Moonlighting in Misery

Bullets, Badges, Balls . . . Sans Brains

2007-10-30T16:38:00.000-07:00

How can you tell if a police officer is lying to you?

The room is ice cold and he's sweating like a 12-year-old boy at a NAMBLA convention.

. . . its just too much fun sometimes!

Ah well, I'm going to order another steak from room service and relax. I fly to Washington in the morning.

Misery's Lesson of the Day

2007-10-29T22:15:00.000-07:00

Don't write a letter calling the opposing party's responses to discovery "sloppy" . . .

When you didn't even number the questions right yourself.

I don't think that requires any more explanation.

Sit Back & Enjoy

2007-10-28T17:47:00.000-07:00

I am currently waiting for the rib-eye and caesar salad I ordered to be delivered to my hotel room via the short, and patient, hispanic man working room service this evening.

I love room service. Probably too much.

I am in Metropolis tonight. Over the next two days I have several depositions and two interviews with former attorneys in the Metropolis D.A.'s office in contemplation for future depositions.

We are suing Metropolis.

What do I love about this town? I love that it is a conservative city, yet every person I speak with about our civil rights lawsuits has the same reaction--

"They deserve to get paid. Alot."

Metropolis, Metropolis
That toddling town
Metropolis, Metropolis
I will show you around -- I love it!

Ah well, back to room service.

I have made many visits to this city in the past year and stayed overnight several times. Each time I spent my precious time shopping around to find cheap hotels.

But then it occurred to me--while I don't want the reputation that I spend too much money--or that I enjoy going on these trips (which I truly don't, I miss my family) . . .

I'm a lawyer. I am making people money. I shouldn't have to sleep with the roaches in some bargain basement Motel 6 so I won't look like I'm just trying to spend other people's money, as well.

I like this hotel much better. And yet it really isn't that expensive. Although I do have to tip.

Just wait . . . Wednesday I fly to D.C. and I'm staying at the Holiday Inn on the Hill. That place charges $380 per night.

The hotels in D.C. are just like the politicians we send there, if you ask me.

Making Love to His Tonic & Gin

2007-10-26T05:30:00.000-07:00

Its six o'clock on a Thursday
As the regular crowd shuffles in
Theres an old man sitting next to me
Makin love to his tonic and gin

He says, son, can you play me a memory?
Im not really sure how it goes
But its sad and its sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger mans clothes

Sing us a song, youre the Lawyer, man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, were all in the mood to get rich, my friend
We're geared up and ready to fight

Now the Judge at the bar is a friend of mine
He's referred several clients to me
And hes quick to sustain when I'm playing the game
But theres someplace that hed rather be
He says, bill, I believe this is killing me.
And I've more important cases to try
I bet I could convict that ex-football star
He lifts his glass and he brags with a sigh

Now paul is a real estate counselor
Who never gave time to his wife
And he talks with John Moyer the big divorce lawyer
About starting his unmarried life

Well the secretaries are all playing politics
As the attorneys we slowly get stoned
Yes, we're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But its better than drinkin alone

So sing us a song, youre the Lawyer, man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, were all in the mood to get rich, my friend
We're geared up and ready to fight

Its been a pretty good year despite tort reform
And the partner he gives me the nod
cause he knows that its me theyve been comin to see
The almighty (and good) P.I. god

And the piano, it sounds like a carnival
And my breath smells strongly of beer
And I sit in my chair feeling utter despair
And say, man, what am I doin here?

Sing us a song, youre the Lawyer, man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, were all in the mood to get rich, my friend
We're geared up and ready to fight

(Can anyone tell me what song this is?)

Triumphal Return?

2007-10-25T03:37:00.000-07:00

No. Don't pull out the trumpets just yet.

It is 5:30 A.M. here in Texas, and I have been here at work for an hour and a half.

But I was told--never underestimate the value of hard work in the practice of law.

One thing I have discovered is this . . .

A giant Ego is what I want to see when I sit across the table from my opponent. An Ego doesn't look for answers, he's got them already. An Ego doesn't to do silly things like "work" because he's got mad lawyer skillz, aw yeah.

An Ego makes mistakes.

I used to complain about the fact that, well, there is no such thing as Karma . . .

That the same people in high school who annoyed you but you took comfort in the fact you wouldn't see them again on your way up,

Well, they annoyed you in Law School too.

But, y'know, maybe I was wrong . . .

Maybe it isn't that those people will end up flat on their face. Maybe its just that you will still cross the finish line first, and that is what counts.

If I am going to start blawging again, I should probably erase my name from my last post so I can remain anonymous.

. . . Plausible Deniability, anyone?

Signing Off . . . for now.

2007-02-28T07:14:00.000-08:00

As if it hasn't been readily apparent, I am no longer going to be posting . . . at least for some time.

This month has been one of the most eventful of my life: I got an unofficial permanent job offer w/ my current employer, he also gave me a very generous raise, I bought a new car and of course I became a dad.

If you have been reading my blawg for awhile, you can attest to the fact I am a fairly conservative person. (Or, as some of you may have accused me, a neocon facist wishing to impose my restrictive morals upon you hedonist liberals).

But I have now begun a career as a Civil Rights plaintiff's attorney. Some times you can finish law school and actually do what you want. You don't have to settle for a job because you think it provides the best security.

When you are willing to take the risk, and wait, the perfect job can come along.

I am now currently under a gag order regarding my biggest case, and I wouldn't be posting information about it even were I not---I love this job too much to do otherwise.

But if you are curious, you can read several news reports regarding Nunez, et al. v City of Lubbock, et al. here (scroll down), here, here (particularly the last 2 paragraphs), here, here, and here.

Take Care and Good Luck, until I post again . . .

Oh, and by the way . . .

My name is _[edited for content]___. And I was Moonlighting in Misery.

Announcing the New Arrival

2007-02-10T06:44:00.000-08:00

Baby Misery was welcomed into this world on February 8, 2007 at 8:35 p.m.

She came in at 21 inches and 7 lbs, 1 oz.

And she has my eyes.

Mrs. Misery was in labor when we arrived at 5:30 a.m. She fought for 16 hours, sometimes with and sometimes without, an epidural. Then 17 hours after we arrived at the hospital, she arrived by c-section.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you . . ." Jeremiah 1:5a.

The Truth

2007-01-23T09:54:00.000-08:00

I must be the most blessed Law Student in the world at this moment . . .

I truly believe I am.

And this is a good thing--well, a great thing--because it wasn't but a few months ago I was beginning to think I would never be satisfied practicing the law.

I thought Law School would be the greatest experience of my life. As to my actual impressions, doesn't the previous sentence give it away?

But I can't help but think of a line from the movie Little Miss Sunshine spoken by Steve Carrel's character after Paul Dano (the teenage son) says he wishes he could go to sleep until turning 18.

Frank ("Did I mention I am the preeminent Proust scholar in the U.S.") tells him a story about his favorite author looking back on his own life and realizing that his best memories were those of his most miserable years. Because, he says, it was during those years he did all of his growing and maturing and learning.

Proust's happy years, Frank explains, were uneventful and did nothing to make him a better person. So Frank finishes up by telling the kid . . . (to paraphrase) "If you skipped the next three years, you'd be skipping the most miserable years of your life. And those are the best."

I have had some miserable years.

In fact, my life has been somewhat of a train wreck barely held together by my own dreams and ambitions since at least high school.

I've let down a lot of people . . . temporarily, at least.

On a college recommendation I once had a teacher write of me (again, paraphrasing): "[Misery] reminds me of the line from Thornton Wilder's great play "Our Town" when one character echoes the sentiment that 'Life is wasted on the living' and 'Only the saints and poets understand life while they live it.' I believe [Misery] is one of those very rare people, either a saint or a poet, on whom life is indeed never wasted. I have never met another person at his age who is quite the same."

That was for my application to Rice University in Houston.

I wasn't accepted.

It was either that disappointment--or that disappointment coupled with the lifetime sentence of my former best friend for murder--that began a very chaotic attempt at figuring out what that teacher meant when she referred to me as one of the "saints and poets".

My friends and teachers believed I would be the next Jack Kerouac.

Instead . . . I moved to Houston, took up residence in my father's spare bedroom, and began working in a factory. I went out alot, had sex alot, spent alot, and when I wasn't busy with that I was busy arguing with my stepmother.

(To this day she blames me for her indiscretions with another married man--while my grandmother was dying of cancer and my father was commuting between Denver and Houston to be by her side. Consequently, I was no longer even living with them. She was one class act, let me tell you . . .)

Anyway . . .

Do you know what's wrong with the Poets?

They are observers. They spend a lifetime of understanding through observation. And they may even begin to believe they are a part of which they write. They create a world, they package it, and they sell it to their readers.

And then all of this is one day crammed down the throats of 15-18 year olds in a vain (and I am speaking in terms of the vanity of our Educational system) . . . in a vain attempt to teach these kids about life outside. Outside of the classroom. Outside of their bedrooms. Outside of their families.

But again, the problem becomes that this perception--while it may echo an understanding of life--is not a true representation of the world.

Poets have tried to truly recreate life for their readers. It is my belief all have failed.

So after a decade of searching to understand what this teacher meant, I finally concluded she believed I was one of those venerable Poets.

After all, I could not have been a Saint.

I have come to the firm belief, however, that it is only the Saint that understands life while it is being lived.

The Poets only merit an honorable mention. For while the Saints understand it by appreciating the simplicity of it, the Poets spend a lifetime--stretched into centuries by the life of their words--searching for it.

Searching is good. Living is better.

Some time ago a Poet discovered that much of life is about struggles. Ever since that time, a great many self-professed Poets have dedicated their living to living in misery.

After all, it is through the hard times that we gain the most understanding, correct?

The problem is, though, that far too many people today manufacture their misery, their pain, their struggles. And they revel in the mire they create for themselves. And they call themselves deep, and believe themselves to be intelligent . . .

But the Saints understand that life isn't about the struggles. Life just has struggles. It's a simple truth.

They exist. We all deal with them.

But we don't create them.

Life is about maintaining conviction and determined joy while and when the struggles occur.

That is what the Saints understand, which the Poets have always missed.

I appreciate having been called a Poet. But I much prefer being a Saint.

So what does this all have to do with my life as a Law Student?

Well, as I said, I had once all but decided I could not deal with a life of practicing the law. While I love many of the people I've met in Law School, I can't stand the Law Student Mentality.

And I don't think it may get much better when we pass the Bar.

I just keep asking myself this question--

If we can't even be honest with ourselves, how can we be honest with our clients?

If you will allow yourself even this brief moment of clarity, you will admit that you are not honest with yourself most of the time . . . or at least half of the time, right?

I am not asking you to start examining yourself through this statement. Do with it what you will. But at least admit as much . . . and then go on about your business.

I just don't want to live my life the way most lawyers do, especially trial lawyers.

I just want to be confident and content with what talents I've been given and the simplest life I can create for myself.

That is why I am the most blessed Law Student . . .

Because I think I may have the opportunity to do just that.

Right now, I am doing just exactly what I want to do. And I don't feel the pressure or need to do more, strive to get more, or pretend to be more than I am.

As a Law Student, I have a boss who trusts me enough to give me complete control over work that I find satisfying. As a Law Student, I am responsible for at least 3 separate civil rights law suits filed in Federal Court. I determine the strategy, I control the pleadings, and I direct discovery.

And I haven't once had to pretend I am something greater than I know myself to be in order to gain his confidence and obtain this responsibility. I have been true to myself.

As a Law Student, I have a wife who is far from perfect. But now she tries really hard to be all that I need. And even when she fails, and it seems she isn't trying at all, I can still see the struggle that goes on in her heart. That's all I need.

As a Law Student, I will be a father very soon. And my "career" has never seemed less important to me. Life is far too short to spend it all at the office, making money, when I am missing out on life with my wife and my baby girl.

As a Law Student, I have decided a "career" is not even what I'm looking for in this world. I want to do work that will mean something to me. I don't want to create a life seperate from my family that will become a monster I can't control, that will demand my time and energy and attention in order to make it grow. I will strive to be a great husband, a great father, and a great citizen. I will be the attorney these other things create in me.

As a Law Student, I was given the opportunity to represent the strength of my school by becoming the first selected for consideration by the Department of Justice's Attorney General's Honors Program. I interviewed in October, and as far as I know I am still being considered. I was not given this opportunity because I am better than my classmates. And I hope that if selected, it will only be a reflection of my character and potential--and I never mistake it for more.

If any Law Students are still reading this blawg--or have suffered through this beating of a long post, for that matter--let me give you a little advice about Law School . . .

You don't have to be Order of the Coif. That doesn't make you happier, and it won't make you a better person. Especially not if you've given up your life to achieve it.

I am not advocating you become a slacker. But I think Law Professors have unrealistic expectations and reward unbalanced behavior.

Do your best, yes. But your best does not have to include spending all of your time studying in order to compete for the A. Mediocrity in the classroom can still be rewarded by a dynamic and more fulfilling life at home.

So Law School is full of struggles and lots and lots of Misery. But don't let your life become about Law School.

Your life just has Law School in it. That's the simple fact.

Make your life about maintaining conviction and determined joy while and when the struggles of life as a Law Student occur.

Then you will become more than just a lawyer. You will become a better and more complete person.

Two Months and Counting

2006-12-13T09:35:00.000-08:00

The little bundle of Baby Misery is due (to be induced) February 8, 2007.

I just received this e-mail to remind me all the joys I have to look forward to . . .

A boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had not phoned in sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialed the Employee's' home phone number and was greeted with a child's whisper.

"Hello?"

"Is your daddy home?" he asked.

"Yes,"whispered the small voice.

"May I talk with him?"

The child whispered, "No."

Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, "Is your Mommy there?"

"Yes."

"May I talk with her?"

Again the small voice whispered, "No."

Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, "Is anybody else there?"

"Yes," whispered the child, "a policeman".

Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee's home, the boss asked, "May I speak with the policeman?"

"No, he's busy," whispered the child.

"Busy doing what?"

"Talking to Daddy and Mommy and the Fireman," came the whispered answer.

Growing more worried as he heard a loud noise in the background through the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, "What is that noise?"

"A helicopter" answered the whispering voice.

"What is going on there?" demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.

Again, whispering, the child answered, "The search team just landed a helicopter."

Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, "What are they searching for?"

Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle...

"ME"

I just hope my kid is that freakin' smart . . .

2006-11-17T14:10:00.000-08:00

My confidence has been destroyed.

I am going to need time in which to examine and question everything I thought up to this point in my life I knew to be the truth.

My whole system for looking at things, my world, my paradigm has been crushed . . .

I cannot overstate this: nothing makes sense anymore.

I feel lost.

I really, really, truly . . .

I mean, I just . . .

I really thought he was innocent.

With his confession--in whatever form it takes--there goes our entire system of justice, its integrity, up in smoke!

Poof!

So now, after 5 semesters of cases and memos and briefs and pitiless grilling and sleepless nights and empty pockets . . . after all that . . .

What am I doing here in law school anymore???

And what is the point of it all?

O.J. did it . . . and I'm sad and confused and lonely and cold . . .

O.J., you didn't just take two lives. You took my innocence and my idealism.

O.J. did it.

And who would have thought?

And We Have a Winner!!

2006-10-10T09:23:00.000-07:00

The winner for the first Blawging the Bluebook is . . .

Drew of 3 Blind Mice & a Sister-in-Law

Who, after answering the posted questions successfully, then answered a 9th question provided by Amicus Ruth

(just to even the score).

So Congratulations to Drew!!

Today, you are the most awesome person in the Blawg-o-sphere!

(And have proven to us that--though we assumed American law students were the biggest slackers in the world--the Aussies can probably beat us on the amount of Spider Solitaire played in any one class period easy).

Totally Random Friday Thoughts

2006-10-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

I apologize for not having updated since starting Blawging the Bluebook, but [Mother Misery]'s cancer has progressed further than previously thought and so my mind has been elsewhere . . .

"Elsewhere" does include some pretty random places, however . . .

Like, I've been thinking . . .

How come we don't have any bona fide sickos in this country willing to storm someone like Rosie O'Donnel's house with a stack of 2 x 4's and a tube of KYJelly?

How come its just the most innocent?

Did you know the Amish families in that community have been visiting with, caring for, and feeding the widow and children of the killer? And they've even set up a charity fund for that family.

So if they would be willing to do that for a guy who carried out such a brutal attack,

How much more would we all be willing to send the kids to college of the guy who finally snapped after hearing another dumb comment on The View,

or maybe finally someone decided to send a little "divine retribution" to the Westboro Baptist Church, instead . . .

I'm not advocating, I'm just saying . . .

If you are that messed-up, can we at least redirect your angst?

(By the way, I did not include the link to that church's website. I was afraid I would burn in hell for just sending you there. Oh, and no part of what I said above should be construed as my support for the act of murder in any way. Any one you know who would make such a claim is probably just looking for an excuse and should probably be reported to the authorities. Do not approach them directly as--by this point--the voices in their heads are probably running the show. Instead, back slowly away while complimenting their new belt buckle. This could save your life.)

Let the Games Begin!!

2006-10-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Blawging the BLUEBOOK:
Things That Go Bump in the Night

The Rules:

1. DON'T CHEAT
2. Have it back within a week. (Deadline is next Monday, 9th, at noon).
3. Send your answers to MiMonAiM@aim.com.
4. Winner is whoever has all correct the fastest.
5. I have final authority on who wins.

The Prizes:

1. A .jpg trophy with your name on it designed by the fabulous aLs.
2. Choose one topic for every participating blawger to post on the following Monday.
3. Choose the contest topic for the following month.
4. A FREE T-SHIRT of your choosing from MiM's stores Here or Here.

The Questions:

1. Which blawger is described by the following rhyme?

This blawgger is always in a state of fright,
that a zombie attack might go bump in the night,
this student is no fool,
he knows zombies will eventually attack his law school,
so even though you might think he's a sap,
This blawger drew up a tactical law school zombie map.

2. In her post, "And now for today's Sexuality and the Law reading excerpt," Ruth quoted an old Plymouth Colony law involving conversing with devils. Which two devils are named in that post? Amicus Curiae, March 2006.

3. On July 20th, Lily Graypure says that she's never seen a ghost or been posessed by a demon. She then claims that never seeing a ghost or demon or feeling the hand of god is evidence that its ok for her to go into corportate law. Why? LawSchoolVirgin, July 2006.

