force' consisted of a
cop, a cop in jeans with a hat and badge, and Fido the Drug Sniffer. I
saw them hanging out as the bus pulled up. As they were standing right
outside my window, I glared at them menacingly. They didn't seem to
notice. After sitting there for a while, everyone was ordered off the
bus. The Task Force entered the bus as soon as everyone was off - they
were adamant about no one being left on the bus. I watched with my eagle
eye, trying to see whether they were searching anyone's bags (namely, my
own). They rustled around for quite a bit in the bus, in the luggage
compartment, in the bus again, and some more. Fido was pumped. But
clearly they weren't finding what they were looking for. All this time I
was getting more and more angry, thinking, can they do this? Really? And
shuffling through random crim pro bits in my head I think the answer is
yes. But if it were my client, the answer would absolutely be no, for the
record.
After about 15 minutes of this nonesense, we were permitted to reboard the
bus. The Task Force, sans Fido, reboarded the bus, thanking us for our
patience and letting us know they were expecting someone to come through
with something. Then they asked the young man behind me if he would mind
speaking to them outside. I started shaking my head no and trying to
telepathically advise my bus friend NOT TO SAY A DAMNED WORD. He agreed
with the cop and asked whether he should bring his bag. NO YOU SHOULD NOT
OFFER TO DO THAT. The cops said it would not be necessary. They were
outside for a few moments and my bus friend reboarded. My bus friend was
not my friend until he was approached by the cops, at which point in my
head we became best friends. My bus friend is probably 20 years old, I'd
guess of Dominican descent, he was wearing a large puffy jacket, the
baseball cap with the straight brim and sticker on it (as is the style now
apparently) and his Timbs. He sat back down behind me and after a few
moments, I threw etiquette to the wind and I turned around.
"What did they ask you out there, if you don't mind me asking?"
He replied in a shy, soft-spoken manner that surprised me. "The dog
smelled the plaintains that I have in my bag. They asked me if there was
anything in my bag, I told them no. But I guess the plaintains made him
bark."
He went on to tell me that they asked, "Are you sure? Not even a little
marijuana or something?" He assured them that there was nothing in his
bag and offered to let them search it. DO NOT DO THAT. They declined.
"I'm so embarrassed," he said softly.
I remember the attorney for whom I worked this summer, when teaching
street law, would always tell the youth that they had to do what they
needed to do to keep themselves safe. For instance, if the cops are going
to beat the shit out of you or shoot at you for walking away, then maybe,
even though you believe you have the right to walk away, it isn't the best
idea to do so. My bus friend was in the same position. If I were him, I
can't say I would have done differently - I've got nothing to hide, let's
get this over with. But on the other hand, there is a large part of me on
the inside screaming to challenge this bullshit. Had he been following
the advice I was giving him in my head, he probably WOULD have been patted
down, bags searched, and maybe even taken a gratuitous ride in a cop car.
We chatted for a while longer, as the bus was still going nowhere, and
neither were the cops (who were no longer on the bus but lingering
outside). Many minutes elapse and the cops reboarded the bus again,
announcing that they had found what they were looking for. They showed us
what they called a substantial amount of cocaine. I'm no good with
weights and measures. Don't ask me to judge distance. But this cocaine
looked exactly like the round handsoap you would get in a hotel - wrapped
the same way and everything. I was psyched that the cops were showing me
cocaine, and I'm certain that one cop mistook my smirk of public defender
snarkiness as, 'Thank goodness you were here to save me from that soap! I
mean, substantial amount of cocaine!'
I was on a bus in college once and also had the occasion to observe the
cops at work. We stopped, people had boarded, and then we didn't go
anywhere. The cops started poking around the luggage compartment and then
boarded the bus, asking who got on at that stop. They informed us that
the car dealership next door had been robbed at gunpoint and they
suspected the perpetrator might try to flee via bus. Snazzy. Well, the
cops looked around at who got on at that stop and must have decided that
all those people LOOKED nice enough. Until they came to the guy that
could not speak English. They asked him several times if they could look
in his bag. He could not understand what they were saying, so they took
the liberty - literally took his liberty - of searching his bag. The
man's voice and words grew increasingly agitated. The cops thanked him
and returned his bag. I remember FUMING about that.
I told my bus friend that I don't trust cops one whit. He said that they
just wanted to show everyone that they were doing their job. Funny, that.
The white woman in a suit with a briefcase being the nosy cop-hater bitch
on wheels and the young hip-hop Latino man being shy, soft-spoken, and
embarrassed. He knows how to fry plaintains though. I'll be looking for
his face out on the town this weekend.
Bullshit sentencing.
If there was any doubt about whether a criminal conviction would haunt you FOREVER
MA Lt. Gov. files bill to force supervision of released prisoners.:
Tough-on-crime sentencing laws created in the past decade have reduced the number of inmates released on parole. So prisoners finish their sentences, then walk out without anyone keeping track of them. That, the commission found, leads to higher rates of repeat offending.
