The Fourth Quarter Selected Canon from No. 3 Equity Court:

Note on prices: The most available book resources currently available are on-line, chiefly Amazon and bn.com. For used/rare books, the gold standard is bookfinder.com. Personally, I enjoy going to Barnes & Noble, B. Dalton, Borders or independents, such as The Book Shelf in Morgantown, because the online booksellers have yet to recreate the real-world browsing experience. Besides, there’s no coffee bar at Amazon. The largest bookseller is WalMart, but its selection is quite limited. The Amazon price is close to almost all sellers’ prices.

ll - Odyssey, by Jack McDevitt (Ace Hardcover, 2006, Amazon Price $16.47) - This is a sorta fun space opera. As is necessary in that genre, it postulates faster-than-light travel and ignores relativity. (If relativity turns out to be an absolute, space opera is pure fantasy.) Naturally, it deals with mysterious alien life. Space opera is an addiction of youth, and I have found that it lasts into adulthood. For me, it’s fun. For a non-sci-fi-er, it would be a great bloody boor.

llll - The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne (Atria Books, 2006, Amazon price $13.17) - "The secret" is that we become what we think about. Think abundance, you get abundance. Think health, you lose weight, and so forth. That sounds a little New-Age-ish. In New-Age-feng-shui-tao-te-ching-lao-tzu-sun-tzu-confucian-if-only-I-had-training-and-there-are-conspiracies-and-secrets-that-"they"-don’t-want-you-to-know-about world, this "secret" is certainly prominent. Nevertheless, the science underlying this idea may be perfectly sound. Neurological/behavior science isn’t very far advanced. We do know that the mind is a stunningly complex computer-analog, and most agree that it can be used more efficiently and effectively. It is capable of, indeed it thrives on, "fuzzy logic," something that computer engineers are slowly developing to make computers more "intelligent." We humans have "hunches" and "feelings," sometimes superstitious and stupid, but sometimes I think that it is the human mind making logical extrapolations from relatively little data. So, if we decide to think a certain way, is it not possible that our minds will work at least a bit more effectively to move us in that direction? I cannot talk probabilities here. To some extent, it is a matter of desire or faith. Some faith is due to concrete and measurable things - e.g., if I drop a pencil over the floor, I have every faith that it will fall to the floor every time. Some faith is not at all measurable or based on empirical evidence, for example, God and the after-life. I believe that, too, but cannot demonstrate it by dropping a pencil or anything else experimental. The capabilities of the human brain fall somewhere in between, and I have no expertise at all in quantifying those capabilities. So, for the moment, you either believe "The Secret" and apply it, with whatever results, or you don’t. One thing that I am fairly confident of is that thinking positive, constructive things won’t automatically bring their opposites into your life. I liked this book well enough to buy several copies and spread them around.

lll - Stick to Drawing Comics, Money Brain!, by Scott Adams (Portfolio Hardcover, Amazon price $16.47) - Dilbert is like a lot of lawyers - you either love him or you hate him. I absolutely love Dilbert. The humor is pointed but sometimes subtle, yadda, yadda, yadda, I just like it. Adams has written this non-Dilbert book which consists of pithy little essays, not unlike 100 decent blog posts. He writes in a readable and funny way. His opinions have an edge that I don’t enjoy and for a liberal, he writes in an unusually judgmental way. That’s a personal thing, not a recommendation against Adams. I certainly hope that my opinions have an edge which some folks don’t enjoy. (No, your Honor, I don’t mean you!) His insights are thoughtful, even when you don’t agree with him, and it’s an easy read.

llll - Plato and a Platypus Walk Into a Bar . . ., by Thomas Cathcart & Daniel Klein (Abrams Inage, 2007, Amazon price $12.89) - This is a damn fine and fun read. These guys, who have degrees in philosophy, explain various schools of philosophical thought using jokes as illustrations. When you remember that life is fundamentally a hoot from start to finish, this makes sense. For some reason, one illustration about the reductio ad absurdum is stuck in my mind. A man and woman are driving past a farm. They see 50 sheep standing in the pasture. The woman says, "Those sheep are shorn." The husband replies, "At least on this side." The teaching is that the probability of (1) farmers shearing sheep on only one side and (2) 50 sheep randomly orienting themselves so that only the shorn side faces the road is so slight that the woman is "right." Philosophy is far more "real" that it seems, because it puts labels on the perspective of our human minds. I had a lot of fun with this one.

llll - Heyday, by Kurt Andersen (Random House, 2007, Amazon price $17.79) - I’m not sure what to call this genre. I’ve always thought of historical novels as being fictionalized versions of known historic events. This is set in the United States in 1848 - 49, mostly in New York and California. It is a "quest" novel, quite rich in detail about the manner of living at that time. The images are clear enough that the reader can get a detailed picture of the setting and the culture. It shows that the author has done detailed research into 19th Century New York, fire-suppression technology and departments, prostitution and gold prospecting, as well as being familiar with human nature. Beyond the time-setting, this is just damn fine modern fiction.

lll - The Chase, by Clive Cussler (Putnam Adult, 2007, Amazon price $16.17) - Since around 1978, Cussler’s bread-and-butter has been the adventure novel featuring "Dirk Pitt," and a fictional government agency. There are 19 novels in that series (the first edition of the earliest one published only in mass market paperback and now very difficult and very pricey to obtain), and if you enjoy that sort of thing (which I do), they are a lot of fun. For the first time, Cussler alone has written a historical-adventure novel in the same style as the Dirk Pitt books, but without that continuing character. The plot involves a criminal investigation and pursuit in the West in 1906 (including chapters about the San Francisco earthquake), and as such is a western. (I hesitate to include that - for some odd reason, that setting turns lots of people off to otherwise good books.) This, too, has unusual historical detail, and is a fine read.

llll - Dinner with a Perfect Stranger; and A Day with a Perfect Stranger, by David Gregory (WaterBrook Press, 2005 and 2006, Amazon price $10.15 each, Amazon has a boxed set for $12.89) "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds . . .", Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance. See above, I’m not a great fan of unscientific, unprovable mysticism. This is unscientific and unprovable, and if it’s meant to be taken seriously, maybe it’s a touch heretical. The assumption is that Jesus personally visits first a husband and then his wife. In Dinner with a Perfect Stranger, the protagonist-husband receives an engraved invitation to dine at a nice restaurant with Christ in person. While nothing conflicts with my (admittedly incomplete) Biblical knowledge, it’s just vaguely uncomfortable for a modern author to be putting words into Christ’s mouth. (Neale Donald Walsch does that with a serious passion in his Conversations With God series. He makes no pretense at inspirational parable, he claims that the Almighty personally guides his fingers on the keyboard.) Christ explains, well, Christian love and takes a stab at pointing out where modern people are off-track. A Day with a Perfect Stranger starts with the protagonist-wife leaving on a business trip, and with her intense belief that her husband has stripped his mental gears. (She leaves him a note, "While I’m gone, I hope you and Jesus have a nice time.") On an airplane, she sits between an pushy proselytizer and a quiet, thoughtful fellow, the latter of whom is, again, Christ returned. This second volume is better than the first. The theme there is opening your mind (and your heart) to the extreme stretch that faith and love require. If these books are read literally, they are uncomfortable. Perhaps if these are read as allegorical or even as parables, they are inspirational and valuable. I liked them, and I’ve spread around several copies. Why does everyone feel compelled to apologize for spirituality of any sort and especially for practicing Christianity? Hey, if it bothers you, don’t read them, the First Amendment is alive and well in West Virginia.

lll - Rumpole Misbehaves, by John Mortimer (Viking Adult, 2007, Amazon price $16.29) - My goodness, a Rumpole book that scores only 3 compass points?! Have I slipped a cog? I’m not sure. John Mortimer is an English barrister, author and playwright who has been producing the delightful Rumpole stories for 30+ years, which feature an irascible older criminal trial barrister. Everyone who has ever appeared in front of a Court must appreciate and smile at (and maybe even secretly admire) the unspoken I-should-have-said asides in Rumpole’s mind. The most recent collections (Rumpole and the Primrose Path, Rumpole and the Reign of Terror, Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders, and Rumpole Rests His Case) are at the zenith of this long-running series. Perhaps the irascible brush is painting me, or perhaps the series is just running out of gas, but I just didn’t get intense appreciation from this one. But I read it, and I will gladly and gratefully read any more that Mortimer has to offer.

llll - Bill of Wrongs: The Executive Branch’s Assault on America’s Fundamental Rights, by Molly Ivins and Lou Dubrose (Random House 2007, Amazon price, $16.47) - Molly Ivins died last January. One of her last professional acts was working on the manuscript for Bill of Wrongs. The war on terror, she reasons, has resulted in trading away the very things that make America unique and free, leaving precious little for the terrorists to disrupt other than public order. Factually innocent Americans have been detained for extended periods without lawyers or access to the Courts. Free speech is taking a licking from the Right (and, while Ivins only touches upon it, from the Left, too.) Employees of the American government - the AMERICAN government - are performing investigative and enforcement acts which constitute torture. This is NOT a balanced presentation, nor does it pretend to be. The Administration is, for example, taken to task for liberally interpreting the Second Amendment (a position which West Virginians have repeatedly supported en masse with their votes, including that on the Right to Keep and Bear Arms Amendment, West Virginia Constitution Section 3-22.) Ivins sticks with the zero-sum approach to creation/evolution. Nevertheless, we NEED voices for responsibility, liberty and free speech, so we are poorer with Molly Ivins’ passing.
Perhaps her best epitaph will be found in the reaction to her death of her primary target for the past decade, President Bush II: "I respected her convictions, her passionate belief in the power of words, and her ability to turn a phrase. She fought her illness with that same passion. Her quick wit and commitment to her beliefs will be missed."

