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.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
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
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
Friday, December 21, 2007
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
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
Monday, December 17, 2007
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
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
Sunday, December 16, 2007
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
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
Thursday, December 13, 2007
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
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
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
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
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
Friday, December 7, 2007
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
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
Thursday, December 6, 2007
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
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
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
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
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
Saturday, December 1, 2007
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
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
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