4. The littlest tortfeasor thought that a middle-of-the-night car accident sounded like ________, which is why she blatantly ignored it and went back to bed. Little Tortfeasor, September 2006.

5. The casts of what two 1980’s shows sang at Moonlighting in Misery’s wedding in his post A Midnight Visit from the Ghosts of Posts Past? Moonlighting in Misery, September 2004.

6. When is it acceptable for a one year old to have breasts the size of oranges? 3 Blind Mice and a Sister-In-Law, September 2006.

7. This blawger shows her patroitic side by who she wants to bump her in the night. Who is it she wants? Legally Blonde, August 2006.

8. One member of this blawger’s study group wrote herself a simple note of one thing she had to do the night before the final. She wrote it on her outline. What did the note say? The Namby Pamby, May 2006.

2006-09-29T12:45:00.000-07:00

Introducing . . .
Blawging The BLUEBOOK:
the Monthly Super Awesome Trivia Blawg Game

Starting Monday several of your favorite blawgers will be joining to bring you a monthly, well . . .

I guess you can call it a contest, you can call it a scavenger hunt, or you can call it a waste of your time.

Nevertheless it will provide you with the opportunity to get to know your favorites better, test your knowledge of the blawging world, and generally not pay attention to your professors.

Oh, and did I mention,
Win lots of prizes!!!

So far we have participating:

Moonlighting in Misery (of course!)
Anonymous Law Student
Amicus Curaie
Legally Blonde
Little Tortfeasor
The NambyPamby
LawSchoolVirgin

So here's the deal:
1. If you are a blawger and would like to participate, leave a comment.
2. If you are a reader that would like to express how turned-on you are by the thought of this contest, leave a comment.
3. If you just think this is the most ignorant thing you've ever heard of, theeeeen you obviously spend too much time studying and I don't want to hear from you. (But you can leave a comment, anyway).

Then tune back in Monday to any of these blawgs to find out how it works and how cool you will be if you win . . .

just call me a Dumb Ignorant Conservative

2006-09-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I'm standing in a small dimly-lit room with a smile on my face and my wife's hand in mine, staring at an ultrasound monitor,

When this conversation begins . . .

[Dr. Dip****] (that's what I'll call him because--while he's only an ultrasound tech and certainly not an M.D.--he definitely has a Ph.d. in BULL, anyways, lets begin again)

[Dr. Dip****]: [Misery] is your last name? You aren't related to [BIG liberal also named Misery who's made a lot of money by twisting the truth, omitting facts, and corrupting context], are you? That would be cool!

[Mr. Misery]: (laughing uncomfortably) Ha ha, no, not in Lubbock it wouldn't.

[Dr. Dip****]: Yeah. That's the problem. We all just want to censor the truth and keep everyone ignorant. Its just like with Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks, she is such a brave person for standing up and speaking the truth . . .

And as he goes on Mrs. Misery and I just continue to smile and nod, thinking: "We just want to know about our baby. Please stop."

But he continues on until I interrupt him by asking if this little pulsing spot on the screen was my baby's heart . . . THEN made the mistake of mentioning that I'd rented a doppler heart monitor (identical to the one the doctor uses) to check Baby Misery's heart rate at home.

Great.

[Dr. Dip****]: Bad mistake. Bad. You don't realize the kind of energy those things put into your wife's womb. If you only knew about the dangers of radiation--even on one flight from here to Dallas. The dosage of radiation you get would scare you to death. Its just a matter of time. But I'm telling you those devices are dangerous. I know the FDA approves of their use, and I've written the FDA telling them they are killing people. They just wrote back, and you know what they told me? Do you know?! They just said, "Oh, we can't tell people that because it would scare them." That's what its all about--hiding the truth. Keeping people ignorant.

Wow. I'm seeing some ignorance in this room. And its not coming from me or my wife.

But he goes on and on and on . . . for nearly 90 minutes with nonstop political nonsense. I especially wanted to scream when he started quoting Noam Chomsky.

UGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

And we just grinned, and prayed silently for him to shut up and to spend half as much time talking to us about our baby as he did our politics.

Then, after finally having been told its a girl and being given a brief moment to enjoy the news, he launches in again with a monologue on Hugo Chavez. (The president of Venenzuala).

[Dr. Dip****]: He is such a great man. Courageous. Quite a hero for what he's doing. And standing up for the truth! People just need to shut up with their criticism of him for coming to New York and calling Bush the devil. What ever happened to freedom of speech?

(Good Question from the guy who is ranting about how others should not be criticizing).

So I chime in, in an effort to at least be friendly . . .

[Mr. Misery]: Yeah. Did you see where 7-11 has pulled their contract with Citgo (which is owned by Venezuela) in protest over his comments at the UN?

[Dr. Dip****]: Yes, and that's wrong! We've organized a "buy-cott" where we only buy gas from Citgo to reward and encourage Chavez for his brave comments.

I wasn't entirely sure who "we" happened to be, but I was beggining to lose my patience . . .

[Mr. Misery]: Oh, sure, reward him . . . Uh huh, and then he can take the money and pour it into buying Cuba and making friends with Iran and becoming enemies with the U.S. and while we're at it lets just go ahead and put the money directly into the terrorist's pockets.

(Better yet, I'll give you the materials and why don't you try making a bomb in your garage and go ahead and blow yourself up, save them the expense and trouble! They don't care that you sympathize with them!! Don't you get that?! You are AMERICAN too, the bullseye on your back is just as big as mine!!!!)

[Dr. Dip****]: Oh, wait. You can just quit that talk! Don't try feeding me that bull, 'cause I'm not buying it! Chavez is a good man who's giving back to the people, none of that money is going for anything else but to the people . . .

So my wife squeezes my hand and I can see the look of absolute defeat in her eyes, so I grow quiet again while he continues to drone on . . .

But then he really, really stabbed me. And twisted.

[Dr. Dip****]: . . . and then we go and tell these other countries that if they don't give up their terrorists, well "we'll just go in and get them ourselves" (making a mocking gesture of bravado). And how do you think we'd respond if someone said that to us?! I tell you what! Its not fair, and we're hypocrites. They have the right to keep their citizens safe from us, even if they are terrorists . . . and its just not fair that we would expect them to just hand over their terrorists so we can try them under our form of "justice."

At this I let go of my wife's hand and started to leave the room, but stopped and suddenly turned toward the Village Idiot.

Let me tell you, nothing frightens me more than the world into which I am bringing my daughter.

It is a world where 1/3 of the world's population has been commandeered by 1% of their own most extremist Village Idiots and are now being used to push an agenda that calls for all-out war and blood.

It is a world where the president of Iran believes it is his responsibility to "bathe the world in blood" in order to create the ideal conditions for the return of the 12th Imam (sp?). The guy is such an extremist wack-job that it has been rumored even the Ayatollah Khomeini may be afraid of him . . . AND he may have a nuclear bomb.

It is a world where votes mean more than lives. We have a President who put us into a war he is now too politically chicken**** to fully fight. We have a Democratic party who has played politics with this war from the beginning, doing their best to turn votes against the President for being to adament about prosecuting the War on Terror and then criticizing him and claiming they will be more adament in prosecuting the War when he turns tail and gets quiet. And we have a Republican party with the BALLS to fight the War but who are too damned busy accepting bribes to pay attention to what is going on.

It is a world that I like to paint with broad strokes and some occasional over-statements . . .

But, nonetheless . . .

Things are screwed up.

And this is the world I am giving to my daughter.

I must admit: I'm scared. Very scared. I'm scared of what her little eyes are going to see, because I couldn't do anything to make the world better.

So I let him have it . . .

[Mr. Misery]: Don't you dare tell me it isn't fair for us to protect ourselves! This is not the Crusades. This is not the Spanish Inquisition. It was wrong 1000 years ago, and it is wrong today. You just told me I am going to have a little baby girl. Now don't even think you are going to tell me I don't have the right to keep her safe . . . If you come into my house and threaten my family, I'll put your brains on the wall. So when they say every day that they want to kill me, kill my wife, kill my daughter, and destroy my civilization--I will do anything I possibly can to protect those things I hold dear. And don't think for one second I am going to stop and ask: "is this fair?"

(brief pause. complete silence)

[Mr. Misery]: You are a man of science and a liberal, you must ascribe to theories of Darwinism, right? Survival of the Fittest? Sound familiar? They have applied his theories and called it Social Darwinism? So Darwin said this, basically: Life isn't fair. You learn to cope, or you die. Now I'm telling you, life isn't fair. The survival of the fittest, right? The biggest muscles rule? Well, if you don't stop whining about what is "fair," then there is definitely no hope for you and you will end up taking our entire country down with you! If you really care, then stand up and fight . . . let's get rid of that wacked-out 1% that wants to kill us, and let the rest of them live in peace. Otherwise, I'm sick and tired of listening to you and I'm sure this is not what we paid for.

2006-09-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

MiM is proud to announce that Baby Misery is . . . a GIRL!

Brain Childs

2006-09-27T08:26:00.000-07:00

I know the plural of "child" is "children" but Brain Children just doesn't sound right . . .

Anyway,

Today Mrs. Misery and I go to the doctor and will--we have been promised this time--will find out the sex of Baby Misery.

Also, I have an announcement regarding a new blawging game starting next week involving many of your favorite blawgers.

So stay tuned and both will be announced shortly . . .

Blokes & Jokes & Fake ID's

2006-09-26T10:03:00.000-07:00

aLs and I were discussing what impact our blawg/myspace/facebook accounts might have on our job searches if found by any potential employers . . .

When the following exchange took place:

MiM on AiM: yeah, well, what about myspace . . . that's much easier to find
PikeOO7: yeah it is
PikeOO7: myspace is the one ppl always look for
PikeOO7: You can set it so that only you myspace friends can view your profile. That would solve that problem.
MiM on AiM: yeah, because that one picture of me naked mud-wrestling a donkey probably won't help me get a judicial clerkship, I imagine
PikeOO7: I would hire you on the spot.
PikeOO7: To me that says "team player" and "good for office morale"
MiM on AiM: yeah, but you'd have to rent the donkey next time . . . last time I never got my deposit back
PikeOO7: hahaha
PikeOO7: "no sir, we will not return this deposit, you soiled our donkey!"
MiM on AiM: they had to put the poor thing down
MiM on AiM: it just never was quite the same after that
PikeOO7: hahaha, they hoped that counseling would help it....but that faraway look just never left its eyes
MiM on AiM: hey, what can I say, I just have that affect on people
MiM on AiM: y'know, better than our blawging . . .
MiM on AiM: the conversations blawgers have on AIM are even more entertaining

Then it occurred to us that we ought to take this show on the road, 48 cities in 52 days. We'll reserve local county convention centers across the nation where we will showcase our blawgs, peddle our wares, and show-off our funnies.

And the main-event will be a large panel discussion of blawgers, before the audience of attendees, where we let the jokes and drama fly . . .

aLs says he can just picture the official Hoodie reading "Blawger Convention '06"

Fake ID's Encouraged!!

I guess now we just need to find our Sponsors . . .

Cases, Statutes, Treatises . . . Blawgs?

2006-09-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

So, in keeping with its character, the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals is once again blazing a trail by indicating, in dicta, that Blawgs may now be accepted as legal authority in a judicial misconduct proceeding.

The court wrote:

Throughout these lengthy proceedings, the judge has offered nothing at all to justify his actions--not a case, not a statute, not a bankruptcy treatise, not a law review article, not a student note, not even a blawg.

--In re Complaint of Judicial Misconduct, 425 F.3d 1179, 1195 (9th Cir. 2005).

My only question is this:

Do Blawgs written within the jurisdiction of the 9th Circuit carry more weight than those written in other circuits??

If so, the real fun will start when the 7th Circuit adopts this same approach and Law&Alcoholism becomes a favorite for judges attempting to justify their coming to court "black-out drunk" and asking the female bailiff to help them use their penis pumps.

But, for now, aLs can surely have some fun with this . . .

"Just Say No"

2006-09-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

In the last decade, scientists have discovered that the feelings of love and passion a person feels when first falling for another are merely the result of a chemical reaction--a dopamine produced in the brain.

The feeling, they report, is much like using speed or cocaine.

And these chemicals last--at most--a scant two years. After that a pair of lovers are left to their own devices to keep the love alive.

But basically--at its core--Love is nothing more than a bad drug.

Isn't that a cruel thought?

It does explain a few things, however . . .

Like how falling in love when you are 25 doesn't feel like it did when you were 15.

When a meth addict gets high, the same dopamine is released by the brain, but with each use of the drug it takes more of it to produce the same high. So is that the same as with love? Each time we do it, it takes more to achieve the same result??

And how about getting dumped?

Talk about going through withdrawal . . . !!

The feelings of anxiety, of paranoia, the cold sweats, the wild swings from odd cravings to abject hungerlessness,

and the need, the yearning, the absolute compulsion for. one. more. hit.

Please, I need the phone. I need to know she's . . . she's . . . (she's what?) . . . she's alright?!

And the sound of the voice on the other end of the line can be--depending upon the reaction--either another sweet high, enough to last for a day or a few hours, OR it could be a bad trip that leaves you in the fetal position on the bathroom floor with the shakes.

What you really need with a break-up is a good friend with rope who will tie your butt to the bed, throw out all traces of the drug and any paraphernalia, and keep you there until the worst of it has passed.

Then you need to get yourself into a 12-Step program

Or . . .

You can Just Say No to dating and love in the first place.

You can clean yourself up, throw away all vestiges of addiction, and throw yourself into a life more productive like becoming a work-a-holic, or something to that effect.

After all, wouldn't most people who've seen the down-and-outs of what Love can do to a body agree that this drug most definitely makes us weaker? And who wants to be weaker?

Only an addict.

But there is one other path you can walk . . .

Love, like any other drug, actually wears off of its own volition after a period of time, and this is beyond the user's control. Now some--maybe most--people when this happens will simply discard the used "delivery device" and go out in search of another.

(Often, that "delivery device" has not yet felt the effects of the drug's waning influence herself, thus beginning her own horrible withdrawal process while you are off begging for another fix.)

Unlike other dependencies, however, when this high wears off a person is fully capable of putting a little effort into creating a deeper--and more natural--experience through dedication and reliance on the other person. Its hard. Very hard. But its healthy.

It just takes two in order to make it work. That may be the most frightening aspect.

Now, I have always been a huge fan of the Beat Authors--Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsburg, William S. Burroughs, Neal Cassady, et al.

And have always wanted to write as they did.

But I am not Beat. I am not of their generation nor their time, and I certainly don't have their experiences. Not to mention, much--if not most--of their writing was done under the influence of drugs.

However, instead of that explaining why I could never write like them--maybe that explains why I can't write like them now . . .

You see . . .

I, [Moonlighting in Misery], am an addict.

No, I was never involved in any illegal behaviour. (Well, I can't actually say with absolute certainty that nothing I did prior to the Supreme Court's decision in Lawrence v. Texas was illegal in this state, I never bothered to check all of the laws of Texas . . . )

But I was a user. I am now three-years clean of that drug's insipid affects. I have hung on, and chosen the more healthy route. It is also my belief that when you walk down that aisle and exchange those vows, it certainly does help shorten the affects of the drug considerably!

In exchange for my healthy stability, I have lost the turbulent highs associated with the drug that gave me the inspiration and ideas to write.

But when you are happy with the day, who would prefer to dwell in the night?

So I am no longer to write as I was once able when I penned the following . . . but I am much happier for it.

And I suppose each of us are responsible for making a choice, my only advice is that being an addict is certainly not the best way to remain. Just say no.

The Night’s Last Dance

Is it wine and roses her eyes devour
Or the starlight reflected in mine
Is it the touch and passion this night, this hour
Or a blessing completely divine

She leads to dance slowly to a rhythm she feels
A rhythm known only to her
He feels himself falling completely completely
And drinks as this moment endures

Tonight in this darkness, this passion, this palace
All the world dreams of her kiss
He bows to her lowly for his soul’s only solace
Dreaming “forever” in ignorance sweet bliss

The candles will flicker and the wind it will blow
And the starlight will fall from the sky
When she finishes this dance to his heart’s ebb and flow
O, my poor soul it will flicker and die

I lay her down gently and, turning, I walk away
The house is so quiet I can hear her heart beating
And I whisper to myself, “this moment won’t stay . . .”
As with any--and all--this too is so fleeting

I have lost my rhythm to the passing of time
My romance by reason is no longer mine
I cling to these feelings I’ve expressed to the past
I penned them I claimed them I thought they would last

With each day I stay here does my passion just fade
As I lay fast my anchor is our future so made
I have taken the day by giving the cool starry night
And I wonder—
Can I continue?
To truly fight the good fight . . .

So I stood in the darkness and caressed the brow of my Dream
As I looked down upon her, am I all that I seem
Where the walls have been built all to the same ends
And I wonder— I ponder
While making good neighbors
Do fences make such good friends?

Can she crack the façade, will I give up my heart
Is there more to our love than the terms of our art
Are we willing to fall beyond where we are willing to go
And if one of us isn’t, will the other one know

I fight such damned questions and chase them away
And she’ll wake up tomorrow to face the new day
I will be there beside her, where I keep thinking still
When her gaze drifts upon me, how will she then feel?

And I hope that the Angel the thoughts in my head
As she lay there before me alone in her bed
Can restore my passion, help me find what I miss
While I float into her brown eyes . . .
And I revel in her kiss.

Baby Shopping

2006-09-23T22:07:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Misery and I spent an exciting Saturday evening registering for baby stuff.

But before we were done, I added a large box of Trojan condoms to the list.

I thought it was funny. I believe most people will get the joke. And even if some smartass decides to buy them . . . I figure after the birth I'll need them again, anyways. Right??

She didn't agree.

She just gave me the icy look of death . . .

Which makes me think--

Maybe I won't be needing them after the baby gets here.

And that makes me sad.

Do They Know Me? Part III: The Homecoming Queen

2006-09-21T16:48:00.000-07:00

My name:
[Homecoming Queen] (No. I'm Mr. Misery. We're getting our nicknames mixed up here.)

Who is the love of my life:
Jeremy (Hmm. Now don't quote me on this . . . but I'm pretty sure I've never dated a "Jeremy." I've dated a "Jana." I met her while she was working as a beer tub girl in a dance club and she could be a little crude and masculine at times but I'm pretty sure she only had girl parts. If she did have guy parts, I'm not sure where she hid them in those short tight jean shorts she liked to wear. But, no, don't think Jeremy is the love of my life. I think she's just trying to start rumors.)

