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
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tying down the safety valve; mealy mouthed, passive-aggressive idiots; and other observations
I'm reading The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne. It's a rather happy book, about the idea that what we think about manifests itself in our lives, or we attract it, or something like that. Sounds a touch unscientific at first blush, but science hasn't really touched human capacities, so I'll keep an open mind. However, I must be thinking bad thoughts at the moment, because I'm getting unpleasant results.
Old steam engines (ok, I betcha new steam engines, too, if they still make any) have "safety valves," that is, a valve set to open at a specified high pressure so that if the containment nears a pressure that you can have a catastrophic failure (i.e., blow up and blow live steam all over the place), the valve will open and the pressure thus be relieved safely. Of course, it reduces the energy output of the engine. Operators who wanted more energy and damn the risk would "tie down" the safety valve, preventing it from opening. The last 3 days, I've had my safety valve tied down. It's late, and I just got to Casa LaElu, and I'm still racing and grumpy. I stayed at No. 3 to work on some contracts, but also because Friend B. was doing a mediation downstairs, and I try to avoid having her (or any woman) leave the office alone at night. Perhaps that's old-fashioned or paternalistic. I can live with that. Due to little issues going on, I've been considering the advisability of getting a gun permit again -- I hate to do that as a matter of principle, but I'm also a realist. Oh, B. came upstairs and we had a nice visit after the mediation.
See, I told you I'm grumpy.
I did a memo (orally and in writing) at No. 3 yesterday, and acknowledged that the contents might lead people to conclude that I'm an asshole, and that I could live with that, too. We will not tolerate poor performance. I will not tolerate it of myself, and I kick my own ass frequently because of that. So, basically, I've been doing edicts. And they will be followed. I think I'm a fairly decent fellow to work with/for - I don't pay attention to sick days when staff is sick, I don't bitch if people are occasionally late, I think we pay pretty well, and I am loyal to everybody who works with/for me. But the edicts will be followed.
I have been feeling all pious lately because I get to work real early. But it seems that every day I go to work, there's lots and lots of other people on the streets, so I'm not the only one by far getting up in the dark. Anytime after 5 or so, there's a good bit of traffic out on the interstate, so I should stfu and quit the piousness.
Some clients I love and protect and sort of incidently do that by representing them. Tina the Crack Dealer, who I have blogged about in the past few months, is one of these. Some clients I represent because it's my function in life, and that hopefully leads to their protection with a favorable wind and a star to steer by. Tomorrow, I'm having a short trial on one of the latter. This is a contributing case where I could give the client a $100 bill and she still wouldn't be able to buy a clue. Life enhancement is something that I'm occasionally able to do. No chance here. I'm not Houdini. Yesterday, I went to a negotiation where a biological father wants to step to the plate and be a part of a baby's life. Good for him, really. Some sort of fuse blew (I'm full of machine metaphors tonight), and I suddenly started acting like Louis Schoolnic - of course, you'vef never heard of him - Louis was a great guy, and a great lawyer, and he wasn't afraid to "pontificate," and teach younger lawyers like me wtf this life is about. Not only that, but he called me "kid" right up until he died. I've always wondered who got his Mont Blanc pen that he did calligraphy with. Anyway, Louis would tell his own client and the other client and the other lawyers when they were out of line or ineffective or temporarily stupid. (My friend Justice Richard Neely, now in private practice and a prolific author, does the same thing, without the tempering of old age.) Anyway, neither my client nor the biological father (nor his lawyer) really had a clue that they weren't discussing a trophy, they were discussing a baby. So the fuses blew, and I got real blunt with them. It's a new feeling, and I need to explore this - it feels weird, I must admit. But, Jesus, enough is enough, cut to the chase and do the right thing - not the easy thing, not the cheap thing, not the fun thing, the right thing. And we hammered out a temporary agreement, called the Family Court and talked to one of my friends there, described the issues and got her recommendation for a mediator, and agreed to mediation. No problem. And then when I get back to No. 3 tonight, there is a faxed letter from the other lawyer unilaterally imposing a control-freak condition on the case. Wisely, I think, I haven't yet answered. A fax. Not a phone call, not a discussion, a terse (hell, there was one sentence to the letter) declaration. What mealy-mouthed, passive-aggressive bullshit. I am, I confess, still quite steamed. I'll do a reply first thing in the morning, and I need synonyms for "lie" and "fucking arrogant." I think I'll sleep on it, and they'll come to me.
Federal court today for an arraignment in a case that's really off-the-rails, and we're laboring in the vineyards to get it on track. (There's a mixed metaphor.) The judge ran late, to the US Attorney and I had time to sit and discuss a couple of other pending cases frankly and constructively. Sometimes, other lawyers may think I'm pretty fucking dumb. I can live with that. They always know that I'll be frank and honest. My credibility and effectiveness for people would plunge if it weren't so. And you can do that without kowtowing, it's perfectly ok to tell a prosecutor to fuck off in a nice way, you're going to trial. But at the end of the day, we are the engineers on this justice machine.
I dragged out a bunch of old (smaller!) clothes yesterday and today - Do I doom myself with the sin of hubris if I say that's a very pleasant experience?
No court tomorrow, and I'll be home early for Trick or Treat - In this neighborhood, it's effectively a block party of all the adults, with houses decorated all to hell, and with visiting back and forth, enjoying the kids, and just having a easy, pleasant time. Quaint? Old-fashioned? Hokey? I can live with that.
I'll probably meet Judge Dave for coffee in the morning - haven't seen him for a week or so. And I've got an intense coffee with Miss V. (the lawyer who represented my "second father") and I always enjoy the easy intimacy with her. (She has terrible taste in men. I'm trying to get her to realize that she needs to find someone who will buy her fuzzy nightgowns rather than lingerie.)
I was at the old office building (which I still own half of) last night for the first time in a year. Frankly, I had been dreading that. However, the safety valve was tied down, and I just didn't have time to fret, so I did it, got out, and kept steaming along.
This evening, I see the wishekwanwee muga. I dare you - translate that.
Pippa passes.
Mizpah.
R
Old steam engines (ok, I betcha new steam engines, too, if they still make any) have "safety valves," that is, a valve set to open at a specified high pressure so that if the containment nears a pressure that you can have a catastrophic failure (i.e., blow up and blow live steam all over the place), the valve will open and the pressure thus be relieved safely. Of course, it reduces the energy output of the engine. Operators who wanted more energy and damn the risk would "tie down" the safety valve, preventing it from opening. The last 3 days, I've had my safety valve tied down. It's late, and I just got to Casa LaElu, and I'm still racing and grumpy. I stayed at No. 3 to work on some contracts, but also because Friend B. was doing a mediation downstairs, and I try to avoid having her (or any woman) leave the office alone at night. Perhaps that's old-fashioned or paternalistic. I can live with that. Due to little issues going on, I've been considering the advisability of getting a gun permit again -- I hate to do that as a matter of principle, but I'm also a realist. Oh, B. came upstairs and we had a nice visit after the mediation.
See, I told you I'm grumpy.
I did a memo (orally and in writing) at No. 3 yesterday, and acknowledged that the contents might lead people to conclude that I'm an asshole, and that I could live with that, too. We will not tolerate poor performance. I will not tolerate it of myself, and I kick my own ass frequently because of that. So, basically, I've been doing edicts. And they will be followed. I think I'm a fairly decent fellow to work with/for - I don't pay attention to sick days when staff is sick, I don't bitch if people are occasionally late, I think we pay pretty well, and I am loyal to everybody who works with/for me. But the edicts will be followed.
I have been feeling all pious lately because I get to work real early. But it seems that every day I go to work, there's lots and lots of other people on the streets, so I'm not the only one by far getting up in the dark. Anytime after 5 or so, there's a good bit of traffic out on the interstate, so I should stfu and quit the piousness.
Some clients I love and protect and sort of incidently do that by representing them. Tina the Crack Dealer, who I have blogged about in the past few months, is one of these. Some clients I represent because it's my function in life, and that hopefully leads to their protection with a favorable wind and a star to steer by. Tomorrow, I'm having a short trial on one of the latter. This is a contributing case where I could give the client a $100 bill and she still wouldn't be able to buy a clue. Life enhancement is something that I'm occasionally able to do. No chance here. I'm not Houdini. Yesterday, I went to a negotiation where a biological father wants to step to the plate and be a part of a baby's life. Good for him, really. Some sort of fuse blew (I'm full of machine metaphors tonight), and I suddenly started acting like Louis Schoolnic - of course, you'vef never heard of him - Louis was a great guy, and a great lawyer, and he wasn't afraid to "pontificate," and teach younger lawyers like me wtf this life is about. Not only that, but he called me "kid" right up until he died. I've always wondered who got his Mont Blanc pen that he did calligraphy with. Anyway, Louis would tell his own client and the other client and the other lawyers when they were out of line or ineffective or temporarily stupid. (My friend Justice Richard Neely, now in private practice and a prolific author, does the same thing, without the tempering of old age.) Anyway, neither my client nor the biological father (nor his lawyer) really had a clue that they weren't discussing a trophy, they were discussing a baby. So the fuses blew, and I got real blunt with them. It's a new feeling, and I need to explore this - it feels weird, I must admit. But, Jesus, enough is enough, cut to the chase and do the right thing - not the easy thing, not the cheap thing, not the fun thing, the right thing. And we hammered out a temporary agreement, called the Family Court and talked to one of my friends there, described the issues and got her recommendation for a mediator, and agreed to mediation. No problem. And then when I get back to No. 3 tonight, there is a faxed letter from the other lawyer unilaterally imposing a control-freak condition on the case. Wisely, I think, I haven't yet answered. A fax. Not a phone call, not a discussion, a terse (hell, there was one sentence to the letter) declaration. What mealy-mouthed, passive-aggressive bullshit. I am, I confess, still quite steamed. I'll do a reply first thing in the morning, and I need synonyms for "lie" and "fucking arrogant." I think I'll sleep on it, and they'll come to me.