llll - Freedom from Oil, by David Sandalow (McGraw-Hill, 2007, Amazon price $17.79) - This is written in the format of faux government officials advising the President of energy policy options. The book is so intensively researched and so fact-rich that any qualms about the structure are quickly lost. Indeed, I wish that whoever occupies the White House would read this and take the information and projected solutions realistically. Minerals are finite. Minerals are unevenly distributed about the globe, thereby making energy hogs (like Americans) dependent on imports from regions which happen to be unstable or undependable or filled with dangerous fanatics. Combustion of fossil fuel liberates carbon which was trapped in the earth for some millions of years, thereby increasing atmospheric carbon dioxide. (Not everyone agrees. A West Virginia political candidate was quoted as saying that "there’s no scientific proof whatsoever that greenhouse emissions are caused by fossil fuels." That such simple minds are in positions of influence is either touching or disturbing, take your pick.) Sandalow debunks the common wisdom that scientists will certainly rush in and save the day by easily turning sea water into combustible (non-carbon emitting) hydrogen or conquering the problems of controlled fusion reactions. Sandalow discusses real-world short-term and long-term actions which should be taken. For instance, widespread use of "plug-in electric hybrid vehicles" would provide immediate energy efficiency and pollution limiting effects. It might be that we now living can escape the worst effects of our energy madness, but our grandchildren won’t. If the problem had been this bad in 1908 and was ignored by the people of that year, we would be quite peeved about now, and rightly so.

llll - Dune, by Frank Herbert (Originally published 1965, First editions run $100 or more, a hardcover reprint can be found for $10 or so) - I have a first printing of Dune, but I’m irrationally unwilling to handle it since it’s in DARN good shape. So I found a reprint hardcover on sale at B&N, and couldn’t resist. My list shows that this makes at least the third time I’ve read Dune, the next most recent being over 10 years ago. This is just brilliant mainstream sci-fi. Also, along with 2001: A Space Odyssey, it is one of the very few sci-fi books to have made a faithful translation to the screen. An oldie and a goodie.

ll - Lion in the White House: A Life of Theodore Roosevelt, by Aida D. Donald (Basic Books, 2007) - Hell, I always enjoy a read about TR, since he’s a genuine hero. But Lion in the White House adds very little to the extensive biographies of the past decade. The single thing I really got from it is a reasonable interpretation of TR’s intervention in the 1902 Anthracite Strike, reasonable being defined as I agree with it and it’s a noble conclusion. Edmund Morris’s The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt, Theodore Rex, and the (hopefully) to-be-written volume about the post-presidential years remain the gold standard of TR bio’s, and H.W. Brands’ TR: The Last Romantic runs a close second. One detailed and fun (if quirky) TR tome is My Last Chance to be a Boy, by Joseph Ornig, which is a detailed account of the 1913 - 14 Brazilian expedition.

llll - Monongah, by Davitt McAteer (West Virginia University Press, 2007, Amazon price $19.80) - On 6 December 1907, an explosion in the Fairmont Coal Company’s Mines 6 & 8 in Monongah, Marion County, killed 500+ miners. This is a detailed study of that disaster. Before I actually put these words to paper, I was somewhat negative about Monongah, but for the wrong reasons. That would have been pretty stupid on my part, and would have placed form over substance. (Also, it would have run afoul of TR’s comments about it not being the critic who counts, but that the credit belongs to the one "who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly . . .".) The author, Davitt McAteer, is a native of Fairmont (right up the road from Monongah) who now practices law in Shepherdstown. (His sister is a friend and very gracious lady.) He served honorably as the head of MSHA during the Clinton Administration. Having come out of the United Mine Workers of America, he was less than the darling of the coal operators while in government. (The owner of the Crandall Canyon Mine in Utah, which collapsed killing 6 miners and and 3 rescuers in 2007, spoke of McAteer with fluent contempt in a press conference broadcast on CNN.)
To grade this book, we have to grade several subjects:
Research/Scholarship - A
Organization - B+
Editing - D
Overall Value - A+
McAteer researched Monongah for 30 years. (If he plans to match the output of a Michener, he needs to move a little quicker.) The length and depth of the research shows. Nearly all of the sources are primary ones, and the book is extensively end-noted. McAteer’s writing isn’t Michener, but particularly when he is talking about people, and how people lived, he does so with passion and such unusual detail that one can clearly see the images. The descriptions of the miners’ poverty in the squalor of company houses are so real that they are painful. The organization is a touch chaotic, but I might be unfair about that one. McAteer is covering a single large event which had several coherent lines of development going at once, so a strict chronology is impossible. At times, the book is redundant, but that’s really more of an editing problem.
Ah, editing. Monongah is the unfortunate victim of inadequate, even inept editing, so much so that it takes willing suspension of disbelief to get past that to the value of the work. Whoever edited this used spell-check but didn’t read the manuscript itself very closely. There are several instances where homonyms or similar words are confused ("to" rather than "too", "road" rather than "roar", "Triangle Shirt Waste Factory" rather than Triangle Shirt Waist . . ."), poor grammar (" . . . they were paid a hourly wages" and some silly factual mistakes. (West Virginia was formed in 1863, not 1865; the hotel in Wheeling is McClure House, not McLure House; President Taft’s Christian names were "William Howard," not "Howard A.") For 30 bucks, ($19.80 at Amazon), more attention should have been paid to the details. There are also errors that I’m probably too petty in noticing that wouldn’t distract any reader save one who has walked the ground where the disaster happened. (I’ve been there many times, and every time I go to my father-in-law’s house, I park on the streetcar right-of-way that figures prominently in McAteer’s account.) McAteer isn’t heavy on historical interpretation (an attitude that I heartily approve of), and most of what he does sounds reasonable to me. (I think he misses the point of Theodore Roosevelt’s intervention in the 1902 Anthracite Strike, but that’s subject to honest disagreement.) SO, overall, if you set aside my own literary/grammatical fastidiousness, Monongah is an engaging and timely look at an important event and a turbulent time in our state’s history.
There is a children’s book (The Monongah Mining Disaster, by Jason Skog) due to be published in January 2008. It will be interesting to see what view that author presents to youngsters.

llll - The Curmudgeon’s Guide to Practicing Law, by Mark Herrmann (ABA Publishing, 2006, List price $34.95, Amazon price $23.07) - I’m not sure if I like this one because it’s full of good advice, or because I’ve learned soooo much over the years from curmudgeons. I started practice before Judge J. Harper Meredith, a curmudgeon if there ever was one. Wow, I loved that guy, and learned more much from him than anybody in law school. (Perhaps the best compliment I ever received was from Judge Meredith: "Roger, you and I understand each other.") The theme here is working hard and taking responsibility, which are probably hard to teach, but Herrmann mixes in a lot of "how’s & why’s." That’s the way I learned what I know about my craft (and hope that I’m still learning) from my mentors, mainly Alfred Lemley and the late Frank Sansalone. Both of them taught me the attitude of fighting like hell for your client, for giving honest and candid advice, and for working hard. Both gave me advice that, if followed, makes a lawyer’s life much easier. Do the order as soon as you get back to your office after a hearing. Don’t violate what is now RPC 1.8. Herrmann talks about the trap apparently laid by every lawyer-supervisor who assigns a brief to a student or new lawyer, that of asking if this is your best work and ready to file. I only got caught on that one once, and learned that the only acceptable response was "Dammit to hell, Alfred, I wouldn’t have brought you the bleeping thing if it weren’t." Herrmann teaches billing clearly, dealing with staff, dressing acceptably, involving clients in decision-making without compromising yourself, and building a practice. Maybe a great gift that those of us who have been taught by curmudgeons is to become curmudgeonly ourselves. This is a great resource to keep learning.

A note on cyberbooks: Ben Bova’s 1989 Cyberbooks forecasts the mixed blessing of large numbers of books being carried in a simple handheld computer the size of a modern mass market paperback. There have been several feeble attempts to fulfill this prediction in past years. Sooner or later, some format will catch on, just as VHS, cassette tapes and CD’s did. The latest entrant is the Kindle device exclusively offered by Amazon. Amazon touts its readable screen, (tiny) QWERTY keyboard, ease of downloading books (wirelessly), and long battery life. Amazon also offers online storage of your "library" so that you can keep downloading books basically forever, or until the next successful attempt at a cyberbook standard occurs. Downloads cost $10 for anything current, although $4 downloads are available for some books. Right now, Amazon has 90,000 titles available for the Kindle which is, when you think about it, not a whole lot. Oh, the biggest downside: The Kindle costs $399. Shipping is free. Yippee.

Pippa passes.

The spirits did it all in one night?

Now THIS was another strange day in a really, really strange year.

It started early with a trip to a regional jail. I represent a fellow from Arizona who is charged with a meth conspiracy, interstate transport in aid of racketeering, money laundering, and stuff like that there. There is little that I can tell anyone about what's going on with the case, since at this point, it's headed for trial, and the decisions that he and I have to make are HUGE in terms of risk and effectiveness. One known fact is that $45,000 was seized from him by alert police in Missouri, and the money was (a) well hidden in a car and (b) packaged exactly the way that the alleged kingpin packaged his money. That's going to be rather a challenge to explain - Surely, it didn't come from a paper route. This is one of the cases that is taking over my life. Friend JC from Baltimore went with me to talk to him because (a) she doesn't do criminal work and hasn't been to a jail and (b) to give me a fresh viewpoint. Oh, I gave her a dollar bill to retain her as co-counsel (who cannot appear, since she's not admitted in the district) so that the privilege applied to the discussion with the client - I need a name for him - Hispanic fellow (American citizen, uses better English that I do normally), but tacking some stereotypical Hispanic name is consdescending. OK, Joe, how's that? Very nice fellow, super worried about his family back in AZ, and he's essentially like a "stranger in a strange land." We had an arraignment for a superseding indictment a couple of weeks ago, and on the trip from the jail to the courthouse, Joe saw his first snow. I gather it doesn't snow in southern Arizona. Not sure, never been there myself. So here's a guy who is thousands of miles from family, in a strange place, in a locality where Hispanics are rare and nobody speaks Spanish, and the case is dragging on and on due to the fact that a co-defendant hasn't been arrested yet. How does one wish Joe a Merry Christmas? JC's imput was valuable - she is very much a student of humanity, and didn't come to the table with a criminal practitioner's biases. I'm not proud - I'll take fresh opinions and veiwpoints wherever I can find them. I knew a fellow who kept a tarot deck in his desk, and as he was dealing with a difficult case, he'd do whatever people do with tarot cards and read their "message." He didn't believe that the cards were magic or anything like that, he just thought it was a good exercise to introduce something random and out-of-the-box as he did his decision making. I'm not above borrowing others' ideas, but I'm such a scoffer of occult crap, I'll not do that one. Joe is looking at zero incarceration if he wins; 6 or so years if he pleads guilty; and 25 or so years if he goes trial and loses. If I do anything but let the case consume me, am I doing him a decent job? If I do let it consume me and make choices when I'm not focusing totally, am I doing him a decent job? Sigh- this sort of self-doubt - I don't know how many other lawyers have it. All of them (and me) posture like we're totally in control, totally affable or intense or whatever our persona-of-the-week may be. But "who knows what lurks in the hearts of men"? The drive wasn't comfortable, either - the heater in the Elu-mobile is screwed up, it's stuck on 81 degrees - so it's either roast, freeze or turn on the heater and crack the windows in such a way that the heat is somewhat dissipated at the cost of so much noise that conversation is impossible. If I ever write a book on practicing law, I gotta remember to put in it that folks need comfortable cars, because their rear ends are going to spend a lot of time in them.

