At first I was afraid, I was petrified...

I've been sitting on my ass in front of the TV for two straight days, which is something I haven't done since I've been in law school. This is very liberating for me. I decided that I was going to whip up some butternut squash risotto for dinner, and around 5:30, I commenced dinner preparations still wearing my sweatpants and oversized t-shirt with a hole in it. By the time it was done, I had HALF AN HOUR to get ready for the annual law school bash. I am by no means high maintenance. But, if I'm wearing open toed shoes, then hells yeah I have to paint the toenails. The strapless bra itself requires a solid 15 minutes of buckling, turning around, pulling up, only to immediately sink again, only to have me pull it back up, ad nauseum, until I conceded defeat and threw on the top that I got from the junior's rack at a discount store that I'm still not sure I liked but wore to the event and got rave reviews for. Strapless shirt + strapless bra + gi-normous boobs = goddamn it when am I getting plastic surgery?

As I was whirling out the door in a frenzy, I realized I had missed 3 calls in the time that it took me to paint and dry (hair dryers are a girl's best friend) my toenails, throw on the evening face, party earrings and other appropriate accessories. Two were from law school friends. One was from... Mr. STF. I saw that I missed a call from him and I simultaneously thought, "I don't have the time for this!" "I look really hot tonight, clearly it's no coincidence that he called," and "This is cool. We haven't spoken on the phone since, like, October." So I was late, and frenzied, and when I was on my way to pick up a friend, I listened to my messages.

He called me from his pocket. Yup. I got a 2 minute long message of a lot of rustling, rummaging, and muffled singing.

The worst part of all was that I was SO HAPPY to see that he called, and when I realized that it wasn't a real phone call, I felt like such an ass for being so happy that he called.

I wanted to feel attractive tonight, and I did at first. I had a good time this evening. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I had a song dedicated to me. By the band that performed it. I melted. I got a lot of compliments, which is always nice, since I'm generally convinced that I look like an ugly hag most of the time. Hung out with friends, got my groove thing on a bit. It was a very good time. I love my peeps, especially my girls. Despite my desire to flirt and maybe even kiss a guy, I came back home early and alone. There's an afterparty, all of my friends are there, and I'm sure it's a good time. But I had a good time, and I'd rather be in bed in time for my hot date with the gym tomorrow morning than to go to bed alone & disappointed tonight.

Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor!

I've tried many times to post, but Blogger kept eating my entries, and that really pissed me off. Besides, my life isn't too fascinating. I'm making a concerted effort to work less and socialize more. It's working out pretty well so far. I have an interview next Thursday for which I have to perform. I still have some residual performance anxiety from the Interview From Hell, so I haven't bothered to start preparing yet. I'm excited about the interview though. I'm still plugging away at the fellowship proposal, and I'm super excited about that. I started reading True Notebooks by Mark Salzman, which is an account of his experience teaching writing classes at a juvenile correctional facility in LA. Just reading it brought back floods of memories of my experiences working with incarcerated juveniles and got me really excited to one day be a lawyer for those kids. The first two pages (which you can read on Amazon.com) have a very amusing dialogue regarding Mr. Rogers that concludes with this line: "Homies be like, 'It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood - now gimme that train set, fool."

Currently listening to: Thievery Corporation, "The Cosmic Game" and Juanes, "Mi Sangre." I'm not sure that I like the Juanes album yet, but I do like Thievery Corporation's new album.

See? I told you.

EVERYONE IS GETTING HIRED except me. Still no change on the job front. Have a few places that absolutely refuse to call me back. I'm in interview limbo. Will I make it to the next round? Have I already NOT made it to the last round and you forgot to tell me? There's one place I'm actually tentatively scheduled to do the same interview with on two different days next week, depending on the availability of attorneys. Well, I still haven't heard what day it's going to be yet.

And then there's this other public defender's office, that was all up in my shit, and then at the last minute said, oh, you'll have to wait until late spring, that's when we do most of our hiring, and I said ok. And then summer coworker RECEIVED and REJECTED a job offer with them, like, months ago. And they have not responded to my recent letter reaffirming my interest in their office. Don't play like you don't want me, mofos.

And then there's this dreeeeeeamy fellowship that looks like it would be great, except hard, and I don't know what the hell will happen with that. I'm still trying to work out the proposal itself. Uphill battle.

P.S. Rejecting me for a job, but telling me that you're going to keep my resume in case a position opens up, is like being the guy who only hooks up with me when he's drunk.

Today's news

From the very little that I know of this matter, I'd say this is an example of where the death penalty goes wrong: Death sentence to be sought for killing aboard prison bus.

The Devil Wears Pinstripes: an article on Yankees fans and Sox fans.

Young father juggles high school, responsibilities.