Federal court today for an arraignment in a case that's really off-the-rails, and we're laboring in the vineyards to get it on track. (There's a mixed metaphor.) The judge ran late, to the US Attorney and I had time to sit and discuss a couple of other pending cases frankly and constructively. Sometimes, other lawyers may think I'm pretty fucking dumb. I can live with that. They always know that I'll be frank and honest. My credibility and effectiveness for people would plunge if it weren't so. And you can do that without kowtowing, it's perfectly ok to tell a prosecutor to fuck off in a nice way, you're going to trial. But at the end of the day, we are the engineers on this justice machine.
I dragged out a bunch of old (smaller!) clothes yesterday and today - Do I doom myself with the sin of hubris if I say that's a very pleasant experience?
No court tomorrow, and I'll be home early for Trick or Treat - In this neighborhood, it's effectively a block party of all the adults, with houses decorated all to hell, and with visiting back and forth, enjoying the kids, and just having a easy, pleasant time. Quaint? Old-fashioned? Hokey? I can live with that.
I'll probably meet Judge Dave for coffee in the morning - haven't seen him for a week or so. And I've got an intense coffee with Miss V. (the lawyer who represented my "second father") and I always enjoy the easy intimacy with her. (She has terrible taste in men. I'm trying to get her to realize that she needs to find someone who will buy her fuzzy nightgowns rather than lingerie.)
I was at the old office building (which I still own half of) last night for the first time in a year. Frankly, I had been dreading that. However, the safety valve was tied down, and I just didn't have time to fret, so I did it, got out, and kept steaming along.
This evening, I see the wishekwanwee muga. I dare you - translate that.
Pippa passes.
Mizpah.
R
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Roger's Selected Third Quarter Canon
It was a pretty good quarter for reading. I’ve mostly been slogging through my to-be-read shelves, and haven’t bought very many new volumes this past quarter.
&&&& Allen D. Spiegel - A. Lincoln, Esquire: A Shrewd, Sophisticated Lawyer in His Time
I loved this book. You would probably find it sooooo unbearably boring, so I cannot recommend it. This author goes through some historical and extensive courthouse records concerning Abraham Lincoln’s law practice in Springfield, Illinois, ranging from the late 1830's to 1860. Lincoln was a self-taught lawyer, never going to a law school per se. In those days, it was permitted to "read the law," and essentially apprentice in law offices. There is a lot to be said for an intensive academic preparation for lawyers. But an apprenticeship makes a lot of sense, too. Only now are the law schools extensively using "clinical law" programs, which pair teams of students with experienced lawyers (at least that’s supposed to be the way it works, sometimes they get paired with pure academics) who then represent real people. The best lawyer in America, Gerry Spence, has favored both academic study followed by an apprenticeship.
Lincoln practiced under the "common law pleading" system, which developed in England from 1066 right through today. Some familiarity with that system is helpful in reading Spiegel’s work. He has collected pleadings (the documents in the case that lawyers prepare) and court reporter notes and appellate records to reconstruct the kind of practice Lincoln had. It’s really remarkable. Lincoln was indeed a small town lawyer, and a damn good one. As late as 1860, he was representing individuals in small cases, but also was representing the large corporations of the day (e.g., railroads) in complicated corporate matters. It is difficult to really tell how Lincoln ascended to the presidency (at least it is for me) and Spiegel doesn’t go there at all. I’ve read somewhere that there are 16,000 books about Lincoln, and I would love to have them all.
&&&& James M. Strock - Theodore Roosevelt on Leadership: Executive Lessons from the Bully Pulpit
TR is a hero of mine. I firmly believe that we need heroes, and that the lowest common denominator dysfunctional jaded jackanapes featured on MTV, VH1 and various "reality" genre TV presentations are filling youth with warped values. And the trivial and useless activities so common on the web contribute to that. (I know that there are Second Life afficianados out there. Sorry, it just bothers the hell out of me.)
TR lived his philosophy. He didn’t just talk about the strenuous life, he lived it. Strock draws from mostly commonly-known writings of TR, and draws from them lessons of leadership. (TR left a lot of writings, and acknowledged that he was writing for posterity.) If you know nothing about TR, but are interested in social science, this book is still interesting. If you do know his writing, it will stimulate new ways to consider his lessons.
&&&&& Michael Flynn - In the Country of the Blind
This is damn fine "near" sci-fi. The thesis is that history is mathematically predictable and therefore manipulable, and postulates competing groups doing that. It has a remarkable "alternate reality" feel.
&&& Jeffrey Eugenides - Middlesex
Oprah recommended this, so I took my sweet time reading it. It is a peculiar family history, a history of reinforced bad genes which culminate in a difficult life for the protagonist. The title is a play on words, supposedly the name of a community, but also a comment on the protagonist dealing with being a pseudo-hermaphrodite. My mother hated the book.
&&&& Harry Turtledove - Settling Accounts: In at the Death
Here again, I highly rate something that most folks will abhor. Standing alone, this book would be total nonsense. It is the 11th volume of an alternate history series by Turtledove, who is the best-known writer of that sub-genre. In those 5,000 or so pages, he introduces a complicated cast and has time to really, really develop their lives. To me, they became friends and despite the underlying premise (the Confederacy won the American Civil War), it’s a very real world he creates.
&&&&& Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child - The Wheel of Darkness
I don’t understand how writing teams can possibly cooperate. These guys do. They started several volumes ago in a fairly loose series talking about museums and curios (one of their books is Cabinet of Curiosity) with some macabre (if credible) touches. Early on, a minor character, Agent Pendergast of the FBI was introduced, and he has become the volume-to-volume continuity. I waited darn near a year for this to be published, and it was worth the wait. The best of the series is Still Life With Crows.
&&& Ben Bova - The Aftermath: Book Four of the Asteroid Wars
You have to be a sci-fi fan to appreciate this. It is not only the fourth book in a series, it is set in the near-future Solar system, and is consistent with many other books Bova has written. If you’re not really serious about sci-fi, don’t bother.
&&&& William Dietrich - Getting Back
This is another near-future work, based on the twin premises of a world-wide plague which has drastically reduced the human population (and in my dark hours, I can imagine that as a not-too-bad idea) and that large corporations control what’s left. (I’m not sure that’s such a far out premise.)
&&&&& David Von Drehle - Triangle: The Fire That Changed America
To me, this is a haunting work. It is pure history. The Triangle Shirtwaist Company occupied the three top floors of a 1911 New York highrise. It was a clothing factory, producing "shirtwaists," that is, women’s blouses. The conditions were sweatshop style, and the attention to worker health and safety were abominable. Fabric pieces and cotton particles, which are all highly flammable, were collected in bins beneath the cutting tables. (A key worker in a clothing factory is the fabric cutter, who must accurately cut panels of apparel without excess waste.) The only fire safety precaution was buckets of water spread around the room. In order to control the work force, some of the (inadequate) exits were locked. A fire started, probably from smoking, and spread extremely quickly through two floors of the factory, killing 146 workers, almost all of whom were immigrants. Von Drehle sets up the conditions accurately and in detail, and has a large knowledge of the physics of fire. The description of the response of FDNY is heartbreaking, because here were caring public servants who couldn’t get there in time to save many lives. There is a vivid description of a "gentleman" who helped ladies trapped by the fire escape being burned to death by helping them jump to their deaths – quite reminiscent of the choice that some of the WTC workers had in 2001.
The book documents the labor unrest which led to conditions which made the fire so deadly, and recounts the aftermath including the manslaughter trial of the owners in detail. The author analyzes the defense provided to the owners by Max Steuer (rhymes with "foyer"), who was one of the best trial lawyers of the 20th Century. (The owners were acquitted.)
This book brings to me very emotional images. One is a short scene in a movie about the fire made some years ago, where the first fire engine pulls out of the firehouse and responds to the call. In 1911, the engines were steam-powered pumps drawn by teams of horses, and the image of the engine plunging down the center of the street going to an incident which it will be wholly inadequate to fix is quite vivid.
