I've been there...

I used to moderate business meetings for my church. If only we'd had somebody like Alice:

Taking the TAKS and lovin it

The Waco Tribune-Herald has put a little 41-question test with supposedly actual TAKS questions. Take it and see if you could pass. I got a 39/41, or a 95. How'd you do?

Legal Beagle

Do you remember how in Planet of the Apes, the apes always talk about how evil and repulsive humans are because they kill each other and seek revenge? Well, my beagle, Molly, recently sought revenge for some ants that bit her in the mouth while she was eating, as evidenced by this picture:

You can't really tell what's going on, but this crater used to be a big ant pile. I think this is equivalent to shooting somebody 18 times.

Always a groomsman; now finally a groom

A good friend of mine, and the best man at my wedding, got married this past weekend. Charlie has been in, I think, at least 10 weddings and was finally part of his own. The ceremony was intimate and beautiful, the reception was fun, and the occasion joyous. This picture was taken during the bride-and-groomsmen picture session. As you can see, I am the only one not paying attention.

Congratulations, Charlie: I hope Sara will be as good a roommate as I was.

Pagans in State Government

I saw a really funny headline, at least if you grew up in the Bible Belt: "Perry Appoints Pagan to the Aerospace and Aviation Advisory Committee." Haha . . .

I also had a terrible conversation with my landlord yesterday. We're out of town for a friend's wedding, and I forgot to give our animals extra food. I called up my landlord to see if he could unlock the door for my in-laws so they could feed our animals. Unfortunately, he was unavailable. Then:

Me--"OK, so could Mrs. Roper* possibly unlock the door?"
Mr. Roper--"Mrs. Roper divorced me last summer."
Me--"Oh . . . uh . . . I'm sorry . . . I didn't know . . ."
Mr. Roper--"So are y'all going to renew your lease?"

Thankfully, I'm in law school and I've learned how to trample on people's feelings.




Ed. Note--Names have been changed. Extra points for anyone who can guess where this name came from.

Nobody's too sophisticated for Calvin & Hobbes

Now I'm sure that most of my readers don't even have to guess who this little kid is, but it has come to my attention that there is a significant lack of familiarity with Calvin and Hobbes at Baylor Law School. I'm not sure what English majors in Lubbock read, but apparently they grow up eating food like Calvin's mom made and don't even know it. In Division III, we wait until college to eat this stuff.

75 percent

One of my favorite lyrics of all time: "I'm so happy. How do you write about that?" Anybody know it? By the way, Justin Scott has my admiration and respect for guessing "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" from my last post. Anonymous got it, too, but after Barrister Scott.

The other day, I was driving home as Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Tuesday's Gone" was gracing my radio. Afterward, the deejay commented that it was one of the few songs in that station's reportoire in 3/4 time. Since then, I've been thinking about it, and the only other song I could think of is the Animals' "House of the Rising Sun" (which may actually be in 6/8). Until this morning that is. I was belting out Billy Joel's "Piano Man" on the way to school this morning when Paul (the real estate novelist) told me it was in 3/4.

These are all three classic songs that have a special place in American culture and music history (at least "House" and "Piano Man"). Some psychologists and musicologists believe that there is a physiological basis behind why we like the music we do. I don't know about that, but I do know that most classic hymns (such as Amazing Grace) are in 3/4 and that most pop music is in 4/4. Could it be that the waltzy 3/4 rhythm catches our interest long after the 4/4 has faded into the background of life? Just wondering.

The King and the Queen Went Back to the Green

. . . but you can never go back there again." Billy Joel wrote that in what is currently my favorite song. If you can guess it, you'll win . . . my respect and admiration.



Just wanted to stick in a fun cartoon on a Monday morning.

So Professional

Which is more binding: the Hippocratic Oath or the Pledge of Allegiance?

Let me tell you about Marshall Goldberg's The Karamanov Equations. Surprisingly deep, the central conflict in the story is protaganist-surgeon Nick Sten's struggle between the Hippocratic Oath and the Pledge of Allegiance, even though you probably already know how that will turn out. The story takes place in the early 1970s, switching between Moscow (presumably), Wisconsin, and Paris. The Russians are about six months away from developing an impenetrable shield against any kind of guided missile (rendering all arms reduction negotiations pointless), but they've put all their eggs in one basket: Nikolai Pavlevitch Karamanov. The Central Committee freaks out when they learn that Karamanov has a clot in his carotid arteries--yes, both. To make matters worse, the clot is located just high enough on the neck that conventional clot removal would only kill him.

Enter Nick Sten. Dr. Sten has developed gas endarterectomy, which basically functions like a power wash. It can reach clots in arteries that no other method can, but the record is something like 8 survivors of 20 procedures. The Russians, desperate for their defense system, give Dr. Sten a call and ask him, through a ruse, to save Karamanov. The CIA catches wind of it and reminds him of his patriotic duty: to kill Karamanov on the operating table. Adding to the emotional mix is the fact that Sten's wife thinks he's leaving her for an old Parisian love from the Korean War.

As a political science major, I am always wary when novels enter the fray of politics, but this story was plausible. Goldberg reinforces the humanity of all sides (except, hehe, the French) and didn't get too carried away with the not-too-subtle message that doctors are more humane than Cold War government agents. The relationships between the various actors worked out decently and relatively unpredictably. The book closed well, with most of the important strings tied up.

In sum--I recommend it as reading to give you pause.

Ode to the Left Hand

So I'm sitting there in precal one day in high school. It's about 7:30 in the morning, and my best friend, southpaw Marcos del Patel walks in. Marcus is about 6-2, 180, olive skin, brown eyes, black hair, and a body girls drooled over. He's also the school's best Tenor I. He strolls in several minutes late, as usual. Ms. Krause (Krazy K to her fans), fresh from attending the 50th reunion of a high school class she taught, rolls her eyes at him. The day has officially begun.

At some point, Señor Patel sharpens his pencil. He and I, closest confidants and co-Subway-employees, sat near each other. On his way to his seat, he stops at my desk and says "Don't you hate it how your butt shakes?"

Very odd pause. "What?"

"You know--when you sharpen your pencil? You get up there, everybody's watching you. You put the pencil in the sharpener, turn the crank, and [shakes his booty] shake, shake, shake?"

Right-handers (including me) throughout Krazy K's zero-hour precal class collectively pause. Once more with emphasis: "What?"

At this point, left-handed star-wide-receiver Shep turns around and points vigorously: "Yes! I hate that!!"

Now it's lefty-star-running-back B.J. Head*: "Agh!! The bain of my existence!"

Then, professional-Pittsburg-Pirates-LHP Zach Duke: "I bet a righty invented the pencil sharpener just to embarrass us."

In that moment, two star football players, a future Major League pitcher, and the king of the choir found friendship and solidarity in an unexpected place: the left-hand-pencil-sharpening-booty-boogie. And those of us who are majoritarian, middle-of-the-alphabet right-handers . . . well, we survived somehow.

Can I get a witness?




*--Ed.--Names have NOT been changed to protect anybody. Mr. Head's name really was "B.J. Head."

Long Haired Hippy

I was talking to an unbeliever before class, and I told her I once had long hair. She didn't believe me. Thence ->

I apologize for the hazy quality, but it's a picture of a picture. I have never learned how to scan . . .

Anyway, that's me on the left and my beautiful wife on the right. This picture was taken in my in-laws' living room back in February 2002. We had been dating for about 9 months at that point. This May, we'll have been together for 6 years (!!) and married for three. Believe me, you're not the only one who's shocked.

Une riske acceptable

Now that moot court is o v e r, I can get back to l-i-v-i-n. Like blathering.

I read Sphere a while back, and the more I think about it, the closer it comes into breaking into my best-books-ever stratosphere. In fact, I was so impressed with that book and Crichton's general way of thinking/writing, that I thought I'd look into some other doctors. For my birthday, my lovely wife got me four books, all by doctors:
- Keith Ablow's Compulsion
- Robin Cook's Acceptable Risk and Fatal Cure
and
- Marshall Goldberg, M.D.'s The Karamanov Equations.

