What Would Jesus Brew?

Life since, um, last year...

2009-01-05T22:02:00.003-06:00

I wonder if blogging is really the right thing to call this anymore. I mean, I think in many ways, I’ve moved on to Facebook instead. But I must admit that I miss the more contemplative, narrative nature of blogging. Sure, I could write “notes” in/on Facebook, and maybe I should. Meh. Anyway, here’s the update in brief of what’s happened since the last time I tried hard enough to remember my password for this blog...

Right, so, I passed the Kansas Bar Exam which I took in July, and I was sworn-in in September. Since then I’ve been working in the juvenile offender and “child-in-need-of-care” cases in our office. Although I’ve done a few bench trials now, I haven’t had a jury trial actually go yet. However, I have one this month that I’m reasonably sure will NOT plead out.

In November, wife and I flew to Alabama for the Alabama v. Auburn football game, a.k.a. the Iron Bowl. We had a tremendous time. My dad got to come with us, we got to spend some time with some good friends from law school, and Alabama put a solid pounding on the Tigers. I’m pretty sure that will be a life-long highlight memory.

Christmas was pretty tame here at the house. Wife was on call, and we just tried to lay low. My dad, stepmom, and youngest sister came up to see us last weekend. And now it’s back to what has become life as usual, if there ever actually will be such a thing for me and the wife. I start teaching a New Testament Literature class at the local community college here in a couple of weeks, so I’m really looking forward to that.

OK, that’s the news for now. Catch up with me on the Facebook. What do you MEAN you don’t have a profile yet??!?!

Dust in the Wind

2008-06-20T23:27:00.001-05:00

I bought boots. And Wranglers. Real boots, real Wranglers. What’s worse: I REALLY like the Wranglers. I mean, since I lost the weight, I’ve been looking for jeans that fit again. Relaxed fit no longer works for me. I tried Lucky Jeans, no luck. I tried Chaps, and felt chaffed. But, on a whim, I tried on some Wrangler model 13 MWZ jeans, yes, those, the ones that the real cowboys wear on the pro rodeo circuit, and dang if they didn’t fit. I even bought ‘em long, at the suggestion of the kind lady at the western wear store, so they would “stack” properly over the heel of my new boots. OH, right, my BOOTS!!! Ok, I was told that I could NOT purchase pointy toe boots. There was a very good reason offered for why I could not do this, and if you call or email, I’ll tell you, but it’s just not the sort of thing I’m gonna blog. Oh, and a belt. Well, to be honest, that’s what I really went in to purchase. It’s really cool. It’s black, and brown, and has some tasteful “tooling,” but it was still a bit conservative by the opining of the western shop proprietor. She thought it was one step removed from a “work belt.” She would rather I had purchased a belt that looked like it was designed by an ambiguously-gay, extrovertedly-Christian, turquoise-loving cowboy with a penchant for turquoise and silver. I decided I just wasn’t that in touch with my western-ness yet. Yet. Anyway, I have some cool jeans, some kickin’ boots, and a great belt. But enough about me....POP QUIZ!!!!

The weather patterns in western Kansas are as stable as:

A: Amy Winehouse on camera

B: Gasoline prices, even on Wednesday morning

C: Window’s Vista

D: An Alabama lawyer in a pair of new cowboy boots

Answer: E: Hussein Obama’s promise to accept public campaign funds if his opponent did the same, and thus be subject to equitable campaign fund-raising restrictions. Oh, look! Hussein’s embraced change already! I just had no idea that “change” was a code word for “blatantly lying to the people from whom you request the highest position of elected trust possible in the western hemisphere.” Silly me. Right, enough about Hussein. I’m sure Green Day is busy working on their next album, “Senatorial Idiot,” denouncing the lying lier that Hussein has shown himself to be. The first single: “Wake America Up When November Ends”....

We managed to go check out the new coffee shop. The espresso was good. Sure, it would be better if they played an endless torrent of contemporary Christian music or inaccessably-indy stuff like some coffee shops that I won’t mention, but whose name might rhyme with Fourbucks. Guess where I’ll be studying for the Kansas Bar Exam. You guys are sharp.