I wonder what Ronald Reagan thought, if anything, of Jelly Bellies.

I wonder if he knew that they are so tasty, you can eat half a pound of them and not realize it until your stomach starts hurting REALLY BADLY.

That's like a full work day.

Last night, I went out for a brief happy hour pit-stop on my way home from the law school. I figured, a slice, a brew, and then two episodes of the O.C. Sweet. Well, a slice turned into two, a beer turned into 8 pitchers, and 6 p.m. suddenly became 2 a.m. No O.C. to be had (I was advised that it was a repeat. This best be true). After the rest of the law school dispersed in time for the O.C., an unlikely foursome remained, rocking into the wee hours of the morning. The fifth member came at the very end of the night. When we were considering whether or not to get that ONE LAST PITCHER at last call, in response to my comment that we had been there since 6, the fifth member said, "Damn. 7 and a half hours? That's like a full work day. Except no lunch break." Gosh, when you put it that way, it's almost shameful. The night just flew by. I remember laughing a lot. That sure was nice.

The Human Mating Ritual

I went to the coffee shop to do some terribly boring reading and to drink more tea. It's actually more essential that I hold the tea to my face, thus clearing my sinuses, than it is to actually consume it. I sat at a booth because it wasn't very crowded. Eventually the few tables filled up, and a young man asked if he could sit with me. It's not an uncommon request, and of course I agreed.

For the next half hour or so, I glanced up to get a peek at his face. What he was reading. At his cast. What did his sweatshirt say? Grad student? I'm guessing undergrad. And he not so subtley did the same. What I was reading. Where I was looking. Eventually he closed his book and muttered something, so I looked up, smiled, and asked, "Interesting reading?" The title included the word Optimal and the reading material looked like calculus. Lots of charts and swirls and points. We chatted for a while. He was cute, friendly. He talked about what he was reading. An old book from the book sale. He does satellite something or other. Engineering department. He explained in simple terms, using the objects on our shared table, what the optimal something or other meant. Then he started talking about cockroaches and an experiment. At this point my interest waned. He laughed at the wrong times. He talked a lot about himself and what he was into, in response to a few questions from me. I stopped asking questions but he didn't ask any in return. He didn't introduce himself. He did mention that he observed how intently I was studying my reading. It was not interesting, I assured him. It just takes so much mental energy to read it. He laughed, said I seemed impervious to the music blaring from the speakers.

Then he packed up, wished me luck on Mather's article (how could he see that? I could barely read it) and left.

I like making new friends. But I was puzzled. Why not a name? Shouldn't he have asked me for my name? Maybe my number? Not necessarily, I suppose. Sigh. Is this what the beginning of dating rituals look like? Perhaps the next ritual will be more successful.

Take Two Tablets: Dahlia on the Ten Commandment arguments.

Law firms question Gen Y work ethic

Pot? This is kettle. William Saletan's article on how Scalia, while attacking his brethren for flip-flopping on issues of the maturity of minors, manages to disregard his own flip-flopping on the issue.

tickles me

Today I read an article that used the term 'vegetable sexuality.'

I'll take another

I've contracted the School Death Virus, plus I'm menstruating, I'm incredibly groggy, and I have a terrible sore throat. Which means that I all at once need coffee, tea, sudafed, throat lozenges, kleenex, tampons, and ibuprofen. Throw in my unemployment psychosis, and I'm a bona fide mess.

SUPREME COURT STRIKES DOWN JUVENILE DEATH PENALTY

Rock the fuck ON. If you're going to have a crazy constitutional standard like "evolving standards of decency" thank you for applying it correctly.

Kennedy wrote the majority opinion.
Stevens's concurrence
O'Connor's dissent
Scalia's dissent

Yahoo article:
In a dissent, Scalia decried the decision, arguing that there has been no clear trend of declining juvenile executions to justify a growing consensus against the practice.
"The court says in so many words that what our people's laws say about the issue does not, in the last analysis, matter: 'In the end our own judgment will be brought to bear on the question of the acceptability of the death penalty,' he wrote in a 24-page dissent.
"The court thus proclaims itself sole arbiter of our nation's moral standards," Scalia wrote.

EDIT: Dahlia's take on it

For better or for worse, buddy, that's what you got goin' on.

In other news, A Spotty Record of Health Care at Juvenile Facilities in NY - another article on Prison Health Services and their treatment of incarcerated individuals.

I really love the kiddos. Really really love them.

Frustrated. Upset. Shedding a few tears.

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.

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.

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?

Swoon.

New acting chief of DC's juvenile justice agency sets forth new plan to address juvenile delinquency.

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.

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.

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!"

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.

Riddle me this

Is it possible to kidnap a dead person?