I've read Compulsion and Acceptable Risk, and let me tell you something: they're just OK.

Compulsion was a very entertaining, fast-reading thriller with a psychiatrist-detective at the forefront. Some of the characters were thrown in for no reason, and the author was clearly biased toward a certain character for whom I had no sympathy. While it didn't break any new ground literarily, it was entertaining enough that I'd recommend borrowing it from the library or buying it from a used book store.

As for Acceptable Risk . . . let's just say that some books are written to be movies. The book begins with a foray into the Salem witchraft trials in 1692. Then we hop three hundred years into the future and spend the rest of the book getting to know one of the witch's descendants. The descendant's boyfriend discovers that the witchcraft hysteria was caused by a just-now-newly discovered mold in the rye bread eaten by the Salemites in 1692. The boyfriend develops a drug from the mold, and we spend most of the book watching the descendant vascillate about what she should do. Finally, in clicheish fashion, the house burns down during Salem's worst storm since 1692, and the world is set aright again. It felt very much like reading a slow-developing "thriller" movie, complete with the five minutes of break-neck thrills that suddenly end with explosions and massacre. I couldn't wait to finish the book, but not in the good way. I don't really recommend this.

I started The Karamanov Equations yesterday. Published in 1972, this book has all the indications of a classic, golden-age-of-science-fiction novel full of fun and science puzzles. If it sucks, I won't write anything else about it

Restless

So I didn't advance in the moot court tournament. C'est la vie. Now I'm restless. C'est aussi la vie. I've finished my homework for Monday. My wife is out shopping with her mother. It's a beautiful day. I'm sitting here putting stuff into my blog. Is anybody else restless? (For the record, my cat, too, is restless. She insists it's time to eat; I insist it's not. We'll see who wins . . .)

I find myself distracted lately. I could be studying for my finals (just 2 1/2 weeks away!), but I'm not. Instead, I'm uploading pictures of my cat looking at the camera angrily and telling my loyal readership (thanks guys) about how I don't want to study.

Any suggestions on how to solve the problem?

Note: Close Trunk from Outside

Sometimes people shock you. In high school, I used to hear a lot about people attempting suicide by overdosing on pills or "slitting" their wrists. I used to think that was so boring*--why not do something creative?

Well, let me tell you about Ms. Daniell. She got tired of life, so she crawled into the trunk of her 1973 Ford LTD and shut the latch. Apparently, this was pretty difficult:

The design features of an automobile trunk make it well near impossible that an
adult intentionally would enter the trunk and close the lid. The
dimensions of a trunk, the height of its sill and its load floor and the efforts
to first lower the trunk lid and then to engage its latch, are among the design
features which encourage closing and latching the trunk lid while standing
outside the vehicle.

Daniell v. Ford Motor Co., 581 F. Supp. 728 (D.N.M. 1984). Thankfully, after nine days in the trunk, somebody rescued her. I don't even want to imagine nine days in a trunk. Man, how hungry would she have been?

And for you tort reformers out there, the judicial branch got this one right: it found the trunk not defective.

Man, I love law school.

*--Lately, I've been accused of being insensitive. This just goes to show that my insensitivity goes farther back than anybody thought.

I hate blogger

Mikearoni & Plano:

I had a good ranting and raving post on the inadequacies of local business to compete with international chains, but Blogger didn't recognize a character and erased the whole thing. So here's my complaint in a nutshell:

1. You can buy coolness at Starbucks, but local coffee shops force you to grow it. My soil doesn't have the right nutrients to grow coolness, so I'll stick to buying grande mocha frappuccini instead of "medium gelati."

2. You just can't beat a 64-cent ice cream cone from McDonald's. 64 cents + fat free + a freakin ice cream cone = pure delight.

Superior products. Better service. Lower prices. That's why small businesses go out of business.

Hey man--you're in MySpace

Interesting article about presidential candidates and MySpace. I told you John Edwards is the best.

C'mon Mayonesa y Plano . . . let me get through Moot Court. Then I'll give you some Alico-style commentary. Since my last review, I've read Booker T. Washington's Up From Slavery and Keith Ablow's Compulsion. Who knows--I may even finish Robin Cook's Acceptable Risk. You won't want to miss out . . . !

New Post Coming

I promise!

Dennis who?

Dennis Kucinich. I know, I know: who? Apparently, he's a "dark horse" in the race for Democratic candidate in 2008. This is an interview in Newsweek that I thought you might like to see. I can't tell if he's arrogant or if he has that Texan flare: it ain't braggin if it's the truth. What do you think? And don't tell me about Barack. Only teenyboppers, wannabes, and posers like him.*




*Note--I would like Mr. Obama a lot more if he had been around a bit longer. I haven't heard anything exciting from him other than that he's got the guts to run for president so early in his career. As it is, I don't know anything about him (except that he and Hillary got in a fight, heh), and not knowing anything bothers me.

The Circle of Life

Sometimes it pays off when you keep on truckin'. When I first read Michael Crichton's Andromeda Strain a couple of summers ago, I thought it was interesting but sadly disappointing. Then I read his Rising Sun, and found it much more enjoyable, but nothing special. Later, I read his The Terminal Man, which I found interesting and somewhat innovative, but generally just OK. For some reason, despite all this mediocrity, I kept reading. I read A Case of Need, one of his first (and pseudonymous) novels, and found it quite enjoyable if a little hard to follow. I also read Jurassic Park back in junior high, before I knew what reading was about. Now my reading has finally paid off. Let me tell you about Sphere.

The book opens with Norman Johnson, a psychologist, traveling to the South Pacific for what he thinks is a plane crash. (He's a contract psychologist for the FAA helping plane crash survivors cope with their survival.) Soon, we discover that the U.S. Navy thinks they've found an alien spaceship from the 1700s crashed onto the bottom of the ocean floor. Following a paper Dr. Johnson had written a few years earlier about how humans could cope (psychologically) with an alien encounter, the Navy has put together Dr. Johnson's recommended team: Ted, the astrophysicist; Beth, the biologist; and Harry, the mathematician. Now, in my opinion, the possibility for interesting conversation exponentiates when you put together a biologist, an astrophysicist, a mathematician, and a psychologist. Oh and throw in your stereotypically cynical Navy captain and his slightly unflat (character-wise) crew, and you get some highly interesting conversations and scenes. Let me put it this way: you can't imagine it; if you could, you wouldn't have to read the book. (OoOoOo--that's so sneaky . . .)

Finally, reading Crichton has paid off with something highly clever. I would liken this to the level of enjoyment of finishing Tim O'Brien's July, July or Tomcat in Love: nothing life-altering, but highly, highly enjoyable. Enough so to talk about it. (Ed. note--I do not mean to suggest that Dr. Crichton and Mr. O'Brien are anywhere in the same league; I just wanted to give my favorite author some props. If you haven't read any O'Brien, you probably don't know how to read.)

Literary recommendation: three books that will change your life:
John Steinbeck's East of Eden
Stephen King's It
Scott Turow's Ordinary Heroes

Is he real?

There's a lot of talk about Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama as revolutionizing American politics in 2008. I agree with my revered colleague, President Scott, as to Obama's potential to bring out the politics in our generation.

But John Edwards may be where it's at. If the linked article in Newsweek can be trusted and all this stuff he's spouting is real, he may be the best thing to come around in presidential politics since FDR.

Why doesn't anybody really care about the Republican candidates?

Let's Get Sirius

Growing up, I always heard that if you're really happy about something, then you're going to talk about it. I also always grew up hearing that you only talk to people about things they're interested in. I don't always follow the second axiom, but it governs more of what I talk about than the first. But I think the time has come for me to advise the world about the greatest invention since night baseball games:

Sirius Satellite Radio - I got Sirius as a college graduation present from my beautiful and excellent wife. I have never looked back. I love radio, and Sirius is the answer for the common radio. Come on--I get something like 10 pop stations (by decade), 10 or 15 rock stations, 10 or so country stations, 10 or so rap stations, 10 or so news stations, 10 or so everything. I even get French news for when I want to act like I remember stuff from high school. Besides that: Frank Sinatra is joining Jamie Foxx, Elvis, Jimmy Buffett, the Rolling Stones, and Howard Stern as famous people who get their own stations. Can you top that?