My temporary law permit arrived just in time, and so this was my first week at work as a prosecutor-in-training. I spent a good deal of time in court shadowing some experienced assistant county attorney’s, meeting judges, becoming acquainted with the criminal defense bar, and getting to know the ancillary personnel who make the whole thing possible. As for the defendents .... well, let’s just say that you’ll have to buy the book. Some of this stuff, however, is too “real” to ever pass for fiction. Like the mother in danger of losing her child who wore a T-Shirt to court that said, “I AM CRAZY.” Or the multiple defendents who appealed to their faith, the scriptures, or even their newly found employment in neighboring states as reasons for why the court should show them leniency for crimes ranging from spousal abuse to aggravated assault. Why none of them ever cites to Jesus’ instruction to “Go and sin no more” is beyond me, and apparently them as well.

Oh, and Dory the Danger Whippet is currently sitting on a record of two rabbits and one chipmunk. Little Bunny Foo-Foo would be wise to keep his fuzzy butt out of our fence. In the battle between high-speed rodents and a bored whippet, vote on the whippet.

Carry On, My Wayward Son

2008-06-11T00:01:00.001-05:00

Right, so we made it. Sure, there was a horrible series of windstorms that swept across middle America just as we were sweeping across, um, middle America. But, thank God, we escaped harm. We are moved into our new house. There is yet unpacking to be done. And there are still “personal administrative” things to accomplish: auto tags, insurance issues, picking out of new pizza and dry cleaning establishments... But all in all, we’re getting settled in. Wife, me, and Nana are all set to start work on Monday, but I am the only iffy one in that equation, as I am still waiting on my temporary Kansas license.

So, life in Kansas so far.... Well, yes, it is windy. Duh. And, yes, the humidity is lower than Alabama, so that’s kind of nice, too. Let’s hit the more unexpected things. Where Alabama is about as east as the Central Time zone goes, Kansas is about as west as it goes, so it’s still daylight at 9pm. And if you haven’t lived in Alaska, that’s odd. We have found that there is a local coffee shop with free Wi-Fi and hand-tamped espresso, so that’s a MAJOR plus. The nights get nice and cool after the sun goes down. Dust storms? Yep, we got ‘em. And my new Kansas insurance agent wasn’t sure what a “Honda S2000” was, and that kind of made me smile. And Dory, our precious whippet who is great with kids, long-suffering with teasing, and generally low-key, totally ran down a rabbit in the backyard. I’ll spare you the details, but DANG the dog can run. Wheat fields? Yep. We got ‘em. And if you want authentic Mexican fare, well you are in the right place.

Otherwise, we’re exhausted, but functioning. And hey, that’s pretty good, right?

Fuego en la Sangre!

2008-06-04T22:08:00.005-05:00

So, I totally missed my blog during my time as a judicial clerk. But, you know, the whole “clerking” gig really put a hurt on my writing time. I only have so many “keystrokes” in a day. But, as of last friday, I have put my clerking days astern. Major thanks go out to everyone at the Alabama Supreme Court for making my time there invaluable. I knew the job was temporary when I took it, and I still miss it.

BUT... On to other news...

The wife has taken a job with St. Catherine’s Hospital in Garden City, Kansas. I have accepted a job offer as an assistant county attorney out there, and assuming I have similar success with the Kansas bar exam as I had with the Alabama bar and I manage to pass a background check and drug test, I’ll be prosecuting bad guys out in southwest Kansas here in the near future. And yes, that obviously means that the house we built in Montgomery is up for sale, empty, and ready to house a new family and a new keg. C’est la vie.

As I write, I am in a hotel room in Forrest City, Arkansas. I have a couple of small dogs around me, and a warm-ish MacBook Air on my lap. And if you must know, I have Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” playing on iTunes. Love me some iTunes.