&&&& James Dallesandro - 1906
This is a historical novel of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire. It uses protagonists who are believable, but also major public players who did not exist in history. However, the descriptions of the damage, the progress of the fire, and the political considerations of the people managing the disaster are detailed and, so far as I know, accurate, as is the detail of life in 1906 San Francisco.
&&& Jeffrey Toobin - The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court
I really don’t know if a non-lawyer will like or be disturbed about this book as much as I am. The public does not really appreciate the impact that the Supreme Court has on society, nor the cognitive disconnect between these justices (and judges in general) and the public. The selection process is an abomination, and it is not surprising in the least that it leads to an insulated political body which is at the same time grossly political and detached from real people. Justice Scalia, a conservative icon, is asked how he's different from Justice Thomas, the most famous recipient of affirmative action of all time. Scalia replies, "I'm not nuts."
&&&&& Michael Gates Gill - How Starbucks Saved My Life
This is the no. 2 pearl of this quarter, and it’s the best business book I’ve read. Gill was a high executive in the J. Walter Thompson Advertising Agency in New York, and was making an undisclosed yet fantastic amount of money doing so. At age 63, he was fired without fault, no doubt because of a more youthful corporate ideal. Around the same time, this married father of grown children got a girlfriend and had a baby with her. (The girlfriend turned out to be pretty crazy, and although he was very attentive to the baby, the romance fizzled.) (Been there, done that.) He worked as an independent advertising consultant without much success, owing partly to the youth-oriented corporate culture, the stigma of having been fired, and his own profound depression. He happened to be in New York City sitting in a Starbucks drinking some yuppie brew (and wondering how he’d continue to pay for them in the future) when he met a young black female manager who offered him a job. So, he began life as a "barrista," cleaning toilets, working the cash register and making coffee concoctions. Along the way, he discovered happiness and his own humanity.
Gill writes a triumphant look at the lives of real people, and the meaninglessness of great riches. I highly recommend this.
&&&&& Robert Morgan - Gap Creek
In counterpoint to Coal Run, Gap Creek is written by a male author who writes in the first person for a female narrator. The novel is about small farm life and poverty in southern Appalachia around 1900. The protagonist is a strong character who is handed unfair and crushing blows by life, and who perseveres. I highly recommend this one, too.
&&&&& Ken Follett - World Without End
And last, here is the gem of the quarter. Twenty years ago, Follett wrote The Pillars of the Earth, a novel about a town in England in the 1100's and the construction of the cathedral there. That book was richly researched in general history and particularly in the building trades.
World Without End is a sort of sequel, set in the same town 200 years after the cathedral was built. It, too, contains rich descriptions of life at that time, including familiar political and social maneuvering which differs only in time from what we see now. The book covers about 50 years, and a historical secret connects the beginning with the end. Three main characters plus four or five minor characters interact over decades and produce a great read.
Thus, the third quarter.
Mizpah.
R
&&&& Allen D. Spiegel - A. Lincoln, Esquire: A Shrewd, Sophisticated Lawyer in His Time
I loved this book. You would probably find it sooooo unbearably boring, so I cannot recommend it. This author goes through some historical and extensive courthouse records concerning Abraham Lincoln’s law practice in Springfield, Illinois, ranging from the late 1830's to 1860. Lincoln was a self-taught lawyer, never going to a law school per se. In those days, it was permitted to "read the law," and essentially apprentice in law offices. There is a lot to be said for an intensive academic preparation for lawyers. But an apprenticeship makes a lot of sense, too. Only now are the law schools extensively using "clinical law" programs, which pair teams of students with experienced lawyers (at least that’s supposed to be the way it works, sometimes they get paired with pure academics) who then represent real people. The best lawyer in America, Gerry Spence, has favored both academic study followed by an apprenticeship.
Lincoln practiced under the "common law pleading" system, which developed in England from 1066 right through today. Some familiarity with that system is helpful in reading Spiegel’s work. He has collected pleadings (the documents in the case that lawyers prepare) and court reporter notes and appellate records to reconstruct the kind of practice Lincoln had. It’s really remarkable. Lincoln was indeed a small town lawyer, and a damn good one. As late as 1860, he was representing individuals in small cases, but also was representing the large corporations of the day (e.g., railroads) in complicated corporate matters. It is difficult to really tell how Lincoln ascended to the presidency (at least it is for me) and Spiegel doesn’t go there at all. I’ve read somewhere that there are 16,000 books about Lincoln, and I would love to have them all.
&&&& James M. Strock - Theodore Roosevelt on Leadership: Executive Lessons from the Bully Pulpit
TR is a hero of mine. I firmly believe that we need heroes, and that the lowest common denominator dysfunctional jaded jackanapes featured on MTV, VH1 and various "reality" genre TV presentations are filling youth with warped values. And the trivial and useless activities so common on the web contribute to that. (I know that there are Second Life afficianados out there. Sorry, it just bothers the hell out of me.)
TR lived his philosophy. He didn’t just talk about the strenuous life, he lived it. Strock draws from mostly commonly-known writings of TR, and draws from them lessons of leadership. (TR left a lot of writings, and acknowledged that he was writing for posterity.) If you know nothing about TR, but are interested in social science, this book is still interesting. If you do know his writing, it will stimulate new ways to consider his lessons.
&&&&& Michael Flynn - In the Country of the Blind
This is damn fine "near" sci-fi. The thesis is that history is mathematically predictable and therefore manipulable, and postulates competing groups doing that. It has a remarkable "alternate reality" feel.
&&& Jeffrey Eugenides - Middlesex
Oprah recommended this, so I took my sweet time reading it. It is a peculiar family history, a history of reinforced bad genes which culminate in a difficult life for the protagonist. The title is a play on words, supposedly the name of a community, but also a comment on the protagonist dealing with being a pseudo-hermaphrodite. My mother hated the book.
&&&& Harry Turtledove - Settling Accounts: In at the Death
Here again, I highly rate something that most folks will abhor. Standing alone, this book would be total nonsense. It is the 11th volume of an alternate history series by Turtledove, who is the best-known writer of that sub-genre. In those 5,000 or so pages, he introduces a complicated cast and has time to really, really develop their lives. To me, they became friends and despite the underlying premise (the Confederacy won the American Civil War), it’s a very real world he creates.
&&&&& Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child - The Wheel of Darkness
I don’t understand how writing teams can possibly cooperate. These guys do. They started several volumes ago in a fairly loose series talking about museums and curios (one of their books is Cabinet of Curiosity) with some macabre (if credible) touches. Early on, a minor character, Agent Pendergast of the FBI was introduced, and he has become the volume-to-volume continuity. I waited darn near a year for this to be published, and it was worth the wait. The best of the series is Still Life With Crows.
&&& Ben Bova - The Aftermath: Book Four of the Asteroid Wars
You have to be a sci-fi fan to appreciate this. It is not only the fourth book in a series, it is set in the near-future Solar system, and is consistent with many other books Bova has written. If you’re not really serious about sci-fi, don’t bother.
&&&& William Dietrich - Getting Back
This is another near-future work, based on the twin premises of a world-wide plague which has drastically reduced the human population (and in my dark hours, I can imagine that as a not-too-bad idea) and that large corporations control what’s left. (I’m not sure that’s such a far out premise.)
&&&&& David Von Drehle - Triangle: The Fire That Changed America
To me, this is a haunting work. It is pure history. The Triangle Shirtwaist Company occupied the three top floors of a 1911 New York highrise. It was a clothing factory, producing "shirtwaists," that is, women’s blouses. The conditions were sweatshop style, and the attention to worker health and safety were abominable. Fabric pieces and cotton particles, which are all highly flammable, were collected in bins beneath the cutting tables. (A key worker in a clothing factory is the fabric cutter, who must accurately cut panels of apparel without excess waste.) The only fire safety precaution was buckets of water spread around the room. In order to control the work force, some of the (inadequate) exits were locked. A fire started, probably from smoking, and spread extremely quickly through two floors of the factory, killing 146 workers, almost all of whom were immigrants. Von Drehle sets up the conditions accurately and in detail, and has a large knowledge of the physics of fire. The description of the response of FDNY is heartbreaking, because here were caring public servants who couldn’t get there in time to save many lives. There is a vivid description of a "gentleman" who helped ladies trapped by the fire escape being burned to death by helping them jump to their deaths – quite reminiscent of the choice that some of the WTC workers had in 2001.
The book documents the labor unrest which led to conditions which made the fire so deadly, and recounts the aftermath including the manslaughter trial of the owners in detail. The author analyzes the defense provided to the owners by Max Steuer (rhymes with "foyer"), who was one of the best trial lawyers of the 20th Century. (The owners were acquitted.)
This book brings to me very emotional images. One is a short scene in a movie about the fire made some years ago, where the first fire engine pulls out of the firehouse and responds to the call. In 1911, the engines were steam-powered pumps drawn by teams of horses, and the image of the engine plunging down the center of the street going to an incident which it will be wholly inadequate to fix is quite vivid.