My advice--go by a satellite receiver and pay the $150 per year. That way, you don't have to worry about it ever again. If you don't have $150, it's something like $14 per month. You simply cannot beat that.

Influenza Outbreak

I think I said a few posts ago that I love taking exams. With that kind of attitude, I've never had a nightmare about an exam. Well, I got sick last week from about Tuesday evening until Thursday afternoon. Wednesday morning, around 4 a.m., I woke up several times sweaty and scared, thinking "Crap--I can't even figure out what the contract is . . ." (Thankfully, we had contracts that day.) I took the test and didn't notice anything crazy. (Keep in mind that at this point I was sick and didn't know it. It hit me hard Wednesday afternoon.) Friday morning, my good friend approaches me and says "Jeremy, lord and master of all that eyes can see [all my friends call me that], I've been meaning to ask you. What'd you think of contracts?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't remember much of the contracts exam. I was sick."

"Oh, hehe. Well, after I got done reading the first question, I sat back and thought: 'Crap--I can't even figure out what the contract is . . ."

Needless to say my newly apparent prophetic powers disturb me.

Motorcycle Drive By

A few days ago, I discovered the wonder that is Ruckus.com. It's beautiful, if you have a college email address and your college subscribes it.

I've not had a lot of long-time friends in my life. My oldest friend I've had since I was 5 (pretty impressive, eh?), but past that, my oldest friend I keep much contact with is my wife, who's been my friend now since I was 18. I still count a good friend of mine, though we don't communicate much anymore. In high school we both went through rough break-ups at about the same time. We rocked out for several months to Third Eye Blind's self-titled album. Next time you go through a break-up (which I hope is never), listen to that album. I hate it when people say things like "It got me through some rough times," but this CD really did. Hehe, and I never really owned it.

I downloaded the whole album (minus "Jumper") from Ruckus.com a few days ago, and I've been listening to it. I've also been thinking while I'm taking my finals (a dangerous thing to think about anything other than your next final, eh?), and I've gotten some new insights in life, I think, some peace about some choices I've made in life. About halfway through high school, I abandoned my group of friends and joined a new group. I've always felt kinda bad about it, but I realized tonight: Where were they when I went through the rough patch of life that is the second half of high school? The abandonment, I think, was mutual. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about them, but I'd also be lying if I didn't say my life is a little bit better because I escaped.

Is that horrible?

The answer--no. Now I'm married to the most beautiful woman in the world, I'm doing something with my life via law school, and I've got plans. I've never before had plans, but now I do. Back then, I wanted to be a rock star. I think I always knew, though, that that would never work out. Now, though, I've got it all or I'm working on it. Although I'm not as close as I was to the guy who picked me up when I left my old friends, I remember our friendship fondly and want to catch up with him. Like Kenneth, Sean, and most supremely, mi esposa, Marcus has taught me that I'm a selfish prick.

Anybody need a best friend?

The Logicomastedon

I paused in my criminal law studying last night to go to sleep, and as I lay in bed waiting for the caffeine to disintegrate and let me sleep, I got to thinking. My caffeinated mind ran back to seventh grade and my first series of finals, and I realized: I love finals. I know, I know; estoy loco. But let me explain. I think the feeling is kinda like athletes feel before games. Not having any sports talent whatsoever, I have to take my athletics where I can get them: in the classroom.

I had a professor in college (who had been a Green Beret) who said that mastering logic was like learning how to kill somebody with your hands. Killing somebody with your hands means that you don't need any weapons and that your opponent's weapons don't matter. Mastering logic, similarly, lets you fight an opponent without having any prior knowledge of the subject matter.

I've been trying to master logic since I was 7 years old and watching my dad play logic puzzles. I haven't mastered it yet, and each day in law school is another lesson in how little I know, but the exams--o que bella! You learn all the rules so that you have your major premises. Then you take the facts (which are minor premises) and you get it on. What's that? You intended to cut his arm off and he died from blood loss from the big hole in his shoulder? (Whirs and squeaks as the Logicomastedon does its work.) Ding--§19.02(b)(2) murder.

See? I just killed you with my hands. (Ding--§19.02(b)(1) murder.)






Did I really just write that?

Why Contracts Rocks

1. The irony that the most capitalistic field of law is abbreviated "K," the letter that for some reason always conjures images of Karl Marx, his komrades, and kommunism. (Maybe it's Das Kapital.)

2. Williston v. Corbin.

3. The U.C.C.

4. Making money rocks.

5. In re Baby M.

6. Prof. K = foosball master

7. Lastly, contract law punishes hypocrisy. Do what you said you'd do, and nobody gets hurt. Gotta love it.

Here we go again . . .

I'm (still) getting Newsweek, even though my subscription ended at the end of October. This week's issue has a little article on curricular reform at Harvard. It seems Harvard's Task Force on General Education has decided to require students to take classes on religion. One science professor's response: "There is an enormous constituency of people who would hold that faith and reason are two routes to knowledge. It is a mistake to affirm that. It's like having a requirement of 'Astronomy & Astrology'. They're not comparable topics." If you didn't know already, this is one of my pet peeves.

Faith, at its essence, is believing something (anything) even though you have to make certain assumptions for which you have no basis. The classic example is religion. An equally good example is science. Scientists will be the first to recognize that they make assumptions they can't prove and that they base these assumptions on reason or experience. But how do we really know either of those is worth anything? I'm not trying to say science is worthless; I'm trying to say that I'm sick and tired of arrogant scientists thinking they know everything. Every reasonable person knows or should know that lawyers have the monopoly on knowledge. Duh.

Am I a nihilist?

Silence is Golden

I feel bad that it's been so long since I posted on here. My readership of 3 probably dropped to 1. (And he's got to keep checking--he's Milwaukee. That's what he does.) Speaking of Milwaukee . . . I was just reading about how Reagan and Ford considered a Reagan-Ford ticket in 1980. One of the great partnerships that never was. Well, Milwaukee and I were almost moot court partners. Someone had a prior claim on me, but it would have been the greatest ever--ChiWaco. Oh well, I guess T-Square and I will have to stomp Milwaukee and his new partner, leaving him like the fire of 1871. Bam.

In other news--the Bravest Bear commented on my last post something to the effect that liberals get more and more closed-minded as conservatives argue less and less on facts. It's an interesting theory and largely true (sadly). I thought it was worth airing next to my favorite defense when I argue with my dad about Republicans: "A conservative under 30 has no heart, but a liberal over 30 has no brain."*

Anybody know who? I'll give you a hint . . .





*Note--Remember the source and the fact that I am under 30. The quote does not apply to any professors at Baylor Law School, especially those who grace me with grades.

An Evolutionist Evolves

I usually stay away from metablogging*, but I read a very interesting article in Newsweek. The article talks about an evolutionist marrying a creationist and how it changed her stereotype of creationists. I fall somewhere between an evolutionist and a creationist, because I don't think they're mutually exclusive. (In fact, I find some evidence of evolution even in the Bible, but that's for a different day.) The real reason I posted a link to the article is because it offers me hope. Our nation has fallen into this rut of closed-mindedness, both among liberals and among conservatives. The problem has fallen more heavily on liberals because many don't even recognize their own closed-mindedness. We can't all marry people with diametrically opposite beliefs, but we can at least try to be friends with them and refuse to condemn their beliefs, even if we don't think they deserve merit.




* Metablogging is blogging is about blogs or other internet media.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

So last night, I finished my third book of Christmas Break: John Grisham's The Partner. I've grown a little tired of the hypertech thrillers à la Dan Brown (especially Deception Point)*, and while this book wasn't so bad about the hypertech, it wasn't free of it either. The story, however, is an interesting story. A junior partner at a law firm in Mississippi steals $90 million (fraudulently obtained in a lawsuit against the federal government) and deposits himself in Brazil. He's found and tortured, but he still comes back to the win the day. (I hope that's not too big a spoiler . . .)