Where did we meet:
He used to be my ex's supervisor and friend. we all used to hang out on the weekends. his girlfriend (at the time) hung out too. within 2 years, jeremy and i were both single and hadn't seen or spoken to eachother in a long time. he called mark (my ex) and got my number.

(Oh, wait! I thought we were supposed to be talking about me!! I didn't know this was going to be an exposition on her love life. But, please, go on . . . )

Take a stab at my middle name:
#&%!? . . . sounds good, but honestly, i can't remember it! (She actually got it! And I'm not going to post it here. We dated, but it would probably be more accurate to say we just let our hormones rage alot. I'm not sure how much "dating" actually went on. Crazy teenagers!! In any case, I'm surprised she was actually paying attention . . .)

How long have you known me:
since we dated in high school (She did teach me early on that "porno tongue" is not--contrary to what you'd think is obvious from the name--it is not really a turn on.)

When is the last time that we saw each other:
at your lovely wedding...mark and i rode in the limmo...my first and only time so far.

(Okay, readers, I must ask: Did I commit a Wedding Foul by inviting her to my nuptials? Mrs. Misery thinks so since I wouldn't let her invite some boy she slept with. But I think the obvious difference--and where you draw the line--is that he saw Mrs. Misery naked. All [Homecoming Queen] and I ever did was make-out. Alot. But I didn't see her naked, she didn't see me naked. So I think it was all good.)

Do I smoke:
i don't think so...?

Do I drink:
maybe on occasion...not sure

What was your first impression of upon meeting me/seeing me:
I thought you were such a talented actor...i believe it was during the crucible (Why I went to Law School: So I wouldn't spend the rest of my life in middle management daydreaming about when I was a bigshot in high school. I knew it would happen as I would reminisce about how [Homecoming Queen] and her friend would take turns rubbing my shoulders and shaved head during rehearsals because I was Mr. Leading Man--or something like that. Wow! I can't believe how really pathetic that sounds now. Thank God I'm in Law School where the egos are just as big, the paychecks just as small, but at least we're bragging about the future and not the past!!!)

Do I have any siblings:
yes...

What's one of my favorite things to do:
i don't know anymore

Am I funny:
yes...as i recall

What's my favorite type of music:
you used to like Harry Connick Jr (Harry Connick Jr. is a musical god!!! I went to my first concerts when i was 13 years old: one was the rapper Candyman, and the other . . . Harry Connick Jr.)

What is the best feature about me:
Your smile (Thank God someone finally said something other than "he's nice.")

Am I shy or outgoing:
outgoing, i think...maybe a little shy

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:
a bit of a rebel

Do I have any special talents:
acting

Have you ever hugged me:
yes

Do you miss me...do you think i miss you:
sure...to both

What is my favorite food:
italian?

If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be:
hmmm...i do not have a tallent for nicknames

What's your favorite memory of me:
the homecumming dance (Bad Spelling? Freudian Slip? I'm not even going to touch this one!!)

Thunderdome Rules

2006-09-21T14:08:00.000-07:00

If we get nuked,

And the government crumbles,

And society spirals into a turbulent State of Nature

Before I graduate Law School . . .

Do I get a refund??

The way I figure it is -- three years of law school tuition will allow me to hoard a whole hell of a lot of gasoline.

Obsession: Radical Islam's War Against The West

2006-09-19T09:07:00.000-07:00


www.ObsessionTheMovie.com - a powerful new documentary that exposes the threat of Radical Islam in ways never before seen in the mainstream media

Do They Know Me? Part II: The Redhead

2006-09-18T18:32:00.000-07:00

My name:
[Moonlighting in Misery]

Who is the love of my life:
YOU? haha...kidding, im betting its your wifey.

Where did we meet:
working on the school play in highschool (I was John Proctor in "The Crucible," where we met. It was my first religious education as I had to learn the Ten Commandments to recite during one scene. But there was also this climactic moment where I yelled "God is dead." Have you ever heard the phrase "bust a nut"? Just as I yelled that I was grabbed and dragged off stage by another actor. During one performance, I was so wrapped up in the scene that I may have gotten a little rough with the other actor . . . and between that and my yelling, I pulled a groin muscle. THAT is what it means to bust a nut--it hurt. bad.)

Take a stab at my middle name:
/me stabs but misses. (I am really secretive about my middle name. But it is a bit of a family tradition for the first born son to pass it on to his firstborn son. So Baby Misery, if a boy, will carry on the curse. haha.)

How long have you known me:
since 1996. 10 years.

When is the last time that we saw each other:
s**t...5 years ago? (So, really, I haven't known her for as long as I did know her . . . in a way. But with some friends, it just doesn't matter, right?)

Do I smoke:
you used to...but i bet you dont now, you grown up you!

Do I drink:
yes?

What was your first impression of upon meeting me/seeing me:
"this guy is nice!" (And she changed her mind about 5 minutes later.)

Do I have any siblings:
yes.

What's one of my favorite things to do:
argue

Am I funny:
very. (And she obviously hasn't read this blawg.)

What's my favorite type of music:
ska and stuff right?

What is the best feature about me:
always willing to speak your mind.

Am I shy or outgoing:
outgoing

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:
rebel.

Do I have any special talents:
you lose the cig. wrapper game really well! ha! (That basically means it was easy to get me down to my boxer shorts. Maybe i'll explain that soon, maybe I won't.)

Have you ever hugged me:
indeed.

Do you miss me...do you think i miss you:
i sure do. i bet you miss me...i mean...how could you not? ;)

What is my favorite food:
?? chinesse?

Do They Know Me? Part I: The Diplomat

2006-09-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

As everyone, I often receive those surveys sent out by friends that ask you to copy, paste, answer a few questions (or a few hundred) and then forward and send back. They also clutter the bulletins on MySpace.

I usually ignore them. But I found an interesting one posted by an old friend on MySpace yesterday and decided to do it--because it asks to answer questions about the other person. Then you post it and ask others to answer them of you.

So I did. And so far I've received one reply. I thought it might be fun to post that answer here.

The friend that answered I will call The Diplomat, because not only was this an accurate description of him in school but he's now living in China working for the U.S. State Department. We were never real close, but I always admired him for his intelligence and confidence.

(Any comments I make to his answers are in italics)

My name:
[Moonlighting in Misery] (Of course, he did remember my name.)

Who is the love of my life:
Dude it better be your wife

Where did we meet:
I can't remember what the name of the group was something like Gifted and Talented. Anway I seem to remember meeting you there in elementary school. (I promise, he has a MUCH better memory than I do!)

Take a stab at my middle name:
Trick question you don't have one! (Wrong! It is, of course, "IN")

How long have you known me:
If my memory serves well in excess of fifteen years

When is the last time that we saw each other:
Dude this is a very good question. I think just before you left for university. I am not sure the exact dates. (The Diplomat wasn't with us the night we got bored, played chicken with the buffalo, and went searching for the Deer Lady--which I will have to tell you about. So I don't think I saw him again after he left for OU).

Do I smoke:
Last check no

Do I drink:
Occasionally (Yeah, I've cut back dramatically. But he was the guy who made that grape stuff--what do you call it?--that night I drank too much and we all ended up at a park where I got very, very sick on the merry-go-round. I couldn't touch grape juice for YEARS after.)

What was your first impression upon meeting me/seeing me:
This kid is fun. (Hey, when you were in the Gifted & Talented program--the five floor walk up and down the stairs to get your lunch could be considered "FUN." What 8-year-old kid wants to spend 6 hours stuck in an attic learning about flying butresses and the basics of architecture?? I think the fact i was breathing probably qualified me for that description.)

Do I have any siblings:
Sister I think (And a brother. He was the one that had the Drew Barrymore Playboy that ended up in Genuis Friend's trunk before he started feeling guilty and had to drive all the way across town to stash it in a 7-11 dumpster.)

What's one of my favorite things to do:
Listen to music (Still is)

Am I funny:
Well back in the day you were (Ha ha! What a great answer!! And he doesn't even know about this blawg o mine)

What's my favorite type of music:
Last check Ska

What is the best feature about me:
You are very accepting of others

Am I shy or outgoing:
Both strangely enough (Yeah, I'm outgoing until I meet someone i don't accept and then I clam up . . .)

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:
A bit on the rebellious side

Do I have any special talents:
Is this a yes or no question? I am going with yes (But those "talents" will just stay between us, right?!)

Have you ever hugged me:
Yes (uhm, in a purely bear-hug-we-just-scored-a-touchdown-pass-another-beer-and-kick-another-puppy way, right?)

Do you miss me...do you think i miss you:
Gee this is a weird question. How about this I think that it would be cool to hang out and catch up but I don't think I feel a sense of urgency that missing would indicate. I imagine that would be the same for you.

What is my favorite food:
Don't know so I am going say if your in DC you are enjoying ready access to Ethopian food. Yum!
If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be:
[Moonlighting in Misery] of course!

What's your favorite memory of me:
Wearing Dresses to school (I am not sure I can ever explain this one . . .)

Are we friends:
I would say so. I mean youa re in my friend group.

Judicial Digression

2006-09-14T09:18:00.000-07:00

As I was listening to Streetlight Manifesto on my Mp3 player,

and drafting a proposed order for the judge to sign regarding a motion to remand . . .

It occurred to me that there must be some irony involved in that moment.

I have become the Man.

When I was in high school, nearly half of my friends were self-proclaimed anarchists. The other half just didn’t care about anything but maintaining their lives below the mainstream through music and drinking and abject apathy. And the few of us that weren’t in either group were still flaming liberals and—as far as I remember—not big supporters of the Man.

But now I’ve sold-out, and I’ve corrupted my favorite music in the process.

Because I’ve taken it with me into the judge’s chambers, the establishment . . .

It is resting on my Mp3 player right next to the previous day’s podcast of the Glenn Beck radio program.

The fusion of entertainment and enlightenment . . . ?

Aw yeah. I’m the Man.

This Post Doesn't Get a Title

2006-09-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

There are those times when you get to laugh at Life; unfortunately, Life far too often gets equal time to laugh at you.

I suppose I’ve been having a good chuckle for the past few months—I apologize for not sharing the joke with you—but I think now I have momentarily forgotten the punch line.

So maybe I’ll take this opportunity to tell some old stories . . .

I’ll just have to remember them first.

Komen, Run

2006-09-12T14:21:00.000-07:00

In light of recent news of a personal-family nature, I have decided to participate in this year's Race for the Cure.

If you would like, you can donate to TTU School of Law's Team by clicking HERE.

And if I can get my butt out of the house to complete a 5k walk/run, you can spare $5.

Professional Responsibility?

2006-09-11T10:35:00.000-07:00

My mother went to the doctor Friday to find out she has tumor(s).

Such news is always very frightening--both for the patient as well as that patient's family and friends. The lack of information is, perhaps, the most terrifying.

Is it malignant? Is it benign? How big? How many? How far has it spread?

The doctor performed a biopsy and scheduled her to return this afternoon to discuss the results and options.

Seems reasonable.

But during the visit Friday, without any prompt, the doctor told my mother:

"It looks really bad."

When asked for more information, then he got silent.

So. Great. My family had to crawl through the weekend echoing the question: What did he mean? Are we looking at the worst?

Great exercise of your Professional Responsibility to the client, jackass.

Thank you.

If anyone reading is a prayerful person, please . . .

Also this weekend, we spent the night with the in-laws on Saturday. And their next-door neighbor took a shotgun, walked outside, sat down against the house about 20 feet from our bedroom window, and blew his head off.

I did not see the resulting scene. My father-in-law, not knowing what had happened, looked over the fence and did.

This guy had a wife and two grown children. And many, many friends. One can never know how many people will be affected by one's death.

Even the neighbors to whom you occasionally speak.

But if he didn't care how such a selfish act would affect his wife and children, why would he care about anyone else?

Finally, to end with some good news: Mrs. Misery's doctor called this morning to report early testing for birth defects shows a completely healthy baby.

There is one prayer answered.

Lessons I've Learned About Being a Lawyer

2006-09-07T13:46:00.000-07:00

No. 132

When you submit a motion to a federal court, make sure it doesn't read as if it was written by Corky from Life Goes On after a double dose of Ritalin.

Why? Because it may be given to a ThreeL student to research and write-up the order after only his first day of work and who, while very intelligent, is also very overwhelmed and now he may hold the future of your case in his hands.

Can you say "Legal Malpractice," sucker?

Chuck Norris School of Law, Class of '87

2006-09-04T11:25:00.000-07:00

Crap. I wish they taught this level of advocacy in all law schools!

The War Against Dogs

2006-09-04T11:03:00.001-07:00

What is the difference between this video . . .

And this one?

I think I'd actually hire Will Ferrell to represent me.

Intellectual RockStar, Indeed!

2006-09-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

I just discovered the Judge with whom I had lunch is, in fact, hiring a law clerk for the next year . . .

So after having a lunch with conversations like:

Judge: The real sacrifice occurred in the Garden.

Misery: I know exactly what you mean. The day of the Cross wasn't a sacrifice, not the true sacrifice, what happened to him then was purely--

Judge: Physical. And the night before--

Misery: was all spiritual. That's when he made the decision.

Judge: Exactly.

How can he not hire me?? I mean, we were practically finishing each other's sentences.

Well, that is, unless of course there are those who apply that

--went to a much better school.

--went to his alma mater.

--have actually been published and aren't just "working on" a comment regarding the same topic as his speech.

--have just finished another clerkship with a District Court.

--or a thousand other reasons which I won't take the time to go through . . .

But I have a chance. And that is half the battle!

(Or, actually, I think "knowing is half the battle!" in which case he at least knows me so I suppose that counts for something. Man, I miss the old G.I.Joe . . .)

So now I just need to set up a PayPal account so all you 3 people that still read me can contribute to my "Moonlighting in Misery Traveling to Interview With Federal Judges/Aaron Spelling TV's Greatest Producer That Brought us 90210, Dynasty, Mod Squad, Charlies Angels, Startsky & Hutch, 7th Heaven, Lets Not Forget Hart to Hart, and He Put John Travolta in a Plastic Bubble Memorial Fund."

Really, there is a connection. I am sure Aaron Spelling would want me to get a federal judicial clerkship. Such a gesture just seems so 7th-Heaveny to me, doesn't it to you?

And I may need to fly to Bangor, Maine . . . or San Diego, California.

That costs money. And it will bring me joy. Aaron Spelling brought you joy as a child growing up watching the latest escapades of Kelly and Brendan and the whole gang.

So contribute. And you will feel better about secretly watching Melrose Place for all those years.

The "Ringo Starr" of the Federal Judicial System

2006-09-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

So he wasn't actually on the Supreme Court . . .

If you had lunch with Ringo Starr, you could still brag about eating with a Beatle . . .

Right?

He is the Chief Judge Emeritus of the nation's largest Circuit, AND he's a consultant to the Israeli and Pakistani Supreme Courts. And we had a romantic lunch together while I gazed longingly into the eyes of a big fat job opportunity.

That's right! He so gave me the complete "4-1-1" on getting the judicial clerkship of your dreams.

So I have all my judicial clerkship applications done and submitted. Now I just wait (pray) for the phone calls and jump back on making my car run again in the meantime.

By the way . . .

Apparently it is perfectly acceptable to tell a Circuit Court Judge that you'll have to put their offer on the back burner until you have had a chance to holler at Tony and Sammy, just to make sure they have a shot at your tremendous talent first.

What You Need to Know, Find Out Here

2006-08-22T15:01:00.000-07:00

You have to love those professors who can manage to stretch a 15 minute lecture into a full 50 minutes each time they grab the lectern.

And you have to applaud the professors who can do that without putting you to sleep.

But the professor that gets the biggest slap on the back is the one that can lull you into a false sense of security where you begin to appreciate--even look forward too--those "15/50 Lectures". . .

Only to shock your happy e-wandering, dream-car shopping, ESPN.com reading, monopoly playing, IM conversating butt back to reality by suddenly going over 5 cases and 3 different important concepts in one class period.

And you wake up with about 5 minutes left in class and think, "Where are we???"

Because he'd just spent 3 days to go over one short case but,

after 12 cups of coffee, 8 snickers bars, a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and half-bottle of his little boy's Desoxyn® CII,

In the last 45 minutes he just managed to skip two chapters ahead.

And you are left doing your best to guess where the prof. is at . . .

Because I have one of those professors this semester (and he is a great prof),

And because I can't trust aLs anymore to not have me laughing about such things as the rules on how to survive a Zombie invasion during the most unfunny portion of the lecture,

I can no longer read his blawg while in class.

To those 2 or 3 people using this blawg to find others to read, it has become equally apparent to me that I am acting in a fiduciary position and have the responsibility to warn you of those blawgs that could get you booted from class.

Therefore,

In the next week I figure I will restructure my links to warn you of those blawgs that are too funny to read in class.

Please don't be offended if your blawg does not end up on this list. And just because a blawg is not on the list doesn't mean it can't make you crack up during a discussion of the Hotchpot in Tax Class.

But just know--Moonlighting in Misery won't be on that list either, believe-you-me.

If it was it would sort of defeat the purpose of the list altogether to be taking advice on what blawgs not to read in class from another blawg you shouldn't be reading in class, either.

Wouldn't it?

For that reason, I am certifying that this blawg is safe to read in class without risk of laughing or even cracking a smile. Ever.

And for purposes of liability arising under such representations, I am appointing Legally Blonde as my agent for service of process.

Have fun serving on her.

What Kind of Animal is Goofy?

2006-08-21T09:57:00.000-07:00

I was thinking last night and quite bothered by a realization . . .

We don't have stupid nicknames for 1Ls,

or at least none that I am aware of.

And this is a shame.

I mean, we have nicknames for high school freshman, and the innocent wide-eyed college newbies that invade campuses each year.

So why haven't we let our creative juices flow on this one?

(Okay, okay . . . skip the thought, that's just wrong, you predators)

I mean, I know why I didn't as a OneL . . . why give the 3L's a hand if they aren't creative enough on their own??

But, seriously, I'm a 3L now. And its high time we had a name for incoming OneL's.

So here is my suggestion, and I welcome any others . . .

I remember calling the freshmen in high school "Mickies" . . .