In 1990, 65 percent of inmates were released on parole; that fell to 34 percent in 2002. The Harshbarger panel called on the Legislature to consider sentencing reforms and mandating post-release supervision.
Healey said her initiative would not cut prison sentences or let people out early.
I disagree with this method of alleviating recidivism. MA already has mandatory minimums and all this tough on crime sentencing crap. If no one is being paroled, then that means that their time has been discharged when they leave. What type of 'supervision' are we talking about here? And what happens if the 'supervisor' doesn't like what the supervisee is doing? What are the consequences? They go back to prison? That sounds like parole to me. So what we're introducing is a longer sentence then? And why is it that the only time we become concerned about these things is when a pedophile priest is killed in jail? Would anyone care if it were a drug dealer or someone serving time for armed robbery?
MA Lt. Gov. files bill to force supervision of released prisoners.:
Tough-on-crime sentencing laws created in the past decade have reduced the number of inmates released on parole. So prisoners finish their sentences, then walk out without anyone keeping track of them. That, the commission found, leads to higher rates of repeat offending.
In 1990, 65 percent of inmates were released on parole; that fell to 34 percent in 2002. The Harshbarger panel called on the Legislature to consider sentencing reforms and mandating post-release supervision.
Healey said her initiative would not cut prison sentences or let people out early.
I disagree with this method of alleviating recidivism. MA already has mandatory minimums and all this tough on crime sentencing crap. If no one is being paroled, then that means that their time has been discharged when they leave. What type of 'supervision' are we talking about here? And what happens if the 'supervisor' doesn't like what the supervisee is doing? What are the consequences? They go back to prison? That sounds like parole to me. So what we're introducing is a longer sentence then? And why is it that the only time we become concerned about these things is when a pedophile priest is killed in jail? Would anyone care if it were a drug dealer or someone serving time for armed robbery?
Grammy commentary
Generally not a fan of awards shows, but I tuned in to the Grammys last night because Kanye West was up for 10 nominations and was going to be performing. I made a chicken and black bean enchilada casserole for the roommates, with apple crisp and vanilla ice cream for dessert. (I've completely fallen off the foood & exercise wagon. Need to climb back on. Today. After I eat this dark chocolate hershey's kiss.) Here's my analysis:
New artist: Kanye was robbed. I was ready to storm the Grammys myself. Maroon 5 should have been at the bottom of that list. Their songs make me ill. Violently.
Compilation Soundtrack: I'm not sure how relevant this category ever is, until this year, and Garden State is of course, hands-down, the only choice. It's a damned good album. To wander off on a tangent here - I fell in love with The Shins' "Oh Inverted World" CD and my fave songs were Caring is Creepy and New Slang. Then the Garden State soundtrack burst onto the scene, and those were the two Shins songs on the CD. I fell in love with the soundtrack. Finally, on Saturday, I actually watched Garden State, and Natalie Portman was all, "This song will change your life," and I was pissed, because it totally DID change my life, and I told others it would change theirs, before I ever saw Garden State, and it's clear that she totally stole my line. Next category.
Worst.performances.ever. :
The first time I yelled at my TV: J.Lo and Mark Anthony's performance. It was SO BAD. Dude, I didn't even understand what they were saying, but I did understand that it sucked. Badly. Totally cheesy Disney World love song on a stage bedroom? Barf. Profanities were hurled in the general direction of the television.
The second time I yelled at my TV: The Tsunami relief effort song was a world disaster in its own right. At first, my roommates and I were silenced, bewildered by the wretchedness being witnessed. After about 15 seconds, when we realized the song was not getting any better, profanities were hurled en masse in the general direction of the television. I repeatedly offered Brian Wilson et al money to just SHUT YOUR FUCKING HOLE in the name of all that is charitable, but they refused, and kept singing, or shaking maracas (how far you've fallen, Steven Tyler), or whatever. As if I would want to pay 99 cents to iTunes to own that wretched piece of noise, even if it did mean a child would go hungry. I particularly enjoyed when Stevie Wonder and Norah Jones stepped forward after the song to present the next award, and Stevie Wonder rightfully redeemed himself, calling the artists behind him suckers (not in so many words) by singing a little ditty. He restored some street cred with me.
Best awesome amazing performances: The Janis Joplin tribute by Melissa Etheridge and Joss Stone. Holymotherofgod. So good. Melissa, girlfriend, who knew anyone undergoing chemo could belt out tunes and look so good doing it? The Bonnie Raitt tribute to Ray Charles was equally amazing. That woman gives me chills when she rocks out.
Other good things: Usher is an amazing performer. The Southern Rock medley was cool - I love Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers.
Heartfelt moment: Um, Kanye, you silenced the auditorium when you got up to accept your award. Sniff.
to the dude from the Grammys who spoke for a good 120 seconds - you got more air time than Ray Charles himself, who WON THINGS. No one likes you and wants to hear you beg for us to buy that 99 cent piece of crap manufactured for the Grammys and tsunami relief. get off the stage please. Now. How about now. Or now. Now? Please? Go. Leave. Stop. Are you really still speaking?