Sounds simple enough, no? BUT TRY CITING SOME AUTHORITY, BUSTER.

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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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

news flash

BarBri has TUITION ASSISTANCE for bar review programs. Why was I not aware of this?

I is po'.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Slate commentary on the Lynne Stewart verdict.

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?

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?

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.

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.)

Another pointless execution

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

My schedule

Because you care.

Tomorrow I am taking a 5 hour bus ride to City #1 at the crack of dawn, then making my way through the city to the office for my afternoon interview, then making my way back to the bus station, and back home. Will arrive home no earlier than 11:45 pm.

I have 6 hours of class on Wed, one class for which I have to have an entire book read and a response paper written.

Friday I have to be prepared to cross examine in one case, direct examination in another, and play a witness at least once.

Next week, I have to go to City #2 for an interview on Tuesday. Then I have to come back Tuesday night for another typical Wednesday (6 hrs of class, one for which I have to have read a book and written a response paper) and be prepared to direct, cross, and play witness again for both Wed and Fri. But what makes next week even better is that on THURSDAY I have to be in City #1 again. I'm considering cancelling or rescheduling, because I can't keep traveling 10 hrs in a day for an interview, then coming back for a day to attend my mandatory classes, then traveling another 10 hrs the next day. But I can't see what choice I have if I'm interested in being employed.

I haven't even started yet and I'm already tired. The next two weeks will probably see blogging at a minimum. If I don't get at least one solid job offer out of the next two weeks (although, frankly, these interviews will only lead to further interviews) I'm going to be PISSED.

My career is on the line.

I may be pursuing the wrong career. I've always been excited by the idea of being in the courtroom, but every time I get near a courtroom-simulated experience, I tense up like a roly-poly being poked by some evil neighborhood kid's stick. I would like to roll up in a ball and wait for it to go away.

Today, I will do my first simulation in trial ad. I think I have a good plan, and I think I'm capable of carrying it out, but I know once I get in there and listen to everyone else I'm going to get tense, stumble over my words, drone on monotonously.

If I'm not declared a brilliant litigator during my review session on Monday, then I'm going to quit. It's all or nothing. My first summation will dictate the rest of my career.

Ok, that's a lie. I'm not going to quit but I will cry.

Suicidal Man charged with murder, faces death penalty

Let me get this straight. This guy wanted to kill himself, but he changed his mind. At that point, his truck was already stuck and, as the CEO of the train company said, he couldn't have moved it if he tried. The train then derails, killing people, and the solution to this problem is to charge the suicidal man who couldn't move his truck with 11 counts of murder and sentence him to death?

What about the fact that it's even POSSIBLE to get stuck on a train track and that when such things occur, the train derails?

THIS IS FUCKING ABSURD. Talk about zealous prosecution.

Nota bene:

Including me on an email forward to 100 of your closest friends does not constitute 'communication' and thus, any duties of friendship are not discharged as a result of such email.

I am exhausted. I spent the whole day chatting with people I haven't seen in ages, and it's tiring! I was at the law school all day, but I only spent one hour in class and one hour studying. Whew. I'm plum tuckered out.

I spent $462 on books for TWO CLASSES. unfuckingbelievable.

I got my first issue of Maxim today. Woohoo! It's a little dirty that it has my name clearly labeled on it. A little shameful. But it's a guilty pleasure. I cracked open a beer and read it cover to cover. I only read the funny articles, and I skip over the naked women and stupid articles. Sometimes it doesn't take me long to read it.

I am listening to Buena Vista Social Club now because it's the type of music that plays inside of me but does not emerge nearly enough. I would like to meet someone who could evoke some BVSC from me.

Back in the saddle

Returning after being away since May is odd enough. Being back in CLASS for the first time since April is just awkward. The first thing I did on the way to school this morning was fall on my ass. So it's now wet, cold, and covered in salt. Then I realized I'd forgotten to bring writing utensils. See, I used to have stashes of necessary items like candy, yogurt, paper, pens, books, a coffee mug, post-its, up here at the law school. But I moved out. I've been working since May and now I know what a racket this whole 3rd year of law school is, and I couldn't care less. The school is filled with 1Ls that I've never seen, which means I virtually don't exist because everyone knows that law school is all about 1L year. If you're a 3L AND you aren't in the social loop you're as good as dead.

I am excited to take trial advocacy and I'm working on another capital case this semester. I'm taking tax, which bores me just thinking about it, but I'm taking it pass/fail. And then I have a writing seminar that sounds fascinating, on race theory and the law.