So, maybe, along those lines--

OneL's deserve the name "Goofies"

Because, Lord knows, you gotta be goofy to want to start 3 years of this crap . . .

But once you are into your 2nd year, you are no longer goofy.

You are just stuck.

With no way out.

Thank God I can see the light at the end of the tunnel . . .

What Ever Happened to Plausible Deniability?

2006-08-20T19:13:00.000-07:00

So of the entire incoming 1L class at Texas Tech . . .

I get assigned as the mentor of the lone student that reads my little blawg.

And it only took one short e-mail exchange with a few details about myself to give up the secret!

Seriously, for the person who first wrote about "Plausible Deniability" . . .

I really, truly suck at it!!

And, yes, "Folsom" (that is what I will refer to him as--"Folsom"--and it does make sense, if only to me . . . but then most of what I write makes sense only to me so why should this be any different?)

Anyway,

Yes, Folsom, having me as your mentor means you rock. hard.

How Do You Scare a New OneL?

2006-08-18T19:00:00.000-07:00

Tell him he really has to study.

Yes, for the 5 of you still reading me . . .

I am back!

At least for one more year, and then who knows.

I really should get more serious about this blawging stuff, y'know, and stop goofing off and wasting my time on doing actual work . . . that pays.

Future Baby Misery can always get a job himself when it comes time to getting a car. But he'll always think his dad is the coolest because of the legacy left by this blawg . . .

Right?

So I had to participate in the new student orientation today.

After listening to the faculty and administration drone on for two days, they unleashed the new class on a few of us right before letting them break to spend the weekend drinking their fears away.

And some poor soul asked the question, "Do you really have to study 55 hours per week to do well in law school?"

Hell yeah! I was wondering the same thing when they tried to push that off on me 2 years ago. Great question.

One girl volunteered by quickly blurting out, "No, I may study 5 to 10 hours."

To which another on our panel replied, "Yes, but its different for everyone. I have to study a lot more. And if you do you'll see it pays off. When you are up here at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, just think about how great you will do in the long run . . ."

And the eyes of those new 1Ls got huge . . .

You. mean. I. actually. need. to. study. at. 5:30.in.the.morning.on.a.saturday?

Ha ha. Yeah right! It doesn't happen.

I have never seen a law student at the school studying at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

'Course, it'd be easier to test that theory if I ever actually went up there at that time myself.

But I'm not crazy, either. And if I was really into testing theories . . .

I would have gone to medical school.

Bun in the Oven

2006-08-01T05:24:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow evening I return to Lubbock so that I can take my wife to her doctor's appointment on Thursday. They tell us we should know whether it will be a Baby Girl Misery or a Baby Boy Misery . . .

I have to miss a Texas Hold 'em Tournament as a result. I tried to convince my wife that we'll have another child and I'll be there the next time we find out the sex of the child . . .

But she didn't quite buy it. I guess this is really important, or something . . .

I mean, I'll have to have the doctor explain what all of those squiggly lines on the screen are anyways, right?

So I'll miss winning enough money to keep Baby Misery in diapers for an entire year . . . so's I can nod my head and pretend I know what the hell the doc is pointing to . . .

Fatherhood.

Three Dog Twilight

2006-07-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

When I was 16 I was visiting my father in Houston when I discovered Jimmy Page and Robert Plant (2/3rds of Led Zeppelin) would be performing in the Bayou City just after I was scheduled to go back to Oklahoma.

I begged my mother and step-father to let me stay an extra week so that I could see the legendary Page & Plant play together . . .

I begged hard. It didn't matter. I have always lamented missing that concert.

Until last night.

I saw Three Dog Night play live at the civic center in Odessa last night. And there is something just a little bit sad about aging rockers. I'm not sure I'll ever listen to "Never Been to Spain" again without picturing a pot-bellied old man with long gray hair and great jowls in droopy black jeans sporting a "Vote for Pedro" t-shirt and a microphone.

I would never want to have the same picture while pounding away at the Immigrant's Song.

I had great fun, I did. I mean, Three Dog Night was a great band. I'd bet more people can pick up on the lyrics "Jeremiah was a bullfrog . . ." than could finish the the line "There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold and she's buying a . . ."

But they have slowed down. Waaaaay down.

The concert started right on time, at 8pm. A rock concert. Starting on time. Imagine that.

And it ended promptly at . . .

9:25. 1 hour and 25 minutes later. No, really.

Hey, its fine with me! I had work today.

Thank God for aging rockers who need to be in bed by 10. Afterall, can't miss Law & Order.

But it has had me thinking all day long . . .

So many of us at least once in our lives had the dream of being a rock star. For every person that has ever picked up a guitar, or perhaps a pair of drumsticks, you know there was at least once you imagined looking out over a stadium full of screaming fans . . .

But I never once stopped to think about what my old age would be like---until today. And so I decided to make a comparison to see which would be better: being an Aging Lawyer or an Aging Rocker.

I've made my mind up, now you tell me what you think . . .

Aging Lawyer: Gets to wander around the office peering into associates' offices telling jokes and all the old war stories.
Aging Rocker: Gets to wander around the country peering into dark county livestock show and rodeos telling jokes and stories about how "in 1972 I was sitting in my garage getting stoned when . . ."

Aging Lawyer: Gets to wear whatever he pleases to work, within reason, and no one is going to say anything because he built the firm up to what it is today
Aging Rocker: Gets to wear whatever he pleases but cares little for reason as he looks like some old pervert who'd been skulking around the mall checking out the teenage girls when Hot Topic threw up on him

Aging Lawyer: Started as a lowly associate with a small, bare office and dreaming of the corner office with the big leather couch and all of the game trophies . . . and worked until he got it.
Aging Rocker: Started as a young rock star with a dressign room stocked with girls, beer, a bowl full of black jelly beans and dreaming was done in a smoky haze . . . and smoked it all until he lost it.

Aging Lawyer: Once argued a case before the U.S. Supreme Court . . . and won for his oral advocacy.
Aging Rocker: Once urinated on the steps of the Supreme Court . . . and was arrested for his, uh, non-oral advocacy.

Aging Lawyer: Recently hired to argue another case before the Supreme Court again because of his stellar reputation.
Aging Rocker: Recently urinated on the steps of the Supreme Court again because he couldn't control his bladder.

Aging Lawyer: A working evening consists of smoking a cigar in quiet club with other old attorneys throwing stories at him.
Aging Rocker: A working evening consists of singing in a smoky club while old women throw their bras at him.

Aging Lawyer: Woke up one morning and realized that Enron and Global Crossing stock had taken about 10% of his retirement
Aging Rocker: Sobered up one morning and realized that the manager, the drugs, and the few hundred different girls had taken about all of his retirement

And last but by no means least . . .

Aging Lawyer: Has enough money so that a young blonde 20-something would marry him hoping he'd quickly die so she could have his money.
Aging Rocker: Has enough fame so that a different young blonde 20-something will sleep with him every night so she could have his "celebrity."

I should have kept up with the guitar lessons . . .

(O, if you are curious, she's buying a Stairway to Heaven).

2006-07-14T06:19:00.000-07:00

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

More.

2006-07-11T23:16:00.000-07:00

It has been brought to my attention that I left a couple of things out of yesterday's post.

With the news regarding our expected new addition to the family, my wife has been quite persuasive regarding my need to lose the weight I've gained since we got married.

I thought--hey, Days Inn has a swimming pool, right?! I'll swim some laps each day and exercise like that.

Hmm. It is a sweet sweet fantasy world in which I live. Perhaps one day I will share it with you.

Now, I know I am not that big . . . but I swear to you from up here on the 3rd floor, i am pretty-darned-sure that "swimming pool" is juuuuust barely wide enough for me to swim in. Alone. Very Straight. And as long as I don't splash much.

In fact, its not so much a pool as--perhaps--a, oh I don't know, a crack in the cement? That a stray dog relieved himself in.

And then, I thought--When I am done swimming I can relax in the hot tub and prepare myself for the next day.

Except, of course, that I guess Days Inn has taken the curious view that it might attract more guests by offering a mud bath instead. Straight from the "pool" to the mud to the "pool" again. Great idea. But I have yet to try it and probably won't without someone offering the cucumber slices to place over my eyes. I am guessing that is why no one else has taken advantage of this lovely amenity, either. I am sorry, but I'm just not that adventurous. And the feel of mud squishing into every crevice of my body hasn't really been all that appealing since I was about 10 years old.

So, okay, I say to myself . . . forget the exercise and lets cook some food.

Thinking of the frozen chicken breast and fresh salad I brought with me, as well as the reassuring pronouncement on the Days Inn website that "dishes and pots and pans are available upon request" . . .

I called down to the front desk.

Front Desk: Front Desk

Mr. Misery: Yeah, uh, there are a couple of things I need. I need batteries for this remote so I can sit my lazy butt down and not have to worry about the 3 foot walk to the t.v. And I need pots, pans, and dishes to cook my chicken so as to chow down while doing nothing.

Front Desk: We don't provide dishes and pans.

Mr. Misery: Pardon?

Front Desk: We don't provide those for you. You do.

Mr. Misery: Uh, yeeeeah, you haven't by any chance read your website lately have you?

Front Desk: No, sir.

Mr. Misery: Well it is under the mistaken impression that these things are provided.

Front Desk: I don't know nothing about that, sir, but (if it will make you shut up) I can look.

After a return call and a promise she'd found pots and batteries, I walk to the lobby.

Front Desk: Here are your pots and pans. We don't have any dishes.

Have you ever heard the phrase: "He doesn't have a pot to piss in." Well, if it was missing, I found it.

Mr. Misery: Uh, yeeeah, I don't know about this. How about the batteries?

At this point I was now to tired to eat and thought I'd go straight to being lazy.

Front Desk: Let me see your remote. Here you go. Do you know the code?

Mr. Misery: Uh, nooooo, I don't think so.

Front Desk: You mean you don't know how to program a code into a remote????

And now she's looking at me as if I am the stupid one here.

Mr. Misery: Oh, yeah. Thanx.

She just changed the batteries. Not the remote. It didn't need a code, freakin' Marie Curie!

When I got back to my room I logged on to the internet to check the website again. Apparently I forgot to read the fine print.

Dishes and Pots and Pans Available Upon Request At Walmart . . . sucker.

I'm Alive

2006-07-10T21:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am alive . . .

But barely.

If Days Inn continues to have its way with my tender psyche, I'm not sure for how much longer.

You see, it all began a long, long time ago. A dedicated reader and friend found out we would both be working the second half of the summer in the same city. So, we decided, why not room together?!

Great idea?

Sure. I think if he wasn't around, I probably would be flying my boxers on the antenna of my car and the picture I sent my mother of the view from my office would instead be the last thing I was to see before teaching myself how to fly.

So he has his firm start looking for a 2 bedroom furnished apartment willing to rent for one month. But, there being a housing shortage here as a result of the Oil&Gas boom, the only thing available was a 1 bedroom.

Unwilling to give up our ill-fated plan to room together, and with very little time left, I call up the Days Inn -- the only hotel (ha ha) in town with a kitchenette.

And after what I conceded to myself was a bit of smooth talking I had the price reduced from $99/night to a more reasonable $50.

I wasn't the one to check in.

He was. His wife, with him at the time, told him she wouldn't be visiting.

I'm sure, rather, what she meant was . . . she doesn't want to catch some mysterious disease. I only hope that if he brings one home she will understand that it was the result of no ill-behavior on his part.

It was, he can explain, Mr. Misery's fault.

But, then again, I'm not sure that would make things any better either . . .

Well, needless to say . . . $50 is hardly a bargain.

As I sit here staring at the odd colored walls, two questions come to mind:

1. Where was the clearance paint sale whose selection was limited to this the weekend the good people at Days Inn had the bright idea to redecorate, and . . .

2. I wonder what the genius at Kelly Moore named this lovely shade of puke shortly before he presented it to his bosses and was summarily dismissed as a result of his affinity for cruel practical jokes?

It is a smoking room, and smells it.

I suppose the maid did make some attempt at cleaning the afternoon we moved in. Afterall, the ice bucket was turned upside with a fresh baggie and two unwrapped cups place atop it.

I'm sure it was a mere oversight the cabinets full of Ramen that were left, and the bread fermenting above the stove.

And perhaps housekeeping was nice enough to believe the next guests to come by the pleasure of visiting our little wonderland would appreciate the half-empty bottle of Vagisil Cream awaiting us on the back of the toilet.

But I do have a hard time believing that the maids had no clue that the molding towels hanging over the sides of the bathtub probably needed to be washed.

I mean, c'mon, they would have had to have held their noses while reaching across the tub to hang the clean towels in their place.

They were kind enough today to remove them from the middle of the living room floor where we piled them last night, fortunately . . .

As if that all weren't enough to grate upon my delicate nerves, then I finally snuggle into bed and in the quiet of the night I hear:

Click. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Click

[silence]

Click. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Click.

[silence]

Of course, the toilet would have to run too!! What a fool I'd be to think I wouldn't be serenaded to sleep by the sweet sounds of the plumbing in this magical world I call Hell in a Motel.

Okay, so it sounds pretty bad right?

Y'know, though, I could've stomached all of that . . . but one last event just ran my flag up the pole and had me swinging in the breeze.

Have you ever seen My Cousin Vinny, where the great and wise attorney Vincent Gambino stays in an old hotel only to be awoken by a train blaring its whistle and shaking him awake at 5 a.m.?

Funny stuff, huh?

Now imagine that happening 6 times in one night.

6 times.

One night.

Goodbye sanity.

Each time I would be rudely woken by the blaring of the freight train's whistle, and then gently rocked back to sleep by the vibrations of the train as it rumbled along the track just outside my 3rd story window.

I have yet to imagine the genius that would choose to build a hotel right next to what I have come to conclude must be the busiest freight train corridor in all of the great state of Texas.

But when I find him, I'll invite him over for a sleepover.

In the meantime I've decided to utilize the foam wonders of modern technology that are Ear Plugs (provided free of charge by the Wonderful Texas Tech School of Law Library).

I just hope I hear the alarm in the morning.

Lose my sanity or lose my job: your choice.

Shout Out to my Peeps in "M" Town

2006-06-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

That's right! The Big Time! Midland, Texas, in the hizzouse! Holla!!

Ha ha, I am such a geek . . .

But I've noticed several of my faithful few who've stuck with me through my sporadic posting since the end of the semester,

are from Midland.

Which, of course, is where I will be heading myself in 3 weeks.

I made the mistake of telling someone this a few days ago . . .

After noticing her blank stare I started to explain:

"Oil & Gas country, salt of the earth, home of President Bu--"

And she promptly cut me off.

"Yes, I know," she said with the same stare. "And I'm wondering if you could take him back with you when you go."

I did think that was funny. Perhaps it was the delivery.

So, anyways, I want to know from my "M" Town peeps: Would I want to raise my soon to be little Baby Misery there??

If you will respond, I won't call Turner & Davis and tell them you are reading blogs when you should be slavishly toiling away for the ridiculous price of, what, $1900/week? at a Midland Firm of all places . . . I mean, don't you have expensive lunches, golf, dinners at a partner's house, and the even the occasional memo to attend to?

good grief.

Baby Names

2006-06-16T09:01:00.000-07:00

For those who are interested . . .

It will definitely be "Baby Misery"

And then, as the baby gets older, he/she will become "Little Misery"

And, finally, should I still be blogging away in 15 years (as unlikely as that is) . . .

He/She will be "Big Pain in the Ass"

Here Comes the Sun

2006-06-16T07:02:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning, as I still had not completely found the ground yet after the news of the day before,

I was walking to the Metro when I realized the world looked different to me. Much different.

When I got to work I sent my wife a text message that read, "I don't know about you, but I can't help but look at everything different today."

She replied asking me what I meant.

As I explained:

I am not completely sure, but like less selfishly-- like "this is the world our parents gave us but we have the power & responsibility to make it a bit better before passing it on to 'Little One'" and so, y'know, it makes me want to work harder to try harder to make her world better, because mine is what it is, but we don't have to accept her's yet.

So first thing we do? Kill all the Lawyers.

But don't worry, the Tree-Hugging Hippies are next.

And Then There Were Three . . .

2006-06-13T13:02:00.000-07:00

I am going to be a father.

She asks, as I sit speechless on the other end of the phone 2000 miles away from her, what I think . . .

But I can't speak.

I am going to be a DAD!!!!

If You Want a Steak . . . Speak-a da English!

2006-06-09T15:21:00.000-07:00

Last week I was in Philadelphia . . .

And, among all of the sights the city has to offer,

there was only one in particular I just had to see . . . and smell . . . and taste . . . before leaving.

I wanted a real Philly Cheesesteak.

Little did I know that as I sat on the corner of 9th and Passyunk in the City of Brotherly Love on a rather cold and rainy Saturday afternoon in June,

the very establishment I was enjoying was becoming embroiled in controversy of its own making.

Little did I know that Geno's was . . . [gasp!] . . . a nasty bitter racist and pro-American.

Had I known at the time, of course, I would have taken a picture of the sign that has brought so much trouble upon the man.

It is a simple sign, close to the order window, that reads:

"This is America. Speak English."

Now, if you have never eaten a real Philly where real Philly's are born at the corner of 9th & Passyunk . . . well, then maybe you wouldn't understand.

You just can't waste time when ordering a Philly by worrying about the translation. You step up, you quickly and precisely place your order ("Wiz Steak, wit onions 'n mushrooms"), and then you hand him the money (which has been calculated with tax on the sign already so as to make a nice simple transaction).

Listen, again, you don't waste time.

You have to move on to a second window before you can even order your drink and fries.

So how hard could it possibly be to speak English when ordering a Philly???

But now the Philadelphia Human Relations Commission is threatening action . . . because?

Joey Vento, the owner, is apparently discriminating in a public place.

Again . . . because?

He wants to understand you when you order your "Steak wit provolone, no onions."

Geno's is a wonderful place. And most people I talked too prefer Geno's.

But if you are too damned stubborn to learn "Steak wit American, wit onions" in English (even I learned to say it in a South Philly accent),

Then just go on across the street to Pat's. And I'm sure they'll accomodate you there.

These pictures I took last weekend. And I am telling you, the Liberty Bell doesn't have a thing on a real Philly if you are trying to budget your time.

And, if you are curious, Mrs. Misery and I preferred Pat's.

The grease just dripped right off the bun. And, besides, Pat's was the place where the very first Philly was made in 1930. So you gotta give it mad respect, dawg.