After getting back to town, I went with LaElu, son Tim and our mom to my cousin's house, which is something that we have done for the last 50 years, no kidding. It's a comfortable house in a nice residential area, and my cousin and her husband are the friendliest people imaginable. My aunt was there, and she and my mom talked a lot. They both miss their husbands, my Dad who died in 99 and Uncle Junior who died 4 years ago yesterday. Perhaps I'm in a position to better understand (just a little bit?) the love of family this year. There was a modest gift exchange, stuff like sweaters, etc., things that are comfortable. Whenever someone needed a knife to open a package, each of the men in the room immediately produced one. Is that a local thing? Do people across America routinely carry knives?

Son Tim is working at his rescue company from late evening to morning tonight. He's a young, unmarried guy, no children, so he's inevitably going to work a lot over Christmas. I warned him when he left tonight to be especially careful out there - some times of the year, Christmas included, bring out unusually strange behavior in people - the anger is more angry, the anguish is more anguished. His station got slammed today, and I hope that they have a quiet night. Generally (at least here), the call volume is down a little on Christmas, but most of the calls are fairly serious. And yes, I do sorely miss doing that even after all these years, but the fact is I'm too old and not physically qualified to do that job any more. I got to tell myself, "I did that already."

Also, this evening included another paragraph in my strange transformational journey of 2007. "Our church" had a Christmas Eve service. Now, the phrase "our church" is a very weird concept to me. I'm the independent gadfly, the samurai, the knight-errant, the tomahawk wielding, painted warrior, the ice-in-the-veins guy who has in real life laughed at gruesome crime and autopsy photos when prosecutors have flashed them to shock me, and made jokes in very poor taste at the bench in murder trials. I'm the free-thinker, the unapologetic apostate, the heretic, the drinking buddy of Ol' Thanatos, the boatman on the River Styx. And now it's "our church"? We were doing communion by "intinction" tonight (first time I've ever heard the term) and Parson Jim gave me the bread with the loving intonation, "Roger, the body of Christ," and I couldn't resist leaning over and telling him in a whisper, "Yeah, but this is still pretty weird, Jim." When we left after the service, he hugged me and laughed and assured me that God has a sense of humor. As Dilbert has confirmed, that would explain a lot. LaElu has even signed us up for some sort of Bible study at the University next semester. And I went along with it. And my pastoral brother got me a theological kind of book (a very elementary one, mind you) for Christmas that I'm reading and that's actually thought-provoking. And I want to discuss it with him, and with others. I believe in DNA and evolution, fission and fusion, relativity, the inability of matter to move at the speed of light in normal space, the constancy of gravity, random chance, statistical anomalies, that "only the good die young," "live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse," (worked for Belushi), and it's "our church"??? But I also believe in love and peace, in avoiding human idiocy, fundamental goodness, the Scout Oath, and in God. The service tonight lasted an hour and a half, and I was sorry when it was over. "Jesus mugged me, this I know . . ." This is juxtaposed on the stunning family strife going on for the past couple of months, and I'm very disoriented. I have two civil cases going to trial in the next two months, Joe's federal case which will take a couple of weeks, some juveniles who (whom?) I'm really worried about, the ongoing awareness of my own behavioral issues (the presence or absence of which figures prominently in the family strife thing), a transformational diet thing, and I really do fantasize about a cabin at the farm with a chair and a reading lamp and little else. If anyone knows how to put this into a consistent framework, I'd be obliged to hear it.

And I must still say every morning, "All the things of my life are present, and it is a good day to die." That keeps me sane, or at least as sane as I get.

The fourth quarter canon is in process. I'm working on a couple of book reviews for the state bar journal - not cover article material, but I hope decent filler. Oh, I passed the 120 books for the year mark.

I do wish all here a Merry Christmas. I hope that we can all use it as a time to reflect and renew, and that the coming year is better for all of us than the last one.

Mizpah.

R

I'm a literary failure

Something got me looking for an obscure literary character on google today, and I stumbled onto learned articles explaining the intricacies of literature to us poor unwashed. The character I was looking for was from The Last of the Mohicans, and I was treated to a fascinating discussion of the male images and the surprise that Cooper wasn't writing with a lot of homophobia. You got to be shitting me -- they actually pay people to write this shit? Or am I indeed a swine before whom pearls have no interest. Then at B&N today, I ran across a book called How to Talk About Books You've Never Read. WTF? How to preen and pose? How to bullshit? I confess that while I'm widely read, there are magnificent gaps in my canon. If I haven't read a book and someone wants to discuss it, I'll certainly listen, but I have nothing to add to the conversation. Some of my best reads have come from those sorts of conversations. A fellow customer in a bookstore at least 20 years ago directed me to the historical novels (exquisitely researched) of Allen Eckert. Those cover the 18th century development of the shifting frontier.

My partner remarked this week that she thinks it's "nuts" to carry around multiple books to read. (I keep the ones I'm working most on in a canvas tote with my briefcase.) That's a touch offensive - it feels like a freedom thing to me. I take pleasure in books. I have friends there who are as real to me as many people in the physical world, and most of whom make a hell of a lot more sense. One of my favorites is Handling Sin, by Michael Malone. I'm sure I've mentioned that book before. Here's the power of a book: I gave a copy to my former partner's daughter, who loved it. She had a friend whose father was dying of cancer. She gave him the book, and it was the last thing he read, and she told me that he told her that he got lots of hours of pleasure and lightness and escape from the pain from it. That's power. I cannot imagine a life without books. Amazon has a new product, the "Kindle," which is an ebook reader that may be practical. I can picture the convenince of cyberbooks -- no more heavy canvas tote. But I just hesitate to pass up the full experience, including the tactile experience, of a printed book.

Today marked the 30th time I have gathered with staff to recognize another Christmas. As I am wont to do, I talked a bit, about our difficult year, about the joys we've had, and the crappy times -- Tammy coming to work for us and being soooooo hesitant to trust us to support her in taking care of her family's need; the whole cancer experience with Kathy; Amy's family health issues. But we have hung together, and we have persevered. Perhaps that's all that's expected of us, I'm not sure.

Last night was the county bar Christmas reception, and it was held at No. 3. It was surprisingly nice, and I enjoyed it a bit. Lots of people who are important to me and who I care about were there, and we talked in peace. And this morning was the last "judicial day" before Christmas, which means that I made my Christmas rounds, and made a few dozen phone calls to wish my friends a good new year. Something I blogged a few days ago, about how many murdered people I have known, has had me thinking. Clank asked probing questions of the why of all that. My brother Dave and I have reflected on this, and postulate that it's a combination of the sordid parts of life we inhabit, and the fact that we live in a town of 20,000, and a county of 60,000 people. So, we just know an awful lot of people. There are literally 1,000+ people I know who I will greet with a genuine smile, a handshake, a hug or a touch on the back, and genuinely enjoy seeing them. My experience of other types of places is virtually nil. What is it like in more populous areas?

I honestly don't know how to take this holiday off. I feel like I can slow down for 2 or 3 hours, but after that I get antsy and have to be doing something. That's hardly a healthy attitude, I know, and I feel stuck and quite hopeless to have genuine down time. Tomorrow is 1/2 day of work (issues surrounding a house mortgage foreclosure), Sunday is a full day of activity, and I have been "assigned" a fairly aggressive schedule by LaElu for Monday, mostly family and church stuff. I have in my mind a perfectly restful setting, the farm figures prominently in that, but I don't know how I would react to it in real life.

Good news: Down 155. Got the pre-sentence report on the third of my triad of woman federal drug defendants, and I have a plan to get her a good result. I will, however, be worried a ton about it until March, when the sentencing is set.

All in all, it's a dull and lonely life this week.

Mzpah. Pippa passes.

R

None so blind . . .

Odd day - endless parade of the clueless. Odder evening - book study at the church with LaElu, Grandmother, sane brother & sil, several others. For one who purports to be so widely read, I've rather several gaps in my education. In response to an observation about Dan Brown's book which postulated a romance between Jesus and Mary Magdalene, several ladies present said that Jesus wouldn't have done that. I rather blundered into disfavor by agreeing that maybe he had the right idea. It seems that for the last month, every guy in trouble I've met has started the conversation with either "I was in this bar . . ." or "There was this woman . . ." Hmmmm - I wonder if by admitting that I'm reducing my already non-existent chances of getting lucky with any of the Ladies of the Shelf. Ah, well, perhaps I'm in reality dreadfully dull and thoroughly domesticated.

Well, I hope I never quit learning.

My dear friend Leah just got back from SF - secreting the ashes of her in-laws (whom she loved) in some out-of-the-way place. Our rituals of death, those are strange. Personally, I would go for the cave thing or, failing that, the platform thing, so that I can return to the earth through my friends.