Friday night was wonderful. Most of the friends were back in town and we all went to The Bar, the bar at which we always gather. Getting ready, I pulled out all the tricks I learned from my summer roomie, who I miss and adore. Then I assembled clothing according to the clothing layering system I developed this fall. And then I went out. And how. I didn't get to sleep until 4:30 am - after drinking at the bar, flirting with men, getting a WWF move from behind, going to after hours, listening to Stevie Ray Vaughan, drinking red wine, eating pizza, and debating the role and relevance of religion in our lives and the lives of people generally, in addition to seriously discussing today's top rap artists. It was so wonderful to have SO MANY PEOPLE to talk to - people I don't know well but enjoy speaking to. I love the freedom to just approach people and start chatting, and to just walk away when I want.

I wrote an email to Mr. Summertime Fun (formerly Mr. Maybe) because one of my friends is actually an old friend of his. It's really small world. My friend slurred to me, "He's such a good guy. What's he been up to? Let's call him!" and then he passed out. But I wrote Mr. STF an email saying, basically, Hey! Friend asked me what you were up to and I have no idea. Hope all is well. No response. No surprise.

Had a really important and intimate heart to heart with bestfriendandroommate Fri night / Sat morning. We laughed, we cried, we shared, and I'm so glad we did. It was probably one of the very few moments in my life when I've communicated so openly with someone. We both laid it out there, completely exposed, and our friendship is all the richer. I can't remember the last time I felt that close to someone in my life.

Shit's getting busy. I have a class in 1.5 hours and I haven't even purchased my books yet.

How 'bout them Patriots?

Former Texas drug agent to serve 10 yrs probation

So let's see. This guy manufactures dozens of trumped up drug convictions of black guys, and gets hooked on the federal perjury statute for telling one tangential lie. Martha Stewart does that and she's doing hard time in the pen because investors lost some money. What the fuck?

Jury pool from hell:
Right after jury selection began last week, one man got up and left, announcing, "I'm on morphine and I'm higher than a kite."

Yes, I would like another drink.

Scheduled some job interviews today. Got myself pre-approved for a bar study loan (which, p.s. deducts an 11.5% disbursement fee. THEY ARE TAKING $1000 AWAY FROM ME THAT I HAVE TO PAY BACK WITH INTEREST YOU DIRTY LOAN MOTHERFUCKERS).

Spoke to an incredibly helpful individual in regards to my fellowship proposal and I started to realize what I'm getting myself into. I started to think that I don't have the financial security to embark upon this late-in-the-game adventure. And there's a chance that while it's my dream job in my head, it could backfire. Although if I'm working for myself, how bad could it possibly be? I've never been smart enough to tread softly. Inadvertently, I'm stubborn and hot-tempered enough to get what I want. It's a good thing I've chosen to use these powers for good and not evil.

When I make my life decisions, it's rarely based on pragmatism. I generally view my decisions in life as strength or weakness. I'm strong enough to embark on this; I'm weak and can't go through with this. It's not always the healthiest way to look at how I live my life, but thanks to that attitude, I've done some healthy risk-taking.

And the other day, I managed to surprise myself - the thought crept up in my mind from a different angle, and it caught me off guard. But it looks like I tricked myself into recognizing the truth. That might not change my mind, but it's always good to be self-aware.

Part of what I love about law school is the reckless abandon with which we (unknowingly) celebrate each other's company. The constant opportunities for socializing are just what this girl needs.

I had to pick up a document for my job. The person from whom I was retrieving the document is not a party to the case, and it's not even a case on which I've worked. I scurried over to retrieve the document and was just going to go home. I was invited in, offered a drink, tea, coffee, anything, etc. The overtones of the conversation were very hospitable, a mention of possibly seeing me again.

A recurring theme in my life is that I know just enough to know when I'm being stupid, but I don't know enough to fix it. In this case, cultural sensitivity. As a social worker, a large part of my education was learning to connect with people who have vastly different social expectations. In this case, I was offered food and drink so many times in my brief visit to merely retrieve a document that I knew that continuously turning it down wasn't the right answer. I apologized, stated I was on my way to meet friends for dinner, and departed a few moments later. But I still can't shake the awkwardness of the interaction. I believe that I do a good job of not showing discomfort. I have a vapid smile and a sincere thanks. But I don't feel any less foolish afterwards. And even now I wonder what was expected of me in that visit. Last week, someone needed change, so I gave them change. I give people change or dollar bills all the time - it's not something I expect in return. So, when I reflexively declined the exchange from the client, my supervisor gave it to me impatiently. Afterwards, I felt foolish. I didn't want to insult the client, and I think it might be unethical technically to give a client anything at all, but it's just habit. If you asked me for 20 cents, I'd give it to you and never expect anything back. I hate feeling stupid.