&&&& James Dallesandro - 1906
This is a historical novel of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire. It uses protagonists who are believable, but also major public players who did not exist in history. However, the descriptions of the damage, the progress of the fire, and the political considerations of the people managing the disaster are detailed and, so far as I know, accurate, as is the detail of life in 1906 San Francisco.
&&& Jeffrey Toobin - The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court
I really don’t know if a non-lawyer will like or be disturbed about this book as much as I am. The public does not really appreciate the impact that the Supreme Court has on society, nor the cognitive disconnect between these justices (and judges in general) and the public. The selection process is an abomination, and it is not surprising in the least that it leads to an insulated political body which is at the same time grossly political and detached from real people. Justice Scalia, a conservative icon, is asked how he's different from Justice Thomas, the most famous recipient of affirmative action of all time. Scalia replies, "I'm not nuts."
&&&&& Michael Gates Gill - How Starbucks Saved My Life
This is the no. 2 pearl of this quarter, and it’s the best business book I’ve read. Gill was a high executive in the J. Walter Thompson Advertising Agency in New York, and was making an undisclosed yet fantastic amount of money doing so. At age 63, he was fired without fault, no doubt because of a more youthful corporate ideal. Around the same time, this married father of grown children got a girlfriend and had a baby with her. (The girlfriend turned out to be pretty crazy, and although he was very attentive to the baby, the romance fizzled.) (Been there, done that.) He worked as an independent advertising consultant without much success, owing partly to the youth-oriented corporate culture, the stigma of having been fired, and his own profound depression. He happened to be in New York City sitting in a Starbucks drinking some yuppie brew (and wondering how he’d continue to pay for them in the future) when he met a young black female manager who offered him a job. So, he began life as a "barrista," cleaning toilets, working the cash register and making coffee concoctions. Along the way, he discovered happiness and his own humanity.
Gill writes a triumphant look at the lives of real people, and the meaninglessness of great riches. I highly recommend this.
& Esther & Jerry Hicks - The Law of Attraction: The Basic Teachings of Abraham
Worthless New Age drivel. The authors think that they are in constant contact with some supernatural being who gives them wisdom to pass on to us poor ignorant slobs. The buffoonery is enjoyable for maybe 20 pages, and then the book is nothing but annoying.
&&&&& Tawni O’Dell - Coal Run
A woman author writes in the first person of a male character who is a former football star sidelined by a career-ending injury, the son of a coal miner killed in an explosion, who goes back to his small Pennsylvania hometown and works as a deputy sheriff. It has bad judgment, recrimination, redemption and reality, and is a really excellent work.
&&&&& Robert Morgan - Gap Creek
In counterpoint to Coal Run, Gap Creek is written by a male author who writes in the first person for a female narrator. The novel is about small farm life and poverty in southern Appalachia around 1900. The protagonist is a strong character who is handed unfair and crushing blows by life, and who perseveres. I highly recommend this one, too.
&&&&& Ken Follett - World Without End
And last, here is the gem of the quarter. Twenty years ago, Follett wrote The Pillars of the Earth, a novel about a town in England in the 1100's and the construction of the cathedral there. That book was richly researched in general history and particularly in the building trades.
World Without End is a sort of sequel, set in the same town 200 years after the cathedral was built. It, too, contains rich descriptions of life at that time, including familiar political and social maneuvering which differs only in time from what we see now. The book covers about 50 years, and a historical secret connects the beginning with the end. Three main characters plus four or five minor characters interact over decades and produce a great read.
Thus, the third quarter.
Mizpah.
R
Friday, October 26, 2007
Retrenchment?
I have mixed, sometimes pretty low class, taste in books. At B&N last week, there was a book on the "bargain" table, a humor book by "Larry The Cable Guy," a self-professed redneck comedian. He explains that he has copyrighted the phrase "Git-R-Done," which he explains as a comment on a "blue collar work ethic," that the people in the trenches have to do distasteful things all the time, and just have to "git-r-done."
I was in depositions all morning in a case I pretty much have down cold. (A deposition is testimony in a case taken before a court reporter, and a transcript is made which can be used later if need be.) My client is a really nice "good ol' boy" who was well prepared, so it was a fairly low-stress event. So as I was sitting there, drinking the big firm's coffee, my mind wandered to this "git-r-done" concept, and whether it is indeed exclusively a blue collar thing. It was an interesting place to consider this. I was in one of the many locations of the law firm of Steptoe & Johnson, a large firm in WV and DC. You walk back a BIG ass bronze sign when you enter their offices, and the offices are tastefully decorated (I guess - what do I know about decor?) This is an old firm, founded in the 20's by a couple of fellows including Louis A. Johnson, who was a snappy dresser and very odd guy who was Harry S Truman's Secretary of Defense. The opposing lawyer was a young guy, maybe 30, starched & pressed, the muted power tie, typical associate at a big defense firm, but a very nice guy for all of that. As my mind wandered, it went to the same old question, "who am I?", in this case, why does this so-called blue collar ethic sound valid to me? Hell, I read lots of business books, and do I find some sort of basic truth from a redneck comedian?
I started working in law offices when I was a senior in high school, doing coal titles in county record rooms. That involves going through records of deeds and other documents to determine who owned the coal under various parcels of real estate. It was exacting work, and for a kid in the early 70's, I was making really good money. I kept working in law offices right through to today, and have met all sorts of people who have been important to me. I did work for Frank Sansalone and Al Lemley, and they taught me litigation and going all out for a client in a case. During law school, I worked at a firm headed by Mr. Furbee, who was in semi-retirement. We would both come early to work, and I spent a lot of time sitting in the break room drinking coffee with him and learning his way of analyzing cases. The second day after I "came to the bar," I attended Mr. Furbee's funeral.
The idea of "git-r-done" is wholly consistent with the way I practice. Perhaps it is about a blue collar work ethic. If so, I guess that makes me a blue collar lawyer, one in the trenches dealing with real people. I like to do that, I wouldn't like to represent "things." This whole idea of maybe being an older fellow bothers me - I still feel like a youngster, I still have lots to learn. I have had protege's of my own, I suppose. One, Carol M., went on to become a really good medical malpractice defense lawyer. Another, Vanessa R., is in private practice here in town. She just finished representing my "second father," Jim M., in a divorce. I was uncomfortable this week as she said that some of the stuff she learned from me helped get the case to a favorable conclusion. I'm proud of her, she's a blue collar lawyer, too. Then there's Pam F., a former divorce client who went to law school, partly because of her experience in that case. In a Supreme Court case last month, we were dead last on the argument docket, so we sat in the back of this cavernous courtroom and I gave her a running patter of my take on what the Court was doing with the different cases. She called me today and thanked me for that, since she got a call from the Court that she had won her case. (Oh, full disclosure - I got a call from the Court, too - I lost my appeal. I think that the gunslinger-judge talked the "swing" justice into the State's position. Oh, "gunslinger" is not a pejorative, it means a tough judge.)
There is dignity in the blue collar world, in the trenches. Someone has to clean the toilets, and that is dignified work when it is done with a willing heart. (I cleaned the toilet at No. 3 today, I hope with a willing heart.)
So, I'll accept being a blue collar guy, and even risk being thought of as a redneck.
Certainly, life in a small town or the country is different than some of you guys who live in true cities. Blu mentioned the long walk from her parking spot to her residence. Doesn't happen here - It's very unusual to have to park more than 20 or 30 yards from your front door, or more than 1/4 mile from your workplace.
My "second father's" case was in front of my best friend, Dave, the Family Court Judge. We talk lots, go to coffee often, and he had been told that I was going to testify in the case. When I was sworn to testify, both he and I were trying to suppress smiles, because he could tell that I had a joke on my mind. (What was on my mind was that when he asked if I would "tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," I should reply, "Yes, unless I can think of something funnier.") Believe it or not, he and I had spoken not one word about the case at any time before that hearing. That would be soooooo improper, and Dave is a man of great honor. I warned Vanessa, too, that having me appear in any way in a case in front of Dave automatically gives the other side a field goal, so that he is scrupulously fair.
Some unpleasant things are on my mind this week. I need a makeover, or a retrenchment. I've been talking to friends I respect and in some instances getting my ass kicked by them - which is good, kicking someone's ass because you love them is an extraordinarily loving thing to do. So - I just gotta git-r-done.
A quiet evening at Casa Elu. Son Tim is out all weekend at his first vehicle extrication class, and is really happy that he gets to cut up cars with power tools all weekend. Ah, the memories. He took his first inter-hospital transfer of a neo-natal last night on midnight shift, and said that he realizes now the inevitable worry about dealing with a sick little baby.
So, it's time to read a while. I promise to write the Irregular Quarterly Canon over the weekend - I've read some great books in the 3rd quarter.
Mizpah.