More fun in federal court tomorrow. At a dinner party thing with LaElu Friday night, I was basically consumed with getting back to No. 3 to file something in federal court -- but how do you explain that? This is a part of my world.

An acquaintance of son Tim was murdered, apparently by an ex-husband, Saturday night. He's affecting no effect, but I know it bothers the hell out of him. But knowing murdered people, that's part of my world, too. Friend Dave and I were reminiscing a few months ago about how many people we've known who got whacked, and it was an impressive number. When we go for coffee, he never sits with his back to a door, which is a wise precaution in his job.

The whole gift and partying thing for Christmas is a gigantic pain in the ass. I cannot help but cringe at how many days No. 3 will be out-of-service this month.

Oh, and permit me to wish a warm welcome to the busybodies who visit here who don't know where to go buy a clue about what I'm saying.

Mizpah.

R

Flexidoxy, Reasoning Together and Flaming Idiots

After church today, LaElu needed to do a touch of shopping, so I snatched a couple of pamphlets from the narthex (no kidding, it's really the name of a room - it's like we're in the Middle Ages or something) to see what the denomination tells others it believes. I didn't have a book with me, and one of the more boring things is waiting in the parking lot while LaElu shops in her curiously contemplative fashion. (Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus; I'm from 61 Cygni.) In any event, the minister isn't bullshitting when he describes the situation as Christian Flexidoxy. One is free to read and interpret the Bible as s/he will, there is darn little dogma, few magic words, no expectation that praying for stupid stuff (magical cures, etc.) will work, and there is no need for an intercessor, 'cause plain folks can talk to God and get a message as validly as one who has been in seminary. I'm pretty comfortable there. (I recognize that there may be some apparent inconsistency with any-doxy on my part and my cynical and curmudgeonly nature. But see post on God some months ago.) This whole thing of everyone having some sort of ministry (1) is consistent with my anti-clerical beliefs and (2) finally makes sense of something my Dad was trying to tell me in the last month of his life. To each his/her own. Moreover, this is all very consistent with Masonic teaching, which also makes sense to me.

Speaking of Masonic teaching, Friend Dacey in Baltimore was telling me that she'd seen some sort of documentary or docu-drama about the Freemasons' evil plots, and described a purportedly accurate recreated ceremony. Darn, the thing was pretty close. That still doesn't bother me a bit. It's not the input that's important, it's how you process it and whether you get the point. Not that everyone gets the point, even the Grand Whatevers.

Had a pleasant talk with my former partner on Friday, mainly catching up on family, etc. When we talk, there's not an elephant in the room, there's a whole fucking zoo. I still do care for her and care what happens to her, and perhaps we are moving toward detente. Life is too short to harbor bitterness. (We still own a building together, and have not resolved that.)

Well, I keep telling myself that, but the (insane) brother is still an ultra-brooding topic to me.

My (sane) brother is coming in from Indiana tomorrow (plus his wife, a very sweet lady). He has sincerely tried to spread oil on the turbulent water plus provided a lot of gentle and effective support to our mother. The boy's got a touch that I don't have. He's a seminary guy (I don't know if he ever got the decoder ring, but he has a Masters of Divinity, I think) so that fits his background. Well, that's excellent. I have told him, though, not to bother with the oil-on-the-water thing with me, because I must consider the relationship with the (insane) brother terminated. That's a sadness, but life is too short to volunteer to take abuse.

Yes, I realize that brooding and termination are somewhat mutually exclusive. "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds." (Emerson) (I like to quote Emerson. I quote from his poem Brahma a lot -- it's extraordinarily in-your-face.)

I'm bringing up a blog for No. 3, to have yet another place to spread my heresies, only this one known and available. I'm wondering how edgy I'll be willing to write there.

Last Thursday's sentencing -- I'm still wondering how much a role I played in the great result. I stretched as far as I could, farther than I usually think is credible, in order to ask for a home-confinement sentence. For the past year, I had been honestly working my ass off on this case. This is a great judge we had - smart, appointed by Bush I, so conservative, human, and the way she runs her courtroom permits (or even invites) people to put aside advocating ridiculous things and "come and reason together." Mind you, if you go into her court and act like an asshole, she'll cut your heart out. I just finished a book (that I'm going to review for the state bar journal) called The Curmudgeon's Guide to Practicing Law. In some respects, the author does not accurately depict practice as it is done in West Virginia. (Were I a curmudgeon myself, I would say that in some respects the author is full of shit.) (Oops, I guess I've already admitted that status.) In any event, he does talk about how cases percolate (my word) in a lawyer's mind, and you just live with it 24/7. I cannot turn that sort of thing off and, indeed, I'm a little sad to close this file, too. But Friday, yet another lady crack client came in, to talk about HER sentencing which is in March. From each of these three women, I've learned (or relearned?) something. From Tina, I saw how deep the pit is, and how daunting that mountain you gotta climb looks from the bottom. From the lady last week, Toni, I learned that being on top of that mountain looking down at what you just did is pretty thrilling. And from the third lady, Tonya, I'm seeing confirmation that there are a lot of evil animals who are willing and anxioius to shove otherwise decent people down into the pit. That's yet another case that is churning in me.

I'm looking forward to attempting coffee with Brother Dave in the morning - to see us together, you would wonder what in the hell we have in common. He is a small man, super-athletic, and a really snappy dresser. I'm just, well, me. But he's my best friend, and I'm very glad of that.

I'm running the decision tree for how to adjust to Amy's prolonged absence. Family has to come first. But we do important work that must get done, or lots of people are in a world of shit.

I'm going to a book-club-group sort of thing tomorrow night - first time I've done that in DECADES. A different part of the brain is involved in turning learning and reactions to a book into spoken language.

Ruminating about an "ideal" life - and there is no consistent vision, at different times I want different things. Tonight, there is a high wind, cold temps and some snow (nothing like what they got north, west and east of us), and I would like to be at the farm, in a cabin of some sort, in the darkness and silence of a winter's night. Inside, of course. I was thinking tonight as I walked from my car to the house, jeez, I used to enjoy going camping in this shit, what was I thinking? Brother Pete, does this mean that I'm getting old or soft or something like that?

The bar Christmas thing is at No. 3 Thursday night. I'm a touch miffed - Amy's absence will be a problem. Last week, I made it clear that I'm not hosting the fucking thing, I'm not a host kind of guy, so another sociable lady lawyer is taking up the slack. I promise that I'll wear a coat & tie and smile now and then as I lurk and drink my coffee, but that's it.

My week is packed, and I hope that Friday night thru Wednesday will be an interlude of down time.

Mizpah. Pippa passes.

R

Tripping through Oz

I'll write at some length this weekend - but this was a WEIRD day - Did another woman crack distribution sentencing in Federal Court today, and got such a stunningly good result that it's already on the district's jungle telegraph - and it wasn't me - I'm at home in court, I feel good there, I feel natural there, but I'M NOT THAT GOOD.

I was ruminating about what an "ideal life" for me would be like as I was in the car going between courthouses today - I'll blog about that, too - that concept is definitely a moving target.

Mizpah.

R

Paladin at heart

The bug passed in the night, so I was fully functional today - ok, functional to the extent that I'm ever functional.

There was an 8:30 hearing in Morgantown on my schedule, so I was there by 8 -- and found that the hearing wasn't until 11 - and the interim to return to No. 3 would consist of 1-1/2 hrs in the car, and 1 hour working. No problem, got a brew at Starbucks, and worked -- did the notes for tomorrow's sentencing, rewrote the notes for a brief, and wrote a bunch of cards to people - I carry them in my clipboard thing for such occasions - The hearing was really rather humorous. It was a Social Security case remanded to the Administrative Law Judge by federal court. ALJ's hate to get reversed. So he was trying to set up the record to deny the claim and prove he was right the first time (including the rare step of calling a medical expert witness) and I was trying to set up circumstances that he couldn't deny the claim this time around. Each of us knew damn well what the other was doing, it was couched in the most pleasant possible language, and watching ourselves and the other spar was just funny. (Nobody else in the room was in on the joke - the case is totally important to the client.) In my petition to the federal court for the remand, I used words like "strange," "inconceivable," and "incomprehensible" in reference to the ALJ's original opinion.

Amy told me today that she's going to be out effectively for 3 months, secondary to her 2 y.o. having something called auditory neuropathy, that will probably need treated someplace like Baltimore. So, whoever said that "things can't get any worse" is an optimistic dumbass.

A client's family, the nicest people imaginable, brought me a xmas gift today - poinsettia (no doubt someone will want to use it) and a large tin of peanut butter fudge. Damn. Then on the other hand, it does illustrate the power of addiction, and the fact that I just can't be around that. (No, didn't imbibe a bite.)

TimSon took a 6 y.o. on a long-distance interhospital transfer Monday night - he was talking to me about the experience, and I'm really glad that he is showing a lot of heart and care, and not acquiring the jaded outlook that EMS creates in some people.

I noticed that I've been putting my name in a whole lot of books lately - not sure why - I always put my name & the date on the flyleaf of my books in the same way. Odd habit, I know.

But then remember Dykstra's Law: Everyone is somebody else's weirdo.

Mizpah.

R

Mixed bag

1 - 150 down. That's good.
2 - The f.ing flu shot apparently worked. I got it. It's gotta be gone by 5 AM or I'm in deep shit. However, my body hurts, and that is a good reminder of the physical pain of higher weight. Hey, I gotta find something good in this.
3 - My ignorant sister-in-law just got beat up by her drunken, lazy, criminal husband, but she refuses to call the police. I have a good record helping abused women, but this is one failure of mine, and the whole thing pisses me off.
I'm going to bed.
Pippa passes. Mizpah.
R

Secrets revealed, circuit breakers trip, a small encounter

Stayed real busy today. Had to do the bill in Tina's case to get my partner off my ass. And then I closed Tina's file. Hell, how many files have I closed in 30 years? This could be the first one that I put the sticky note on and put in the "out" basket with . . . regret? Sadness? Hope? I'm just not sure.