It wasn't the overtures that caught me off guard, but rather it was my inability to formulate a response that would have been comfortable for me. I think that law school has insulated me from working with clients for so long that I've become rusty. In the past two weeks, I think I've realized how far I've fallen in the way I communicate with clients. As a social worker, the emphasis of the work was creating a relationship with the client that was appropriate for the context. It's that working relationship that drives me to do public defender work. Perhaps my complaint with law, or legal education, is the emphasis on form over substance. My legal education seems to have completely overlooked the fact that 1. there are people involved and 2. facts will never, ever be a slam-dunk into one legal analysis or another - being a lawyer is all about squishing your side of the story into the most favorable analysis. Nothing ever fits nicely. And my legal education sure as hell didn't help me figure out exactly how appropriate or inappropriate it was to decline offers of hospitality.

I'm listening to Damien Rice's album, "O" right now. If you haven't heard the song "Delicate" yet, you really should. It's so good it will actually make you want to cry.

Jury conversations

I swear it's not contagious.

One way to make sure that you, as a landlord, will never rent out your property is to give your current residents no notice, so when one of the interested parties brings her father along to look at the place, the 6-month supply of birth control will be splayed all over the bathroom along with an ominous tube of medical cream.

sistah can't catch a break?

I have some bad crazy 6-months-past-due credit issue that concerns me, because damn I need a bar loan. This issue just came to my attention and I'm nervous. I mean, a $78 past due insurance payment won't break me, will it? Please oh please oh please. And when I finally decided that I would get off the couch to meet a friend to play pool and drink beer, that I would actually get out of the house and throw down some Womanofthelaw magic, he get all snippy at me and told me not to come meet them. Well. Fuck you then. Thanks.

I'm going to hide in my bed now.

Tonight is a night in which the only thing that would cheer me up right now would be a tall, broad, muscular carpenter sitting on my couch, with me in his lap, his arms wrapped around me, stroking back my hair.

And since THAT's not going to happen, it looks like I'll settle for more pjs and liquor.

I dislike my blog template. I've thought about changing to another one of the Blogger templates, but then I'll lose all the things that I've added in, won't I? And that's such a pain in the ass. Anyhow, I think that my blog in its current format is quite difficult to read since I ramble on for far too long. I'm going to try tinkering around with this one a bit more. I like the 'scribe' feel that it has, but I wish it had some more color to it. A nice hot red or orange. Grrrrrowl. Something a little more fancy. La dee da.

Today's articles

Today's Boston Globe:
*It All Comes Back to Danny Keeler: An article about a homicide detective whose credibility has been questioned
*City Gives Him A Break: Mayor Menino helps a man who served 13 yrs for a rape he didn't commit.
*If someone had been kind enough to give me this kind of career advice I wouldn't be in my current frenzy.

The New York Times' Neediest Cases. Did you know that under the current federal system, women do not qualify for welfare if they are in school full time? The 'workfare' system requires job-related activity, and only a few months every two years, I think, can be counted towards welfare eligibility. So then - if she works at McD's, she might be able to get benefits. If she wants to get a bachelor's degree to get a stable, better paying job with benefits, then the kids don't get fed and the bills don't get paid.

The Baltimore Sun has an article about a defendant convicted for carjacking in which the accomplice and purported triggerman was set free. There's one sentence in the article that I thought was a stupid reporter's attempt to interpret law: "Under Maryland state law, if prosecutors lose a pretrial appeal, they forfeit the entire case." I couldn't get over that one little sentence. Just a minute or two of Westlaw research affirmed that this is, in fact, true.
If the State appeals on the basis of this paragraph, and if on final appeal the decision of the trial court is affirmed, the charges against the defendant shall be dismissed in the case from which the appeal was taken. In that case, the State may not prosecute the defendant on those specific charges or on any other related charges arising out of the same incident.
HOT DAMN.

And there is an awesome article on Slate about Kowalski v. Tesmer, a Sixth Amendment case the Court decided recently. I must admit that I am absolutely ASHAMED that I had not read this opinion until today. The Sixth Amendment is my thing - I am all UP AND IN da biznass of ineffective assistance of counsel claims. (I waded through every, single, solitary Fourth and Fifth Circuit case on it last year for my note, and it just stuck. The Sixth Amendment is my favorite.) The article does a great job of demonstrating what a horrid, horrid decision this is.

Dear Blogger,

Thanks for posting those links a week late. I appreciate it. It makes me look like a complete tool, especially since I went ahead and posted them in a different post anyway, and then you posted them repeatedly. Thanks again!