Doesn't it look delicious?!

2006-06-09T06:14:00.000-07:00

Top 11 Things Anti-War Protestors Would Have Said at the Invasion of Normandy on D-Day.

How do you destroy a government?

2006-06-08T14:04:00.000-07:00

I was just assaulted by a LaRouche supporter.

I'm walking from the Capitol building to the Metro stop when I find myself posed with a blockade of wackos handing out Lyndon LaRouche propaganda.

"Wow," I think to myself, "he's been running for President since your parents were smoking pot and -- er, well -- from the looks of you they probably are still doing that. So how about since when it was actually cool for your parents to smoke pot. How's that? But, anyways, he's an old tired wacked-out egomaniac. Bunch of losers."

And I breach the lines with a violent shake of my head and a smirk.

But then one gutsy girl grabs my arm. This time I think to myself, "Wow, you should shave those legs. Or else not wear shorts."

And she says to me, yelling:

"Do you know how to destroy a government?!"

And I said,

"Yeah. Let the crazy liberals take over and run things."

I was about a quarter of the way down the escalator when a balled up piece of paper hit the back of my head.

I look back. She's smiling.

Then I think to myself, "You need to give this up and join the major leagues, Sasquatch."

But still, I can't believe . . .

I came all the way to D.C. and was assaulted by a Lyndon LaRouche supporter.

How embarrasing.

I'm a Traveling Man . . .

2006-06-02T12:47:00.000-07:00

and I've seen a lot of places all over the wooooorld.

Mrs. Misery has landed at BWI and will be heading over here to my office shortly.

Upon her arrival I have been granted a reprieve from my responsibilities for the remainder of the day . . .

And so, after taking her to see the Constitution, Declaration, Bill of Rights, and Magna Carta at the Archives

And having a giant egg roll from one of the street vendors

We will hop on a train at Union Station and head up to Philly for the weekend!

We are staying at the Comfort Inn Downtown which, even being a Comfort Inn, will still cost me about $170/night.

But don't call asking for Mr. Misery. Or try to come so you can get a picture or anything. Or an autograph on your left breast. (Which would be completely inappropriate in front of Mrs. Misery, please . . .) We will be staying under an assumed name, I'm sorry.

And, ever the true geek, I will bring my laptop and a movie for our viewing pleasure. National Treasure, to be exact. So that we can now, y'know, truly live in the movie.

This is the Title for This One

2006-06-01T23:30:00.000-07:00

So I am sitting at my desk reflecting upon my post from this morning about D.C. Egos while eating my lunch . . .

When I get a phone call saying that [So-and-So] from Congressman [What's-his-name]'s office is on the phone, can I take the call?

No, I can't, I want to make him wait so he'll think I'm just as--if not more--important than he.

(Actually, though, I have found in my short time here there is some benefit to playing at least a day's worth of phone tag with a person before finally connecting. Doing so puts each person on notice that the other is an extremely busy and important person and can't sit around waiting for a call . . . because, uh, he has an appointment with, uhm, "the Mexican" at, uh well, the sandwich shop around the corner . . . of course.)

But, no, I took a sip of my drink to wash down my last bite of "The Mexican" and announced to [So-and-So] from Congressman [What's-his-name's] office that I was present and ready to talk.

And about a minute after I took that official I-Know-What's-Going-On-Trust-Me tone, I wanted to stop and say

"Look, [So-and-So], you're about--what--25? 26? You can't be any older than me. I've it on good authority that they put you in the canoe and sail you into the horizon when you turn 28 around here. So, anyways, this is the way it is . . . I'm going to stop pretending I have any clue what's going on around here and I'm going to tell you what my boss wants to do with this thing, this "issue" and I'm hoping you'll tell me what your boss wants to do with this thing, er issue, because this is about to become a really big thing-slash-issue and my boss wants to get in on it--from the litigation side, not the legislative side, because--well--we all know that in today's government the courts have been dealing the cards for about 30 years or more now . . . so, how's that sound?"

But I didn't do it, of course. I just tried to get off the phone as fast as possible because, honestly, at that point I didn't even need to talk to Congressman [Whats-His-Name]'s office anymore. In the course of playing phone-tag everything had taken a different direction.

Another thing--

I love who I work for. I think they are great. I think they do great work. They are honest and earnest and passionate about their purpose . . .

But working for them has taught me just why the federal government is so damned "Effed" up.

Everything is an "issue." This is an "issue" we want to be ahead of. This is an "issue" we want our names out there on. This is an "issue" we care/don't care about.

But everything, everyone thinks the same damned way.

America is a country of 300,000,000 "issues."

Minus the people running around here, of course.

And so I'm working on a project that could potentially, if i'm successful and ingenious enough, affect the life, security, and livelihood of somewhere between 5 and 11 Million of these "issues."

And that doesn't make me important.

It just makes me careless and cold when I treat it as nothing more than an academic exercise and not give it the thoughtfulness and respect the "issue" deserves.

Wow. I'm starting to sound more and more like "Mr. Smith" than Mr. Misery every single day . . .

"Just get up off the ground, that's all I ask. Get up there with that lady that's up on top of this Capitol dome, that lady that stands for liberty. Take a look at this country through her eyes if you really want to see something. And you won't just see scenery; you'll see the whole parade of what Man's carved out for himself, after centuries of fighting."

D.C. Talk

2006-06-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

Ego.

I'm swimming in it--mine as well as everyone around me.

Yesterday I caught myself . . .

I had spent two days on the phone with the offices of various Senators and Congressman in an effort to decide whether we'd like to get involved legally on an immigration issue,

And so yesterday afternoon I call Mrs. Misery and tell her:

"This is so cool! I feel as if I'm doing something so important finally . . ."

But that's not really what I felt. I didn't think I was doing something important. I just thought I was important.

I mean, it is really cool to call up a Senator's office--get his top aide on the phone--and say "Hi, I'm [Moonlighting in Misery] and I'm with [Important D.C. Public Interest Firm]."

And he is grateful you've called.

I suppose I can't keep fighting the Ego. Its never going away. I'll just have to try and keep it in check.

On another note, last Friday I got my first taste of bitchy bossy attorneys.

We were filing a brief in a big lawsuit with national implications and Friday afternoon my responsibilities had become to make sure we were following all of the local court's rules and knew how exactly to e-file the amicus.

After several disastrous phone calls with the walking-talking-stick-up-her-butt at the e-file help desk, in which she would not let me explain my question, would curtly answer a question I was not asking--and answer it wrongly--and then hang up on me . . .

After all that the attorney finally asked to speak to her, and after fumbling around with her for another 5 minutes on the phone (its a miracle she didn't hang up) he finally led her to the answer he wanted, and he received the e-mail address he wanted.

So he hangs up the phone and begins to write down the e-mail address. But he writes it down wrong. And he looks at it. And he asks me--temper rising-- "Wait a minute! What is this e-mail address?? What court did you have me at?!"

Initially caught off guard, I pointed to the computer screen and replied, "This is the right court. Look."

"Did you have me in state court?! I don't want to be in state court! Federal Court, Federal Court!! I've had a clerk do that before . . .," he roared at me.

Again, a bit speechless, I pointed to the screen and said, "See, no. Its the right court. Look, New York City."

At which point he lost it.

He turned around, threw his hands in the air and began walking towards the door cussing at me. He then turned around and threw my pen in my direction. It hit the desk and bounced off to the floor. He hit the door jam with one fist and yelled,

"No, g--dammit, what have you done?!"

By this time my confidence had returned in full force. And I sat in stone cold, almost bored, silence just staring at his temper tantrum. When he was finally done, and quiet, I spoke:

"No. If you will stop and look. The southern district of New York is located in New York City."

My fellow clerk, whose ego he'd beaten on a bit earlier, sat in the next office fighting back tears given the commotion.

The attorney, on the other hand, brightened suddenly and came around the desk to look over my shoulder.

He put his hand on my shoulder and said four words: "I take that back."

Then left.

I waited a few minutes then e-mailed him with the actual e-mail address.

But he has been super nice all week long since.

Capitol-sized Pain in the Ass

2006-05-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

I live about a block from the now-infamous Rayburn building on Capitol Hill. I work on "Embassy Row."

Of course I was initially enthralled yesterday by the reports of gun fire and the lock-down of the Capitol. But it did not take long before I'd realized the whole thing was--if not a hoax--definitely a mistake.

There is no shortage of security forces on Capitol Hill. And they are all looking for something to do. From the cop standing on the corner yelling at people who cross the street against the light--("You can't cross!" "Sorry!" "Sorry'll getcha killed!")--to the cops picking up drunk Kennedys off the Capitol steps, to those getting beat on by angry black Congresswomen . . .

They all want something to do, they all want a story they can tell over dinner.

How would this sound to you:

"How was your day, hunny?"

"Fantastic. I stood in the same place for 10 hours today. Holding a machine gun. All I did was watch tourists, staffers, and Congressmen pass me by without notice. Oh, wait, that's not quite true. There was the group from Arkansas that thought I was supposed to be like one of those Royal British guards and not move and stood around taking pictures making faces at me. I don't think they were so happy when I did move, though, and ruined their picture . . ."

BUT, lets say his response was something like this--

"AWESOME!! I finally got to put my training to good use!! I heard shots fired and immediately responded to find a jerk-off with a piss-ant little handgun hiding behind that jack-ass Congressman's BMW--you know, the one that turned me in last month for not calling him "sir"--and I took out BOTH the piss-ant gunman AND the BMW. It was totally sweet!!!!"

Sounds much better, right?

So then if shots were fired yesterday--real shots--then which Capitol police officer heard it and responded and could confirm there was actually gunfire?

None, right? Not really.

So, c'mon, we all knew it was a hoax. But, hey, as long as no one got injured what's the problem. And that same Capitol Police officer got to go home to dinner last night and answer the same question with . . .

"My day was great! We got to lock all of the Congressmen in their offices while we played a few hands of Texas Hold 'Em in the basement . . . It was totally sweet!!"

Yet Providing Still More Proof

2006-05-26T22:43:00.000-07:00

There is this girl--no one is quite sure who she is or where she comes from--that insists on spending her free time here. She just shows up. For no apparent reason, even. There will come a knock at the door and one of my many roommates will let her in.

Do they know her? No! But she'll walk right in and have a seat beside us watching t.v. Then she will join right in the conversation as if she has always belonged.

And one of her favorite pasttimes is, I have come to learn, sticking her foot in her mouth.

Yesterday she shows up and tells us she has just turned 21 and is looking for someone to go happy-hour-hopping with her. She looks to one of my fellow male roommates. We will call him Pacey because he faintly resembles the character.

So she directs this question in Pacey's direction. And Pacey shrugs . . .

[Pacey]: Ehhhhh. I'm kinda just a boring guy and don't like to go out much.

[Foot-in-Mouth Girl]: Oh? Are you the guy law student I've heard about?

At this point I am sitting at the other end of the table, and I chime in:

[Mr. Misery]: Nope! That would probably be me--the boring law student. I am so glad my reputation precedes me.

If you ever required more proof that Law School makes you boring . . .

There it is right there.

Growing Up Hippie

2006-05-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday one of the attorneys walked into my office and spotted the Tom Wolfe book sitting on my desk . . .

Attorney: Hey, which one of his is that??

Mr. Misery: I Am Charlotte Simmons.

Attorney: Ah. I didn't recognize the cover. Is it good?

Mr. Misery: Yeah. Very. I haven't attempted a Tom Wolfe book since I tried reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.

Attorney: That is a little before your time, isn't it?

Mr. Misery: Yeah. A little. My mom gave it to me when I was a teenager.

Attorney: It sounds like your mom was a little Beatnik--naming you after [60's singer] and reading The Electrict Kool-Aid Acid Test.

Mr. Misery: Yes. She was. A few years ago I went on a "Canterbury Tales" type journey with her to see Janis Joplin's hometown and museum. Very beat.

Attorney: Okay. So with your mom being such a flower child . . . how did you end up here, uh, working for us?

Mr. Misery: Well, my mom was a hippie. How else could I rebel but become a conservative instead?

Don't Mess With Texas

2006-05-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

Outside of our "house" here in D.C. is a courtyard. In this courtyard tonight they are having a party. The person hosting the party owns the building from which we lease this glorious palace . . .

And so some freakin' Einstein runs an extension cord in through our window, through our kitchen sink, and plugs it in on the other side of the cabinet.

Nice.

But what makes it worse, is that the cord is being used to plug in a band. A band of old men. Old white men. Who think they can rock. And they clearly don't.

He was trying to sing "Amarillo By Morning." And it was very very sad.

Just when I thought I'd reached my breaking point, and decided I'd go have a talk with the lead singer and ask him to please stop slaughtering my culture with his awful rendition of my homeland's music . . .

I walked outside . . . and straight into a Secret Service Agent.

I think my breaking point will have to put up with this blasphemy tonight.

Okay, 'Stros Fans . . .

2006-05-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

They embarrased themselves tonight . . .

Losing to the freakin' Nationals like that -- what were they thinking??

This is RFK Stadium, the aging home of the Capital's boys of summer.

As for my time in D.C., there hasn't been too much to report. I've been far too busy to make an attempt at stretching any of my day-to-day experiences into some semi-humorous post for this blog's benefit.

But I can say this . . .

I you like Law School and its ego-maniacal brand of groupies prancing around proclaiming how great they are and how sad the rest of the world must be in comparison . . .

Wow, you will love D.C. I freakin' guarantee it.

The problem is -- D.C. is a sleeping city. It is like white-washed tombs. I completely understand the battle cry of D.C.-ites: "Taxation Without Representation." It is on their license plates.

It is a city built and run by 9-to-5ers. When they day is gone, they are too . . . escaping to their homes in the suburbs.

If you want to see the real D.C., you'll find it on the weekends away from the tourists that take the 9-to-5ers place.

And I constantly here, "Don't go to such-and-such a place, its not safe, just look at the people there." And I am sure there is some truth, maybe a lot of truth, to what they are saying.

But so far, some of the nicest people I've met outside of Texas are the real D.C.-ites that call the city home every day.

Stupid !*$#@!% Tourists

2006-05-20T07:40:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Misery flew in last night to Baltimore/Washington International (BWI).

For those who don't know, D.C. is serviced by three airports (Reagan, Dulles, BWI). But of the three, BWI is by far the cheapest to fly into when traveling to D.C., and it is about the same distance from D.C. as Dulles.

But, still, it is a good 35 miles away.

Now you can make this trip by Metro taking a bus from the airport to the Greenbelt station, OR you can travel by Amtrak, OR you take the MARC train.

None of which were running last night when she arrived, so we initially decided to rent a car.

But, after arguing with the rental car company over their fees--and given that I did not want to drive anyways--we changed our mind and went in search of a taxi.

Around here it is, I believe, a federal crime for a Maryland cabbie to take a fare into D.C. . .

I mean, this is protected turf. Right?

So we're looking for the taxi cab stand when this guy asks if we need a taxi . . .

Well, sure, of course we do!

Little did I know, the guy wasn't driving a taxi but a sedan. (For those who dont' know, that's somewhere in between a taxi and a limo).

And by the time I arrived at the steps of the Capitol, the price was far far more than I'd anticipated.

How much, you ask, did I pay for this sedan ride?

With tip, $85.

Yes, eighty-five.

And it was still much cheaper than renting a car.

Contrary to Popular Opinion

2006-05-17T22:07:00.000-07:00

I am not dead.

I am in Washington, D.C., instead.

And I had to call the Solicitor General today. The Solicitor General. As if it was nothing.

This is a strange, strange city . . .

[And if you will keep checking back, I will begin posting on my life here in the Big -- uh, uhm -- Something as soon as I catch up with the pace of things here.]

Good Times, Good Times

2006-05-10T13:28:00.000-07:00

How I celebrated after taking my last final:

1. Changed the description of my blog to a "'somewhat anonymous' 3L at Texas Tech . . ."

2. Burned my Wills & Trusts outline while singing, "And its one, two, three, what are we workin' for/Don't ask me I don't give a damn, another year and I'll be 'the man' . . ."

3. Made a paddle in woodshop and then started cruising campus looking for pre-Ls to initiate. But then after an hour I realized that if they actually want to be in law school, they might actually enjoy the pain . . . and it kind of lost its novelty to me after that. (And its just not as much fun without O'Bannion around). But I do have this cool paddle still, so its all good . . .

. . . And its five, six, seven I'll be the man you all love to hate/ But there ain't no time to stop and cry, eww eee, those damned loans are high!

Four Days

2006-05-09T13:32:00.000-07:00

Four days from today I will arive in Washington, D.C. where,

after an initiation involving ping pong balls, a bucket, peanut butter, leather chaps, a 2 wood, and the polluted Potomac River

(and that's all just for the President's enjoyment),

I will come one step closer to being a "real lawyer". Well, for 3 months, then its back for one more year of law school before going to work for good.

But I hear the initiation is far less brutal the second time around . . .

Ingrid's Bookstore

2006-05-08T12:23:00.000-07:00

During the course of a conversation I was having with Anonymous Law Student the other day, I began to reminisce about living as a teenager in Lawton, Oklahoma.

(Well, "reminisce" may be a bit inaccurate. After all, doesn't that denote actually missing something? And I can hardly claim to miss it . . .)

But I had seized upon the memory of a used book I bought on a slow Friday night in the bustling metropolis of my childhood . . .

The book was The Subteraneans by Jack Kerouac. It was one of those books that is better purchased as a used paperback, that you can fold up and stick in your back pocket. But it is not the book itself that has been seared into my memory . . .

No, it is the establishment from which it was purchased that I will never forget. It was the circumstances surrounding the purchase that would certainly have made Kerouac himself gleefully appreciate the bohemian nature of it all.

Life in Lawton was probably--for all my complaints--as typical as life is for any teenager in any community of its size. If you didn't "cruise" or have the means and access to drink every evening, you had to be creative with your entertainment.

I am unsure which of my friends knew about Ingrid's Bookstore, or made the decision to visit in the first place, but I do remember the four of us--myself, Genius Friend, "DJ McNastee", and Braveheart--loading up Genius Friend's little white Dodge Neon and heading off to this fantastic world of . . .

. . . well, porn, of course.

Ingrid's was located in a declining strip mall that I think mainly consisted of empty storefronts bookended by Ingrid's on one side and a skanky dance club dive on the other. On the weekends during the evenings, guard was kept by a Hell's Angel-looking type that sat out front of the dirty glass door in a metal folding chair.