I had an out-of-town appointment today, and my mom wanted to go along for the ride (and to hit B&N after we were done.) She's still stressed by yesterday, and all that I can do is provide what support I can. Another (genetic) brother is clergy-trained and has been stepping in and providing a LOT of advice and support that I'm not able to effectively bring off (for a number of reasons). But the senior (genetic) brother is just so outrageous that I cannot take him seriously and still be effective in lots of realms. So, them's the circuit breakers what tripped.

While I was at the appointment (which was at a health care facility), I came out to the waiting area where my mom was sitting, and there was a young man, 15 or 16 there. Upon closer inspection, I saw that he was wearing handcuffs and shackles. (Shackles go around the ankles, prevent anything but a slow walk.) The deputy with him was a nice fellow, and didn't object when I struck up a conversation with the kid - nothing elaborate, nothing legal, just that he was obviously having a bad day (and he agreed with that) and that he should hang in there. It is probable that he's in this predicament due some lousy parenting and a don't-give-a-shit materialistic MTV society. Yeah, yeah, I hear people saying that there IS such a thing as a bad kid, but that's just WRONG. Some kids take the wrong path, and some don't need as much stupidity to go that way, but they are CHILDREN. This really pisses me off, we as a society are spending pennies on resources for children because (1) they don't vote and (2) neither do many of their parents. The funding mechanisms of government are for sale, and pretty cheaply at that.

Hmmm - got off the track there.

It's a dark night here, but there are still town lights. Have you experienced true darkness outside? You have to be away from all lights, all towns, and it's either a spooky or a cosmic experience. The moonlight can illuminate lots, but when it is only starlight, it's magical. I had an English prof. in college named Sonnenshein, wonderful fellow. He was strictly a city guy, and once confided to me that one of his greatest fears was being in the woods out of sight of any of the works of Man. Funny, I'm rather fearful of walking down the sidewalk in a huge city. To each their own. Oh, when he retired and moved to San Francisco, Sonny wrote me a note, which was nice, but he accused me of forever scarring Epithelamion for him by reciting it in W.C. Fields' verbal style.

The "secrets," as requested by Sarai:

Mizpah is a Hebrew word literally meaning "watchtower," not to be confused with the Jehovah's Witnesses use of that term. It is used metaphorically as the wish that "God watch over you and me until we meet again."

"Pippa passes" is a lot tougher to explain. Rosary is right, it comes from a poem/play by Robert Browning. The most remembered lines from the poem are "God's in His heaven and All's right with the world!" In this poem, there is a nice and even naive character, Pippa. In the midst of all sorts of situations of chaos and debauchery, Pippa appears very briefly, announced by the sentence "Pippa passes." I use it to mean that in the midst of chaos, we just march on.

Mizpah. Pippa passes.

R

Sunrise, sunset

Well, this is certainly a mixed day so far.

Tina the Crack Dealer got sentenced - We got the Title 18 § 3553 "safety valve" which made her eligible for a sentence less than the mandatory 10 years, got bottom of the guideline range there, which is more than I really hoped, and the sentence is 57 months. With time served, time off for intensive drug treatment, good time, get a GED and a stay at a halfway house, she'll be out in 3 years, which is rather miraculous. The judge recommended that she serve her time at Alderson (WV) (where Martha Stewart served her time) which is a fairly low security setting. The Bureau of Prisons looks to the expense necessary to keep people - the more secure, the more expensive - and Tina should be a low security risk. At Alderson, they live dormitory-style, so I guess you could say it's rather like a very low-class summer camp. I'm really pleased, but also concerned what the various safety nets in society will be able to do to support her in a normal life.

Then, a (genetic) brother dumped some unspeakable shit on our mother, and this afternoon has been filled with dealing with that in an appropriate way (which meant a lot of getting help from outside because I'm too damn close to the situation and too hurt and too angry to trust myself to think totally clearly and be as effective as she needs right now) and generally being sad -- This is a brother that I idolized much of my life - e.g., he is a legitimate war hero, very strong - it's just a great sadness.

The shootings in Nebraska - it is absurdly easy to obtain and modify a military-style weapon - the use of weapons is a spreading sickness - that's what our focus should be on, not petty family shit. Sigh - I can be a bit of a dumbass.

Sarai, darling, most mornings I call my best friend and tell him "All the things of my life are present, and it is a good day to die." To me, that is a very positive statement - it doesn't mean that I want Ol' Thanatos to visit me that particular day, it means that I feel strong and defiant and if I go out today, I'll go out on my feet and not on my knees, with my tomahawk red with the blood of my enemies. (I like martial metaphors, did you notice?)

Pippa passes. Mizpah.

R

Little to say

Tomorrow is the sentencing for Tina-the-Crack-Dealer. By the time we get to court, the judge will pretty much have decided what to do. I'm worried, but it's darn near out of my hands.

Most drivers were relearning the physics associated with ice & snow today. Rather tiresome. It's not like the coefficients of friction or acceleration due to gravity change year by year. At least not by much.

TimSon learned today that betting with Dad isn't gambling, it's paying tuition. He also got called in to work today, because they were getting slammed by weather-related stuff. His company managed to wreck two ambulances today - not a red letter day for ol' Station 20.

I still use a stick on the snow - I don't know if that's because of remaining weight or just sensible or silly caution.

I made a goal last January to read 120 books in 2007 - I'm up to 115, so I think I'll make that. Perhaps that's also silly. Well, it's me. I am the Doubter and the Doubt and I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

Mizpah.

R

I am the Doubter and the Doubt; or, Moderation is for Monks

I confess to being in a "screw it" mode today. Not intense, not angry, just screw it.

LaElu, my mom & I went to "the fort" for the Christmas market. This is a reconstructed 18th century fort on the original location, but it was dreadfully dull. When I try to imagine the place 200 years ago, well it takes a lot of imagination. Rather than woods that were old growth, now the hills have been timbered within the last 50 years. Rather than a creek and robust river, we are afflicted with dams. (Mind you, the town across the river would not exist without serious flood control.) Some fellow was outside the fort demonstrating supposedly period firearms, but was using a percussion ignition weapon. Sometimes it's instructive to read period literature to have some clue about what life was really like -- but there are several versions, and I have no way to know what is true. Much of the literature in the 19th century was highly stylized (like Cooper) and just isn't very clear. Hmph - I am reminded that I'm being hypocritical according to the beliefs of Robert A. Heinlein, who found it inconsistent that one would embrace the beavers' dams, but not man's.

Tomorrow, No. 3 will be humming in the afternoon. A new client is coming in who for some very strange reason I've managed to get out on bond. (Were I the prosecutor, I would have gone to the mat on a detention hearing.) He does not yet truly appreciate his predicament. If we do this case incorrectly, we can eat a mandatory life sentence without parole, even though this guy has never killed or directly harmed anyone. (Drugs are harmful as hell, they are just not up close and personal.) (And perhaps it's a bit presumptuous when I say that "we" can eat a particular sentence -- When discussing overall strategy, I always remind the client that if things go South, he can look all around the prison cell, but I won't be there.)

I'm tempted to explain at some length the post about the Muhammad-teddy-bear. But since I would have to answer questions that do not exist in my world, I'll let it lay.

That reminds me - a very smart and tough fellow I knew when I was in college and doing an internship in the Capitol was talking to about 20 of us before we ended the day and headed for the Twenties, which was a favorite and crazy bar. (I was enamored of a young lady friend, and was seriously looking forward to the evening. She died of medical problems a couple of years later, and I often reflect on the unfairness of the Universe.) Anyway, the speaker passed around some sort of stuffed animal, told us to examine it as much as we wanted. Being cocky 20 year olds, we each grasped it with two fingers, held it at arm's-length, and passed it to the next person. It got back to the speaker (Jack Whiting was his name) and he took the stuffed animal, cradled it, petted it and in so doing taught us a remarkable lesson that I have never forgotten. Goodness, I was so darn stiff at that age (when sober). What I wouldn't give to be 20 again, knowing what I know now, of course.

I had a positively delightful breakfast this week with Bro. Dave and Pastor Jim - philosophical and fun. For some reason, the pastor wore a tie. Dave, of course, was on his way to court, and he's a very natty dresser nearly all the time (even to some extent when he's in the woods.)

Am I guilt of literary miserliness? At the Christmas Market, there was a bookstall with several (mostly uninteresting or paperback or poor condition books) with one book that I wanted. However, being a small bookseller, s/he needs to charge fairly high rates, in this case full publisher's retail of $34.95. I can get a pristine copy on Amazon or bookfinder.com for under $15 bucks, so I passed.

As I write this, WVU's football team is playing its last regular season game, with an eye to being in the national championship game. They have worked hard for that and I wish them well, but I'm not terribly emotionally invested in this whole thing. The problem with circuses is that they become not simply diverting, but totally distracting.

Great Caesar's Ghost, I'm a censorious bastard tonight, and pontificating like I have some clue what is going on. For some reason, I know that I'll sleep uneasily tonight, I just have one of those feelings that something is amiss in the fabric of the night.

Mizpah.

R

Now is the time for all Walloonians to come to the aid of their country; or, great wisdom from simple people

Actually, just a few random thoughts today.

I'm beat - a habit I have when under stress is to work maniacally, get minimal sleep and wait to crash. I acknowledge that that's not a real healthy way to manage stress, but it's my way. After all, I can't use either food or booze, so I gotta improvise.

This church thing is getting weirder and weirder. An apostate like me in a church? Look, I went along with this to provide some company and support for my mother - a couple of hours a week for something that's important to her is not that big a deal. But now I seem to be looking forward to the experience. We went to a no-kidding church supper tonight. What's next? Gathering around the TV to watch Milton Berle? The darn place is accepting, even of me; loving; there's no macho posturing; nobody seems to be guarded in their interactions. It just ain't my kind of environment.

Huge blow-up in the WV Masonic organization - This is not Masonic, it's moronic. One would think that such people would sit down and talk and reason together and actually practice the brotherhood that gets taught, rather than go at one another hammer & tongs.

Darn it, I need a bag of cookies. I need a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. This clean living is going to kill me. I need somewhere to swing my tomahawk.