Respectfully,
Womanofthelaw

The quest for employment

Yesterday, I received exciting news. The agency that I had hoped would sponsor my fellowship agreed to explore my proposal. The head honcho gave the green light to develop this proposal, as I requested, with the input of some individuals in the agency. I think that means they will ultimately be willing to sponsor me, since the only thing I'm going to do from here on out is cater my broad objectives specifically to the process as it exists in that agency. Of course, my vision of this may be drastically different from the agency's vision. Essentially, I'm asking them to allow me to advocate for their incarcerated juvenile clients in matters tangential to their actual case. For instance, concerns about the institution itself, appropriate educational placement, mental health treatment, and/or community re-entry programs. I was thrilled that they said yes! But now, the uphill battle is actually SECURING the funding. That process does not happen until late spring / early summer and is competitive.

In the meantime, I received another callback interview with another organization. The bonus is that it's in the right geographic area. Another bonus is that it's direct client work with kids. The downside is that it's not criminal work. So this is just one more example of the "happy, then sad" rollercoaster I'm experiencing with all this job stuff. I have three callback interviews to be conducted: two at public defender agencies, and one at this children's advocacy agency. So what do I do? Do I base my decision on geography? The client population (juvenile vs. adult)? Criminal vs. civil? My absolute dream job would be the aforementioned fellowship, with a transition into the agency at the termination of my fellowship. Now that I've started the process, I'd look like an ass if I backed out to take another job, and there's a really good chance that I'd apply to this agency in the future. If I were offered a job elsewhere before July, what should I do with the fellowship thing? Should I turn down any job offers and hope for the best? How in God's name could I turn down an ACTUAL job offer for the HOPE of a dream job, when I just asked my mother for the first time since I was 19 for some help to pay my heating bill?

Let's discuss for a moment the 'right geographical area' issue. I had a dream the other night that I let myself into Mr. Maybe's house one night and fell asleep in his bed. He came home later that night, drunk frmo a night out with his roommates, saw me in his bed, and slept in another room. When I woke up in his bed the next morning, I freaked out. What was I doing? Why was I there? Why did I think this was a good idea? I knew he'd be pissed at me, I knew he didn't want me there. So why did I do it? I was gathering my clothing and belongings, trying to sneak out of his room and out of his house without a confrontation - to just get away from having to hear what I didn't want to hear. But as I turned around, I saw him entering the room. "You need to give me your key," he said firmly. Just as firmly I replied, "I think that's a good idea." So he examined each of the keys on my keychain as I chatted with his roommates and caught up on what I've missed since I'd been gone. I finally snatched my keychain out of Mr. Maybe's hand and said, "it's this key," and then his roommate reminded me that there was another one as well. I turned my back on Mr. Maybe, forgetting he was even there, and just kept socializing, albeit with a twinge of awkwardness. Then I left and went to a mall, where I saw an old friend, even though it was a mall to which I'd never been before, and the dream took off in another (rated G) direction that involved a scruffy janitor and a golden retriever.

What does that mean? He wants me to turn in the key to his house. To let go of whatever it is I'm still harboring. What the hell am I still harboring? Why is it that a guy I dated for less than a month still appears in such an emotional context in my dreams on a regular basis? I know part of it is that I'm afraid that if and when I go back, it won't be nearly as fun the second time around. I fear that I depend too much on my memory of him when I think about how great it would be to live there again. The only solution would be to go to a new city. So I really should scrap this fellowship idea, shouldn't I? (It just happens to be with his agency, although it's unlikely that we'd ever run into each other for work things - our jobs shouldn't really cross). Is it really possible that I'm tricking myself into thinking that my desire to go back has nothing to do with him? How do I know that's true if the man can't fucking leave me alone in my dreams?

I suppose what I need to do right now is just relax. I don't have so much as ONE offer, so I shouldn't concern myself with the 'what offer will I take or turn down?' question. In two prior critical decisions - what law school I'd attend, and my agonizing second summer job search - things just seemed to work themselves out. Of course, that's in retrospect. At the time, I was just as anxious as I am now - but I think decisions in my life have a way of weeding themselves out. I bet by the end of all this, my choice will be clear. Maybe I've never ended up 'where I was supposed to be all along' but maybe I've just been able to find a good purpose in everything I've done. So maybe, really, there is no 'right' place for me to be. So how 'bout I just chill the fuck out?

Easier said than done. It seems as though I've managed to break out in some sort of freakish red, bumpy, scar/hive/dry skin/rash thing on, of all places, my face. It is an undetermined condition of undetermined origin. God says, "You want something to worry about? I'll give you something to worry about," and then smites me with some sort of ... thing ... and my Inner Vanity is shrieking, trying to cut a deal with said Higher Power, like, "Ok, so I swear I'll NEVER throw away recyclables again if you just make this THING go away." I went to the doctor and I now have a treatment that should make my face look worse before it makes it look better. "Come back if it's not gone in 10 days," she said. TEN DAYS?!?!?!