Jay-Z - glad you won for 99 Problems. Great song. To be frank, I did believe that "The College Dropout" was a much, much better album than "The Black Album" so I don't feel bad about that. But you're still Jay-Z.
And kudos to Queen Latifah. You are so very cool.
I'm not award-shows savvy, so can someone explain to me 1. why so much of the night was spent remembering dead people? Does that happen often, that every set is a tribute to someone who is dead? And it took me a while to catch on, but almost everyone was wearing black and white all night to perform. Is there usually a color theme?
What did you all think?
New artist: Kanye was robbed. I was ready to storm the Grammys myself. Maroon 5 should have been at the bottom of that list. Their songs make me ill. Violently.
Compilation Soundtrack: I'm not sure how relevant this category ever is, until this year, and Garden State is of course, hands-down, the only choice. It's a damned good album. To wander off on a tangent here - I fell in love with The Shins' "Oh Inverted World" CD and my fave songs were Caring is Creepy and New Slang. Then the Garden State soundtrack burst onto the scene, and those were the two Shins songs on the CD. I fell in love with the soundtrack. Finally, on Saturday, I actually watched Garden State, and Natalie Portman was all, "This song will change your life," and I was pissed, because it totally DID change my life, and I told others it would change theirs, before I ever saw Garden State, and it's clear that she totally stole my line. Next category.
Worst.performances.ever. :
The first time I yelled at my TV: J.Lo and Mark Anthony's performance. It was SO BAD. Dude, I didn't even understand what they were saying, but I did understand that it sucked. Badly. Totally cheesy Disney World love song on a stage bedroom? Barf. Profanities were hurled in the general direction of the television.
The second time I yelled at my TV: The Tsunami relief effort song was a world disaster in its own right. At first, my roommates and I were silenced, bewildered by the wretchedness being witnessed. After about 15 seconds, when we realized the song was not getting any better, profanities were hurled en masse in the general direction of the television. I repeatedly offered Brian Wilson et al money to just SHUT YOUR FUCKING HOLE in the name of all that is charitable, but they refused, and kept singing, or shaking maracas (how far you've fallen, Steven Tyler), or whatever. As if I would want to pay 99 cents to iTunes to own that wretched piece of noise, even if it did mean a child would go hungry. I particularly enjoyed when Stevie Wonder and Norah Jones stepped forward after the song to present the next award, and Stevie Wonder rightfully redeemed himself, calling the artists behind him suckers (not in so many words) by singing a little ditty. He restored some street cred with me.
Best awesome amazing performances: The Janis Joplin tribute by Melissa Etheridge and Joss Stone. Holymotherofgod. So good. Melissa, girlfriend, who knew anyone undergoing chemo could belt out tunes and look so good doing it? The Bonnie Raitt tribute to Ray Charles was equally amazing. That woman gives me chills when she rocks out.
Other good things: Usher is an amazing performer. The Southern Rock medley was cool - I love Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers.
Heartfelt moment: Um, Kanye, you silenced the auditorium when you got up to accept your award. Sniff.
to the dude from the Grammys who spoke for a good 120 seconds - you got more air time than Ray Charles himself, who WON THINGS. No one likes you and wants to hear you beg for us to buy that 99 cent piece of crap manufactured for the Grammys and tsunami relief. get off the stage please. Now. How about now. Or now. Now? Please? Go. Leave. Stop. Are you really still speaking?
Jay-Z - glad you won for 99 Problems. Great song. To be frank, I did believe that "The College Dropout" was a much, much better album than "The Black Album" so I don't feel bad about that. But you're still Jay-Z.
And kudos to Queen Latifah. You are so very cool.
I'm not award-shows savvy, so can someone explain to me 1. why so much of the night was spent remembering dead people? Does that happen often, that every set is a tribute to someone who is dead? And it took me a while to catch on, but almost everyone was wearing black and white all night to perform. Is there usually a color theme?
What did you all think?
Friday, February 11, 2005
I'm doing research for my capital client and just reading the cases gives me a huge rush. I get really excited. My leg starts bouncing. I start speaking rapidly and incoherently. My pulse quickens.
I really love criminal procedure. As I wrote in my criminal procedure class evaluation last year, "If I could fill my bathtub with crim pro and swim in it, I would." Until my fingers got pruney. Then I'd flail around in it some more.
I really love criminal procedure. As I wrote in my criminal procedure class evaluation last year, "If I could fill my bathtub with crim pro and swim in it, I would." Until my fingers got pruney. Then I'd flail around in it some more.
every bus needs a public defender
[i tried posting this earlier and it didn't work - my apologies if it posts twice]
I had some more interviewing today. It's pretty clear that I've lost all
confidence in myself after Tuesday. For instance, at one point, I had
absolutely no idea what I was doing in a cross-examination, froze,
flashback to Tuesday, froze, stammered, and then inadvertently blurted out
a question that hung my client out to dry. Even the interviewer visibly
recoiled. Sweet.