"All the things of my life are present, and it is a good day to die."

Mizpah.

R

Purposely being vague . . .

. . . is sort of what I do, and it's a habit. (Sorry, Rosa!) And I wrote the last post in great haste owing to urgent need to tend to things. (Rather like multi-tasking several lines of chaos. No, Chaos. It deserves the cosmological designation.) The circumstances to which I refer are a very serious ongoing confrontation (I may have mixed tenses there) (ooh, I made an unintended funny!) with a (genetic) brother that's (bothering the hell out of me? heck, I don't know how to describe the level of either cause or effect), am stuck by my own nature to the high road, and I'm having to keep an energetic "game face" on so that our mother doesn't twig to the existence of (or viciousness of) the discord, because that would upset her tremendously.

I should have specified that my health is great (down 140), that of my family ditto, and it's sunny in my mountains, and I'm hiding in my room at No. 3 today because the County Historical Society is conducting all day tours of historic houses, and apparently this is one of them. The place is spotless and totally neat, with the exception of my room which is closed and in which, like on the deck of a laboring boat, one finds the line, hooks, winches and other implements I use.

Today is the first day in several that I'm thinking clearly and looking for the learning that this situation has to present. Haven't found it yet, but it's there.

Endeavoring to persevere (I love that phrase, comes from Outlaw Josey Wales with Clint Eastwood),

R

Wanted: Guest Blogger

I know I haven't posted for a while, and I have a good bit in the pipeline. Due to some unexpected adverse personal circumstances, I'll be out of touch for a while.

A great holiday wish for everyone.

Mizpah.

R

The pique of spirituality; or, Is the Pope just another guy with a funny hat?

It's been an interesting weekend.

Me and Jesus, we're buds. We have an understanding, I think. I don't demand to know the details of The Plan, and he's OK with me being human. It's a good working relationship. Church, however, is another matter. As a kid, I grew up in the Methodist Church. Frankly, I don't have a clue about the details of Methodist doctrine. I assume that it doesn't include transubstantiation, but I'm not clear on the issue of predetermination, predestination, or total free will. Some people find that important. I grew up with varying ideas of God, and frankly I think I always tried to keep a low profile. It didn't seem right to proclaim piddling items of faith as the Absolute Truth, when I really didn't have a clue. Church was, to me, about friendship and connection with society. As you know, I've always been socially retarded, and that certainly applied to me as a kid. I remember an "interdemoninational youth group" that I was a part of in high school. It was ethnically diverse, in retrospect, and I'm amused that I even remember that. We certainly weren't aware of that, we were just friends, learning the basics of independent interaction and loving friendship. (Note elsewhere, I've said that the current prohibition against teens touching each other is moronic.) The youth leader was Al, a senior at PHS, a big fellow with an outrageous sense of humor and who showed about as much fellowship and love as was permissable for a high school kid. I remember when he was killed when he rolled his little red MG convertible on Route 50. That did not make sense at the time, and still doesn't. Was that ordained by God? If so, He needs glasses. Why couldn't he have killed a young Saddam Hussein or Usama bin Laden? Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think Al would have been a much better human than either of those two. (And here I remember a song by . . . by . . . damn, I forget - Springsteen? Anyway, one line was "Only the good die young," and when it was popular, it was sort of an anthem for paramedics. Many a drunken episode in a nice bar was livened up with that song. It may even be true. It was true for Al.) I remember showing a senior girl the way up to the dome of the church, and fantasizing about "getting lucky" up over the stained glass. When she bent over to look down the long way down into the sanctuary, my eyes were focused intensely on the tops of her legs. (This in the days before panty hose, which are both ridiculous and not too darn enticing.)

Both yesterday and today have been spiritually thought-provoking for me. Yesterday, I was at No. 3 most of the day, doing the Saturday routine, which frankly isn't all that strenuous. I.e., I spend some time screwing off in the cushy chair in LaElu's office, reading. I went to my desk and was sorting through some papers. I came upon a postcard (remember those) from my Masonic Lodge which announced the "Past Masters Night" for that evening. It is hard to get away from No. 3 in time to go to lodge during the week, and when the meeting runs very late, that makes the next day's schedule all the more difficult. But whenever I see that we're having a Saturday meeting, I do my best to attend. So, I stayed late at No. 3, found a blazer that fit, and went to lodge. (I'm going down in clothes sizes quickly now - the nature of solids and geometry is that at a lower weight, the same weight loss produces larger linear reductions.) I got there early, because parking is a bear there, and sat through the dinner. That night, it wasn't prepared by the "stewards" of the Lodge, it was prepared by ladies from the Eastern Star, to make money for their organization. (That's bothersome to me. It feels like they are taking a subservient role. Note elsewhere my extreme -- if occasionally ruinous -- love of women.) The meal was "traditional rib-sticking American food," i.e., way too much and loaded with grease. (I'm soooo concerned about the diet long term - for this to be successful, I have to keep that stuff out of my life.) We went upstairs to the Lodge room, and held a "Master Mason's Lodge," in which there is ritual including prayer. (dear friend is a lawyer here, whose grandfather was Master of my Lodge in 1921, and whose father was Master in 1950. I'm going to mail her the little program of remembrance that was printed up.) As I've noted elsewhere, you can find versions of Masonic ritual in hundreds of places online. Every time I am a part of it, it gives me an opportunity to reflect and learn. LaElu surprised me today - noting that she thought I was an atheist, given my avoidance of church services. In fact, no atheist can be a Mason. I was disturbed during the meeting and afterwards when I learned of the illness of four brothers I'm close to. My "coach," Billy R., is in the hospital with severe respiratory problems probably due to years and years in the coal mines. The Lodge chaplain, Bob E., is a fellow I dearly love. He was an assistant scoutmaster in a troop I belonged to nearly 40 years ago. He came over during a break, and was telling me about just being diagnosed with prostrate cancer, and what the medical mill had in store for him. He talked about the fact that he has always prayed every day, and doesn't expect something miraculous of the burning-bush variety. Rather, he prays for the strength to fight. He is a man's man. Then there's Butch, who occupies a post called the "tiler." Butch is a contractor who smoked for years, quit 3 or 4 years ago, but got cancer anyway. He has cancer of the jaw, throat and tonsils, and he too has been tossed into the medical grinder. He's doing pretty poorly. He's a great guy. Due to my legendary ineptitude at fixing things, he's taken care of my Mom's house since Dad died in 1999. He stops in to visit her every month or so, usually bringing a bag of hamburgers from a greasy spoon near the college. And finally, there was Harold. I really love that guy, he is giving and loving and altogether pleasant. He has long been a brittle diabetic, and a couple of years ago, had to have a pancreas transplant. (I'd never heard of a pancreas transplant before that.) This cured his diabetes, and he's had a couple of great years. Now, though, the immune-suppressing drugs that he absolutely must take to avoid organ rejection are now causing squamous cell skin cancers, which are accumulating faster and more aggressively than surgeons can remove them, and he is truly screwed and he knows it. There's an interesting conundrum, what is the right thing to say to someone who is dying and knows it? Oops? Bad luck, old boy? Well, I told him I didn't know what to say, and he laughed because he enjoyed my perplexed look. Then I told him that I'll be there to help his wife "when the time comes," and that was a comfort to him. Here are 4 guys, 4 brothers, who have lived really good and decent and productive and honest and worthwhile lives, and they could each conclude that God has deserted them. None of them are saying that, and I pray to God that I'll be able to buck up like them when my Time comes. I left rather sad, and not understanding the justice or fairness of this. As if I believed in justice and fairness.

Then, today, I started with the typical Sunday routine. That means getting up when I damn well feel like it (although, as I age, it gets earlier and earlier), heading for No. 3, putting on the coffee and reading the Sunday paper. That doesn't take a great deal of time, I only read the local paper. Oh, I cannot claim originality in the use of "mizpah" at the end of most posts, as that comes from a local columnist who writes in a way that shows he absolutely doesn't care what people think about him, he's saying what he wants. I like that attitude. (A girlfriend once got me to read the New York Times and Washington Post on Sundays. It took too much time, and didn't cure my cultural isolation, and besides, CV News, the only place in town I know of that sold them, closed a couple of years ago.) I got dressed up again mid-morning, because I promised my Mom that I would take her to church. She's been depressed because the people she has sat with for years have either died or sickened to the point that they cannot attend services. Given my adult-life record of formal church attendance, she didn't believe that I'd follow through until I showed up at her door. To feed my caffeine addiction, I stopped at McDonad's and got a "senior coffee," which annoys me but still saves 41 cents. While I was there, I saw a grizzled, bearded fellow go inside and then emerge with his own coffee. The car thermometer said 38 degrees F., so I figured that he would go back to his car and take off. He went to the little balcony overlooking a simple, working-class neighborhood, wiped the dew from the railing, and stood there drinking coffee, leaning on the railing and "observing the scene." I'm not sure why I mention this - it struck me as significant at the time.