Today was day-1 of the trip. Now, this is solely possible because for the past two days, our house was swarmed by Mayflower packers and loaders. Currently, 95% of our earthly possessions are packed in an 18 wheeler, along with my S2000, somewhere in America. No, I did no mis-type. Our “life” is packed in cardboard boxes, behind which is my 2800 pound mid-life-crisis-in-automotive-form. Wife is driving her truck with the boat behind. I am driving Nana’s truck with Nana, the three dogs, a U-haul trailer, and an essential XM radio. Butters was fine with this event from the beginning. Nala was a freak. And Dory was a bit weird until she realized we weren’t driving 1100 miles to take her to the vet.

In other news...the town we are moving to is about 40% hispanic. So, in preparation, we did the only logical thing: We starting eating out CONSTANTLY at our local Mexican restaurant, chatting up the very gracious wait-staff, and watching “telenovelas” (read: Hispanic Soap-operas). If/when in Montgomery, AL, you MUST eat at Tipico de Mexico, and ask to be served by Irma. Tell her Mike and Kim sent you. And order numero cinquenta. Good stuff. Right, so, I am so totally addicted to “Fuego en la Sangre” on Univision. Not even funny. I watched in the hotel room tonight. Sofia has some very importante decisions to make. Dios mio, that is some good television!!!!

Ok. Off to bed. I have sleep to go before my miles. Or something like that.

Que Dios le bendiga.

2008-06-04T22:08:00.003-05:00

Light as Air

2008-03-02T23:55:00.002-06:00

I now have a MacBook Air. And it feels like a revelation. This is the computer they promised us years ago. Weighs 3 pounds. Total wireless capability. Great battery life. And it works within seconds, not minutes, of being opened. I'm still getting used to a few oddities, but at so many turns, it feels like the computer just knows what my next task or idea or question is. I wish I'd made the switch years ago. Goodbye, Mr. Gates. You had YEARS to earn my loyalty and you squandered it. Have fun debugging Vista before your next OS ruins everyone's lives. Well, except for Mac users.

Everytime a Bell Rings...

2007-12-24T23:30:00.001-06:00

As I begin writing this, it is 11:15 PM cdt on December 24, 2007, and I am unapologetically watching Flick stick his tongue to the flagpole. Look, people, he was triple-dog-dared. What do you want from the kid!!?!??!

I just finished watching “It’s a Wonderful Life.” And I loved every second of it. Deal with it. Presents in my family have been largely exchanged. So, now, it’s time to enjoy a bit of post-solstice relaxation. We had a bit of sushi at the Kabuki tonight, and fully intend on having takeout from East China tomorrow. Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra, Rah-ra-ra-rah!!!! I love Christmas!!!

Speaking of stereotypical, clichéd Christmas events . . . we were a bit lax on getting to the grocery on time tonight to get some breakfast sausage. But wife had a great idea: “Walgreen’s is open 24hours!!!” Oh, and they were! Camouflage stockings. Elvis ornaments from various stages of his career. Ipod alarm clocks (iPod not included, duh). A multi-phrase Homer Simpson ornament. And a PACKED parking lot!!! Including some dude who was trying to give away mixed breed puppies in the parking lot. No, I’m not kidding.

Parties went well this weekend. Who knew so many tacky Christmas sweaters existed??? Oh, but they do!!!

When I Wore a Younger Man's Clothes

2007-12-18T23:32:00.000-06:00

So, I got an email from my cousin last night. She sent the family a link to a web page she set up on which she posted home video from our 1987 family reunion. Since 20 years have come and gone since that reunion, I didn’t remember that there was a camera there. Or that it was my grandmother’s last Christmas with us. It was so amazing to get to see the faces and hear the voices of so many family members who are either gone or I just haven’t seen in years. It was a bit creepy to see myself as a 14 year old boy at the reunion in 80’s fashion, girlfriend in tow. But, overall, I am so grateful to Wendy for going through the trouble to get that footage to us. Oh, and the picture above is from this year's reunion.

At work we are busy as can be, trying to get ready to take some time away from the judicial building to be with family. Very exciting! Wife and I are trying desperately to get everything ready for the parties this weekend. Oh, and Dr. Improta…my email address is graysandpeas@yahoo.com. So glad you stumbled across the blog. Can’t wait to catch up with you!