I'll continue to poke fun at myself because it's the best way of getting
over utter shame and embarrassment, but truly, I'm deeply traumatized by
these experiences. It sucks to feel like you are eternally stupid and not
good at anything, even the thing that you thought you might be good at if
you worked really hard.
I was on the bus home, frantically biting my fingernails and alternating
between not caring that I suck and really, really caring that I suck, when
I finally decided that maybe these people are right and I'm not public
defender material, and I should just suck it up and move on. I'm
convinced that Allah himself intervened right about then, in the form of
the drug task force of Boondocks Bus Depot. This 'force' consisted of a
cop, a cop in jeans with a hat and badge, and Fido the Drug Sniffer. I
saw them hanging out as the bus pulled up. As they were standing right
outside my window, I glared at them menacingly. They didn't seem to
notice. After sitting there for a while, everyone was ordered off the
bus. The Task Force entered the bus as soon as everyone was off - they
were adamant about no one being left on the bus. I watched with my eagle
eye, trying to see whether they were searching anyone's bags (namely, my
own). They rustled around for quite a bit in the bus, in the luggage
compartment, in the bus again, and some more. Fido was pumped. But
clearly they weren't finding what they were looking for. All this time I
was getting more and more angry, thinking, can they do this? Really? And
shuffling through random crim pro bits in my head I think the answer is
yes. But if it were my client, the answer would absolutely be no, for the
record.
After about 15 minutes of this nonesense, we were permitted to reboard the
bus. The Task Force, sans Fido, reboarded the bus, thanking us for our
patience and letting us know they were expecting someone to come through
with something. Then they asked the young man behind me if he would mind
speaking to them outside. I started shaking my head no and trying to
telepathically advise my bus friend NOT TO SAY A DAMNED WORD. He agreed
with the cop and asked whether he should bring his bag. NO YOU SHOULD NOT
OFFER TO DO THAT. The cops said it would not be necessary. They were
outside for a few moments and my bus friend reboarded. My bus friend was
not my friend until he was approached by the cops, at which point in my
head we became best friends. My bus friend is probably 20 years old, I'd
guess of Dominican descent, he was wearing a large puffy jacket, the
baseball cap with the straight brim and sticker on it (as is the style now
apparently) and his Timbs. He sat back down behind me and after a few
moments, I threw etiquette to the wind and I turned around.
"What did they ask you out there, if you don't mind me asking?"
He replied in a shy, soft-spoken manner that surprised me. "The dog
smelled the plaintains that I have in my bag. They asked me if there was
anything in my bag, I told them no. But I guess the plaintains made him
bark."
He went on to tell me that they asked, "Are you sure? Not even a little
marijuana or something?" He assured them that there was nothing in his
bag and offered to let them search it. DO NOT DO THAT. They declined.
"I'm so embarrassed," he said softly.
I remember the attorney for whom I worked this summer, when teaching
street law, would always tell the youth that they had to do what they
needed to do to keep themselves safe. For instance, if the cops are going
to beat the shit out of you or shoot at you for walking away, then maybe,
even though you believe you have the right to walk away, it isn't the best
idea to do so. My bus friend was in the same position. If I were him, I
can't say I would have done differently - I've got nothing to hide, let's
get this over with. But on the other hand, there is a large part of me on
the inside screaming to challenge this bullshit. Had he been following
the advice I was giving him in my head, he probably WOULD have been patted
down, bags searched, and maybe even taken a gratuitous ride in a cop car.
We chatted for a while longer, as the bus was still going nowhere, and
neither were the cops (who were no longer on the bus but lingering
outside). Many minutes elapse and the cops reboarded the bus again,
announcing that they had found what they were looking for. They showed us
what they called a substantial amount of cocaine. I'm no good with
weights and measures. Don't ask me to judge distance. But this cocaine
looked exactly like the round handsoap you would get in a hotel - wrapped
the same way and everything. I was psyched that the cops were showing me
cocaine, and I'm certain that one cop mistook my smirk of public defender
snarkiness as, 'Thank goodness you were here to save me from that soap! I
mean, substantial amount of cocaine!'
I was on a bus in college once and also had the occasion to observe the
cops at work. We stopped, people had boarded, and then we didn't go
anywhere. The cops started poking around the luggage compartment and then
boarded the bus, asking who got on at that stop. They informed us that
the car dealership next door had been robbed at gunpoint and they
suspected the perpetrator might try to flee via bus. Snazzy. Well, the
cops looked around at who got on at that stop and must have decided that
all those people LOOKED nice enough. Until they came to the guy that
could not speak English. They asked him several times if they could look
in his bag. He could not understand what they were saying, so they took
the liberty - literally took his liberty - of searching his bag. The
man's voice and words grew increasingly agitated. The cops thanked him
and returned his bag. I remember FUMING about that.
I told my bus friend that I don't trust cops one whit. He said that they
just wanted to show everyone that they were doing their job. Funny, that.
The white woman in a suit with a briefcase being the nosy cop-hater bitch
on wheels and the young hip-hop Latino man being shy, soft-spoken, and
embarrassed. He knows how to fry plaintains though. I'll be looking for
his face out on the town this weekend.