I confess to some nervousness as we went into the church. I hadn't been in there since my Dad's funeral, and I busied myself with examining the physical plant. There are laminated wooden arches which create an impressive free span. On the sharply curved ends of them, there are whatever the modern equivalent of flying butresses distribuing the load, and that both amused and impressed me. It was some comfort to me that I know the pastor pretty well. It's Jim N., a very pleasant retired Methodist minister who is the temporary preacher at this Disciples of Christ Church. He was Bro. Dave's pastor for years, and that's how I met him. He's a sort of philosopher of "Flexidoxy," my word for love and not iron-bound doctrine, not to be confused with a hooker who has been a gymnast. Early in the service, he asked if he had any "young friends" he could talk to, and several little kids came forward. (I was impressed that this church doesn't banish the kids to some alternate room for the service, they understand that sometimes kids make a fuss, and it's not a big deal.) One of the children brought a "lava rock" for him to look at, and he gave what I think was an impromptu sermon (I hate that word for some reason) about science and how it is consistent with God. He talked geology and somehow transitioned to cosmology. Actually, he didn't do a bad job, even touching upon the contra-intuitiveness of relativity. He did opine that the universe is eternally expanding, and I need to talk with him about that not being settled. It depends on the presence of currently-unmeasurable "dark matter" as to whether the universe we know is open or closed. Some of the rituals of the church aren't so flexible, but I guess tradition supports them without requiring that they be taken seriously. One is a song or chant or something, the name of which I don't recall, which promises "world without end." Personally, I find Carl Sagan's concept of a "last perfect day" on Earth to be pretty convincing. Indeed, it's inevitable. The sun is going to run out of hydrogen in a few billion years, begin to burn helium and expand beyond Earth's orbit. So it's not "world without end," but of course I won't be corporeally here to confirm that. I think. (Aside: The new novel by Ken Follett, World Without End, is totally superior and I highly recommend it.) There was, of course, singing, which I don't really understand. I had a couple of problems. Where my Mom had to hold the hymnal to see it, I couldn't make out the printing with my bifocals. Also, I have an untrained but decent baritone voice, but I've never really read music well enough to follow accurately the baritone line. So, I just went with the flow without singing. Another confusing part of the service is the "Lord's Prayer," where God is implored, among other things, to "lead us not into temptation." I wonder why that's still a part of that prayer. Prayer may be answered in some respects, but I don't know that this phrase has ever gotten an affirmative response. A better request, in my opinion, would be to "help us have the strength and good judgment not to jump at temptation like a cliff-diver at Acapulco." God hasn't always answered that one affirmatively, but it strikes me that it has a better chance of working.

I enjoyed the service. For some reason, I was reminded of my favorite bit of e.e. cummings.:
.
i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything wich is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;
this is the birth day of life and love and wings:
and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake
and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
.
This afternoon, I was reading a bit of Scott Adams' new book. One essay talks about religion and how the adherents of each of the world's faiths "pray to different invisible friends." The First Amendment is healthy and vibrant in some respects (those which do not threaten profits).
.
I'm gearing up to drive to a far-away jail tomorrow to talk to Tina the Crack Dealer. Perhaps the acid test for a belief system is one that will help her make sense of her life, and live in peace and love in the future. She certainly has the potential for that - she is a nice person. But I do so worry about all of the horrible influences in her life, and her willingness to put them aside. Here is the test of religion: How does this spiritual body treat Tina the Crack Dealer? If the only people who get saved are the meek, pious and lucky, the whole thing strikes me as a sham.

Oh, I'm going back to church with my Mom next week. Go figure.

A worrisome thought for today: This is Veteran's Day, formerly Armistice Day, marking the end of World War I. Whoever decided the terms of the peace determined that there was some sort of important symbolism is ending the war at 11:00 AM, so that it ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. In McCullough's bio of Harry Truman, he says that Truman's battery fired their 75 mm cannons right up until 11:00. Who's dumbass idea was that? Rather, fucking immoral idea. Who was killed simply because some symbol-bound moron decided to delay peace by a few hours. God wasn't on the ball on this occasion.

What also impressed me a lot is that Pastor Jim pronounced "gunwale" correctly when he was citing Kierkegaard. Not many ministers know how it's pronounced.

Pippa passes. Mizpah.

R

I have nothing worthwhile to say

Well, not much.

If I explain how everything is wonderful, I'm lying. If I bitch, I'm whining. I'll do neither. Sooo, some random observations:

I've noticed that those Shelfers I've talked to on the phone have distinct regional accents. Am I the only one who speaks without an accent and with perfect English?

Tomorrow is a parade in town, and of course the politicians are turning out. I told both Bro. Dave and Partner Amy today to look for me on the 2nd floor carved stone balustrade of the Courthouse as they slowly drive past. And I told them that they will have to look REAL hard, because I won't be there. I think Emma has passed the Grinch Conch on to me to hold for the holidays.

I went to dinner last evening with LaElu, Tim and my mom, to a ma & pa kind of restaurant which serves various kinds of comfort food. I sat, drank my coffee and chatted, and on this occasion, the food thing wasn't very difficult. Tim is getting good experience as a rescue guy, and he and I were having a friendly argument about preparations for hazardous materials incidents. I was on the county fire departments' shit list for a good while, because when I was an emergency services director, I torpoedoed a poorly considered proposal for a hazardous materials response unit, because after consulting with buddies in the hazmat business (one of whom co-wrote the revision of the response guide that is supposed to be in every apparatus in the country) it appeared to me that there are too few incidents to justify either the danger to responders who don't get calls and experience or the considerable expense. Tim worked midnight last night, and wouldn't you know they had a hazmat incident in an adjoining county with a death from exposure to toluene triisocyanate (think cyanide and phosgene, the gas that make WWI famous), sheltering, and a y'all come to lots of departments here including his company. Son Tim is a trifle smug this evening. Sigh. My opinion remains unchanged, but I'm no longer in a position to do much about that. One of my (borrowed) rules of life is "don't let your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash." These young people are eager and think themselves invulnerable.

I have to get up early to meet a garage door installer, for the garage door (which is decades old) gave up the ghost. Hell, I offered to LaElu to get one at Lowe's and install it, but no, she had to have a professional. (Perhaps you don't realize how ridiculous such an offer is on my part. My favorite - sometimes only - tool is commonly known as the BFH Tool.)

I'm more and more leaving tracks in books - I have more stuff on my person than Batman does in his utility belt, including a yellow highlighter. When I see a phrase that strikes me, I mark it - maybe because that helps me remember it. This afternoon, I was waiting in the car reading Odyssey, by Jack McDevitt, and found one such passage: "Life is what it is. A brief stroll in the sunlight. A chance to enjoy yourself for a century or so. Love. Be loved. Have a few drinks before the fire goes out." I'm not often drawn to broad stuff like this, more so to terse, tight points. But this one just touched me. Maybe having a few (figurative) drinks is the one and True Answer.

I talked to the ladies at the diet place today - just talking about the future. My ideas in that respect aren't totally conventional, and I'm not going to do anything behind their back. I did tell them that they are important in my life, and I do love them. They were embarassed. How silly a society do we have when it's embarassing to be told that you're loved. There are as many kinds of love as their are combinations of people, and that potential changes every moment. (Sound silly or sweeping? I can live with that.)

I don't often pass along news items. On cnn.com today, though, there was an item about a high school girl who was suspended for hugging a friend who's parent had died. What kind of fucking values are we teaching kids? They watch the Dysfunctional Olympics (aka MTV and VH1) and so our collective response is to punish compassionate, human, loving behavior? Christ, I can think of cases that I've gotten ENORMOUS fees consisting solely of honest hugs at the end. What a world of trash. Hasn't anybody gotten the fucking memo? We're all in this together. (I do reserve the right to be judgmental about people who are silly, annoying and boring. If someone doesn't like that, I can live with that, too.)

November is a bad month for me generally. I'm working on the "why's" of that, but in many respects, my mind is closed. See, even I don't read the memo all the time.

Pippa passes.

Mizpah.

R

Sometimes country sayings are useful

Amy got bombed in family court this afternoon - unfortunate case which illustrates the difficulty of bro. dave's job - I talked to her this evening as she was still smoking, but she wasn't ready to hear my opinion - which I distilled to a favorite localism - "sometimes you get the bear, and sometimes the bear gets you." Does that sound harsh or jaded? Perhaps - but the idea of lawyers who don't lose cases is ridiculous - if you get down in the trenches, deal with real people, you will see nasty stuff. That is the case in lots and lots of jobs. And when you emerge at the end of the day, covered with mud and sweat, you have to go take a shower and get some sleep, because tomorrow will be more of the same. Does that sound pessimistic? Not to me. I carry with me different documents for different purposes - one thing that I carry is a picture of the Central Criminal Court in London, the "Old Bailey." That is symbolic, to me, of the life I have chosen. Lots of very bad things happen there. I think I'll try to find Bro. Dave in the morning for coffee - and hassle him generally - in good fun. Although sometimes my sense of humor is a bit broad and inappropriate. Or iconoclastic.

Losing cases - of the post-death-penalty era in WV, by some quirk of fate, I own two of the three longest sentences - (life plus 200 years; and 7 consecutive life terms without parole). bro. dave tried the first one with me. There was a case with some conflict - the chief deputy sheriff let us in on his secret security plan for that trial- "if anything bad happens, you lawyers hit the deck because we're going to shoot the defendant." That had everything a good security plan needed - simplicity and decisiveness.

Tim got hired for ski patrol today. Believe it or not, an EMT is considered over-trained for that job around here - bizarre. He didn't appreciate my opinion that two things slide down hills - avalanches and fools.

LaElu has pointed out that I'm spending insufficient time around Casa LaElu - hell, I'm only working half days as a rule (that would be 7 AM to 7 PM). I like getting in early - there are 3 lawyers I talk to occasionally around 7, because we know that we are likely the only ones working at that time - it's a bit of a joke and a bit of mutual encouragement. Darn, I really miss my buddy and brother Fred - he would stop in at 7, we'd drink coffee, solve the world's problems, I'd run stuff by him for a lay/police-experienced view, and sometimes alter something I was doing in a case due to his opinion. Who will not listen to anybody's opinion is a fool. Cocky, too.

I'm taking off somewhat early tomorrow afternoon to go down to the diet place, and have a sort of status-check talk with the ladies there - I absolutely treasure those people. The office person there is in law school, and watching a new person's perspective is interesting. And there is a "fellowship" feeling to it. Anyway, re the diet, it will be a long time before I transition to long-term stuff, but it bears thinking about carefully even now. I'm walking longer distances without thinking about it lately - very new, and I need to look carefully at that and process it, and remember how truly miserable my physical life was 130 lbs. ago.

My mother has been using a computer purchases in 1998 by her and my dad. Tim finally talked her into the merits of a new one, and they ordered a Dell, including a good laser printer - she is getting more interested in photography.

Mizpah.

R

This space for rent

I have a hopefully humorous (in my usual dark fashion) post in progress. I planned to take some time and buff it up this evening. Of course, humor is in the mind of the reader, perhaps it will be dreadfully dull and stupid. I have another darker one on my mind, too, but I don't know if I'll post that even here. Friend Dacey says that I get a bit edgy here at times.