My day ended on a wonderful note, with a 30 minute conversation with a client. I enjoy speaking with this client. She doesn't pay her rent, heat, or electricity bills on time, if at all. This has led to a tangled series of problems. But it was so good to talk to her, dig a little deeper about what was going on, and come away with a few chuckles (i.e., the rats playing baseball in her walls). She was distressed at how bad the welfare people made her feel every time she went into the office. I felt so pleased, when I got off the phone, that I wasn't one of the people in her life that made her feel that way. I can write a letter to her landlord, reminding him of his duties to keep up the property and demanding that he do so. It doesn't particularly bother me that she owes him money. It doesn't bother me that she hasn't managed to pay her bills despite numerous assistance programs - I can still make sure that every single one of those programs is doing what they're supposed to do and providing the benefits for which she is qualified. It was great to walk out of the office at the end of the day feeling like I can make use of all this nonesensical legal knowledge while interacting with people for whom I love working.

With my medical issues, and my increasing inability to rely on my own sense of direction, I'm anxious and tired. Tonight I turned down BBQ (I know! it's unpossible!) because I had my heart set on taking a short detour to the liquor store on my way home, picking up some Bailey's, and retiring on the couch in my pink silk pjs to watch the O.C. I need some quiet space right now. Particularly since my face resembles the surface of Mars.

California, here we come...

Today's Supreme Court decisions

http://supct.law.cornell.edu/supct/

New Year's Resolution #1: Success.

NYR #1: Drink more tequila. Ex post facto NYR #1.5: Especially on Mondays.

Done aaaand done.

If I loved my friends and my life any more right this second, I'd cease to exist in a blinding flash of light.

The good and the bad.

Good: Getting internet to work AGAIN after it mysteriously broke AGAIN.
Bad: Discovering that every time I try to post from work, it doesn't happen. All those links! "posted" from work for naught!

Good: Working 9 solid, hectic hours as a legal representative of the indigent, getting paid, and not being bored. That's, like, three good things. But I'll lump it as one.
Bad: Missing health services by 15 minutes and not sending that proposal off to the agency because had no time to sit in one place, much less make an extra phone call.

Excellent: Friends returning, running into them on the street, meeting them later for drinks.
Bad: Allowing trash and various piles of dishes and recycling to remain in the kitchen long after I should have considered doing something with it because I am going out with friends.

Good: XL Mochaccino (paid for with gift cert that I won for filling out a stupid survey that actually didn't apply to me) as a moment of de-stressing
Bad: XL Mochaccino, unlike spinach and calcium, is not on list of "things that are good for your diet"

Good: Sox winning World Series 2004
Even Better: shit-talking Yankee fans (or sheep, rather. you are all sheep. Baaaah.)

Irrelevant: Beltran to Mets.
Atrocious: Mets going for Delgado, too? Sweet merciful crap. Omar Minaya = George Jr?

Ok, so let me hit you with my links that totally set my day off to a crazy start:
To try to net killer, police ask small town's men for DNA
Sgt. David Perry of the Truro Police Department and other law enforcement authorities here say that the program is voluntary but that they will pay close attention to those who refuse to provide DNA.

"We're trying to find that person who has something to hide," Sergeant Perry said.
THE OVERT, RAMPANT UNCONSTITUTIONALITY AND UTTER LAWLESSNESS RENDERS ME SPEECHLESS.

Judge stops pregnant woman from divorcing abuser
The American Civil Liberties Union and the Northwest Women's Law Center, an advocacy group in Seattle, have joined in Shawnna Hughes's appeal. If the ruling is upheld, they say, it not only amounts to discrimination, but also could establish a perverse incentive for an abusive husband to get his wife pregnant in order to force her to stay married.

And it could prompt some women to terminate their pregnancies to obtain a divorce, critics say.

Dahlia's Stand By Your Memos

Beltran could clear O's path to Delgado
Or not: Mets seek mtg with Delgado

The Advocate

oh yeah - Beltran dissed the Astros. Where will he go next?

It's a question of dignity, really.

I was going to email Mr. Maybe. I'm drawing up this fellowship proposal that involves his agency. There's a chance that my proposal duplicates services they already offer, and since I have never worked for this agency, proposing something that already exists would make me look like a total ass to the agency, thus significantly lessening my chances of obtaining a fellowship with them. So I figured, hey, I'll call him, and let him know what I'm thinking, and he can tell me whether this already exists, or what already does exist, and then my proposal will be totally kick-ass.