The best parts about the book were two major ones: the last chapter (adds a whole new level of depth to an otherwise characteristically Grisham book) and the inner struggle in the reader to decide whether you like the protagonist or not. Toward the end, Grisham seems to test you: Did you give up and condemn Mr. Lanigan? It's an enjoyable book, but I'd only give it a 3 out of 5.

Other than that, the book indulges Grisham's old escapist dreams, much like The Firm (I highly recommend that one) and The Street Lawyer.




* Note--I really like Dan Brown's novels, I admit it. And the second his new novel hits the shelves, I'm on it. If it ever hits the shelves . . .

La Cosa Ultima

I have two quick recommendations for those who appreciate good stories.

1--Stephen King's It. I finally finished it. Excellent book; long, but worth it (mostly). It's a book about defeating your fears by facing them. In fact, you kind of have to face your fears just to finish the book. (I had two: fear of crazy long books and fear of clowns.) Borrow it from the library.

2--The movie The Last Kiss. It stars Zach Braff, Rachel Bilson, and Jacinda Barrett.* It's a great story about growing up that realizes that 30 is the new 20. Perfect for the children of Baby Boomers who think that life has to be full of surprises to be worthwhile. Anyway--rent it from Blockbuster.




*I had no idea she was Australian. I love Brits and Aussies who can do an American accent. It blows my mind.

The Gospel According to Stephen

Stephen King, that is. Not the fabled martyr mentioned in Acts 7. Some of you who have followed my "reviews" of books as I read them may think that either (a) law school has one and I've stopped reading or (b) I want law school to think it has one and am keeping my reading a secret. Well, the truth is, I've been reading Stephen King's It now for what seems like 18 years. It's only 1,135 pages long. The longest book I've ever read for fun. (It takes awhile when you can only read 5 or 10 pages a night, eh?)

Anyway--I was reading last night, and I had a thought. Could Stephen King be preaching something similar to the Gospel through this novel? Essentially, faith is power. Anyway, I'll think about it more and get back to you. But I thought my co-blogger CP would be interested in this developing theory of religion and Stephen King.

Just for the Big CP

One of my fellow B(L)Sers has posited this question: What do you believe? What a loaded question. Here's my attempt to break down my beliefs into discussable nuggets:

Tenet 1 - Nobody is absolutely right. God is too great a mystery to be understood completely by anyone or by any conglomerate of people. Even if you put every single person who ever lived in the same room and held a stinkin huge debate, you would still never get to the absolute bottom of who/what God is and who/what we are.

Tenet 2 - God is. It is more illogical to claim that there is no god than to claim that there is. Consider Descartes's logic, or what is sometimes called the "prime mover" argument (or something like that). Essentially, it argues that everything comes from something else. But if that's true (and almost undeniably it is), then the world cannot exist. Somewhere back in the shrouds of the past (4.6 billion years ago?) the Universe began. If the Universe began, then it had to come from something else. But what? The easiest and best answer is God, or at least some greater power.

Tenet 3 - God is not subject to logic. We see in the Christian Bible and most religious traditions that God/gods are not subject to physical laws. By analogy then, God/gods is not subject to the laws of logic.* For example, it is claimed that in certain situations, A cannot be both A and B at the same time. A dog cannot be a cat, say. But the Gospels claim (and many, many Christians believe) that Jesus is God and that Jesus is the Word of God. How can Jesus (person A) be God (person B) and the "word" of person B all at the same time? It's illogical! Precisely. It is absolutely futile to defend religion on logical grounds. It would be just as futile to defend the law of conservation of energy by referring to your experience driving. It doesn't work because science is not** subject to the laws of faith, just as religion is not subject to the laws of logic. Different realms, different ways of thinking.

Tenet 4 - Religion is nothing more or less than a way of explaining things we collectively don't understand. Religion in this sense includes science. For example, I don't understand why my television lights up when I press the power button on my remote. The answer--well it has something to do with the emission of light waves, the transfer of electrons, and the transmission of messages by pulses. I don't get it (nor, incidentally, does any scientist I know of), but I could explain it by reference to physical laws we've developed as explanations of how things work. I could just as easily claim that by pressing the power button, I am praying to God to turn my TV on and that each time he answers me because of my faith. Both answers are logically irrefutable by a third party.

At this point, we start getting into my specific beliefs. I was raised the Baptist son of a confused feminist. So here goes: I believe that there is a god, that the Judeo-Christian God most closely approximates the true God. I believe that all of us have sinned (forgotten who God is and who we are in relation to that) and deserve the worst punishment possible. I believe that the only way out of that punishment is God's grace and forgiveness in accepting our faith.*** I also believe that the fundamental commands of Christianity are love of God and love of neighbor. Once you get past that, you start getting into controversy that I am unprepared to discuss. But I'll gladly do it anyway. (:

Any questions?




* NOTE--Tenet 2 follows a syllogism not because God is bound by it but because we as humans are, just like we are bound by physical laws.

**But it actually is. Descartes himself (yes, the progenitor of numerous math things that begin with "Cartesian" or "Descartes's") asked how we really know that 2+2=4. He referred to it as "prima facie knowledge." That is, we know it because we know it. Do you buy that? Do you trust anything else just on intuition? You should: there's not enough information in the world to be satisfied of any proposition on empirical evidence alone.

***Faith in what? I think it's faith that God exists, that I can't do anything worthwhile on my own, and that I can't set things right with him on my own. It's faith that I'm not enough even though it seems like I might be.

Giant spiders

We got grades back in Property yesterday. Go here for the spread.

Sometimes, you feel like the Cleveland Spiders. In the single worst season ever played (modern era or pre), the 1899 Cleveland Spiders played a 20-134 season. Cleveland didn't even want to see them (they only played 42 of their 154 games at home). They set a record that will probably never be touched: 101 losses on the road in one season.

But sometimes you feel like the 1916 New York Giants*, who pulled off a nigh-unimaginable 26-game winning streak in September to pull themselves from fourth place to first, taking the pennant. I wish I felt like the Giants.

What am I saying? I'm saying that law school, if nothing else, teaches you how to lose.





* This is a reference to the classic baseball team better known now as the San Francisco Giants, not the football team.

Law school changes you . . .

Nobody ever asks me what I did before law school, but I thought I'd let you know anyway. I used my inhumanly long arms to unclog choking dolphins' airways. That's me in the middle during my last visit to Sea World Beijing.

The Female of the Species Is Deadlier Than the Male

So I'm reading for criminal law when I come across these startling statistics. In 1984, 90% of female homicide victims were killed by men, and 1/3 were known to have been killed by their husbands or boyfriends (not counting the unknowns!). I don't want to take away from that statistic's power, but I want to point out that in most movies (that I've seen) involving murder and adultery, it is the wife murdering the hussy or vice-versa. As an example, right now, on ABC's Ugly Betty, one of the background plots involves the hussy planning to kill the husband. (It's actually not revealed yet, but that's this seasoned TV viewer's theory.) Why is Hollywood so backward on this?

Does anybody have any thoughts?

By the way, put this in your box of horrible, misguided, and confused quotes that make you so glad to be living in the 21st century (especially if you're like me and love strong women):

Jealousy is the rage of a man, and adultery is the highest invasion of property.*

What? I would hate a wife who viewed herself as my property. (And I'm not talking in the touchy-feely, end-of-Breakfast at Tiffany's kinda way.) I just like women who respect themselves and men who respect women. No baby factories for me.



* Regina v. Mawgridge [1707] Kel. 1, 117, reprinted in 84 Eng. Rep. 1107

Freaky Big Town/Small City Hypothesis

DISCLAIMER - I have lived all but 5 of my 23 years deep in the heart of Texas, and I have not died a gruesome death yet. Waco is a wonderful place to live (maybe).