However, a couple of hours ago, I was put into a terrible ethical dilemna (that I absolutely did not create even 1%) that has me, to use Partner Amy's term, "really freaking out." And the fucking rules (Did I say that? These are the rules I've lived by for 30 years, pretty faithfully and, indeed, the rules that I was tasked with enforcing for a few years) will not permit me to give any details at all here. So here I sit at No. 3, it's dark and storming outside, the house is dark but for my little desk lamp, everyone else has long since gone home, I've talked to my best friends (who, being lawyers, I can give some factual details to) who say it's a damn shame but I am absolutely mandated to do what I'd already done before I called them even though if I didn't do it nobody would (probably) ever find out. So do I be corrupt and feel bad, or follow the rules and feel horrible? Sadly, there is no room for discussion or even hesitation, and I feel guilty in an odd sort of way that I didn't at least consider doing the expedient but wrong thing. Not that I'm some sort of ethical drama queen or icon. But, by God, I DON'T FUCKING LIKE IT and I'M REALLY PISSED OFF AT LIFE AND THE UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW. For all the good that does. Sigh.

Pippa passes. But right now, I'd like to kick her ass.

R

Thoughts on the aerodynamics of flying squirrels

Oddly enough, it was a day of about 60% rest. I was at No. 3, but spent part of the time screwing off, reading and so forth. Meant to do laundry, but I'll get that tomorrow. People are coming in tomorrow afternoon, so it'll be up to full steam.

Something is happening in my mind - I don't understand it. I'm getting more and more willing to share somewhat nosey opinions. In the trick or treat block party this week, as I saw a couple of grim-faced dads out with their little kids, I told them, "Enjoy it now, Dad, they grow up sooooo quick." (I know, it should be "quickly," but that's not in the local patois.) It's like I'm claiming to have some "wisdom," whatever that is, and the thought of making that claim is daunting.

LaElu, SonTim and I went to B&N tonight. Hell, I'm a cheap date. I bought a little bound edition of John Stuart Mill's On Liberty. I haven't read that since college, and I remember enjoying it, and I couldn't find my copy of it if my life depended on it. Let's see, 3 or 4 other books, too, including Scott Adam's collection of essays. Damn, I wish I could write that well. Tim and I talked EMS all the way, and it was a nice discussion. LaElu has the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere very quickly, and she slept through it. I shop pretty quickly, so I spent a good bit of time waiting for them in the coffee shop, sitting in a comfortable arm chair (hell, I fit in them now) and practicing some Masonic memory work. My "coach" insists that I be "letter perfect."

Permit me to share a reading tip with you. B&N, etc., sell fancy bookmarkers. However, if you keep lots of books going at the same time (I do to match my particular mood at the time I want to read), the cost of bookmarkers can be scandalous. I use business cards sometimes, but they just don't have the umph to do the job. So, when I go to WalMart, etc., and pass the paint department, I often get 3 or 4 "paint chips," the long strips of thin cardboard with several shades of the same color on them. They work admirably. Hell, I'll even buy paint there someday. I also love bright colors. My private office at No. 3 is painted in WVU Mountaineer gold. That wasn't intended to honor the Mounties at first, it was just a bright color that didn't remind me of past offices. For some reason, I'm really responsive to colors. Odors, too.

I'm still trying in vain for the avant garde label for my post titles. I don't think I've ever seen a flying squirrel, at least not in flight.

Deer season is coming up. I think I'm going to the farm with Tim, just to enjoy the woods on opening day. I will not carry a long arm, because I don't hunt. I didn't get outside enough over the summer. What a dumbass I am. I live in this beautiful rural place, and I don't enjoy what it has to offer.

Closing in on 130, the process is totally nominal right now. I think the folks at the University wish that I were more involved in the process, thinking about it more. But what I need to do to make this a long-term success is learn to lead a somewhat ascetic life without having to constantly think about it. I'm actually wearing shorts these days, because they do not look totally gross on me. Or so I'm told. I'll never be a can-can dancer or a leg model, though - owing to lots of knocks and spills over the years, my legs are scarred and ugly.

Pippa passes.

Mizpah.

R

Unchained melody

I don't have a clue why that phrase is in my mind tonight. Maybe something from The Righteous Brothers? Anyway, I post it in the hopes that someone will find it profound and assign some deep avant garde meaning to it, and consider me some sort of electronic sachem. Jim Morrison and The Doors - they said the name was profound, from some poem about a passageway into paradise or something like that. On the other hand, The Commodores picked their name at random from the dictionary - the first word they saw was "commode," so they looked further down the column. Maybe I'll found a group if I ever learn to play an instrument - The Wallboards; The Casement Windows. I've got it, The Studs. God, I'm deep.





I went to my Mom's house on the way home. LaElu was there. They were comparing horoscopes. No kidding. I asked when the witch doctor would be there with the shrunken heads, and recommended feng shui to channel the ethereal energy of the house. They were not amused.



Speaking of science, apparently John Raese (pronounced "racy") is running against Jay Rockefeller for US Senator from WV again. At a Republican dinner last night, as reported in the local newspaper, his speech included the assertion that "there is absolutely no scientific evidence for greenhouse gases being caused by burning fossil fuels." How can you argue with that? How can you begin to challenge someone who is so stunningly stupid? Or such a blatant liar. Or, perhaps, mentally ill. He's a gazillionaire who inherited businesses, and says that he runs them. He may, I don't know. His point was to get support as the "friend of coal." WV has much coal deposits. Coal burns with lots of particulates, so it looks very dirty. It also has a good bit of sulphur in it (unlike the preferred "sweet" crude oil) and so when the particulates are removed (electrostatically, I think) the resulting smoke is faintly orange-yellow. Sulphur combines with water and produces airborne sulphur dioxide - acid rain. That's a problem only now being effectively addressed. A good point which he didn't make (because he's too stupid?) is that gasoline burns with about 10% efficiency. That is, the energy potential of the product is used 90% for waste heat and 10% for work. With new coal burning technology, 40% efficiency is within sight. An electric car plugged into the grid uses fuel which releases about 1/3 of the carbon as an equivalent distance driven with gasoline. Science is the answer, technology is the answer, civic responsibility is the answer. But we get fucking stupidity, cupidity and malice. But who else would want to wallow in the political mire?





Something profound - OK, I heard it in the barber shop yesterday. (I'm shorn.) "There ain't no such thing as a woman who ain't pretty." Now THERE is a Truth.





Thinking about putting a post in the community blog about the confederate flag, and displays of it. It's protected speech. It personally offends the hell out of me. I wonder how others feel about it. Of course, I wear the square & compasses, star of life, and fleur-de-lis, and perhaps some folks are offended by some or all of those. Oh, Kath, a St. Michael's medal on the back of the tag with the star of life, too. And those symbols are on my car - it's rather busy.





I bombed the lying son of a bitch who has pissed me off in court today. Friend Dacey convinced me to tone it down, so there was only a fringe of fury there. Lawyers who lie betray the Fellowship.






I just tried to "upload an image." Probably copyrighted. Damn, I'd loved to have thought of that.

Mizpah.

R

The containment vessel ruptures and a nice block party

This evening was a wonderful counterpoint to the rest of the day. I spent a delightful hour and a half out in the neighborhood and on the really great porch on LaElu's craftsman style house handing out candy, visiting with neighbors, and talking to kids. I continue my strange journey to giving good if unsolicited advice by telling a couple of grim-faced dads who were taking their kids around to enjoy these times now, because they grow up soooooo fast. LaElu was out with me most of the time, and that's the longest uninterrupted conversation we've had in a while. This is an old neighborhood (LaElu's house is the second oldest one on the hill, built in 1925) and is just a real pleasant place to live. The only cousin I'm close to came in town and stayed with my Mom, because she lives out in the sticks and just enjoys the hell out of the little kids. My Mom really enjoyed the company.

There was a nice spot in the work day. Tina the Crack Dealer called me from jail, and we had a nice chat. She calls me "sweetie," and I call her some endearments, and it's genuine. Here is a person who is having a very difficult time in her life, and she remains nice. I don't think she's ever had much of anyone give a shit about her. That's sad. I hope she finds some peace while she's locked up. She'll end up at a fairly open prison, on a par with a very low class summer camp.

However, when I got to the office this morning, there was a fax sent late last night by the lawyer who reneged on a deal yesterday. This was a "motion" which contained lots of factual allegations and which was sent directly to the judge (that is an ethical violation) and the facts alleged were false (and that sure as hell is an ethical violation.) I was really peeved last night, and this morning I went over the edge. I sat down to write a paragraph letter to him, something on the nature of "what part of 'a deal is a deal' are you having trouble understanding?" It MIRVed into a 3 page righteous diatribe. I shared it with Dave (the case is in another county, so it's nothing he'll ever see) and he was both amused and understanding, because he knows how irrational I get when I blow. I showed it to Friend Dacey (a damn fine lawyer), and she lovingly kicked me in the ass for revealing a strong emotional response. (Criticism is a good thing - it's honest, it's thought-provoking and it is indeed a loving thing.) And as I sit here tonight, I'm still really peeved. Do something stupid, hell, that happens. Screw off on something, who hasn't done that at times? My Dad always said that the person who doesn't make mistakes obviously isn't doing anything. Get mad at me, tell me off, hell, I'm a big boy, I can take it. But, by God, do not fucking lie to me.

Darn, I need to return to the block party mode.

Amy gave me a book today by a guy named Osteen. It's a self-improvement book, and is fairly religious. Me & Jesus, we're buds. But religion, I don't know what to make of that sometimes. It was very nice of Ames to give me the book.

I need to run more contests. I'm running out of shelf space again.

In solidarity with JeanMarie and Kathy, both of whom are doing the chemotherapy stuff, I'm going to hit the barber early tomorrow and get totally shorn. I'll keep the moustache, though. Let's see, my moustache is 36 years old.

Pippa passes. Mizpah.

R