Jinlge them bells, write them memos...

2007-12-11T22:09:00.000-06:00

Ok, once again, my blog-negligence is approaching wantonness, as has been so appropriately pointed out to me by one of the coolest people to ever cut a hole in the ice just to go diving in it. Yeah, you know who you are!

Right, so life at the court is good, especially now that the whole passing the bar thing is passed. I still can’t believe I get paid to sit, drink coffee, and write. I mean, I’d do that even if they didn’t pay me, just somewhere else about something else. We’ve been really fortunate in that several of my friends landed jobs here in Montgomery, or at least come crash once in a while. I don’t really fit in with the traditional “young lawyers section,” so occasionally we just have our own at our house. Speaking of which, if you’re gonna be in Montgomery on the 22nd, you should totally come to our tacky Christmas sweater party. Ok, the sweaters are tacky, not necessarily the party. You get the idea.

In other news, Kim bought me a Guitar Hero III for the Wii. Yes, I do realize I can play a real guitar. Yes, I realize I’m way too old for this silliness. And yes, it is FREAKIN’ FUN!!!!! Yes, I’m a dork. But I’ve embraced it. That’s for the best.

Clerkin' Ain't Easy!

2007-10-03T23:15:00.000-05:00

I PASSED! Yeah, that's pretty much all I wanted to say. Right. Yes. I passed. Carry on.

Jesus, Bob, and the Bar

2007-09-27T21:46:00.000-05:00

Well, it’s the last few hours before bar results are posted. And given how negligent I am in blogging, I will probably know my scores before you read this. And it’s not that I’m not anxious to know my scores. I am. And it’s not that court clerks don’t find out their scores a few hours early. They do. But you know, in the grand scheme of things, Jesus and Bob Marley are still right. Man can’t add so much as an hour to his life by worrying. So, don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright. Then again, both Jesus and Bob Marley died young. And neither took the Alabama Bar Exam!

$500 Car Wash

2007-08-16T21:40:00.000-05:00

This whole grown up thing is a hoot. Here’s the update. OK, so I got my car back today. Since it was a hit and run, you know, I got to pay my own deductible to cover the damage caused by the [insert the most foul, offensive, politically incorrect, insensitive, horrific slur right here that you can come up with. Take your time] who ran into my car. Wife got the tag number off the piece of crap that the [insert yet another impossibly profane epithet here] was driving. But, I have a sneaking suspicion that the Montgomery PD has bigger fish to fry than catching the [insert an insult so base and fundamentally revolting that it would make a Muslim, suicide bombing extremist ask, “Dude, seriously, what have we become? I mean, this ain’t right!”] who lacked the testicular fortitude to own up to side-swiping my wife in a parking lot. Whoever it was that hit my car, I can only hope that he finds Jesus. Just seconds before he dies at the hands of an angry mob of John Edwards supporters who have just realized that they were actually ignorant enough to think that supporting John Edwards isn’t a manifestly daft proposition.

So, I’m a little happier. Between then and now, I started work, got settled in, got my parking space all good and broken in.

And on one more pleasant note . . . I got to see a pretty cool thing this weekend. My nephew had his seventh birthday party at a catfish pond in Tallapoosa County last Saturday. It was inexcusably hot. Mom almost stroked out. But still, it was worth it. I was glad to see my nephews and hang out with the fam for a while. But the really cool moment was getting to see my Dad’s face as he watched his grandson opening up his first tackle box, all full of fishing gear. Pappaw Higgins was proud. And so was I. Good times.

Third Time's a Charm. Or Something.

2007-08-01T21:27:00.000-05:00

I survived the bar exam. Let’s leave it at that. Yeah. Results will be in at the end of September. Right. Let’s leave that right there.

Well, yesterday, it happened. Again. For the third time. In less that two years of ownership, my car has been hit for the third time, from the rear, not my fault, in an accident going less than five miles per hour, with no injuries except to my car. I won’t say that I’m not angry. It’s just more along the lines of wondering what piece of unrequited karma I’ve got raked up out there. Sheesh.