(Does this remind anyone of the case heard last term about 4 people in a car, the drugs found in the car belong to one person, and for whom do the police have probable cause? Scalia used the bus hypo. Here you go, my Supreme friends. I COULD HAVE BEEN ARRESTED. Sweet.)
I had some more interviewing today. It's pretty clear that I've lost all
confidence in myself after Tuesday. For instance, at one point, I had
absolutely no idea what I was doing in a cross-examination, froze,
flashback to Tuesday, froze, stammered, and then inadvertently blurted out
a question that hung my client out to dry. Even the interviewer visibly
recoiled. Sweet.
I'll continue to poke fun at myself because it's the best way of getting
over utter shame and embarrassment, but truly, I'm deeply traumatized by
these experiences. It sucks to feel like you are eternally stupid and not
good at anything, even the thing that you thought you might be good at if
you worked really hard.
I was on the bus home, frantically biting my fingernails and alternating
between not caring that I suck and really, really caring that I suck, when
I finally decided that maybe these people are right and I'm not public
defender material, and I should just suck it up and move on. I'm
convinced that Allah himself intervened right about then, in the form of
the drug task force of Boondocks Bus Depot. This 'force' consisted of a
cop, a cop in jeans with a hat and badge, and Fido the Drug Sniffer. I
saw them hanging out as the bus pulled up. As they were standing right
outside my window, I glared at them menacingly. They didn't seem to
notice. After sitting there for a while, everyone was ordered off the
bus. The Task Force entered the bus as soon as everyone was off - they
were adamant about no one being left on the bus. I watched with my eagle
eye, trying to see whether they were searching anyone's bags (namely, my
own). They rustled around for quite a bit in the bus, in the luggage
compartment, in the bus again, and some more. Fido was pumped. But
clearly they weren't finding what they were looking for. All this time I
was getting more and more angry, thinking, can they do this? Really? And
shuffling through random crim pro bits in my head I think the answer is
yes. But if it were my client, the answer would absolutely be no, for the
record.
After about 15 minutes of this nonesense, we were permitted to reboard the
bus. The Task Force, sans Fido, reboarded the bus, thanking us for our
patience and letting us know they were expecting someone to come through
with something. Then they asked the young man behind me if he would mind
speaking to them outside. I started shaking my head no and trying to
telepathically advise my bus friend NOT TO SAY A DAMNED WORD. He agreed
with the cop and asked whether he should bring his bag. NO YOU SHOULD NOT
OFFER TO DO THAT. The cops said it would not be necessary. They were
outside for a few moments and my bus friend reboarded. My bus friend was
not my friend until he was approached by the cops, at which point in my
head we became best friends. My bus friend is probably 20 years old, I'd
guess of Dominican descent, he was wearing a large puffy jacket, the
baseball cap with the straight brim and sticker on it (as is the style now
apparently) and his Timbs. He sat back down behind me and after a few
moments, I threw etiquette to the wind and I turned around.
"What did they ask you out there, if you don't mind me asking?"
He replied in a shy, soft-spoken manner that surprised me. "The dog
smelled the plaintains that I have in my bag. They asked me if there was
anything in my bag, I told them no. But I guess the plaintains made him
bark."
He went on to tell me that they asked, "Are you sure? Not even a little
marijuana or something?" He assured them that there was nothing in his
bag and offered to let them search it. DO NOT DO THAT. They declined.
"I'm so embarrassed," he said softly.
I remember the attorney for whom I worked this summer, when teaching
street law, would always tell the youth that they had to do what they
needed to do to keep themselves safe. For instance, if the cops are going
to beat the shit out of you or shoot at you for walking away, then maybe,
even though you believe you have the right to walk away, it isn't the best
idea to do so. My bus friend was in the same position. If I were him, I
can't say I would have done differently - I've got nothing to hide, let's
get this over with. But on the other hand, there is a large part of me on
the inside screaming to challenge this bullshit. Had he been following
the advice I was giving him in my head, he probably WOULD have been patted
down, bags searched, and maybe even taken a gratuitous ride in a cop car.
We chatted for a while longer, as the bus was still going nowhere, and
neither were the cops (who were no longer on the bus but lingering
outside). Many minutes elapse and the cops reboarded the bus again,
announcing that they had found what they were looking for. They showed us
what they called a substantial amount of cocaine. I'm no good with
weights and measures. Don't ask me to judge distance. But this cocaine
looked exactly like the round handsoap you would get in a hotel - wrapped
the same way and everything. I was psyched that the cops were showing me
cocaine, and I'm certain that one cop mistook my smirk of public defender
snarkiness as, 'Thank goodness you were here to save me from that soap! I
mean, substantial amount of cocaine!'