I'm reading Stephen King's It*, and I'm developing a theory. I call this the Freaky Big Town/Small City Hypothesis. It has only one theorem: Waco = Derry. Why am I developing this theory? Allow me to enumerate:

- Waco We Do
- David Koresh
- the 1953 tornado
- fiery plane crashes with surprisingly scary pictures
- Republican President represented by a Democratic Congressman
- The First Waco Horror (TSHA, Waco History Project, NAACP, NPR)
- the Lake Waco murders
- Queso the Cat
- the NoZe Brotherhood
- Toad-biting dog dies
- the flypaper effect (e.g., my parents and my wife's parents have absolutely no connections to Waco prior to being transferred here by their employers; now they've stuck around for over 20 years each)
- Waco's Enron
- Finally--a Waco lawyer named Scott Peterson

Now--remember my disclaimer. I grew up in Waco and I haven't noticed anything like Derry's vigintiseptennial horror (that's what King should have called It)--but then again, I'm only 23.

I'm thinking about writing Waco's third true crime novel (after The First Waco Horror and Careless Whispers, both linked to above at their half.com sales pages). I plan to call it: "Waco: We Ain't Comin' Out . . . Alive." If you have any stories about voices coming out of drains or photographs winking or clowns with balloons that float against the wind or even a plain old ghost story, I'd love to hear it. Post it in my comments. I may give you co-author status if it's a good enough story.





* Still.

Below Reality

Last night, my wife and I went to see Brian Littrell. Yes, that Brian Littrell, the former Backstreet Boy. He's on a short Christmas concert tour with Rebecca St. James and her brothers right now. It started Thursday night in Abilene, came to Waco for Friday night, then up to somewhere in Illinois tonight and then off to Virginia to wrap it up. All small towns.

Anyway, my wife was a big fan of the Backstreet Boys when she was younger (to her credit, she was no poseur: she was into Dashboard Confessional and Good Charlotte even before she went on Warped Tour). The concert was at Victorious Life Church, off I-35. I was impressed with Mr. Littrell's entertaining ability and even more impressed when he quasi-parodied his old songs--and none of the girls in the audience caught on. That's quality parody skills.

Well, the highlight of the night happened while I and about 50 girls under 25 (my wife included) waited expectantly in the 12° weather outside the bus hoping to catch a glimpse as he boarded. Instead, as they all looked toward the door from the church (I, for some reason, was looking at the bus itself), a white car pulled up around the bus, stopped, Mr. Littrell got out and ran up to about 3 feet from me. I glanced over at him and thought "How many roadies do these people have?" Then he called out "Hey y'all! God bless you and merry Christmas!" before running back to his getaway car and driving off into the Arctic Central Texan night. They were all disappointed, but I, yes I the kid who learned the guitar to all the Smashing Pumpkins, Alice in Chains, and Weezer songs he could, stood next to Brian Littrell for a few seconds, the object of much jealousy from former teeny boppers.

It was all very surreal.

The Day of Bad Fruit

Remember e. coli and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes? Nature's next act of vengeance against Americans is the Day of Bad Fruit. Yesterday, my friend had a mealy apple and a bland orange; my wife had a bitter grapefruit; I had a pithy, tasteless apple. What's the deal? Did anybody else have bad fruit yesterday?

Speaking of blind men...

For those of you who are fans of both philosophy in general and Wittgenstein, check this out:

Philosophy is a blind man in a completely dark room chasing a black cat who doesn't exist.

My old pastor shared that quote with me. Some professor at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. OK, I broke my promise. But you have no claim for promissory estoppel against me.

Making Amends

Sunday evening, I got a call from my mom that my grandfather (my dad's dad) passed away. We've been somewhat expecting this for over a year now, but it was surprising all the same. I didn't know him very well, since he lived in Missouri and I have always lived in Texas, but I knew him better maybe than my other two grandfathers.

Death, in a way, fascinates me. It begs the question--what is life? When the stuff with Terri Schiavo was going on, people discussed a lot about what life is and when death comes. Is it when the heart stops beating? the brain stops waving? the personality withers? the soul departs?

My grandfather had been cold for a day or so. My grandmother was warming his blankets in the microwave Sunday afternoon. When she came back, he was gone. The night before, they might have talked about my cousins or the weather or some friends. Now, there is nothing to talk about. My father has been trying desperately for several years to hang on to whatever relationship he and his father had. Now, there is nothing to hold onto. My brother has been bitter toward my dad's parents since I was in junior high. Now, forgiveness in the interpersonal sense is too late; he can only let his own hurt and bitterness go without ever knowing what kind of relationship he could have had. There are so many things my grandfather will never know or experience. He'll never see my nephew grow up. When I graduated college, he was so proud; but he'll never get to see my graduate law school. He'll never see my brother licensed as a master plumber. He'll never see the Royals make it to another World Series or the Chiefs make it to the Super Bowl. He'll never know if Bill Ford's successor will do any good or get the retirees their good health benefits back. He and my grandmother supported the ACLJ and probably against gay marriage. Now he'll never see what'll happen with that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: although it's cliché, life is short and death is unexpected. One day you're playing bridge and complaining about the company taking away your prescription drug coverage; the next day you don't even need prescription drugs. Life's too short to hurry. Suck the marrow out of life.

I promise: next post, less philosophizing.

You heard it hear first

Yesterday, Plano and I took it to the mat in ping pong. We only had time to play twice before Contracts started, but the scores were 26-24 and 25-23. We each won one game. And that's the Plano Truth.

Did her hair grow 18 inches overnight?

Plano keeps telling me to post. Here you go, sir. If this post sucks, it's not my fault.

Startling news: Milwaukee has pants. Yee has started a blog. She's got a cool Chinese husband (his parents were born there I think), though I've never spoken to him. Oh--and although I'm at the bottom of her list of links, I was one of the first three. Man I love this whole name-starting-with-an-A deal: you're first in line for everything! Finally, What Not to Wear has been on for 25 minutes and they've just now gotten rid of all her old clothes. Is that normal?

Has anybody seen the classic Dead Poets' Society? If you haven't, stop immediately and go watch it. Anyway, Robin Williams plays a once-rebellious boarding school student who returns to his alma mater to teach English. The key thing he tries to teach his students is how to suck the marrow out of life. I've been trying to figure out exactly what that means.

Here's my theory today: whatever you're doing, do it with everything you've got. There are religious reasons for doing so, but I think the most fundamental reason to do so is because that's how you know you're alive. Don't just be, do. Take control of your life. Read Contracts because you want to; volunteer in Criminal Law even though you know you're probably wrong; stand on your desk and tell the world "O Captain my Captain!"

Last bit of interesting news. 25 points to anybody who can guess the only baseball team to ever play a game in shorts ('80s style hot pants, no less). Give up? Milwaukee's Chisox*. How ironic.



*Note--Milwaukee tells me he's from the northside and hence a Cubs fan. It's fitting, but not nearly as ironic. The Cubs never played in shorts.

Rouger

One more word about embarrassment; then I'm through.

If you are or were a law student at any law school practicing the beloved Socratic method, then you have been embarrassed. Maybe your embarrassment is of the academic variety (think of the painful, wrenching birth pangs as we all watched Milwaukee struggle with who bears the burden of persuasion at summary judgment), or maybe it's of the social variety (remember when Prof. Property answered property questions that popped up on Swanburg's blog?). The bottom line is, law school = embarrassment. God knows I've been embarrassed too many times since I started law school. Because law school = embarrassment, you don't get sympathy for embarrassment in law school any more than you get sympathy for being a law student. Nobody feels bad for you because your pain is nothing special. In fact, I've noticed that I'll say something stupid in class and mention it later on to my friends, and they weren't even paying attention.* When you get no sympathy for your embarrassment, you get mad. I say: get over it. Milwaukee's still alive. Swanburg's still alive. I'm still alive. You may get some empathy, but there will be no sympathy.



*Ed. Note - All of my friends always pay attention to the professors. They zone out, however, whenever I talk.