"Gotta see your I.D.s fellas before you go in," he'd said. And after fumbling with our wallets in a hurried effort to find ourselves approved, he opened the door and let us through.

The best way I can describe Ingrid's is: it was most definitely suffering from some sort of bi-polar disorder.

As we entered, the first sensation that slapped us in the face was the semi-sweet, musty aroma pervading the store. It was certainly not your typical retail establishment. And, although the store was as dimly lit as a junior high make-out session occurring in someone's un-parented basement, we could still see the faded carpeting was badly water stained in areas near the wood-paneled walls.

When you enter Ingrid's, you find yourself in a small room crowded with old metal shelves and book racks of varying sizes and colors. On the left the wall runs right up to a circular counter-slash-dusty and clouded glass display case. It is this wall and glass counter that divide the store into its dual personalities . . .

On the metal shelves and racks were a selection of books. All used, these were just plain books--mostly paperbacks--but they were not what most would consider trash. Ingrid had used copies of Catcher in the Rye, the Grapes of Wrath, Jack Kerouac, Shakespeare, Tom Wolfe, Dickens, and lots of Louis L'Amour. All decent books.

Many of these books were the kind, like I said, that you'd fold up and carry with you in your back pocket, reading them over and over again.

We spent at least 20 minutes during that first visit leafing through these books and only occasionally looking up to peer around the wall that divided the store. But after we'd worked up enough courage--with Braveheart leading the way--we eventually wandered over to the other side that makes up Ingrid's (and most certainly keeps the doors open).

There was the porn. And "adult novelty items."

And she had quite a collection. I think Ingrid must have been particularly fond of the magazine Barely Legal (not the blawg), because she must have had a copy of every edition since its first printing. In fact, she had copies of magazines I am still baffled to this day that they exist--or existed.

If you had a fetish, Ingrid's did too.

That was where I first realized--as if struck by lightening--that gay men do get old.

And, as if its not gross enough thinking about a sixty-five-year-old man and woman getting their funk on, its even more disturbing when you glance at the white-haired skeleton leafing through the Playgirls . . .

and shudder.

Across from the counter in this half of the store was a doorway guarded by a black curtain. My initial impression of this doorway was that this must lead to the offices.

But I think I was wrong.

Over the course of the time we spent browsing, I watched several men go from the counter to then disappear behind the black curtain. I watched a couple of them solemnly reappear and make a hasty retreat out of the store when their business had been fully conducted behind the curtain.

I can only now surmise what was behind that curtain. I am sure you can, as well. And you probably don't need any suggestions.

Well, after a good 30 minutes of browsing, I was satisfied with my selection of Kerouac's The Subterraneans. My compadres had made their selections, as well. Genius Friend, on the other hand, ever vigilantly afflicted with a higher sense of conscience than the rest of us had, decided not to give any of his money to Ingrid.

For the rest of us, though, the paying and conversation with Ingrid sealed the "magic" of that evening.

After checking out--I was first as I'd thought I'd beat a retreat almost as quickly as Genius Friend--I discovered that Ingrid sold pipes on the used books side of the display case. So I returned to ask about them.

Ingrid, herself, was a very large woman. And when I say "very large" I mean as in Dr. Phil-I-Need-Help-With-My-Weight-Before-I-Die large. She sat poured over the sides of a metal swivel stool behind the glass counter and was as sweet and as charming as you could imagine.

Braveheart (whom I need to post about sometime), ever the conversationalist, struck up a discussion about Ingrid's bookstore and her chosen occupation. We commented on her great selection of books, and admired the pipes as I purchased one. Comments on her exhaustive supply of porn and objects of fetish delight were left unsaid, thankfully (Braveheart often lacked that "filter" most have), but we all were thinking it.

Then Braveheart asked about the competition--Christy's Toybox--which is actually a chain of adult novelty stores that you can find in Oklahoma and Texas and, I am sure, other states as well.

To this came a reply that I will never forget, and to this day it makes me smile when I think about it.

Ingrid, as sweet as can be, looked up at all of us and said . . .

"If you'uns want to go to the Dillard's of porn shops . . . Honey, you just go right ahead on over to Christy's. And you'll pay Dillard's prices too--for your pleasure. I guarantee . . .

"But darlin," she added without hesitation, "If you want a reasonable thrill at a reasonable price, well, that's Ingrid's. I run the Wal-Mart of porn. And I'm damned proud of it . . ."

We were just 18 growing up in what we took to be a know-nothing little town in the know-nothing little state of Oklahoma. It was either be creative with our time our collect our change and get our older friends to buy us alcohol . . .

We did plenty of both. But I look back and sincerely wish I would have spent more time appreciating the wealth of interesting characters that surrounded me growing up.

That must be the difference between a man like William Faulkner and myself . . . he was busy watching; we were too busy growing up.

Just a Thought

2006-05-05T11:26:00.000-07:00

Civil Procedure is such a waste of a Law Student's time, no one remembers that crap anyways . . .

As 1Ls, our minds are still so full of mush that we--well, most of us--end up taking it all over again when we've "grown up" enough to really grasp what the hell law school is all about.

But then they've just renamed it:

Conflicts, Complex Litigation, Federal Courts . . .

They're all just different ways of reteaching all of the stuff we were supposed to have learned in Civil Procedure that they knew we wouldn't.

A Post for Today

2006-05-03T14:30:00.000-07:00

Copyright is done with. At least now I know what I can rip-off and what I can't.

Well, maybe I do . . . I guess we'll know for sure when the grades come back. To be on the safe side I won't start stealing from anyone until then.

Occasionally that urge to get into a fist fight surfaces in me for absolutely no reason at all, and I begin to walk with a little bit of a swagger and a hint of a sneer just daring some cocky college kid to smart off.

And then sometimes someone arouses the feeling in me . . .

Like today, when the Gunner stopped me in the parking lot. He asked me how I did. I commented on Prof's greatly underestimating the time it takes to finish an exam . . .

He tells me he had plenty of time, but there was this one issue where he just wrote . . . blah blah blah . . .

And, being the imbecile I was at that moment, I replied: "Oh, really? I said that impacted the Merger Doctrine more than anything else . . ."

Yes. Great.

He spent the next 5 minutes trying to argue with me.

I didn't punch him. I did what Gunner's hate worst of all:

I ignored him.

To Kill a Mockingbird II: Boo's Back

2006-05-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

It came to my attention that on the same day the barricade was erected around the Demon Bird's lair, the flood lights in the law school parking lot stopped coming on at night. Apparently this occurred for about three straight nights . . .

On Thursday night, the day I first posted on this evil creature, I had gone up to the school to deliver some papers to the professor for whom I tutor. And as I slowly approached the barricade, two girls emerged from the black night . . .

"They've turned out the lights to appease the Bird," one law school betty commented as she nervously sipped from a cup of coffee.

"You think?" I asked.

"We know," the other chimed in. "It has been like this since they erected the barricade. They don't want to make him mad."

I chuckled. They responded with two very serious stares, as if to say shhh, he's listening.

Of course when I authored the last piece, it was predominantly tongue-in-cheek. How was I to know it was this serious???

I would have imagined the liability of the school for a few well-aimed pecks and lightly-bloodied scratches coming from our Malcontent Mockingbird would pale in comparison to the liability that would arise from a female law student being violently accosted in a pitch black parking lot.

But who am I to second-guess the judgment of the great decision-makers?

Perhaps I have underestimated the ferocity of this little beastly bird . . .

Saturday I again had occasion to go up to the school. And what I found was quite frightening. As I approached the area of our bad bird's bounty, my veins grew cold and I was suddenly stopped in my tracks . . .

What had once been a barricade meant to symbolize peace, was now violently overturned . . . with each post turned outward and the orange-and-white striped boards laying face down, still connected.

And atop the boards bounced two hurried pigeons pecking, pecking at the boards, as if to exlaim proudly the victory they had wrought.

This is war.

But I am not soon to find myself in the midst of an Alfred Hitchcock film. No, sir.

Isn't it the great public cry in these present times that diplomacy works best? Those those who are quickest to fight, are surest to lose? That we and our enemies can live in peace, and conflict need not be a zero-sum game??

I have discovered a sparrow is building a nest under the eave of my porch. And I am not about to drag my own house into this conflict; let the brave law students who tread their way up to school each day fend for themselves.

My wife and I have gone out and purchased a bird feeder, as an offering of peace. And more have come. I will go out and buy another today. I cannot keep up with their demands . . .

As I sit and carefully watch them watching me as they feed, I am reminded of a verse of Poe's:

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Nevermore.

You have greatly underestimated my ability to be a jerk.

2006-05-01T02:09:00.000-07:00

At the age of 18, when I'd first moved to Houston, I immediately took up seeing this Catholic girl we'll call "Jennifer."

Jennifer was a sweet girl, but she had greatly overestimated her ability to manipulate men using her sex appeal, case in point . . .

We started sleeping together the night I was considerate enough to attend her confirmation being overseen by the local archdiocese. I guess that is an attractive thing to girls. That was also my first experience with the stand up, sit down, kneel, sit, kneel, stand, kneel, stand, sit routine . . . and I'm still talking about the church, of course.

Anyway . . .

So one day after we'd been seeing each other for about a month, she calls me from where she is working at Krogers and says:

"I told my co-workers how sweet and romantic you are, and I also told them you would be bringing me roses tonight at work."

"Whoa. Hold on! You told them I am bringing you roses? But I am broke, and I wasn't planning on going anywhere tonight."

"You heard me. I told them you were bringing me roses. If you don't you will look very, very bad. So you have too . . . "

So I get dressed and I run up to the Albertson's across the street from the Krogers where she works. I spend what was basically my last $20 to buy her some roses. And I took them to her.

And I smiled. And I handed her the roses.

But as I did, I leaned in and whispered--still smiling--"Now go screw yourself."

Then I shook her co-worker's hand and left.

To this day it may have been one of the best $20 bills I have ever spent.

Struggling with Scalia??

2006-04-30T05:12:00.000-07:00

Given the fact that I have asthma, and there is what used to be a small amount of black mold growing in my spare bedroom after the "great flood" that resulted from 40 days and 40 nights of rain (from a leaking water heater), and I haven't been able to light a fire under the ass of my landlord to get over and take care of it . . .

I woke up this morning unable to breathe.

So I thought I would use the time to read a little more of these two new blawgs I mentioned in my last post. And discovered both have something in common . . .

Like most law students, they hate ConLaw. I, on the other hand, am a freak and I loved it. And so I spent endless hours contemplating the fine minutiae of various Supreme Court decisions.

And then I reduced it to flow-chart form.

So for the sake of my 1L friends struggling with ConLaw, I am posting my two favorite flow charts in the entire world. I do not warrant the accuracy of either chart, or guarantee that either will help you get a good grade. But I did fairly well, and I think it is easier than reading all of the cases over again . . .

Of course, before you can get any further on any ConLaw question you first have to look to see if the case is actually justiciable. Some profs love this aspect of the law more than others. But remember: ConLaw Profs and Supreme Court justices were law students once too, and they too will sometimes look to do nothing more than is absolutely necessary.

The Court loves to confuse hapless law students by calling the same tests by different names, but in reality nearly all tests can be broken down into 3 general categories for guidance (with some carrying an additional caveat or two).

Feel free to print these out and use them as you see fit. However, do make sure that if they are helpful you give credit where credit is due. If they actually cause you to fail miserably, to then drop out of law school and to end up with a job at Chuckee Cheese's . . . then you don't have to thank me.

If you find these hard to read (I had to shrink the file for posting), e-mail me using the address in my profile or catch me on AIM at "MiMonAiM" and I will send you a better copy.

Good Luck!

ADDENDUM: While I just increased the size of the .jpg files, you will probably still have a problem with their clarity. Unfortunately, I don't know how to host files on my blog. And don't have the time to learn. So if you want the files in MS Word format, please feel free to IM me or e-mail me. Like everyone else, I will be glued to my computer for the next two weeks.

If I'd have known this would be so popular, I would've posted my "Battle of the Forms" flow chart for Contract Law last semester. But if you'd like that now, let me know and you can have that too.

If I can ever figure out how to host files, maybe I'll post my outlines. Its not like they are doing me any good now so they ought to be helping someone.

New Blawgers

2006-04-29T11:03:00.000-07:00

For those who've been around the blawg-o-sphere for a couple years now, you might remember a blawg called "The Anonymous Law Student" written by a student at a NY law school.

As I remember it, it was a self-serving, egotistical, my-school-is-better-than-your-school piece of crap. But I read it anyways. It has been about a year since he stopped posting, which leads me to think it may have been a joke like Anonymous Lawyer . . . but I just never got that tongue-in-cheek feeling from it like I did AL.

Anyway, there is a new Anonymous Law Student blawging from Washington -- no, not the city, the state, in the NorthWest. And he is much more likeable than the last. I encourage everyone to check his blawg out. I've added the link to the side.

Also, I loved finding PrettyLawChick who writes LawSchoolThoughts. (Were all the other names taken?) She's a law student engaged to a steel mill worker. That should be an interesting story to keep up with. If he can still put up with you after 3 years of Law School, then he's a keeper.

To the Curious Professor

2006-04-28T15:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Curious Professor,

I understand that you are quite intent on figuring out who the person is that calls himself Moonlighting in Misery. My friend tells me that she has had some amusing conversations involving your theories on who I might be. I must say I am terribly glad that my blawg could finally bring her some small amount of enjoyment.

I am sure she will not crack anytime soon, either. At least I hope she does not. For if she does, and she no longer has you questioning her about this, then she would be left with nothing but the job of giving me a hard time for my awkward attempts at humor.

And I rather enjoy the momentary reprieve I've received.

Besides, do you really want to see the man behind the mask? I mean, maybe if I was Antonio Banderas in Zorro--sure! But, alas, I am no Antonio Banderas. And if I were I probably would not be spending my time writing some scantily read blawg besides. (I'd be busy doing something else with some scantily . . . well, nevermind, I think I'll keep that to myself).

Think more along the line of Tin Man's utter surprise when they found some balding middle-aged "Willy Loman" pulling a few levers and talking into a microphone behind a curtain.

Get the picture?

I have not been a student in your class--much to my misfortune, according to my friend. And I probably will not have the opportunity either. Though I do appreciate the small compliment you have bestowed by your continued reading and wondering who I am.

I will make you a deal, however. If you'd really like to know who I am, then I will tell you. But you must first buy one of my t-shirts and wear it to school, preferrably in front of your group of 1Ls. I could use the free advertisement, and it would be rather entertaining besides. Then I will seek you out and tell you.

Until then, I hope you continue reading. And I hope I don't make a complete and total ass out of myself much as our beloved Dunce Blawger did. I do promise, though, I will never mention the lining, or lack of, in your suits if you will continue to be kind about the humor, or lack of, in my writing.

Sincerely,

Moonlighting in Misery, soon-to-be 3L

Reason # 3,478 the Supreme Court was Wrong and should reinstate the death penalty for 17-year-olds

2006-04-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

THIS.

Disgusting.

To Kill a Mockingbird

2006-04-27T10:31:00.000-07:00

"I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he'd rather I'd shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted - if I could hit 'em; but to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird." (Atticus Finch, from To Kill a Mockingbird)

In the state of Texas, not only is it a sin, it is also against the law.

But I wonder what Atticus would have said had he attended TTU School of Law and had to worry for his life every time he walked through those glass doors to face the fear of a quick beak, a loud scream, and those "blood-soaked talons."

Probably not:

"I reckon because mockingbirds don't do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat people's gardens, don't nest in the corncrib, they don't do one thing but just sing their hearts out for us."

Here at Tech Law we are in the midst of a great brooding uprising, urged on by one noble soul bereft of fear and courageous enough to stand up and declare:

No more will I fear the mockingbird!

It all began last week with this e-mail . . .

Fellow Students:

Last night, as I was leaving the law school, I notice a bird approaching me at an alarming rate of speed. I assumed he would divert his course, but I was wrong. Dead Wrong. The bird furiously attacked me by dive bombing my backpack and head. I took off my cap and swung at it, but this bird is, to say the least, fearless. Needless to say, I looked like a mad man, running around swatting at a bird with my hat. When I made 50 or so yards away from the tree located on the left side of the circle, the attack subsided. Finally, I was safe.
Having completely forgotten this malicious attack (likely from repression of the frightening events), I walked by the same tree this morning. Suddenly I felt something hit my arm, and as I turned, I saw an angry bird, fiery hate burning in its eyes. Again, I sped my pace and narrowly escaped a gruesome fate.

I tell this story not in jest, but to protect each and everyone of you. I propose a call to arms where we each go to Wal-Mart to purchase a Red Rider BB gun and rid the world of this hateful and dangerous creature.

Mr. Courageous

And what has ensued has been a harrowing nightmare for us all . . .

Attack after attack, we all live in fear. Those beady eyes. That sharp black beak. That blood-curdling screech as you know, you feel . . .

Your time is at hand.

But, alas, our fearless administration has stepped in to save the day!! The sages have determined the problem can be solved by a barricade, a police line, a cordoned-off crime scene. They have attempted to make peace, to strike a repose, by promising the evil demon creature that we will not pass into his territory if he will not pass into ours.

The sign says it all, no?

But the Malcontent Mockingbird refuses to recognize our offering of peace, and has not been satisfied by the barricade--choosing to chase our innocent brood regardless of where we travel.

And even the local media has picked up on the story. "Murderous mockingbird terrifies helpless law students! Story at noon!"

As far away as Austin, our plight has become known. No one is safe.

As I write this, I have locked myself into my room. Professor, I won't be coming to school today. I probably won't be taking my final either. Can you just forward it to the e-mail address above?

I feel it will be safer that way.

Until someone is brave enough to have a little "come to Jesus" session with our Mockingbird . . .

He Got the Clap; I Gave It Proudly

2006-04-27T09:16:00.000-07:00

Many blawgers, including myself, have written about the somewhat bizarre ritual of applause that we Law Students are expected to give to each professor on the last day of class . . .

And I think most would agree that at least 50 to 75% of the time, the applause is more formality than genuine appreciation.

But with the professor of which I spoke yesterday--especially following his legal equivalent of Churchill's "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" Speech--the applause I gave was willingly doled.

But, best of all, he did not linger to wallow in it.