I was on a bus in college once and also had the occasion to observe the
cops at work. We stopped, people had boarded, and then we didn't go
anywhere. The cops started poking around the luggage compartment and then
boarded the bus, asking who got on at that stop. They informed us that
the car dealership next door had been robbed at gunpoint and they
suspected the perpetrator might try to flee via bus. Snazzy. Well, the
cops looked around at who got on at that stop and must have decided that
all those people LOOKED nice enough. Until they came to the guy that
could not speak English. They asked him several times if they could look
in his bag. He could not understand what they were saying, so they took
the liberty - literally took his liberty - of searching his bag. The
man's voice and words grew increasingly agitated. The cops thanked him
and returned his bag. I remember FUMING about that.
I told my bus friend that I don't trust cops one whit. He said that they
just wanted to show everyone that they were doing their job. Funny, that.
The white woman in a suit with a briefcase being the nosy cop-hater bitch
on wheels and the young hip-hop Latino man being shy, soft-spoken, and
embarrassed. He knows how to fry plaintains though. I'll be looking for
his face out on the town this weekend.
(Does this remind anyone of the case heard last term about 4 people in a car, the drugs found in the car belong to one person, and for whom do the police have probable cause? Scalia used the bus hypo. Here you go, my Supreme friends. I COULD HAVE BEEN ARRESTED. Sweet.)
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Decimated
I am not qualified to be any sort of attorney, much less a public defender. At least that's what my interviewer yesterday led me to believe.
There were a few painful moments in the first half, but nothing I felt badly about. I knew what I was talking about, I was confident in the answers that I was giving, even though the interviewer was rephrasing them back to me impatiently. It's fair to say that the entire interview fell apart when I was doing a cross-examination of the complaining witness and was trying to impeach 'her' with a prior inconsistent statement. The other interviewer (pretending to be the DA) objected to the statement not being in evidence, and I, being a law student, have no idea how to get it admitted into evidence. After a few (what I believed to be) valiant efforts at it, the alpha interviewer cut me off, saying, "I don't have the time to engage in clinical instruction." Which eliminated the remaining two thirds of my cross examination.
He did later follow up with a question as to why I thought I was qualified to be a litigator, which is a good indication that he thought I stunk. That, and the fact that at the very end, we had an actual discussion for about 3 minutes about my resume. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing about it.
I cried after I left not because I was embarrassed but because I was SO ANGRY that I felt like I didn't know what I was doing. I know that I couldn't do what he wanted me to do - I am fully aware of what I can and can't do. I knew the pre-trial motions, the trial issues, etc. I knew that I wanted to impeach this woman with her prior inconsistent statement - and I knew that I had no idea what that process looks like with a witness on the stand. People have told me over and over again that it doesn't matter whether I do the technically correct thing in interviews - it's about the way I approach the situation and think through the problem. This interview blew that theory out of the water. The young attorney who was the second interviewer tried to make me feel better, telling me that this guy is a tough interviewer, that it doesn't matter whether I get the right answer but rather the way I think about it (YOU ARE SO WRONG) but I appreciated his kindness. It still was a train wreck.
The interview made me feel like I don't have whatever it is these people are looking for. Maybe I'm just not meant to do this sort of work. I clearly haven't learned whatever it is that I was supposed to have learned by now.
I can't remember the last time I felt so deflated.
There were a few painful moments in the first half, but nothing I felt badly about. I knew what I was talking about, I was confident in the answers that I was giving, even though the interviewer was rephrasing them back to me impatiently. It's fair to say that the entire interview fell apart when I was doing a cross-examination of the complaining witness and was trying to impeach 'her' with a prior inconsistent statement. The other interviewer (pretending to be the DA) objected to the statement not being in evidence, and I, being a law student, have no idea how to get it admitted into evidence. After a few (what I believed to be) valiant efforts at it, the alpha interviewer cut me off, saying, "I don't have the time to engage in clinical instruction." Which eliminated the remaining two thirds of my cross examination.
He did later follow up with a question as to why I thought I was qualified to be a litigator, which is a good indication that he thought I stunk. That, and the fact that at the very end, we had an actual discussion for about 3 minutes about my resume. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing about it.
I cried after I left not because I was embarrassed but because I was SO ANGRY that I felt like I didn't know what I was doing. I know that I couldn't do what he wanted me to do - I am fully aware of what I can and can't do. I knew the pre-trial motions, the trial issues, etc. I knew that I wanted to impeach this woman with her prior inconsistent statement - and I knew that I had no idea what that process looks like with a witness on the stand. People have told me over and over again that it doesn't matter whether I do the technically correct thing in interviews - it's about the way I approach the situation and think through the problem. This interview blew that theory out of the water. The young attorney who was the second interviewer tried to make me feel better, telling me that this guy is a tough interviewer, that it doesn't matter whether I get the right answer but rather the way I think about it (YOU ARE SO WRONG) but I appreciated his kindness. It still was a train wreck.
The interview made me feel like I don't have whatever it is these people are looking for. Maybe I'm just not meant to do this sort of work. I clearly haven't learned whatever it is that I was supposed to have learned by now.
I can't remember the last time I felt so deflated.
Friday, February 04, 2005
I am weary.
