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