No. He jogged out.

I just wish, when he had reached the top of the stairs, he would have turned--still jogging in place--and raised his arms victoriously in the air.

If his speech did not make the whole semester worth it, that would have. Most definitely.

NOTE: My post yesterday was meant to be a bit of an homage to this professor. As is my policy, however, I did not give his name. Neither will I give his name without his permission. But if you are that professor, and you've stumbled upon my oh-so humble blawg, I will gladly give you credit if you e-mail me. You can find my e-mail by clicking on my profile to the top right.

"Five Years"

2006-04-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

A Professor walked into class today and began by saying, "I am entitled to one free op-ed a year. Now I've probably used more than that already, but I'm going to rant today."

And then he gave us his 6 essential lessons on being a lawyer.

I have done the best I can to rewrite his speech, and I probably did not do it the justice it deserves. But I think it important that more than those fortunate enough to have him as a professor get to hear what he has to say. For this reason I have done my best to faithfully--though definitely not completely--recreate that lecture here.

He began with the two words: "Five Years."

1. You are not a real lawyer until about 5 years after you graduate.

Give yourself five years of making mistakes and freaking out before you finally become a decent lawyer. That doesn't mean that after 5 years you won't make any more mistakes, it just means you won't freak out when you do. When you make a mistake, fix it. Don't ignore it and hope no one will find it. Just fix it and move on. But after 5 years--between 3 and 7 years out of law school--you will be at your most marketable. You've just spent 5 years making mistakes on someone else's malpractice insurance. That's when people are really willing to hire you, and that brings me to my next point . . .

2. Never stop looking for your next job.

I don't care how much you love where you are, very very few people work for the same firm for 30 years. Keep checking the papers, the journals, register with a good headhunter and then check up on what they may have for you. No matter how happy you think you are, you never know you may be happy somewhere else. Just keep your options open; never stop looking for your next job.

3. Never be afraid to ask for money.

Each hour of your time given to the work of a client, even a friend, takes an hour away from you, your family, your life. Your time is all you have. So every time you let a client walk away with 2 free hours of your time you die a little. And while that 2 hours may not mean much, a lifetime later you can look back on all of the time you gave away by taking that time from you and your family and it will make you miserable.

4. Learn to say "no."

We are all lawyers, we are all people pleasers. We hate to say anything but, "yes." You have to learn to tell your family no. Churches, organizations, you have to tell them, "no" or they'll have you on every committee, doing every job imaginable because you are a lawyer. I once had to fire a minister. You want to talk about a bad feeling, try walking into a pastor's office, looking at him with that big picture of Jesus behind him, and telling him he's being kicked out of his house. That will teach you to say "no."

5. You can't have everything.

You can be competent in a lot of things. You can be pretty good in a couple of things. The truth is most of us will not be the best lawyers in the state of Texas. Don't try. Take comfort in that. Be the best father, the best mother, the best boy scout leader, whatever . . . Next time you see a picture on the front page of a magazine of Mr. "Big Shot Lawyer" stop and think: I wander what his wife thinks of him? What is kids think of him? When was the last time his neighbors borrowed his lawn mower? When was the last time he got to read a book? Or take a nap? The look at what you have that he probably doesn't. And be happy.

6. Finally, don't compartmentalize your life.

Just remember this: Being a lawyer is the greatest job in the world. You aren't digging for coal, you aren't picking cotton--that makes this a good job! You come here for three years and you leave and get to wear nice clothes, drive nice cars, and everybody thinks you are smart. You may be the worst lawyer in the world but you ask your aunt or uncle and they'll smile and think you're a genius. In nothing else can 3 years of education get you all of the benefits that law school does. And, just between you and me, you really don't learn a whole lot in those 3 years either. Being a lawyer is absolutely the greatest job in the world. Go out and enjoy it!

Let's Bring it Down for a Moment

2006-04-24T11:04:00.000-07:00

I just have a few thoughts I'd like to share with everyone today . . .

The Good: Special Champions.

I attended the Special Olympics of North Texas on Saturday. I used to think the "special" in Special Olympics was like that "special" as in "riding the short bus" special.

I have changed my mind.

This "special" definitely refers to the fact that out of 365 days in the year, the most meaningful, most fulfilling, and most entertaining day you can spend in that year would be volunteering to help at these Games or at least attending and cheering on the athletes.

My sister-in-law won a 4th place ribbon in the shot-put, 3rd place in the standing long jump, and 2nd place in the 50 meter dash.

I can't tell who got more out of it -- her or me.

The Bad: Arrest of Dr. Wang at White House.

Dr. Wang, pictured below, was arrested last week on the lawn of the White House and faces 6 months or more in prison for "threatening a foreign official."

She used her press pass to demand attention for the human rights abuses occurring in concentration camps in China set-up for the harvesting of the organs of innocent Chinese citizens being persecuted for practicing Falun Gong exercises.

President Bush apologized to Chinese President Hu Jintao for being confronted with Dr. Wang's outburst. The U.S. Government refuses to recognize or investigate that any such abuses may be occurring.

The chapter of International Justice Mission here at Tech Law will be hosting a speaker on Thursday who has been advocating more awareness of these human rights abuses that have been occurring for 7 years now.

The Ugly: TomKitten?

All weekend long I could not pick up a magazine, turn on the news, or check my favorite news sites online without being slapped in the face by news of Tom and Katie's new baby.

I really could care less . . . unless, of course, the child turns out to be the promised alien messiah who will be taking us all back to the home planet. In which case, I would like to know so I can start planning my departure.

I did hear on the radio this morning a report that TomKat was wrong about the name they chose for the baby. As the report said, they thought it meant "Princess" but it turns out it may mean "Pick-Pocket" instead.

After Minority Report and War of the Worlds, how appropriate.

In the Interest of Equal Time

2006-04-19T11:19:00.000-07:00

It has been pointed out to me that yes, indeed, Ninjas can be vicious creatures. And Ninjas, being mostly human, can also make mistakes.

If Ninjas make mistakes then that must mean there are some people who may find themselves the innocent victims of Ninja violence . . .

So to provide equal time to Pirates after my admittedly Ninja-sympathetic post of yesterday, I am providing this space as a public service announcement to any who may have been the innocent victims of random Ninja violence.

So, here it is:

Trouble with a Ninja?

Ninja Victims, you should know you do have someone on your side who is willing to fight for you.

Call Captain John Hooke Silver, Attorney at Law (who does not like ninjas) and he will get ye the booty ye deserve.

Government is Pro-Pirate, Anti-Ninja Actions Show

2006-04-18T15:33:00.000-07:00

In this MiM update regarding the great Pirate vs. Ninja debate, we discover the real truth regarding the U.S. Government's supposed neutral stance on which of the two --Ninjas or Pirates -- is totally the sweetest:

Dateline Lubbock -- Last Tuesday, federal officers with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, & Firearms -- in a daring and certainly suicidal attempt to rid the University of Georgia campus of its Ninja faithful -- tackled and forcibly detained one black-robed greenfoot as he was slinking his way across campus in broad daylight.

The ATF special agent in charge Vanessa McLemore, defending against any allegation of discrimination, replied to questioning by pointing out, "Seeing someone with something across the face, from a federal standpoint -- that's not right!"

Despite the government's protestations, Ninjas across the University of Georgia campus quickly realized that a plan for systematic persecution had been implemented as signs sprang up around Macon, Georgia, announcing curfews applicable only to those of the clandestine-clad persuasion.

Signs announcing the new curfew were noticed immediately following the incident.

The Ninja response was quick in coming. They had released a video to the media by Thursday afternoon showing several members of a group calling itself Focusing Youth On Unity and More Acceptance for Ninjas (FYOUMAN). In the video, FYOUMAN made a plea for greater tolerance from the government in exchange for not totally freaking out and killing everyone in the city of 100,000.

The group made a plea for more tolerance from the government and Macon community.

Messages of support were directed at the Ninjas from various groups throughout the Macon community -- including one group, responding to McLemore's comment regarding facial coverings, that called for more solidarity amongst all the the mask- and hood-wearing groups across the nation.

"This is not the South of the 1950's," a spokesman for the group said. "Jim Crow is dead, and we ought to demand fair treatment for Ninjas. What happens to those masked in black could just as easily happen to those masked in white. By fighting for their rights now, we are ensuring we will have our rights tomorrow."

Spokesman for one group publicly supporting the Ninjas.

When asked for a comment, a spokesman for the Fraternal Order of Pirates muttered something about "Davey Jones Locker" and then returned to the conversation he'd been having with his bottle of rum.

Since Tuesday, the government has shown little resolve to continue with what at least one observer is calling a "pilot program for the intimidation and extermination of Ninjas across the country." This has not, however, put the Ninja community at ease. While things are quiet now, the atmosphere remains noticeably tense.

"Until the equal rights of all Ninjas have been recognized by either a democratically-elected body -- or a slight majority of 5 Supreme Court Justices -- we are all in peril," commented Macon resident Chris the Pirate Ninja. "And that is so not cool."

Knight in Shining Armor???

2006-04-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Elle at LegallyBlonde has called me her "knight in shining armor" because of my agreeing to now take over and head up the LegallyBlonde Feedback Department.

Really. There is absolutely nothing chivalrous about this.

I am just tired of getting all of these complaints second-hand in a copy-&-paste conversation. I think I'm the only one laughing when she passes them along, and I figure it will be funnier to hear it myself.

Don't think I actually want to talk to you if you IM me to complain about her blog. I'm just looking for a good laugh.

Don't let me down, people.

And you are welcome, Elle.

Law School Lesson of the Day #32

2006-04-12T10:24:00.000-07:00

Read and Follow Directions.

As a tutor, I've learned something extremely invaluable. I'll pass it along to you . . .

When our professors say one of the best ways to earn a good grade is by reading the directions --

Get this -- are you ready?

THEY AREN'T LYING!

As Law Students in the days and hours running up to the final exam, we spend our time frantically memorizing our outlines and attempting to get a firm grasp on the black letter law and its sometime esoteric theoretical applications . . .

We work so damned hard to grasp the concepts behind the Holder in Due Course, the Palsgraf rule, the Correlative Nature of Property Ownership, the Rule Against Perpetuities, the Hotchpots of various shapes and sizes . . . and so on and so on . . .

When -- like the lawyers struggling to remember a dead person can't sign a document -- we are having difficulty remembering a lesson we should have learned IN KINDERGARTEN

Follow the freakin' Directions!

Seriously. It works. We're going to be lawyers, shouldn't it come natural?

I don't know how many times I've shot myself in the foot before, but I swear I'm going to try this novel idea when I take my exams in May.

Pick Your Poison, Fellow Patrons

2006-04-11T09:32:00.000-07:00

The U.S. News & World Reports Law School Rankings are out! So who's buying???

Everyone is drinking something, though it is definitely more apparent with some than others . . .

Here at Texas Tech, our rankings regarding Trial Advocacy and Legal Writing -- which place us 14th and 23rd in the nation, respectively -- are being touted as a victory for the recognition of our school.

And yet, sadly, we have actually fallen a couple rungs down the Tier 3 ladder.

Being unsure of what exactly this all symbolizes, I've chosen to defer to you . . .

Either that or I just am far too indecisive to decide myself, but here are four possible thoughts:

1. Remember -- Law Schools are run by Egos, stocked with Egos, and supported by Egos. (Present company included, of course). And, though most deny it, Egos actually read the U.S. News & World Reports.

2. It is a sad commentary on the legal profession that a school which ranks so high in trial ad and legal writing -- two areas absolutely essential to the successful advocacy of your client -- can yet still be ranked so low . . . based on what? The publications of the faculty? Or the quality of the journal(s)?

3. Or, perhaps, it is a sad commentary on this school that, though it ranks 14th and 23rd in trial ad and legal writing, other aspects of the school are so poor that it can't be ranked any higher.

4. Or, finally, the Dean might be right. Maybe it is just a demonstration that regionally we're being recognized for our strengths . . . but on a national scale we are yet an "unknown" still "making our way in the world today" and, by God, its going to take everything we got!

All of the above could be correct. Though I do have a qualm with #4 . . . if regional recognition is enough to push those particular two programs to the top of the rankings, how come these same regional actors aren't also pushing the school as a whole up to at least the cusp of Tier 2?

Allow me to point out -- I don't intend to demean my school. On the contrary, I was accepted to and offered partial scholarships to schools ranked much much higher.

I came to Texas Tech because nothing offered elsewhere could beat free.

And I do not regret my decision. I do think this is a great school.

But there is a problem, of which the faculty and administration are aware. Isn't that the point of drafting a Strategic Planning Committee? Isn't that the point of desiring growth, development, and change?

But obviously strength in Trial Ad and Legal Writing is not going to make Texas Tech School of Law a formidable school. It will make good lawyers, but it won't make a nationally-recognized school.

There are areas screaming for improvement, areas in which we apparently are completely unwilling to budge from the traditional "maintain the status quo" mantra.

There is so much more I could possibly say on this topic, but this blawg is likely not the proper forum for such criticism.

Let me just end with this:

I watched A Bug's Life again over the weekend and I can't help but think of a line spoken by the Queen Ant in the movie . . .

"That is just the way it is. The ants pick the food; the grasshoppers eat the food. That is just our lot in life. It isn't a lot, but its our life . . ."
Visionaries can recognize the good, and yet still view the possibility of there being something better.

Throw Down Your Hammer, Thor

2006-04-10T14:28:00.000-07:00

My camping story is a lot less exciting than Walking Tort's.

After buying the fishing gear, tackle box, and tackle, adding to my other camping supplies, fueling up the car, and loading up the camping food and necessities,

we'd spent $200.

Then I called the Parks & Recreation department to ask how the camping was . . .

(I didn't need to know how the fishing was--it is early spring, the water is just warming up, and I could've landed more bass than . . . well, than . . . [insert your own relevant topical reference here])

And I was told not only was the statewide Burn Ban still in effect,

But I couldn't even light a grill to cook our hot dogs and smores.

. . . Uhm, what?

We still haven't had enough rain to ease up on the burning restrictions?

I'll tell you what -- don't be alarmed if you drive by my house and I'm dancing around the tree naked in my front yard. Maybe I can make the Big Man upstairs laugh until He cries, and we can get some rain . . .

Or at least maybe the state will let me have my campfire.

I am seriously considering moving to Seattle.

I Never Giggled When He Said The Word "QWERTY"

2006-04-07T09:29:00.000-07:00

The all-powerful soothsayers claim to know that in a few years laptop computers in the classroom will be a "thing of the past."

And I don't think they are referring to nuclear winter. (Check out the link!)

I would have to disagree, though. And not from an emotional perspective.

I think it is a matter of logic and economics:

Law Schools are run by lawyers. Lawyers have egos. Therefore, egos run law schools.

I continue . . .

Law Schools need students. Students want laptops. Therefore, students will go to the law schools that allow laptops.

So . . .

If egos run law schools, and law schools need students, and students will go to law schools that allow laptops

Then the egos will allow laptops.

One might question this logic, pointing out than an ego would also like to have a student's full attention in class.

To this I say:

1. Student's will never pay full attention in class. Sometimes even solitaire tic-tac-toe can be more exciting than a lecture on the Holder-in-Due-Course. AND,

2. Egos need students in the seats before they can hope to get their attention.

See, it is all a matter of logic and economics. It would take nothing short of a miracle for every law school to make a death pact, signed and initialed in blood, that they will not allow laptop computers before the unlucky bastards that choose to come to law school 5 or 10 years from now will have to worry about taking notes with a pencil.

But that will never happen. Because law schools are run by egos, remember? And an ego will use every tool for the advantage of being better than the rest.

Besides, don't you think the implications were discussed before the first school installed wireless internet and allowed laptops in the classroom. Sure! They thought about it and laughed because they were the first . . .

Oh well . . . I'm off to go camping. Catch you on the flip side.

Fun With Voir Dire

2006-04-04T09:09:00.000-07:00

During voir dire for a criminal trial in which the defendant has been charged with the intentional assault of his wife . . .

Defense Attorney: Uh, uh, uhm . . . Mrs. Rogers -

Prospective Juror: Roberts.

Defense Attorney: Sorry, Roberts. Mrs. -- uh -- Roberts, have you ever accidentally done something on purpose that you didn't mean to do?

Prospective Juror: Well, nothing that would put me in your client's chair.

This from the mouth of a St. Mary's grad . . . Sorry, St. Mary's.

MiM on E-B-ay

2006-03-31T21:30:00.000-08:00

Now the Moonlighting in Misery Shot Glass Candles can be yours. Check it out exclusively on Ebay.

They are totally sweet. Really.

Even sweeter than a Pirate Ninja named Chris.

But don't take my word for it, ask Walking Tort from Camel Nose Under the Tent -- she bought a set to call her very own last week.

And she was so excited when she got them, her head nearly exploded. No -- no really, I promise.

Because -- well -- they are totally sweet.

We Were Absent the Day They Taught That

2006-03-31T06:47:00.000-08:00

Lessons Not Taught in Law School That Should Be #72: Sharing is Good, Sharing is Right, Sharing is the best way to prevent a Fight.

I know a guy -- we'll call The Fonz -- that works for a litigation services company.

(For those don't know what a litigation services company is -- for a hefty price they'll do copying, produce electronic courtroom presentations, organize, sort, and store evidence, or generally anything else a lawyer doesn't want to do personally).

So back in January, during the NFL playoffs, the Fonz's company started giving away nerf footballs to their law firm clients.

At one particular mid-sized firm, the Fonz knew of a secretary who was a single mother raising an 8-year-old boy. So, being the cool guy that he is (I mean, he is the Fonz), he took one of the footballs along when visiting the firm and gave it to this secretary for her son. Then left.

Not two hours had gone by before he received a cell phone call from the receptionist of the firm:

"Mr. Fonz, the football you brought for [Secretary] was a nice gesture, but it has caused a lot of trouble. In fact, [Secretary's boss] took the football for himself. And I've been asked to tell you not to bring anything else to give away at the office unless you can bring enough for everyone."

So the Fonz -- quite furious -- immediately went back to his office, grabbed 20 more footballs, and took them to the Firm. He gave another one to the Secretary and told her to hide it, and dropped the rest off with the receptionist.

He then called me and yelled: "You all belong in kindergarten! Every last one of you!!"

I believe it was Shakespeare that wrote:

"The first thing we do is kill all the Lawyers!"

Amen.