Two days ago, things were humming along fine, and yesterday they arrived
at a screeching, train-wreck, engulfed-in-flames halt. Things are bad,
bad, bad. And when one thing goes bad, everything else starts to look
bad. It all unravels. My life is built on a house of cards and now I'm
playing 52 pick-up.
So, since I'm being moody, humor me. I'm fucked. I wrote my seminar prof
and told her I couldn't be in class because I have an interview. that's
true. What's more true is that I can't finish reading the book in time
for class because I have to spend the next 48 hours redoing this project
that I apparently did all wrong. As soon as I finish this research, I
decided, I'm quitting. I don't have time to research for $10/hr, not
while I'm still interviewing anyway. I'm going to be out of town most of
next week but still have so much work to do for the clinic and trial ad.
I will do no homework next week b/c of interviews and that will only make
next weekend 400 times worse.
It is Friday night and I will be in the library until Sunday.
Everyone else is at a party tonight. And tomorrow night. and the party's
at my house Sunday. I hate EVERYTHING.
And work stress becomes eating badly, biting my fingernails off, and
ultimately, life stress. What the fuck am I doing? I'm really applying
to PD offices in every country in the East and Mid-West? Why? Do I want
to be there? Where the fuck am I going to be living next year? What if I
hate it? Should I even be doing PD work? What about juvenile work? What
if no one ever, ever, ever loves me again? What if I end up lonely
forever? Why can't I just fall asleep in someone else's arms tonight,
just this once?
Dear God, please let me rest. Even you had Sundays. I don't even have
that until at least May.
And it's all I can do to stop from just bursting out into tears in the
middle of the library. And I've been like this all day. It's unbearable.
at a screeching, train-wreck, engulfed-in-flames halt. Things are bad,
bad, bad. And when one thing goes bad, everything else starts to look
bad. It all unravels. My life is built on a house of cards and now I'm
playing 52 pick-up.
So, since I'm being moody, humor me. I'm fucked. I wrote my seminar prof
and told her I couldn't be in class because I have an interview. that's
true. What's more true is that I can't finish reading the book in time
for class because I have to spend the next 48 hours redoing this project
that I apparently did all wrong. As soon as I finish this research, I
decided, I'm quitting. I don't have time to research for $10/hr, not
while I'm still interviewing anyway. I'm going to be out of town most of
next week but still have so much work to do for the clinic and trial ad.
I will do no homework next week b/c of interviews and that will only make
next weekend 400 times worse.
It is Friday night and I will be in the library until Sunday.
Everyone else is at a party tonight. And tomorrow night. and the party's
at my house Sunday. I hate EVERYTHING.
And work stress becomes eating badly, biting my fingernails off, and
ultimately, life stress. What the fuck am I doing? I'm really applying
to PD offices in every country in the East and Mid-West? Why? Do I want
to be there? Where the fuck am I going to be living next year? What if I
hate it? Should I even be doing PD work? What about juvenile work? What
if no one ever, ever, ever loves me again? What if I end up lonely
forever? Why can't I just fall asleep in someone else's arms tonight,
just this once?
Dear God, please let me rest. Even you had Sundays. I don't even have
that until at least May.
And it's all I can do to stop from just bursting out into tears in the
middle of the library. And I've been like this all day. It's unbearable.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
this must be my lucky day
because I just received a request to complete (what I estimate to be) several hundred hours of research for the clinic.
I'm PSYCHED to do it. But I'm also terrified that there may, indeed, not be enough hours in the day for me to accomplish everything.
I'm PSYCHED to do it. But I'm also terrified that there may, indeed, not be enough hours in the day for me to accomplish everything.
further proof that I am not actually sane
I had a dream last night that me and Martin Luther King, Jr. were hanging out on the couch having a totally deep conversation about 'the struggle.' He wept because
he felt his burden was just too big. I wept because I felt it, too. We were just so tired and frustrated with all the hate and racism in the world, me and MLK. I, of course, assured him that his struggle and his work, when he was alive, was righteous and that I was here to keep it up. We cried. we hugged. I have such an inflated sense of self-importance that I am comparing my work in the world (which at this point consists of reading the tax code in the dungeon) with the lifetime work of MLK, greatest civil rights leader ever and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. Excellent.
I swear I stashed some tequila around here somewhere...
he felt his burden was just too big. I wept because I felt it, too. We were just so tired and frustrated with all the hate and racism in the world, me and MLK. I, of course, assured him that his struggle and his work, when he was alive, was righteous and that I was here to keep it up. We cried. we hugged. I have such an inflated sense of self-importance that I am comparing my work in the world (which at this point consists of reading the tax code in the dungeon) with the lifetime work of MLK, greatest civil rights leader ever and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. Excellent.
I swear I stashed some tequila around here somewhere...
update
My interview went fine. I'm under no delusions that I knocked anyone's socks off, but it was pleasant enough. It made for a long day - catching a bus long before dawn, riding the bus for 5 hrs, arriving 2 hrs early, killing time, then doing the actual interview, then heading back to the bus, realizing that it was 4 pm and somehow I had only consumed a pumpkin spice latte and nothing else, and then hopped the bus back to arrive home around 10 pm.