Tonight, I put on weather-appropriate clothing in addition to my stunning t-shirt and sweatpant ensemble and trudged over to a friend's house. After a hot bowl of stew, some dart practice, and a surprisingly enlightening and insightful conversation with two guy friends, I decided against contacting Mr. Maybe. They completely called me out on the fact that I was mixing personal issues with professional issues. I don't deny it- that's why I was seeking their feedback. I mean, if I emailed him about the job stuff, his response or lack thereof would, in my mind, reflect on the status of our acquaintanceship. If he didn't email me back, I'd be upset and insulted. If he did, but limited it to answering my questions in a cursory fashion, I'd also hate him, and would be hurt and stung by his response. If he emailed me, and included a "hey, how are you? this is what I've been up to" then I'd read far more into it than it actually means. Even more importantly, I think I need to reinforce my desire to make my next move based on reality, and what's best for me, and not some brief shred of unrivaled passion that I encountered one summer.

After coming to that conclusion and putting back a brewsky with the boys, we played some darts and I convinced them to watch "Y Tu Mama Tambien" because I've been DYING to see it. I LOVED it. GREAT MOVIE! I saw "Maria Full of Grace" today and although I liked it, I thought Y Tu Mama Tambien was better. We drank lots more red wine, played more darts, did silly and ridiculous things with internet dating sites, and had more red wine. I've missed having the type of plain old vanilla night that is just really, really good.

Blogging cliques

I can't help but notice that there are some mad crazy blog cliques in the blogs I read. Inevitably, they are formed the way friendships are formed - one blog introduces you to another, the second blog has much cooler friends, and you start hanging out on THEIR blog instead. There are a series of blogs that all seem to relate to one another, and refer to one another, write posts about one another, and sometimes they go on to create a mega-blog.

It's interesting to see virtual communities form, but there's something about it that makes me a little uncomfortable. I like that blogs are an open forum for stories, thoughts, ideas. When blogging cliques develop, it takes away from the idea that I should be a reader, because I'm not in the clique.

I defy cliques.

US Atty vs. District Atty

Odd, how the liberals begin to adopt federalism arguments when the
administration is conservative. Nevertheless, I feel very strongly that
the U.S. Attorney should not be sweeping into the community, charging
local gang members, and then using federal law to override the fact that
state law does not permit the death penalty.

This is an ongoing and bitter battle between the DA in Boston and the U.S
Attorney in Boston, as the article notes.

"A federal judge in Boston has given the government three weeks to
decide whether it will seek the death penalty against four men charged
with murdering rival gang members in a case slated for trial this
spring."

link

If you really loved me,

you'd bring me a handle of Bailey's RIGHT NOW.

A mistrial!

Brief scare when evidence discharges

Law school parodies

Returning to the law school after a semester away, I had a lot of catching
up to do. I was reading an edition of the law school newspaper and came
across some delightfully witty articles, some real, and some parody. One
of the articles that I thought was cute addressed the lunch-stealing
crisis in the law school kitchen. I've been a victim of this vicious
crime only once. I figure, for the most part, no one is into stealing
salads, or cucumbers and hummus, or tuna and celery. But someone did go
for the cukes and hummus one day, and boy was I hungry after that.
Anyway, this tongue-in-cheek article discussing posted signs, indicating
that all victims should report the date and nature of the lunch crime, and
that perpetrators would be prosecuted.

Today, I went to the kitchen to heat up some soup and lo and behold, there
were the signs in all their earnest glory. Truly it was no joke. The
Dean did actually post signs indicating how to report the theft, and
notifying all of the intent to prosecute.

It's very funny.

In addition to being amused, I'm also secretly delighted. My friend had a
soda stolen almost daily from his lunch, entire days of meals were
disappearing, and let me tell you, when you're facing a 16 hr day at the
law school and you have no food or no desire to go grab the greasy pizza
and really bad Chinese food nearby AGAIN, it makes for a bad day.

Yesterday's articles.

My internet is down, so I have to blog from work, which is not my favorite
thing to do. And I'm not going to write out the html for the links, so
here are some links that I saw yesterday and never got to post.

Courts, Abortion, and Common Sense, by George Will:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A40057-2004Dec31.html?referrer=emailarticle

Hard Time (an article on being a father and being incarcerated):
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A35010-2004Dec29.html?referrer=emailarticle

I received a second interview with one of the agencies from which I was
waiting to hear. Now I have two pending second interviews. I'm excited
that I was offered the interviews, but in the back of my mind, my desire
to go forward with the fellowship proposal that I dreamed up keeps
squishing any good feelings I have about other interviews.

Crikey.

It appears as though I will only have one scheduled class every day except
Wed, when I have class from 12:30-6:30 with only a 45 min break to haul
ass across campus for a touchy-feely course on race, language, and law
that is miraculously cross-listed in the law school. Sweet! Sadly, I
will graduate from law school, having never had less than 5 days of
classes, ever, in my life, at any school. I have one unscheduled class
that will take up a lot of time but that's fine, because it appears as
though I'll have plenty of it kicking around. I mean, assuming that I'm
not traveling in search of employment or anything.