Coyote Ugly Gate

I wanted to throw my two cents into the ring of the latest Baylor blogosphere controversy: Coyote-Uglygate. I just want to say this: embarrassment is par for the course in law school. I've talked to lawyers who graduated from Vanderbilt, the University of Texas, Baylor (1970s and 1990s), Mississippi College, South Texas, SMU, and Tech. I've read blogs and a book or two about other lawyers' experiences at law school. Embarrassment is the only discipline professors have. You can't do anything else to smart people: you can only prove (repeatedly) that they are not as smart as they think they are. There will always be somebody smarter than you. If I've learned nothing else in my quarter of law school, I've learned that.

To Mssrs. Ugly: If you want to be coddled and to reminded of your glory days of college (or high school), drop out of law school and become a teacher. There's a shortage of them, they get paid well, and their students revere them as god(desse)s, if only because of their position.*



*Ed. note: This post is not meant to suggest that the whiners in Coyote Ugly should join the noble profession of teaching; nor is it meant to disparage that profession in any way. Unfortunately, it is undeniable that certain teachers (we've all had them and, indeed, some may teach at Baylor Law) joined the profession solely for the purpose of being worshiped. Many teachers are justly revered for their ability, but far too many are revered only for their power.

Logic and Religion

In light of my recent post, I thought I'd drop a quick quote from the Book of Job. Think about it. It might make you think twice about logic and religion:

[God] captures the wise by their own shrewdness, and the advice of the cunning is quickly thwarted.

- Job 5:13

I strapped on one horse and prayed for luck

There's an idea I've been thinking about for a few months and, once again, I've been too slow. Philanthropreneurs are taking over charity work. The idea is that you do good while making a profit. I'm not exactly sure how to go about it, but philanthropreneurs treat charity as an investment. What do you think? I think it's an excellent idea. But then I get sick of the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center calling to ask if I want to buy magazine subscriptions.

Anyway--I thought of it first. Oh well.

I'm standing on the rooftop, ready to fall

There is an article in this week's Newsweek called "The Case Against Faith," by Sam Harris, author of Letter to a Christian Nation and The End of Faith. This is my attempted rebuttal to his reasoning.

I have done a lot of studying, reading, and thinking about the mix of religion and politics, and I will be the first to tell you that, although I don't have an answer, to say that the two should never mix is worse than an ad hoc system. What is religion? Religion is simply a way of explaining things. (Incidentally, science, in its own way, is a form of religion.) Religion defines who we are, and that is very important to what we do. I am an American, a husband, a Baptist, a law student, a reader, a college graduate, a native Wacoan, an accountant's son. Why should any one of these have any less influence on who I am and what I do than the rest? I posit that none of those even can have any less influence than any of the rest and any of the millions of the other identities that make up who I am. To argue that those "with" religious beliefs should keep those beliefs separate from their political duties is frivolous. You cannot separate who you are from what you do from why you do it, even if you don't know exactly any of those. So, any argument that politics and religion should be separate is hopeless.

Mr. Harris, in his article, states

Speaking to a small group of supporters in 1999, Bush reportedly said, 'I believe God wants me to be president.' Believing that God has delivered you unto the presidency really seems to entail the belief that you cannot make any catastrophic mistakes while in office.

This represents a misunderstanding of the Christian idea of calling, but I won't go too deeply into that. It's rather boring to non-Christians who don't care to understand. Basically, I believe God called me to be a lawyer, but I may make "catastrophic mistakes" as a lawyer. The most important thing to remember is that you will not be perfect at what you do but that you will be used for some purpose of God's. Mr. Harris (and many others) don't get that. For a deeper study of the concept, look at the Old Testament books of 1 & 2 Samuel, 1 & 2 Kings, and 1 & 2 Chronicles. Many kings in those books were called of God to be king but made catastrophic mistakes "while in office."

Does that excuse what Bush has done? By no means. But to blame Bush's mistakes on his religion per se and say that anyone who thinks God has called her to be president should be barred from office is to misunderstand the concept of Christian calling.

Finally, Mr. Harris's biggest blunder of all:

[W]e are living in a world in which millions of grown men and women can rationalize the violent sacrifice of their own children by recourse to fairy tales.

Regardless of to which "fairy tales" Mr. Harris is referring, the diction he chooses clearly evinces a disrespect for the beliefs and understandings of those with whom he disagrees. Although I disagree with Mr. Harris's beliefs and do not think them logically tenable (what I know of them), I refuse to belittle his (hopefully) hard-wrought and hard-thought beliefs by calling them "fairy tales" or "mumbo jumbo" or any other mocking term. Mr. Harris has his evidentiary threshold, and I have mine. His are higher in some areas; mine in others. In sum, atheists should not sit too high on their horses; no one knows better how far it is to fall than a Western Christian.

By the way, faithful readers, if any would like to debate the intellectuality of Christianity or religion in general, or even the intersection of faith and reason, I'm ready when you are.

Poor Bialy. What a loser.

Last night, I finished reading Stephen King's 1989 novel, The Dark Half. It's a fascinating book about a writer dealing with his murderous pseudonymous alter ego. Yet that description doesn't really do the novel justice. "Dealing" ought to be "dueling," and "alter ego" might more properly be rendered "ghost of his never-existent twin brother." But that's just confusing. Read it anyway. I wouldn't really call the book scary (at least not like The Dark Thirty, which still gives me chills); I would call it psychological in the most thrilling sense of the word.

You know the difference between classic, good, and crappy books? You finish a crappy book saying "Wha--???", then you put it down and never think about it again. You finish a good book saying "Wha--???" and spend the next few days trying to figure out exactly what happened. (If you're like me, you look for anything on the internet that will tell you what really happened.) Finally, you finish a classic saying "Wha--???" and spend the rest of your life trying to figure out exactly what happened.

We've all read crappy books. I won't embarrass the writers (or risk libel) by naming them. Examples of good books include Scott Turow's Reversible Errors or John Grisham's The King of Torts. The best example of a classic is John Steinbeck's East of Eden. (If you haven't read that, you can hardly say that you know how to read.)

The Dark Half falls squarely into the good book category. Since I took a creative writing class in college, I read books with an eye toward literary innovation and creativity, in addition to the pure enjoyability of a book. The Dark Half is creative and enjoyable, if not innovative (at least not like Carrie). I highly recommend it.

Make a real decision, pansy

Lately, in my spare time, I've been reading a lot of cases from around the country on various topics (torts, criminal law, contracts, and property mostly; I gave up my civ pro habit), and I have come to a startling conclusion. No appellate judge ever really decides anything.

Here's why: almost every time I read a "significant" case, the judge will go on and on about something, and then they'll say that none of it matters. I recently read a case from Oklahoma where the judge said "The State concedes that defendant's act was not an actus reus." Then (guess what) the State lost. Hmm. Crime = actus reus + mens rea. If you take either of those elements out, then there is no crime. "The State concedes that it hasn't proven all its elements." Thus, no real decision that means anything by the Supreme Court of Oklahoma (Court of Criminal Appeals, actually).

I read a case in civil procedure where the Supreme Court (not of Oklahoma, but of the United freakin States) goes on and on and on about how important it is that the losers conceded this point at oral argument. Then in the notes after the case, the textbook reprinted part of the record of the oral arguments, and I tell you what, I'm no Supreme Court justice, but it sure didn't sound like a concession to me. Sounded more like "I don't want to make a real decision, so we'll just pretend that the guy I want to lose conceded the most crucial point. Bwahahaha."

Talk about a decision in search of a rationale.

Cowabunga

From People v. Grant, 46 Ill. App. 3d 125, 360 N.E.2d 809 (1977):

“Suddenly, the defendant burst through the crowd, and, using a parking meter for leverage, he leaped into the air, striking Officer Raymond Vonderahe twice in the face.”

Does that remind anybody else of TMNT 2: The Arcade Game?