Hector, Where's the Row? (A Political Rant)

2006-03-30T11:02:00.000-08:00

A Houston high school principal was ordered yesterday to remove a Mexican flag he'd hoisted up the school's flagpole as a show of support for his protesting students. He has complied, although grudgingly.

"It is appropriate to fly the flags of the United States and Texas over schools in the Houston Independent School District, since we are a public entity of the state," a spokesman for HISD was reported saying. "It would not be appropriate for the school district to advocate allegiance to a country other than the United States."

I think this has been taken too far . . .

When living and working in Houston, I had the opportunity to meet and befriend several Mexican immigrants. One man, to this day, I tout as being one of the most courageous and selfless men I have ever met.

Hector worked in an aerospace factory making between $12-15/hour. He was well known for his desire and ability to work massive amounts of overtime. In fact, it was not unknown for Hector to work 70-80 hours a week doing whatever was desired of him -- from the dirtiest job to the quality inspection of the product.

Hector was also a very friendly and soft-spoken man. A husband and father of 5 children, he was dedicated to giving them every ounce of opportunity America had to offer his family. His children had college funds, decent clothes, a computer, a good-sized house and a very loving mother and father.

Hector was born in the United States, thus guaranteeing his citizenship, but his parents and siblings were not. When he was young, his father and older brothers would migrate through California following the crops in order to make money for the family. Hector told me stories of how he and his mother would hop freight trains to go into Mexico to visit his family during the working season.

Eventually, Hector was given the opportunity to go to an American high school after his parents settled in Texas. He then went on to college and was well on his way to being the first in his family to obtain a college degree when his girlfriend became pregnant. He dropped out of school, married her, and they have built a wonderful family since.

To many, Hector is a problem. To me, he was a Godsend.

And while Hector was proud of his culture and his heritage, I never once heard him even allude to the thought he was a Mexican first . . . or even second.

He was an American, a Texan, just like me.

We could always benefit from more people like Hector, and if that requires an Amnesty program -- so be it.

Texans are quite proud of what Mexican culture has contributed to our unique state. Texas, as a political entity, was really born of an attempt by the Mexican government to attract Americans to settle in Texas alongside Mexican counterparts to build the area.

When the movement for Texas independence began, it was originally a joint effort of native Mexicans and white immigrants seeking recognition from the Mexican government of Texas as a separate Mexican state with its own state government.

Our culture is indisputably comprised of both Mexican and American counterparts.

But we are, and always have been, Texans first. We are Americans as a political reality and because, for nearly 150 years we have benefited from what opportunities being a part of the United States has given us.

I was raised and taught of the importance of America as the "great melting pot."

Our strength is derived from the many contributions all of the different cultures have contributed.

And, yes, Americans can be a bit ego-centric when abroad. But I have yet to see an American storm the French parliament in an attempt to replace the French flag with our own.

I am tired of watching this group benefit from all the opportunities America has to offer, without a willingness to really contribute back to what made America great.

At that Houston high school, the students are defiant and refuse to give up the fight.

"Some Reagan students said they will try to raise a Mexican flag again today. They said they want it to fly at least above the Texas flag on the pole."

Now here is something quintessentially Texan:

You try to take down my flag in lieu of yours while I am around, and you will only succeed over my dead body.

My Mouth is Writing a Check . . .

2006-03-29T11:32:00.000-08:00

If I've said it once, I've said it twice. And I will not hesitate to say it again:

Law Students whine way too damned much. WAY too much. They need to hold seminars on when to keep our mouths shut. Like right now -- I should probably just shut up.

But I am not going to. On the contrary . . .

I am going to keep typing and may even get myself in trouble.

DrudgeReport has posted a link to a story about a University of Memphis law professor banning the use of laptops in her class.

Not really much of a story, right? Definitely undeserving of Drudge . . . I thought.

But the story isn't what the law professor did, it is what how the law students responded.

They collected a petition. And then filed a complaint with the American Bar Association.

Because the ABA cares, right??

Yeah, uh, not really.

So now they're threatening to transfer schools if not allowed to use their laptops.

A fellow student commented to me: "Right, because law schools all over the nation must be clamoring to take in these disaffected University of Memphis geniuses . . ."

Uh, sure. But I don't think that matters . . .

After a little research, we've come to find this professor teaches Civil Procedure, Advanced Civil Procedure, and Evidence.

I couldn't have made it through that class without the internet.

I don't care if it was to the new Liberty University School of Law,

if I had to face Advanced CivPro without a computer, I might transfer too.

Hey, Want to Make a Run to Taco Bell With Me?

2006-03-29T09:15:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you a short little story about race relations in Texas.

(And a short story of how uncomfortable it is when a strange naked old man strikes up a conversation in the showers).

Back in 2002 I was cleaning-up alone in the showers of a Bally's Gym in Houston, Texas, when -- you guessed it -- a strange naked old man walked in and chose the showerhead directly beside mine. After only about 30 seconds of silence, his voice woke up and echoed off the tile walls, slapping me in the face.

Naked Guy: I'm retiring next week.

Mr. Misery: [silence]

Naked Guy: I'm moving up to Kansas, where my daughter lives.

Mr. Misery: [more silence]

Naked Guy: You lived in Houston long?

Mr. Misery: (nodding, resigned to the fact he was actually speaking to me) A few years.

Naked Guy: There's not much left for us here anymore besides. You should get out soon yourself.

Mr. Misery: What? Why??

Naked Guy: Look around you. There's no more America left. This place is more like NEW Mexico anymore.

Mr. Misery: [More Silence] (thinking to myself, "No, dippy, that is the state to the WEST of us.")

Naked Guy: Well, no matter, if you are the last one out . . . make sure and bring the flag with you.

As if on cue, at that exact moment a very large hispanic guy joins us in the showers. Conveniently, Old Naked Guy has finished washing, grabs his towel, and leaves. Completely stunned, and worried that the newcomer to the showers had heard the conversation and might think I was a willing participant . . .

I stayed and washed my hair again. Oh, yeah, I'm sure that reassured him. Though I can't say he didn't start to worry about my motives for sticking around then . . .

The fact is, there are a lot of people very worried about illegal immigration and -- even more -- the failure of many of these immigrants to assimilate into American culture.

In my experience, I've never met a Mexican immigrant who wanted to bring the Mexican government with him. And I've never met a first or second generation immigrant choosing to "live in the lap of luxury" and just loooovin' those food stamps on taxpayer's dollars.

But that is just my experience.

Now, of course, if your entire experience consists of watching on television as thousands of teenagers chant:

"Long live Mexico!"

And attempt to run the Mexican flag up the Courthouse pole . . .

Then you might start to worry.

And that is completely understandable.

All Hell Breaks Loose

2006-03-28T14:55:00.000-08:00

I received the following e-mail from my mother earlier this afternoon. It's priceless.

Just got a call from [Brother Misery], he was at the Stockyards in Ft. Worth making some calls and he saw all these hispanic kids meeting there, just swarming all over, they were getting in cars and heading for downtown to protest (he got caught right in the middle of them, they were swerving in and out of traffic, he said.) So he finds a cop and asks him if he knows what's going on and the cop didn't, so [Brother Misery] was like, "Man, there are hundreds of Hispanic kids headed for downtown, you better get ready for them." So he gets downtown, a couple blocks from the courthouse and there are thousands of them, climbing all over everything, protesting, fighting among themselves. I'm on the phone with him and I can hear them screaming in the background and [Brother Misery] says, "Oh my God! They just pulled down the American flag and they're trying to put the Mexican flag up." He said it was crazy. As he was leaving, he said hundreds of police started showing up, and there were reporters running towards the crowd.

Viva la Revolucion!!

That's all I have to say on the matter. . .

Public Service Announcement

2006-03-27T09:20:00.000-08:00

Should you choose to gratify yourself in a public restroom—especially when that public restroom is located in a semi-private area frequented by a limited number of people—please take the time to thoroughly clean up after yourself. Or, at the very least, use a stall that can be easily avoided.

Wow—I could say more. But I’m not sure I should’ve said so much.

ADDENDUM: To whomever left Friday's surprise -- Seriously. Be more careful. I could've broken my neck. And don't think I wouldn't have been able to establish gross negligence easy.

Random Thoughts on Wills & Trusts

2006-03-23T07:40:00.000-08:00

Friday brings a mid-term exam covering Wills and Intestate Succession.

Although I've been warned his tests are difficult, at this point I am extremely grateful I've taken this course with Prof. Wills&Trusts. Not only did he write the book -- well, all the books for the class including the E&E -- but he also recorded some review sessions and made them available in an audio format for download.

The only problem being . . . given Prof. Wills&Trusts style and rhythm of speaking, listening to the recordings is much like a bedtime story. I get too comfortable, begin to drift off, and then continually need to listen to it again. It took me 45 minutes to get through 18 minutes of audio.

"And this potential heir wanted an advancement,
And this potential heir wanted none,
And this potential heir wanted to be the sole beneficiary of a testament,
And this potential heir went 'we we we' all the way home."

Elle from LegallyBlonde helped somewhat last night by explaining a Will contest case she's working on right now. I was able to consider it in the context of Texas law, that helped.

But I still don't understand why some wealthy old man would honestly feel sufficiently threatened by his young girlfriend's threats enough to make her his wife. She's living on your sprawling estate, eating from your table, and dressing by your dime. It has been that way for years or more -- why change it months before you die, especially if you want to limit her role as a beneficiary by will.

Anna Nicole Smith, anyone?

I'd bet a majority of the Supreme Court enjoyed the oral arguments the day she came to D.C. I can just picture it . . .

Roberts: Clarence? Clarence?? Clarence?!?

Thomas: Chief?

Roberts: You are hanging over the bench. And drooling. Do you have a question for counsel?

Thomas: Uh, yes . . . Ms. Smith --

Roberts: A question for counsel, Mr. Justice.

Thomas: Okay, Counselor, if Ms. Smith were in my office and I was drinking a can of Coca-Cola, and I realized it had a hair on it . . .

The other Justices: Noooooo!

Okay, I realize its a lame thought. But it made me smile this morning. And that is what counts.

DISCLAIMER: Mary Wahne neither endorses the content of this blog, nor finds anything about it even mildy entertaining. That being said, Mary now owns Moonlighting in Misery and so just be thankful I have allowed him time to write this nonsense in between his picking up my dry cleaning and waiting on me hand-and-foot.

Update on Tech's Dunce Blawger

2006-03-21T13:30:00.000-08:00

The 1L student I used as an example of what not to do with your blawg,

And then chastised for her ridiculousness in handling the situation,

Has proven, once more, her inability to handle her problem . . .

All of those wonderfully helpful comments left on her ONLY post have been deleted, and she has chosen not to post since then.

Perhaps she has been spending her time applying to more reasonable law schools.

I mean this with all sincerity -- Good Luck!

DISCLAIMER: Mary Wahne neither endorses the content of this blog, nor finds anything about it even mildy entertaining. That being said, Mary now owns Moonlighting in Misery and so just be thankful I have allowed him time to write this nonsense in between his picking up my dry cleaning and waiting on me hand-and-foot.

On the Dry Erase Board

2006-03-20T13:05:00.000-08:00

On the third floor, which serves as the Law Review offices here at Tech Law, we have a white dry erase board . . .

On which you can sometimes find truth so inherently simple -- and yet so profound -- that it is likely to be passed without notice.

Today I find this:

Law Review = Time

Time = Money

Money to Some = Happiness

However

Happiness to Some = Time minus anything related to Law Review

I feel like the MIT professor who first discovered the completed equations on the board in Good Will Hunting. Amen.

DISCLAIMER: Walking Tort neither endorses the content of this blog, nor finds anything about it even mildy entertaining. That being said, Camel Nose Under the Tent now owns Moonlighting in Misery and so just be thankful I have allowed him time to write this nonsense in between his picking up my dry cleaning and waiting on me hand-and-foot.

Chris the Pirate Ninja

2006-03-17T19:06:00.000-08:00

I could not possibly have imagined just how thoroughly the subject of Ninjas v. Pirates had already been dealt with on the internet. In fact, it has led to some extremely heated and nasty debate at times.

My initial inclination was that Ninjas are totally sweeter because of their "skills." Y'know, like nunchuck skills, bowhunting skills, computer hacking skills . . . Because girls only want boyfriends who have great skills. And Ninjas have skills.

But Pirates have the beach. And boats. And alcohol -- lots of it. And gold. And Johnny Depp. And girls want those things too.

"Dave P" on one forum wrote:

Pirates by a long shot [they are] like nowaday rappers.

Always running with a crew
Always have lots of ladies (wenches) around
Tons of bling (treasure)
Dope rides (big ass boats)
exotic pets (parrots)
and way cooler slang than most people.

But then "LUDELVR" wrote in the same forum:

Man, I'm taking a training course on how to be a ninja, and yes, in the book I"m reading right now, it states in big black bold letters "Ninjas must be trained properly before they can flip out and kill everyone because if they're not, they will only kill half the city" It's right there!!!! So yah, unless they are not properly trained then you can only expect half the number of dead people!But....everyone always dies when a ninja flips out so logic would have that every ninja is well trained! :thumbsup: for the ninja!

And "buh_buh" wrote:

if a ninja can flip out and kill an entire city, what makes you think a ninja can't flip out and kill an entire ship full of pirates? We're talking a single ninja here. If there were 2 or maybe 3 . . .

So how can I choose between those two equally plausible arguments?

Simply, I can't. But then I discovered I don't have to . . .

Because there is one indisputable truth --

Regardless of which is sweeter -- Ninja or Pirate -- nothing is sweeter than a Pirate Ninja named Chris. Nothing.

No. Nothing.

So initially I was thinking neither MVaughan nor Walking Tort were right. Afterall, the hybrid trumps every argument, right?

But I didn't ask about a hybrid. And they were the only people awesome enough to vote on the question . . .

So they both win.

The first half of the week, this blog belongs to Walking Tort and the second half it belongs to the lovely Mary Wahne, given to her as a gift from MVaughan. So enjoy, ladies . . .

And enjoy your free t-shirts. Pictures of the shirts they have chosen will be posted below. You too can own one of these t-shirts yourself . . . you just need to visit the link to the Moonlighting in Misery "Official Stores" included on the right sidebar.

Good news -- I am also in the process of lowering my prices between $2-4.

And, finally, as promised . . .

DISCLAIMER: Walking Tort neither endorses the content of this blog, nor finds anything about it even mildy entertaining. That being said, Camel Nose Under the Tent now owns Moonlighting in Misery and so just be thankful I have allowed him time to write this nonsense in between his picking up my dry cleaning and waiting on me hand-and-foot.

2006-03-17T17:12:00.000-08:00

And Walking Tort chose this shirt.

2006-03-17T17:11:00.000-08:00

MVaughan chose this shirt in a grey short sleeve style.

Ninjas v. Pirates: The Great Debate

2006-03-09T10:33:00.000-08:00

In a clear demonstration of the rampant ignorance of which I warned in my previous post, and because I will not be posting again until I return from San Antonio next Wednesday . . .

I am asking -- no begging -- you to share your insights in the first ever Moonlighting in Misery Battle Royale.

The topic? Well, did you read the title to this post??

It is, of course, the age old great debate:

Which are totally sweeter: Ninjas or Pirates?

Check out the websites to which I've linked regarding each, and leave a comment telling me who should win and why.

And I will spend all of my spare time over the next few days while visiting the wife's grandparents to study this issue out and determine which of the two, in fact, are totally the sweetest.

The person who correctly predicts the outcome and gives what I believe to be the best reason for that outcome will win the participant's prize. What is the participant's prize?

For one week I will change the title of this blog from:

MOONLIGHTING IN MISERY: A 2L AT TEXAS TECH SCHOOL OF LAW PROVIDING YET MORE PROOF THAT LAW SCHOOL MAKES YOU BORING

to:

[Name of person/blog] IS THE COOLEST (PERSON/BLOG): IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR MOONLIGHTING IN MISERY, WHY? (GO TO MY BLOG/LOOK FOR ME) INSTEAD AS HE ACTUALLY MAKES "DATE MOVIE" SEEM FUNNY IN COMPARISON.

Oh, and I will begin each post during that week with the following disclaimer:

"[Name of person/blog] neither endorses the content of this blog, nor finds anything about it even mildy entertaining. That being said, [Name of person/blog] now owns Moonlighting in Misery and so just be thankful I have allowed him time to write this nonsense in between his picking up my dry cleaning and waiting on me hand-and-foot."

And, if you are Elle from LegallyBlonde and you win . . . I'll even update your link on my blogroll. What do you think of that?

Oh, and I'll also throw in a FREE T-SHIRT of your choice from my store, which you can browse through by clicking my link to the side.

So, to recap:

1. Rename my blog after you for a week.
2. Disclaimer in favor of you.
3. Free t-shirt.

What could be more wonderful than that . . . oh, and seeing how you decide to vote on the issue at hand?

Nothing. That is what.

So participate. And have fun.

It is called SARCASM, Ballsack

2006-03-09T09:00:00.000-08:00

I of course, was writing my previous post regarding the Gallup Poll with tongue completely in cheek . . .

Having been a minister before coming to Law School . . .

OF COURSE it is sarcasm.

But, seriously . . .

You people have to take the time to read the comment "Ballsack" left to my last post. I am not entirely sure my head has stopped spinning yet.

Can anyone tell me what he is talking about?

Darwin's Black Box

2006-03-09T07:47:00.000-08:00

Asked in a recent Gallup Poll:

"Which of the following statements comes closest to your views on the origin and development of human beings."

12% - Man evolved from a single cell organism with God playing no part.

31% - Man evolved but the evolution was God-guided.

53% - God created man exactly how the Bible described it. [Give me back my rib.]

(I assume the remaining 4% were Scientologists that believe we were created by Aliens and dropped off thousands of years ago to harvest the Earth for the superior race.)

57% of Republicans believe God created man according to the Genesis account.

44% of Democrats do.

This naturally leads me to ask the follow-up question:

What in the world is wrong with Americans?? Weren't we paying attention to our high school biology teachers when they clearly explained that God cannot exist???

Or how about the university Historical Geology professor who said anyone that still believes in the Biblical account of Creation is an ignorant yay-hoo and should be locked away . . . oh, and that poor people on food stamps should be fed dog food because of its high nutritional value.

Wow . . .

How have we ever survived so long with such gross and rampant ignorance?