And today was my first day of work downtown in Montgomery. The balcony outside where I work overlooks the historic Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, not to mention a nice view of old downtown. So far, so good with the work. There’s plenty of it, and I’m fine with that. Big bonus: I have an ASSIGNED parking spot. Just imagine the pride I’ll experience as I park my rental car there for weeks on end while my ride is being fixed. Sigh.

In Deep

2007-06-17T21:10:00.001-05:00

No, seriously, I’m still alive.

OK, so, I did finish law school. I even have a diploma to prove it. And lot’s of witnesses. And I’m not so much proud that I finished “cum laude” as I am that I finished 24th out of the 24 people in the class of 2007 who earned that designation. As one compassionate friend observed, that show’s that I’m efficient.

Graduation was nice, but I was kind of under the weather. Was great to have pretty much all my family there except for one sister who totally gets a pass, as my niece had a birthday party that same day. C’est la vie. My dear friend Amanda threw a stellar party the night before. Kudo’s Mander. KU-DOS.

Enjoyed a great weekend in Destin after graduation for a wife-oriented conference, i.e., lots of pharmaceutical reps and Ob/Gyns running around in sunscreen. Good times. And I found a fabulous brew shop. I have now been introduced to real trappist ales brewed by real Belgian monks. And I’m absolutely ruined. Chimay rocks. St. Bernadus is good. And Dogfish Head is the finest “US of A” brew available. Hands down. Went back for a quick trip to Destin this weekend. Photos are attached.

Now my life is almost entirely consumed with bar exam preparation. The Alabama Bar is set for July 23-25. Fifteen hours of testing over the course of three days. So, me and the suspiciously unanimous majority of my former classmates are all taking this commercial bar review course that teaches you all the stuff law students either (1) have forgotten since first year or (2) were never taught at all. This consists of three to four hours of lectures each morning followed by as much self study as each student can manage in the afternoon. Fortunately, I have a very supportive and coffee-shop-friendly study partner who tolerates my dreadful sense of humor and has as little desire to fail the bar as I do.

OK, so, I tried to tell Anne that I was taking this whole bar prep thing with a sense of stoicism. And she mocked me. I believe her comment was that “Mike, you’ve probably already had six things happen to you this morning you could rant about.” Fine. Fine. Ok, I can accept who I am. Why fight it. You want six rants?!?! NO!! Here’s ten!!!!!!

Top Ten Things I’m Gonna Rant About as a Means of Venting My Pent Up Bar Prep Angst

10. The Montgomery Advertiser. If they work any harder to bury the Op/Ed section of the paper, they’ll need to include a complimentary garden spade with each home delivery. “Hey, Montgomery! Are these pictures big enough for ya? Good. God forbid we force you to read.”9. The Alabama Bar. Ok. This question if for my non-law school friends: Which of the following facts, if shown to be true, would be MOST LIKELY to drive Mike insane:
A. The Alabama Bar Exam is held in a hotel convention room.
B. The last day of the three day Alabama Bar Exam counts for half of the exam.
C. Although students may not use a computer of any kind on the two days of essay exams administered as part of the Alabama Bar Exam, students are more than welcome to sign up for typing rooms, provided students provide their own TYPEWRITERS!!!!
D. Every ambulance chaser I’ve ever seen on any billboard in my home state has passed the Alabama Bar.
E. All of the above. Oh, and there is no choice “E” on the Multistate Bar Exam.
8. The Alabama State Senate. It’s not enough that those losers didn’t get around to voting on the Gourmet Beer Act, but did manage to vote themselves a 60% pay raise. It’s not enough that those losers almost blew a major steel mill deal with partisan politics. And it’s not enough that I have at least two state senators whose conduct was so inexcusably puerile that they would be on suspension if they were high school students instead of politicians. It’s going to be 3.5 years before we get to vote any of them out of office.
7. The weather. It’s hot. It’s dry. And it’s completely out of hand. I blame Al Gore.
6. Cindy Sheehan. Thank goodness the men and women defending my freedom have more stamina than those whining about the fact that they are.
5. Paris Hilton. This isn’t a rant, actually. See, I think she aught to have to serve her sentence. That’s no big deal. I’m just glad she is out there providing the vapid icing to the otherwise putrid cake that is the 24 hour news cycle.
4. Excessive Applause at Graduations. To paraphrase a great coach, when you receive that diploma, rejoice if your family doesn’t act like it’s the first time it’s ever happened to one of their own, nor that it is even much of a surprise.
3. Universal Health Care. Ok, for all those who give even a second thought to taking seriously the pandering promises of universal health care as promised by the current batch of presidential hopefuls, I have three letters for you to consider: DMV. That’s right. Just wait until your next pap-smear or prostate check is brought to you by the same compassionate folks who currently handle renewing your auto registration.
2. Designated Hitter. This isn’t a rant or even a hot topic so much as it is just a friendly reminder that the designated hitter rule is the sporting equivalent of high fructose corn syrup. I don’t care how sweet it seems, it still ain’t natural.
1. Chinese Restaurant Physics – Why is it that my Chinese restaurant can fit a gallon of house special fried rice in a one quart box using nothing but a common staple to hold it all together, but the average American family can’t fit a tennis racket and two kids in a vehicle any smaller than a Chevy Tahoe? Just curious.