R
I was in depositions all morning in a case I pretty much have down cold. (A deposition is testimony in a case taken before a court reporter, and a transcript is made which can be used later if need be.) My client is a really nice "good ol' boy" who was well prepared, so it was a fairly low-stress event. So as I was sitting there, drinking the big firm's coffee, my mind wandered to this "git-r-done" concept, and whether it is indeed exclusively a blue collar thing. It was an interesting place to consider this. I was in one of the many locations of the law firm of Steptoe & Johnson, a large firm in WV and DC. You walk back a BIG ass bronze sign when you enter their offices, and the offices are tastefully decorated (I guess - what do I know about decor?) This is an old firm, founded in the 20's by a couple of fellows including Louis A. Johnson, who was a snappy dresser and very odd guy who was Harry S Truman's Secretary of Defense. The opposing lawyer was a young guy, maybe 30, starched & pressed, the muted power tie, typical associate at a big defense firm, but a very nice guy for all of that. As my mind wandered, it went to the same old question, "who am I?", in this case, why does this so-called blue collar ethic sound valid to me? Hell, I read lots of business books, and do I find some sort of basic truth from a redneck comedian?
I started working in law offices when I was a senior in high school, doing coal titles in county record rooms. That involves going through records of deeds and other documents to determine who owned the coal under various parcels of real estate. It was exacting work, and for a kid in the early 70's, I was making really good money. I kept working in law offices right through to today, and have met all sorts of people who have been important to me. I did work for Frank Sansalone and Al Lemley, and they taught me litigation and going all out for a client in a case. During law school, I worked at a firm headed by Mr. Furbee, who was in semi-retirement. We would both come early to work, and I spent a lot of time sitting in the break room drinking coffee with him and learning his way of analyzing cases. The second day after I "came to the bar," I attended Mr. Furbee's funeral.
The idea of "git-r-done" is wholly consistent with the way I practice. Perhaps it is about a blue collar work ethic. If so, I guess that makes me a blue collar lawyer, one in the trenches dealing with real people. I like to do that, I wouldn't like to represent "things." This whole idea of maybe being an older fellow bothers me - I still feel like a youngster, I still have lots to learn. I have had protege's of my own, I suppose. One, Carol M., went on to become a really good medical malpractice defense lawyer. Another, Vanessa R., is in private practice here in town. She just finished representing my "second father," Jim M., in a divorce. I was uncomfortable this week as she said that some of the stuff she learned from me helped get the case to a favorable conclusion. I'm proud of her, she's a blue collar lawyer, too. Then there's Pam F., a former divorce client who went to law school, partly because of her experience in that case. In a Supreme Court case last month, we were dead last on the argument docket, so we sat in the back of this cavernous courtroom and I gave her a running patter of my take on what the Court was doing with the different cases. She called me today and thanked me for that, since she got a call from the Court that she had won her case. (Oh, full disclosure - I got a call from the Court, too - I lost my appeal. I think that the gunslinger-judge talked the "swing" justice into the State's position. Oh, "gunslinger" is not a pejorative, it means a tough judge.)
There is dignity in the blue collar world, in the trenches. Someone has to clean the toilets, and that is dignified work when it is done with a willing heart. (I cleaned the toilet at No. 3 today, I hope with a willing heart.)
So, I'll accept being a blue collar guy, and even risk being thought of as a redneck.
Certainly, life in a small town or the country is different than some of you guys who live in true cities. Blu mentioned the long walk from her parking spot to her residence. Doesn't happen here - It's very unusual to have to park more than 20 or 30 yards from your front door, or more than 1/4 mile from your workplace.
My "second father's" case was in front of my best friend, Dave, the Family Court Judge. We talk lots, go to coffee often, and he had been told that I was going to testify in the case. When I was sworn to testify, both he and I were trying to suppress smiles, because he could tell that I had a joke on my mind. (What was on my mind was that when he asked if I would "tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," I should reply, "Yes, unless I can think of something funnier.") Believe it or not, he and I had spoken not one word about the case at any time before that hearing. That would be soooooo improper, and Dave is a man of great honor. I warned Vanessa, too, that having me appear in any way in a case in front of Dave automatically gives the other side a field goal, so that he is scrupulously fair.
Some unpleasant things are on my mind this week. I need a makeover, or a retrenchment. I've been talking to friends I respect and in some instances getting my ass kicked by them - which is good, kicking someone's ass because you love them is an extraordinarily loving thing to do. So - I just gotta git-r-done.
A quiet evening at Casa Elu. Son Tim is out all weekend at his first vehicle extrication class, and is really happy that he gets to cut up cars with power tools all weekend. Ah, the memories. He took his first inter-hospital transfer of a neo-natal last night on midnight shift, and said that he realizes now the inevitable worry about dealing with a sick little baby.
So, it's time to read a while. I promise to write the Irregular Quarterly Canon over the weekend - I've read some great books in the 3rd quarter.
Mizpah.
R
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
My new voicemail message
You have reached the voicemail for Roger. Please listen to all options, as our menu has changed. If you are a client with an unreasonable demand, please press 1. If you are a pissed off judge, please press 2. If you are an opposing lawyer who wants to be an asshole, please press 3. If you are a former lover calling to complain about relationships, please press 4. If you are a business associate calling to complain about money, please press 5. If you are an aggrieved husband, please press 6. If you are generally seeking money and want to be a dickhead about it, please press 7. If you are the Angel of Death, please visit me in person. If you are anyone else, you obviously have a wrong number, so don't call back.
I wondered about posting this - but Amy says I've posted a lot more personal stuff.
Pippa passes.
R
I wondered about posting this - but Amy says I've posted a lot more personal stuff.
Pippa passes.
R
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Kid found alive
Amy just told me, the autistic kid lost in Dolly Sods was found alive. Very fortunate. Emergency services down there dodged a bullet with the delayed response. EluSon doesn't answer the phone, so he may still be out bushwhacking without having the word. Hope he gets home tonight, but it's not likely.
R
R
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Kids, Pressure & Seasoning
Pressure makes diamonds over millions of years. Of course, it also causes sealed containers to collapse catastrophically over a very short time period. Pick one.
Busy day at No. 3.
I was in the office really late to do some very time sensitive work regarding an adoption, with my buddy, B. On the one hand, the meticulousness with which that has to be done is draining. But the results are one of the few truly pleasant things that we do. No details forthcoming ever - this is the most confidential work that we do. B. and I have worked together, laughed together and cried together for 30 years now.
As I was leaving No. 3, I got a call from son Tim. He and a couple of woodsmen buddies are heading out tonight in response to a call from Tucker County 911, for people to join a search for an 18 year old very autistic boy who is lost around a place called Dolly Sods. (Sounds to me like the local authorities waited too damn long to do the "y'all come" call - the kid has been lost for 3 or 4 days, and if you assume a moving target, the search area expands geometrically very quickly. If the kid has wandered 5 miles, a low estimate, you have 80 square miles to search, and you have to assume that an autistic kid may not verbally respond to searchers.) Dolly Sods is geographically and geologically very interesting - fields packed tight with boulders which I assume are detritus from glaciation and those fields end at a long rim/cliff that is high over a valley, and other areas of high wetlands, all surrounded by very thick forest. On the one hand, I am not thrilled to know that my son will be out in a remote and rugged wilderness area on a moonless night doing the search. (At least, it'll be moonless by the time he gets there - you would be surprised how much the moon aids visibility in the woods.) On the other hand, I am very pleased that he is (1) willing to do that and (2) sufficiently woods-savvy that he can do this in reasonable safety. And, dammitalltohell, I feel really helpless that I am not now physically qualified to go, too - but bushwhacking over those mountains is out of the question, even at a reduced (though still high) weight. Christ, I love the woods. What a dipshit I am.
LaElu just told me that as Tim was leaving, she remembered a bunch of us leaving a dance for a rescue call years ago (it must have been early, because we were the only ones sober), and one of the EMS widows shouting to her husband as we left, "Go ahead and go, you civic-minded son-of-a-bitch!"
Another dipshit purposely ran over a police officer with an ATV last night. Now he's a defendant who needs a lawyer appointed to represent him. I talked to the Judge's office today, and passed on that appointment, then called the chief and told him I'd help the officer negotiate the nightmarish workers' comp system. The officer is a new guy, and he's hurt pretty badly.
Another late night tomorrow night - re a serious juvenile case involving a relativce of another lawyer - who is "co-counsel" so that he can attend otherwise secret proceedings and help out. Not all the way kosher, and the officers will complain, but it's a "fellowship" thing.
I've been contemplating my place in life lately. I was talking to JC tonight, wide-ranging talk. She's one of the few people willing to get in my face a little in a constructive and loving way. I was recounting how I've been talking more to people from some sort of philosophical or moral perspective. That's odd in a way, I'm not what you would call conventionally moral in all respects. But sometimes I feel like I have things to say to young people. This is really weird. I'm a young lawyer. I'm still learning. I'm also turning the philosophical handout I did (and posted here) for Tim's paramedic class last week into an article for the national journal, and JC reminded me of another area that needs addressed, the neglect of family. She's right. Am I somehow becoming some sort of sachem by default? Is it too incredibly egotistically to even think that way?