I'm feeling a little bit pressured for time right now. When I came back to school, I was delighted with all the people I got to hang out with. Except since classes started, I haven't gone out at all. I have a research project due Sunday for which I have almost nothing done; I have trial ad sucking all my free time (but it's so fun!); I have more interviews next week; the Super Bowl is this Sunday and of course, we're having a hoard of people over. Add an hour of workouts plus two hours of class time a day, and I feel like I'm running a negative balance on the 'free time' column.
Despite my crazed schedule, I think I've managed to stay pretty mellow and in a pretty good mood. Because I only have class once a day (except Wed) I get to structure my own time, which is great. I think I'm doing a pretty good job of juggling everything - with the exception, I guess, of scheduling time for socializing. But I have four social events to hit between Fri and Sun, so that should be plenty. If I can just get this damned research done...
This guy I went out with once or twice last year, who I later found out had a girlfriend, is still someone I'll call from time to time when we're all going out. He doesn't know anyone in town, and I feel bad. (My friend kindly called it my sense of 'social benevolence'). So it's sketchy enough that he has a long-term girlfriend that he's never once mentioned or discussed with any of us. He's joined us a few times - out at the bar for a long night, two afternoons of football, etc. WELL I found out that HIS GIRLFRIEND IS NOW LIVING WITH HIM. Again, he's never even mentioned her, probably because he and I went out and he realizes that he's sketchy. But it's really, really, really sketchy that he LEFT HER AT HOME while he came out with the rest of us.
I found out this piece of information last weekend at girl's night. A friend had the ladies over to her house for dinner, wine, and chocolate... so much chocolate. It was a great night, actually. Very laid back, we put back an embarrassing number of bottles of wine, ate things that are so very bad for us, and just all caught up. It reminded me of how difficult it is for women to bond sometimes - women can be so catty to each other - but how crucial it is.
Thanks for all of your comments and words of encouragement! If I don't respond, don't take it personally - I'm just swamped and can't always get around to responding. But I do read them!
P.S. I got rave reviews on my summations - my peers have come up to tell me how impressed they were, and my video review instructor told me that he's incredibly critical, and this is probably the only time I'd hear it from him, but that he thought my summation was really good! Whew. No need to search for a new profession. I just might have learned something useful at the DA's office this semester after all...
P.P.S. I'm taking a kickass seminar in race/identity/law and I have lots of thoughts on it to share with you all. That's a warning, CDog - I suppose you'll want to stop visiting here.
I'm feeling a little bit pressured for time right now. When I came back to school, I was delighted with all the people I got to hang out with. Except since classes started, I haven't gone out at all. I have a research project due Sunday for which I have almost nothing done; I have trial ad sucking all my free time (but it's so fun!); I have more interviews next week; the Super Bowl is this Sunday and of course, we're having a hoard of people over. Add an hour of workouts plus two hours of class time a day, and I feel like I'm running a negative balance on the 'free time' column.
Despite my crazed schedule, I think I've managed to stay pretty mellow and in a pretty good mood. Because I only have class once a day (except Wed) I get to structure my own time, which is great. I think I'm doing a pretty good job of juggling everything - with the exception, I guess, of scheduling time for socializing. But I have four social events to hit between Fri and Sun, so that should be plenty. If I can just get this damned research done...
This guy I went out with once or twice last year, who I later found out had a girlfriend, is still someone I'll call from time to time when we're all going out. He doesn't know anyone in town, and I feel bad. (My friend kindly called it my sense of 'social benevolence'). So it's sketchy enough that he has a long-term girlfriend that he's never once mentioned or discussed with any of us. He's joined us a few times - out at the bar for a long night, two afternoons of football, etc. WELL I found out that HIS GIRLFRIEND IS NOW LIVING WITH HIM. Again, he's never even mentioned her, probably because he and I went out and he realizes that he's sketchy. But it's really, really, really sketchy that he LEFT HER AT HOME while he came out with the rest of us.
I found out this piece of information last weekend at girl's night. A friend had the ladies over to her house for dinner, wine, and chocolate... so much chocolate. It was a great night, actually. Very laid back, we put back an embarrassing number of bottles of wine, ate things that are so very bad for us, and just all caught up. It reminded me of how difficult it is for women to bond sometimes - women can be so catty to each other - but how crucial it is.
Thanks for all of your comments and words of encouragement! If I don't respond, don't take it personally - I'm just swamped and can't always get around to responding. But I do read them!
P.S. I got rave reviews on my summations - my peers have come up to tell me how impressed they were, and my video review instructor told me that he's incredibly critical, and this is probably the only time I'd hear it from him, but that he thought my summation was really good! Whew. No need to search for a new profession. I just might have learned something useful at the DA's office this semester after all...
P.P.S. I'm taking a kickass seminar in race/identity/law and I have lots of thoughts on it to share with you all. That's a warning, CDog - I suppose you'll want to stop visiting here.
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