One Angry Dwarf

Yesterday, my wife and I were going to eat at Chik-Fil-A in the mall, and I ran into a guy who used to pick on me in junior high . . . working behind the counter. Granted, I was the kid who buttoned his (Texas Rangers) polo shirts up to the neck and who wore glasses thicker than his ears. Granted further that he is now a "team leader." Granted finally that I, too, have worked in fast food and believe that every citizen of the United States of America should work at least six months in fast food. Still, it was sweet justice. At least, the potentiality of sweet justice.

Did I ever tell you about the time that I read about another guy who used to pick on me who got arrested for meth? Q.E.D.

Extra points for anybody who can guess where the post title comes from.

Peeking Out

Hi. This is me poking my head out from my hiding place on the 13th floor of the Alico Building. I'm just making sure that while I've been studying for (and taking) exams, the world has continued turning. Good to see it is.

"As they're doing the atomic bomb, do they know where the dance comes from?"

World Series #0

So I've been reading Justin's countdown of the top World Series and Stepbaker's addition to it, and I noticed that they forgot the most influential World Series of our lifetimes. This particular World Series defined me as a sports fan and continues to impact my views on many, many things.

It all began on August 12, 1994. That night, Baseball Tonight showed a clip saying that John Kruk would be missing out on $13,000+ per game he didn't play. I sat with my fingers crossed over the next six weeks hoping against hope that somehow the players and the owners would get together and figure it out. I watched as people debated the future of Cal's consecutive-game streak. As a Rangers fan, I hoped and hoped and hoped that the season would get pulled together in time for the Rangers to win it all. You may remember that as the year the Rangers topped the AL West at ten games under .500. Then, sometime in mid-September, nobody called anybody's bluff, and the season was over.

The strike lasted until April 2, 1995. The 1995 season lost 18 games.

Baseball--you had me at hello, and then you sold me out because $13,000 per game wasn't enough. Within the next couple of years, all my interest in all sports (football, basketball, hockey, soccer) faded as I realized that nobody was any different. Now, I don't watch sports at all, except to check my alma maters' scores. Occasionally, I'll look up an old classmate of mine who plays for the Pirates, but it's not the same.

The World Series of 1994 - The Rangers declared winners by default.

We'll find bodies you didn't know you hid

Apparently, Professor Osler has powers beyond comprehension. A few days ago, he asked his student readers to whine with purpose on his blog and received, as of this morning, 70 comments. One of the earlier comments was by a 1L who said that s/he was scared to death of Practice Court and that it'd be great if somehow we could keep the fear to a minimum before we actually get there. Here's where Osler's powers (as a former federal prosecutor?) come in: he takes a seemingly solutionless problem and gnaws at it like a squirrel with an acorn. Consider:

Prof. P.C. spent some time slummin yesterday in the student lounge. I talked to him for a few minutes and (not knowing) asked what he taught. As nonchalantly as an elementary school teacher saying "third grade," he said "Practice Court." Like it was nothing. Like it was just another class you take in law school. Like it wasn't the class that separates the Marine Corps of Law Schools from those pretend law schools up and down I-35. We continued to talk about how his kids go to my high school and how he was doing the concession stand at last night's football game. One of the gods of Practice Court stepped down momentarily from Olympus. Maybe to examine what meat will be coming in a couple years? Anyway, my fear of P.C. has now been reduced to its minimum* because of this encounter.


*"Minimum" here should be defined broadly to include any fear shy of the fear of death, e.g., I am scared to a coma by practice court, or I am scared to blindness of practice court.-Ed.

My Third Attempt

Osler's in Alpine.
I once went to Marathon.
Beautiful night skies.

Did you see Marfa?
Crazy unknown lights out there.
I think it's Martians.

Go to Osler's blog for funnier ones.

Lincoln

You may (but don't have to) notice that I have added links over to the right. These are all the Baylor Law blogs that I read regularly. If you think I read yours regularly but haven't posted a link, then let me know, and I'll take it under advisement.

Also--if there are any that I have left out, let me know. We are making a valiant community effort at being a community, and I want to contribute to that. Légalité, société, et liberté.

Viva la democracía!

Women and the Objective Theory of Intent

A friend of mine, whom we will call "Milwaukee" to protect the innocent, read my last post and said "Mr. Masten, I'm glad you have time to read for fun." I believe you have time for what you want to have time for. If anybody ever tells you, "Man, I'd really like to do ______, but I just don't have time." Don't believe them. They are lying through their teeth. They don't want to do it. Ask any pastor, and he will confirm for you.

On the other hand, if you ask a girl out, and she says "I really don't have time for a boyfriend right now," she's not telling you that she doesn't want a boyfriend. She's saying she doesn't want you as her boyfriend. Like on When Harry Met Sally, when Meg Ryan finally dumps her boyfriend because he won't marry her. Two months later, he's married to somebody else. Exactly. Q.E.D.

This is what we call the objective theory of intent. Barnett, Contracts: Cases and Doctrine, 3e, 2003 273ff. You can buy it now for only $10.00. The woman's internal thoughts and feelings (like you could ever figure those out) are completely unimportant; the only important thing is what a reasonable person would think based on her conduct (like you could ever figure that out, either).

Oh and for my fellow KVAs--I have now been sober for one class period.

Not Firestarter

I just finished Stephen King's first novel, Carrie. I was so confused because I had conflated Carrie and King's other book, Firestarter. I don't know why I did, but I did. So when Carrie didn't burn the town down with her mind, I was pretty confused.

OK so my confusion is boring. What did I think about the book? I thought it was excellent for a first novel. Authors tend to get known for one aspect or another of their books, and I thought that King was known for being scary. This book wasn't scary. Not even in the "maybe that used to scare people" kind of way. It just wasn't scary. It's about a reject girl with telekinesis who finally gets picked on too much. The moral? Don't pick on the fundamentalist fat girl or else she might blow your whole dadgum town up. There's a freaky-ish scene where she's walking down the street with a knife sticking out of her shoulder, but that's about it.

But let me say that King did beat out my favorite author in one respect. Tim O'Brien's In the Lake of the Woods is an incredible novel that alternates between telling the story in the present and presenting the story from the future through evidence, interviews, documentaries, etc. King does the same thing in Carrie, but I'm sad to say, he does it better and more interestingly.

In short, if you're looking for a scary book, look elsewhere. If you're looking for a well-written, interesting book about telekinesis, this may be for you. Or if you like stories set in small towns in Maine, this story is for you.

Prof K's Dog

I don't really know the story of Pavlov's dog, but I understand that he trained his dogs to eat food whenever they heard a bell, regardless of whether they were hungry. I, ma'am, am Prof. K's dog.

I discovered it yesterday. I volunteered at least three times this week to discuss cases. (Or was it just twice? It all fades together. Three is more impressive. Maybe I really volunteered seventeen times . . .) My bell is Prof K saying "Any volunteers for ______?" Bam. My arm extends before I can think "Do I even really know anything about this case?" I think I have a problem. Maybe I should start attending CVA (KVA?).*

Didn't Pavlov end up killing his dog?


*Ed. note - As far as I know, there are no contracts volunteers anonymous groups meeting at this time. If anyone knows of any, please advise.

I'm Comin' Out

In light of Osler's Recipe for Blogging Disaster, I have decided to come out of the blogging closet.

Haiku Friday at B(L)S

"I Refuse to Believe for One Second--"

What? Two weeks to go?
I only just started yest--
Oh. Nine weeks ago.

Judicial Poetry

You thought it was limited to Ollie Holmes and Benji Cardozo, but I am here to bring you the worldwide debut of the sardonic poetry of Judge Alex Kozinski of the Ninth Circuit:

While we have our doubts about the wisdom of Pacific Gas, we have no difficulty understanding its meaning, even without extrinsic evidence to guide us.

Bam. Or, in Latin, Q.E.D. If you don't get it, go read Trident Center v. Connecticut General Life Insurance Co., 847 F.2d 564 (C.A.9, 1988).*

* I tried to get a link for Trident Center, but I couldn't find it. Good luck.