Another difficult day tomorrow. Some weeks, I feel like I'm staggering to the finish line (Friday evening), with another race starting the next day. No, make that most weeks. OK, all weeks.
Whine, whine, whine. I need to stfu, get some sleep, and hit it at sunrise.
Mizpah.
R
Busy day at No. 3.
I was in the office really late to do some very time sensitive work regarding an adoption, with my buddy, B. On the one hand, the meticulousness with which that has to be done is draining. But the results are one of the few truly pleasant things that we do. No details forthcoming ever - this is the most confidential work that we do. B. and I have worked together, laughed together and cried together for 30 years now.
As I was leaving No. 3, I got a call from son Tim. He and a couple of woodsmen buddies are heading out tonight in response to a call from Tucker County 911, for people to join a search for an 18 year old very autistic boy who is lost around a place called Dolly Sods. (Sounds to me like the local authorities waited too damn long to do the "y'all come" call - the kid has been lost for 3 or 4 days, and if you assume a moving target, the search area expands geometrically very quickly. If the kid has wandered 5 miles, a low estimate, you have 80 square miles to search, and you have to assume that an autistic kid may not verbally respond to searchers.) Dolly Sods is geographically and geologically very interesting - fields packed tight with boulders which I assume are detritus from glaciation and those fields end at a long rim/cliff that is high over a valley, and other areas of high wetlands, all surrounded by very thick forest. On the one hand, I am not thrilled to know that my son will be out in a remote and rugged wilderness area on a moonless night doing the search. (At least, it'll be moonless by the time he gets there - you would be surprised how much the moon aids visibility in the woods.) On the other hand, I am very pleased that he is (1) willing to do that and (2) sufficiently woods-savvy that he can do this in reasonable safety. And, dammitalltohell, I feel really helpless that I am not now physically qualified to go, too - but bushwhacking over those mountains is out of the question, even at a reduced (though still high) weight. Christ, I love the woods. What a dipshit I am.
LaElu just told me that as Tim was leaving, she remembered a bunch of us leaving a dance for a rescue call years ago (it must have been early, because we were the only ones sober), and one of the EMS widows shouting to her husband as we left, "Go ahead and go, you civic-minded son-of-a-bitch!"
Another dipshit purposely ran over a police officer with an ATV last night. Now he's a defendant who needs a lawyer appointed to represent him. I talked to the Judge's office today, and passed on that appointment, then called the chief and told him I'd help the officer negotiate the nightmarish workers' comp system. The officer is a new guy, and he's hurt pretty badly.
Another late night tomorrow night - re a serious juvenile case involving a relativce of another lawyer - who is "co-counsel" so that he can attend otherwise secret proceedings and help out. Not all the way kosher, and the officers will complain, but it's a "fellowship" thing.
I've been contemplating my place in life lately. I was talking to JC tonight, wide-ranging talk. She's one of the few people willing to get in my face a little in a constructive and loving way. I was recounting how I've been talking more to people from some sort of philosophical or moral perspective. That's odd in a way, I'm not what you would call conventionally moral in all respects. But sometimes I feel like I have things to say to young people. This is really weird. I'm a young lawyer. I'm still learning. I'm also turning the philosophical handout I did (and posted here) for Tim's paramedic class last week into an article for the national journal, and JC reminded me of another area that needs addressed, the neglect of family. She's right. Am I somehow becoming some sort of sachem by default? Is it too incredibly egotistically to even think that way?
Another difficult day tomorrow. Some weeks, I feel like I'm staggering to the finish line (Friday evening), with another race starting the next day. No, make that most weeks. OK, all weeks.
Whine, whine, whine. I need to stfu, get some sleep, and hit it at sunrise.
Mizpah.
R
Friday, October 12, 2007
Vishnu on a Rotisserie
Yup, Vishnu on a rotisserie - long darn day.
Rode halfway across the state for a mediation. Absolute bust, 4 parties, all with aggressive lawyers, didn't come anywhere near to settling.
JC was there as co-counsel, and that was very nice. We staffed the case tonight after the dinner. Makes the trip worthwhile.
Rode over with another lawyer who was just a voice on the phone to me, and after 6 hours in the car, she became my new friend. Makes the trip worthwhile.
The bar dinner with the Governor this evening was a triumph for Amy. The "remembrance" was my redundant copy of Daughter of the Elm, by Granville Davisson Hall, an obscure turn-of-the-century (the 20th century) historical novel.
Very disturbed by heavy noise from my former partner. I still feel quite attached to her, but the feeling obviously isn't mutual. That's a very sad thing. Zero closure. And I can honestly say that no one has ever heard me say a nasty or disrespectful word about her, and nobody ever will.
Oh, and I'm getting the flu. The flu shot I got this week obviously worked.
Mizpah, but I wouldn't advise you to kiss me in the meantime.
R
Rode halfway across the state for a mediation. Absolute bust, 4 parties, all with aggressive lawyers, didn't come anywhere near to settling.
JC was there as co-counsel, and that was very nice. We staffed the case tonight after the dinner. Makes the trip worthwhile.
Rode over with another lawyer who was just a voice on the phone to me, and after 6 hours in the car, she became my new friend. Makes the trip worthwhile.
The bar dinner with the Governor this evening was a triumph for Amy. The "remembrance" was my redundant copy of Daughter of the Elm, by Granville Davisson Hall, an obscure turn-of-the-century (the 20th century) historical novel.
Very disturbed by heavy noise from my former partner. I still feel quite attached to her, but the feeling obviously isn't mutual. That's a very sad thing. Zero closure. And I can honestly say that no one has ever heard me say a nasty or disrespectful word about her, and nobody ever will.
Oh, and I'm getting the flu. The flu shot I got this week obviously worked.
Mizpah, but I wouldn't advise you to kiss me in the meantime.
R
Monday, October 8, 2007
It just grew
I'm alone at No. 3 today. Everyone else is celebrating a day off in celebration of the accomplishments of an Italian navigator working for Spanish royalty who missed his target by 12,000 miles.
The instructor of my son's paramedic class has asked me to do the usual "legal issues" lecture for them Wednesday night. Not a big deal - I bet I've done it 50+ times in the last 30 years. The text they are using (aside: I had a deal to write the legal issues chapter of Harvey Grant's next textbook. Harvey was the "father" of EMS instruction. The deal fell through owing to Harvey's death.) has with it a slide show or PowerPoint or some damn thing like that on a CD, and I'll use it as the basic skeleton for the class. But I like paper, and so I started doing a little handout this morning, intending it to be 4 or 5 salient points. It just grew, and this is what I'll hand out:
Legal Exequatur for EMS
Know all persons by these presents:
That the Bearer has seen the following Truths, accepted them and thus does not need to learn them The Hard Way:
1 - To “do the right thing” means giving excellent patient care more than anything else. If you do the right thing, you don’t need to be afraid of the Law.
1a - But always remember that competent adults have the right to do stupid things.
2 - You do not “outrank” the patient. Always tell them what’s going on.
2a - But “don’t let your mouth write a check that your ass can’t cash.” (Quoting Larry Winget, It’s Called Work for a Reason. Great book. Read it.) Be truthful and realistic. “You’re going to be fine” to a dying patient is cruel.
2b - Cocky kills. [Explanation: I've had 5 friends killed on duty over the years, all due to someone getting cocky and doing something really stupid.]
3 - Your treatment can directly save a life. But you weren’t called there to set up a clinic and stay there. A successful call always ends in a transport.
3a - You don’t make up time lost moseying to the rig or screwing around on scene by using lights & siren on the road.
4 - Respect. Respect your patient. Respect your company. Respect your team. Respect the Fellowship. The Golden Rule isn’t just for other guys. [There's a sort of impromptu memorial at the WTC site in NY - where patches are posted from companies all over the world. Our company's patch is there. That's the Fellowship.]
4a - The patient can be drunk and obnoxious, but still need you.
5 - Paramedics can kill one patient at a time. Drivers can kill five people at a time. Remember Key Largo. [The Key Largo wreck killed five. When the first responders got there, they forced open a door of the wrecked ambulance and a couple of gallons of blood splashed out on their shoes and pants.]
6 - Be sure you are covered by insurance, and then concentrate on doing your job with excellence on every call. [WV had mandatory EMS insurance with immunity for verdicts over the insurance. I wrote that statute many years ago.]
7 - “Being fat, drunk and stupid is no way to spend your life.” (Quoting Dean Wormer, Animal House, 1978.)
8 - You do wonders for the average life span. You do nothing for the death rate. It’s still one to a customer. [I.e., shit happens.]
9 - The symbols for EMS are (1) the Star of Life and (2) the Cross Draped with Toilet Paper. We preserve life, and we ride with God to help Him clean up Man’s messes. Remember The Big Man.
With the Love and Respect of The Fellowship,
10 October 2007,
The instructor of my son's paramedic class has asked me to do the usual "legal issues" lecture for them Wednesday night. Not a big deal - I bet I've done it 50+ times in the last 30 years. The text they are using (aside: I had a deal to write the legal issues chapter of Harvey Grant's next textbook. Harvey was the "father" of EMS instruction. The deal fell through owing to Harvey's death.) has with it a slide show or PowerPoint or some damn thing like that on a CD, and I'll use it as the basic skeleton for the class. But I like paper, and so I started doing a little handout this morning, intending it to be 4 or 5 salient points. It just grew, and this is what I'll hand out:
Legal Exequatur for EMS
Know all persons by these presents:
That the Bearer has seen the following Truths, accepted them and thus does not need to learn them The Hard Way:
1 - To “do the right thing” means giving excellent patient care more than anything else. If you do the right thing, you don’t need to be afraid of the Law.
1a - But always remember that competent adults have the right to do stupid things.
2 - You do not “outrank” the patient. Always tell them what’s going on.
2a - But “don’t let your mouth write a check that your ass can’t cash.” (Quoting Larry Winget, It’s Called Work for a Reason. Great book. Read it.) Be truthful and realistic. “You’re going to be fine” to a dying patient is cruel.
2b - Cocky kills. [Explanation: I've had 5 friends killed on duty over the years, all due to someone getting cocky and doing something really stupid.]
3 - Your treatment can directly save a life. But you weren’t called there to set up a clinic and stay there. A successful call always ends in a transport.
3a - You don’t make up time lost moseying to the rig or screwing around on scene by using lights & siren on the road.
4 - Respect. Respect your patient. Respect your company. Respect your team. Respect the Fellowship. The Golden Rule isn’t just for other guys. [There's a sort of impromptu memorial at the WTC site in NY - where patches are posted from companies all over the world. Our company's patch is there. That's the Fellowship.]
4a - The patient can be drunk and obnoxious, but still need you.
5 - Paramedics can kill one patient at a time. Drivers can kill five people at a time. Remember Key Largo. [The Key Largo wreck killed five. When the first responders got there, they forced open a door of the wrecked ambulance and a couple of gallons of blood splashed out on their shoes and pants.]
6 - Be sure you are covered by insurance, and then concentrate on doing your job with excellence on every call. [WV had mandatory EMS insurance with immunity for verdicts over the insurance. I wrote that statute many years ago.]
7 - “Being fat, drunk and stupid is no way to spend your life.” (Quoting Dean Wormer, Animal House, 1978.)
8 - You do wonders for the average life span. You do nothing for the death rate. It’s still one to a customer. [I.e., shit happens.]
9 - The symbols for EMS are (1) the Star of Life and (2) the Cross Draped with Toilet Paper. We preserve life, and we ride with God to help Him clean up Man’s messes. Remember The Big Man.
With the Love and Respect of The Fellowship,
10 October 2007,
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Too fatigued for a cute post title, or, Why Yetis are Lousy at Canasta
Friend Schell, are you OK? I hope that the lawyer has given you some options. We're worried about you!
I'm pretty sad & fatigued tonight. Just a hard day, I guess.
The discussion on the community blog about For Better or For Worse is fascinating. Why do we become emotionally involved with a comic strip? Or for any fiction for that matter? Are we somehow escaping Mr. Reality? Is that a bad thing to do anyway? Well, I wish I had something profound to say, but I don't. All I have are questions.
Hubert Humphrey was a very compassionate guy. He said in speeches all the time that the measure of a society was how it helped the people at the sunrise (the young), the people at the sunset (the old), and the people in the shadows (the disabled and truly disadvantaged.) I've been thinking a lot about disabled people today, this morning in a rather abstract way. There are costs to society and to the individuals from disability. To society, we lose a productive member. (Now, there are lots of working people who are not contributing to the productive bottom line. For example, the entire security industry produces nothing. But in our time, it's certainly necessary.) It is not callous (at least I don't think it is) to consider the economic impact of disability on society. It would be callous to ignore the effect on the individuals. I see a lot of these folks, since I represent people who are injured and disabled in the various legal systems that provide to a greater or lesser extent for them. These people feel frustrated, worthless, angry, depressed, and are leading lives where they live with physical pain every moment and know that they are simply waiting idly and in pain until they die. (I am reminded of a Dilbert cartoon, where Dogbert comments that people are really organic pain receptors rushing headlong into Oblivion.) I was wondering this morning what we can do for these people as a society that we aren't doing. How can we help them to be marginally productive, to regain some self-respect and to give them something other than pain to look forward to in the morning? We have a very few "sheltered workshops," where the mostly-mentally disabled can do simple physical tasks without the stress of production quotas, but very few of those people can be accomodated by what we have. Is there anything useful that we can create that will be something like revenue neutral? I just don't know. I'm more of a one-on-one guy in my profession, not a systems guy. But it all bothers me. In the interests of saving money, the care that we have for these people is often subordinated to financial interests. For instance, few insurers or workers' comp carriers will pay for pain medication long-term. They claim that it isn't necessary, which is utter bullshit in many instances, and that it is often abused, which is absolutely true. So do we erect an even more cumbersome monitoring system to identify the people who really need long-term pain meds? I just don't know. We are so materialistic. When I bought my car, I was in the get-a-nice-car-and-have-fucking-status mode. What a dumb-ass. It's still a good car, now 10 years old, and I think that the materialism/status thing is much lessened in my heart.
It was something coincidental that I was musing on these things this morning, because this afternoon, I had a face to put to the problem. I talked with Mary P., a 40 year old woman who rode 4 hours to get to No. 3 because she couldn't find a lawyer any closer who would even talk to her about workers' comp. (Definition: Workers' Comp is a collective term for the wage-replacement, medical cost and permanent injury compensation given to injured workers who were hurt on the job. It is not very valuable at best, but on the other hand it is liability-neutral, that is, a worker can recover the benefits even if s/he was negligent in causing his/her own injury.) In 2004, Mary was working for an out-of-state temp agency which placed her in a factory. (Of the whole temp agency ills, another post, another day.) She was doing heavy lifting, and had a sudden "pop" in her mid-back, and immediate onset of severe pain. She had zero prior back problems. She went to a family doc, who diagnosed her with thoracic sprain-strain, and put her off work for a while. The pain continued, so the family doc sent her to an orthopedic doc, who ordered an MRI. There was a delay in getting the MRI because they cost $750 and the Workers' Comp carriers hassle the doctors to try to get them to withdraw the request. The MRI occurred a couple of months later, and showed a herniated disk at T-10-11. (I don't know if an explanation is necessary here - this is in the mid back and the disks are made out of a gelatinous substance which cushions the interfaces between the vertebra. When a disk bulges or herniates, it doesn't provide that protection and may itself press on nerves thus causing pain.) Her doctor asked the Comp carrier to amend the diagnosis, and they ignored that request, and it was forgotten for a time. She was sent for an IME (independent medical examination, i.e., to a comp doctor on behalf of the insurance company.) Since the disk was not an "official" diagnosis, that doc didn't rate it or pay attention to it. She got a lawyer, protested the denial of the diagnosis update, and went through the cumbersome litigation process on that issue. In the meantime, her lawyer was getting 20% of her rapidly ending checks. An administrative law judge denied the diagnosis change, saying that she had a very bad disk injury causing disability, but hadn't proved that it was caused by the work injury. (In the record were several reports of doctors who treated her saying that the disk obviously was caused by the injury, but the ALJ relied on the opinion of the Office of Medical Management, which consists of doctors who sit and review records all day, and who never met Mary.) The Board of Review agreed with the ALJ. Her lawyer bowed out, and didn't appeal to the Supreme Court, but I can't criticize her for that, because the Court wouldn't have helped. So, this lady has no income from Workers' Comp, even though it is idiocy to say that the disk wasn't caused by this injury. There is a doctrine called res judicata, one of the first things you learn in law school. Essentially, it says that once a decision is made, it's final and forever unless a higher court/authority changes it. So we cannot go back and change the diagnosis now, and I had to tell her that there was nothing at all I could do for her. (And I am going to have to determine what to do when people call with these problems, and that bothers me as much - I spent 1-1/2 hours with Mary to go through the file, knowing at the outset that it probably wasn't going to be a case, but the rent and salarires and other costs at No. 3 continued to accrue unchecked.) Well, I told her that the only option she had was to file for Social Security Disability, and to make sure she was OK with that, I called the local Social Security office, got them to bring Mary up on the computer and tell me if she had coverage. One has to have contributions of a certain amount for roughly 5 out of the last 10 years. (Actually, 20 of the last 40 quarters.) (I know that this administrative stuff is dry and uninteresting - but it determines where Mary will get the money to pay her electric bill in the future.) It turns out that she didn't have coverage because much of her work was in-home health care for cash for several years, and SS taxes were not paid. (I can hear the voice of conservative condemnation here. If she had gotten a real job . . . Working under-the-table is a fact in our economy, and often isn't the worker's decision, rather it is the employer's because they don't want to pay withholding taxes and do the paperwork. Ann Coulter, take note.) So the only Social Security that she could possibly get is SSI, which is a needs-based program, that is, for disabled very poor people. An SSI check is approximately $550 per month. Mary isn't qualified for that, either, because she receives $600 per month in child support for her 3 children who live with her. Sooooo, she is totally screwed. There is nothing that I can do to help her. Her life is going to be economic hell for however long she lives. In America. In America. God, this is sad.