Haiku Friday at B(L)S

Ninety-four degrees
Is that all? It feels so hot.
Eat muddy buddies.

One more reason to vote for Chet

No talk today.  Just this.

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Sincerest Apologies

Though I overestimate my readership, I wanted to apologize to a member of my class to whom I have spoken only once.  When we met, she mentioned her last name.  Someone asked if she was related to the president.  She said, "Actually, yes."  I, being a jerk, made a comment something like "Hey--he's ranked like 41st out of 43 presidents."

Ma'am: I think it's pretty cool if you're related to a president.  That's more than I can say; I am just a bitter person with no family history.  Please accept this as my apology.  I hope you won't hold it against me.

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Echoing Sentiments

Although I feel sorry for the asinine questions asked in Property I (L-Z), and although I like Prof. Property very much, I want the Marine Corps.  I want to be able to brag to my kids about walking barefoot uphill both ways in 110° heat through 18" of snow, only to be kicked out of class because my shoes are muddy.  I signed up for bootcamp, not kindergarten.

Am I a masochist?

Today, a certain student (male or female) entered class at least fifteen minutes late.  I feel bad for himmer; I'm glad it wasn't me; but if it had been me, I'd want Prof. Property to watch me unpack my things, ask me if I had my brief, then walk over and physically kick me out of class (whether or not I had my brief).  That's what the Marine Corps is like.  (Or so I imagine.)  Instead, Prof. Property gave himmer what I call the "baby death penalty": no use of the computer during class.  Whatever.

Then again--the laidback, easygoing nature of Property is rare thing in law school and something that shouldn't be thrown away for dumb pride.  Keep on truckin', Prof. Property.  You have my blessing.

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Take that Smoo

So I'm reading Mark Gimenez's The Color of Law when I ran across this gem:

Now you don't go to Southern Methodist University School of Law if you plan on pursuing a legal career in New York or D.C. or L.A. or even Houston for that matter: it's not exactly the Harvard of the Southwest.  In fact, they say it's a hell of a lot easier to get into the law school at SMU than it is one of the sororities or fraternities at SMU.  You go to SMU law school if and only if you want to practice law in Dallas, Texas, because SMU lawyers have begotten SMU lawyers for so many decades now that the Dallas legal community is more incestuous than the Alabama backwoods of the fifties.

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Do I have Great Expectations?

Last night, I finally finished Charles Dickens's Great Expectations. If you're like me, you probably read it in high school, maybe 9th grade. You probably didn't like it. If you read it now (say, five or six years post-high school), you'll likely enjoy it much more. Or at least I did.

In case you forgot, this rite-of-passage story follows Phillip Pirrip (a.k.a. Pip) from about the age of 6 until something like 30. At first, Pip's sister is taking care of him, along with her husband, Joe Gargery. The story begins with Pip delivering "wittles" to an escaped convict. Next thing we know, the local rich and eccentric lady, Miss Havisham, invites Pip over to play. There, he meets Estella, a more innocent (but not much) version of Steinbeck's Cathy. Predictably, Pip's taste of the high-class world of wealth makes him jealous for it and discontented with his blacksmith's destiny.

Eventually, Pip receives news that he has "great expectations." Thence begins the story of Pip's spoliation, devastation, and eventual reincarnation as somebody worth spitting on.

Like I said, when I read it in 9th grade, I didn't like it. When I saw the movie a few years after, I still didn't like it. I read it now, and I can relate to Pip these days. I have had times in my life where I was as low as Pip got. It supports a theory of mine: that we only like stories (be they books, movies, magazines, whatever) where we can relate to a character or where we wish we could relate to one of the characters.

Venus in Waco

I just wanted to let everybody know that the weather today is beautiful. I discovered that I left two books I have to read at school, drove up I-35 to get them, and on my way home, the bottom dropped out. It was beautiful. I want to steal Bono's metaphor, and call it a "black belly of cloud in the rain." (I don't really know what that means, but it's in the middle of his classic "Running to Stand Still," which is what law school is all about. Very pertinent as I begin to read about future interests in transferees.) Anyway, if you haven't read Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, I highly suggest you go out and borrow it from your library right now and read the story about rain in Venus. I can't remember what it's called, but I know it's definitely not "The Veldt."

Yes, I am encouraging you to read Ray Bradbury rather than your Property homework. It's OK. She'll understand. (Prof. Godzilla, or as some people would rather, Prof. Kasparov or Prof. Big Blue, however, will not understand. Read your Civ Pro first.)

I smiled while Tokyo was Burning

I have been absent for sometime. I no longer work in the ALICO building. Now, I'm a lowly 1Q at fun's morgue (I think U.S. News & World Report has us as "Baylor Law." Like they know anything). Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to pull this out and act like I'm going to make a habit of posting. We'll see.

Today, Tokyo burned. I hear from reliable sources that there are several 1Q blogs, so I won't go into the details, but Prof. Civ Pro (whom I'll call "Prof. Godzilla" for now) gave the fall starters an earful today. I'll just share my ridiculous problem because, in my egomania and narcissism, I think you care.

It all started when Prof. Godzilla called on Ms. Brown (a clever nickname that, for her sake, I hope no one figures out) to talk about the case. She was obviously struggling. We all cringed inwardly. Prof. Godzilla's first burst of radiation: "Brown, if this is the best you can do, you seriously need to consider something else." What he was really saying, though, was "1Qs, if this is the best you can do, you seriously need to consider doing something else." We all cringed. Except me.

I smiled.

Then, when Ms. Brown was sufficiently humiliated, Prof. Godzilla decided to play Wittgenstein and burn down our favorite philosopher, Mr. Grifom (for "guy right in front of me"). Poor Grifom, Prof. Godzilla can't even pronounce his name,* but he can devastate better than King Kong. Now, as I said Grifom sits right in front of me, so when Prof. Godzilla is radiating Grifom, I'm catching the stuff that misses Grifom. My arm hair is singeing. We all cringe in humiliation when Prof. Godzilla asks Grifom if he's proud of his incompetence. What do you say? But the best was when Prof. Godzilla asks: "Griffum, is Chicago smarter than you?" [Grifom hesitates] "Because I sure hope not." While Tokyo burns, let's burn down the Second City, too. Everyone's eyes bore into the desks below them as they cringe.

I don't. I smile.

Ever since I was little, I have had this ridiculous problem: I smile when I'm in trouble. I giggle uncontrollably like a little fat girl in a candy shop with her crush (who doesn't know her name). I bite my tongue, I pull down the corners of my mouth, I stare like an idiot at my papers, I imagine horribly depressing things. Nothing worked when I was six; nothing works today. Conclusion: I am a masochist who thrives on humiliation. I guess law school is perfect for me.

*(I stole the footnote idea from Poseur.) Prof. Godzilla: "Grighfum or Greefum?" Grifom: "Greefum." Godzilla: "OK. Griffum, tell us about the case."

National Databases, or You May Say That I'm a Dreamer

I am usually a states' rights kinda guy, but I ran across this interesting article in the New York Times dealing with a recent report approved by the Commission on the Future of Higher Education.  The report discusses what the Commission thinks "institutions of higher education" should be doing to improve how themselves.  An intriguing idea toward the bottom of the article suggests:

develop[ing] a national database to follow individual students’ progress as
a way of holding colleges accountable for students’ success.

As a states'-righter, I generally oppose national databases like this, but I think it might be a good idea in the fields of higher education and health administration.  If you're like me and recently applied to grad school, you've gone through the trouble of obtaining transcripts from all the colleges you've previously attended.  All of us have sat in a doctor's office trying to remember whether anybody in our family has had pneumonia and when it was.  How easy would it be if there were a database dedicated to keeping track of that information for you?

Of course, this is a trade-off between convenience and privacy.  It also represents more evolution toward Big Brother, so the idea would have to be refined in order to protect freedom and privacy.  But imagine the possibilities!

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Moral Integrity

From last night's Law & Order:

- "I bet your father is real proud of you today."
- "That's not what wakes me up in the morning, detective."