Before Mary left, I called my former partner to "staff" the case, that is, to ask for a second opinion in case I was missing something. She couldn't offer any other ideas, either. There is a considerable cost to calling my former partner, because my wounds from that relationship are still open.
Let's see - new term of Court started this week. Tomorrow morning will be taken up by "docket call," where the trial court judges "call the docket," and set cases for the next 4 months. It's a very traditional thing not done very many places any more, and sort of formal, like the Red Mass. It is a coming together, and for me a reminder of the isolation and specialization of my profession. Then in the afternoon, I have to drive way the hell down to the center of the state to a regional jail, where they have moved Tina the Crack Dealer, since we received her Pre-Sentence Report, which is great. I may have pulled a rabbit out of the hat and have a way to get a sentence less than the 10 year mandatory minimum. I'm keeping my (and her) hopes up. There is a big factory outlet strip mall a mile from the jail, so my mom is going with me to shop while I'm at the jail. That'll be nice to get her out and about.
Oh, and I don't have a clue why yetis are lousy at canasta, but trust me when I say that they are.
Mizpah. Pippa passes.
R
I'm pretty sad & fatigued tonight. Just a hard day, I guess.
The discussion on the community blog about For Better or For Worse is fascinating. Why do we become emotionally involved with a comic strip? Or for any fiction for that matter? Are we somehow escaping Mr. Reality? Is that a bad thing to do anyway? Well, I wish I had something profound to say, but I don't. All I have are questions.
Hubert Humphrey was a very compassionate guy. He said in speeches all the time that the measure of a society was how it helped the people at the sunrise (the young), the people at the sunset (the old), and the people in the shadows (the disabled and truly disadvantaged.) I've been thinking a lot about disabled people today, this morning in a rather abstract way. There are costs to society and to the individuals from disability. To society, we lose a productive member. (Now, there are lots of working people who are not contributing to the productive bottom line. For example, the entire security industry produces nothing. But in our time, it's certainly necessary.) It is not callous (at least I don't think it is) to consider the economic impact of disability on society. It would be callous to ignore the effect on the individuals. I see a lot of these folks, since I represent people who are injured and disabled in the various legal systems that provide to a greater or lesser extent for them. These people feel frustrated, worthless, angry, depressed, and are leading lives where they live with physical pain every moment and know that they are simply waiting idly and in pain until they die. (I am reminded of a Dilbert cartoon, where Dogbert comments that people are really organic pain receptors rushing headlong into Oblivion.) I was wondering this morning what we can do for these people as a society that we aren't doing. How can we help them to be marginally productive, to regain some self-respect and to give them something other than pain to look forward to in the morning? We have a very few "sheltered workshops," where the mostly-mentally disabled can do simple physical tasks without the stress of production quotas, but very few of those people can be accomodated by what we have. Is there anything useful that we can create that will be something like revenue neutral? I just don't know. I'm more of a one-on-one guy in my profession, not a systems guy. But it all bothers me. In the interests of saving money, the care that we have for these people is often subordinated to financial interests. For instance, few insurers or workers' comp carriers will pay for pain medication long-term. They claim that it isn't necessary, which is utter bullshit in many instances, and that it is often abused, which is absolutely true. So do we erect an even more cumbersome monitoring system to identify the people who really need long-term pain meds? I just don't know. We are so materialistic. When I bought my car, I was in the get-a-nice-car-and-have-fucking-status mode. What a dumb-ass. It's still a good car, now 10 years old, and I think that the materialism/status thing is much lessened in my heart.
It was something coincidental that I was musing on these things this morning, because this afternoon, I had a face to put to the problem. I talked with Mary P., a 40 year old woman who rode 4 hours to get to No. 3 because she couldn't find a lawyer any closer who would even talk to her about workers' comp. (Definition: Workers' Comp is a collective term for the wage-replacement, medical cost and permanent injury compensation given to injured workers who were hurt on the job. It is not very valuable at best, but on the other hand it is liability-neutral, that is, a worker can recover the benefits even if s/he was negligent in causing his/her own injury.) In 2004, Mary was working for an out-of-state temp agency which placed her in a factory. (Of the whole temp agency ills, another post, another day.) She was doing heavy lifting, and had a sudden "pop" in her mid-back, and immediate onset of severe pain. She had zero prior back problems. She went to a family doc, who diagnosed her with thoracic sprain-strain, and put her off work for a while. The pain continued, so the family doc sent her to an orthopedic doc, who ordered an MRI. There was a delay in getting the MRI because they cost $750 and the Workers' Comp carriers hassle the doctors to try to get them to withdraw the request. The MRI occurred a couple of months later, and showed a herniated disk at T-10-11. (I don't know if an explanation is necessary here - this is in the mid back and the disks are made out of a gelatinous substance which cushions the interfaces between the vertebra. When a disk bulges or herniates, it doesn't provide that protection and may itself press on nerves thus causing pain.) Her doctor asked the Comp carrier to amend the diagnosis, and they ignored that request, and it was forgotten for a time. She was sent for an IME (independent medical examination, i.e., to a comp doctor on behalf of the insurance company.) Since the disk was not an "official" diagnosis, that doc didn't rate it or pay attention to it. She got a lawyer, protested the denial of the diagnosis update, and went through the cumbersome litigation process on that issue. In the meantime, her lawyer was getting 20% of her rapidly ending checks. An administrative law judge denied the diagnosis change, saying that she had a very bad disk injury causing disability, but hadn't proved that it was caused by the work injury. (In the record were several reports of doctors who treated her saying that the disk obviously was caused by the injury, but the ALJ relied on the opinion of the Office of Medical Management, which consists of doctors who sit and review records all day, and who never met Mary.) The Board of Review agreed with the ALJ. Her lawyer bowed out, and didn't appeal to the Supreme Court, but I can't criticize her for that, because the Court wouldn't have helped. So, this lady has no income from Workers' Comp, even though it is idiocy to say that the disk wasn't caused by this injury. There is a doctrine called res judicata, one of the first things you learn in law school. Essentially, it says that once a decision is made, it's final and forever unless a higher court/authority changes it. So we cannot go back and change the diagnosis now, and I had to tell her that there was nothing at all I could do for her. (And I am going to have to determine what to do when people call with these problems, and that bothers me as much - I spent 1-1/2 hours with Mary to go through the file, knowing at the outset that it probably wasn't going to be a case, but the rent and salarires and other costs at No. 3 continued to accrue unchecked.) Well, I told her that the only option she had was to file for Social Security Disability, and to make sure she was OK with that, I called the local Social Security office, got them to bring Mary up on the computer and tell me if she had coverage. One has to have contributions of a certain amount for roughly 5 out of the last 10 years. (Actually, 20 of the last 40 quarters.) (I know that this administrative stuff is dry and uninteresting - but it determines where Mary will get the money to pay her electric bill in the future.) It turns out that she didn't have coverage because much of her work was in-home health care for cash for several years, and SS taxes were not paid. (I can hear the voice of conservative condemnation here. If she had gotten a real job . . . Working under-the-table is a fact in our economy, and often isn't the worker's decision, rather it is the employer's because they don't want to pay withholding taxes and do the paperwork. Ann Coulter, take note.) So the only Social Security that she could possibly get is SSI, which is a needs-based program, that is, for disabled very poor people. An SSI check is approximately $550 per month. Mary isn't qualified for that, either, because she receives $600 per month in child support for her 3 children who live with her. Sooooo, she is totally screwed. There is nothing that I can do to help her. Her life is going to be economic hell for however long she lives. In America. In America. God, this is sad.
Before Mary left, I called my former partner to "staff" the case, that is, to ask for a second opinion in case I was missing something. She couldn't offer any other ideas, either. There is a considerable cost to calling my former partner, because my wounds from that relationship are still open.
Let's see - new term of Court started this week. Tomorrow morning will be taken up by "docket call," where the trial court judges "call the docket," and set cases for the next 4 months. It's a very traditional thing not done very many places any more, and sort of formal, like the Red Mass. It is a coming together, and for me a reminder of the isolation and specialization of my profession. Then in the afternoon, I have to drive way the hell down to the center of the state to a regional jail, where they have moved Tina the Crack Dealer, since we received her Pre-Sentence Report, which is great. I may have pulled a rabbit out of the hat and have a way to get a sentence less than the 10 year mandatory minimum. I'm keeping my (and her) hopes up. There is a big factory outlet strip mall a mile from the jail, so my mom is going with me to shop while I'm at the jail. That'll be nice to get her out and about.
Oh, and I don't have a clue why yetis are lousy at canasta, but trust me when I say that they are.
Mizpah. Pippa passes.
R
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