Mofongo, Mojito, Miguelito, y Pescado!

2007-03-22T15:09:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, March 21: Hold on to your coconuts!
As had become our brief custom, we arose yesterday for breakfast at the pool bar. If you get there early enough, there are only a few souls there, the breezes are light and fresh, and you get first dibs at the buffet. I am enamored with the fresh fruit bar! And Dios Mio! these folks know how to make a fuerte cup of café! Right, so, we’re sitting there enjoying breakfast before the heat of the day, and notice a small crew going palm tree to palm tree. One guy has on climbing gear and goes scurrying up the palms. Once up there, he hacks with surgical skill at the lower lying palms and dead bits, and these drop to the ground. Waiting below are a couple of other fellows who load up the palms and debris into a dilapidated Chevy Astro. We both remarked at how amazing this whole ballet was. Then, as he climbed the next palm, wife remarked with approval that at least this time he was climbing up with a safety rope. She was almost right. The rope was to ensure that the coconuts he was whacking free from the palm could be lowered safely to his amigos on the ground! Safety rope? We don’t need no stinking safety ropes! I asked the waitress about this. She said he comes every other month, charges by the tree, and then sells the coconuts at a stand back in the village. This would explain the parallel track marks each palm sports!

And while I’m thinking about it, breakfast is also the best time to watch the local black birds. I’ve seen these same birds in Nicaragua, Grenada, St. Vincent, and St. Thomas. I’m guessing that they are just warm climate foul. They are solid black, have long thin beaks, make ear piercing shrieking calls, and fold their tail feathers like a rudder when they fly. The males have little feather puffing boxing matches to stake out the best tables and the most desirable females. And they all love to nab abandoned morsels from plates the service staff hasn’t cleared away quite yet. But the real shocker is their predilection for artificial sweeteners! On each table, there are little ceramic boxes with sugar, Splenda, and Equal. The sugar packets may as well contain the cure for cancer, the secrets of the Kennedy assassination, and the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden. The birds couldn’t care less about them. But each day, the careful observer can empty yellow and blue packets lying about the bar with beak-shaped gouges through them. Although the birds may gorge on sausage, egg, and butter, these flying reivers steer clear of sugar. I guess they’re all on the Adkins diet?

Right. The dive. Ok, this time we remembered both the diffuser and the memory card. The dives went well. One more trip to the wall, one more tour of Andreas Reef. Although we were shark-less this go round, we did get some good shots of trigger fish, a trumpet fish, schools of snapper, a queen angel, and some crustaceans! I’ve attached a couple of shots. More to come once we get back in the States.

After an impossibly tasty plantain encrusted mahi-mahi lunch back by the pool, we retired for our afternoon nap. After three days of daily diving, we were a bit worn out, and took dinner in the room. Sleeeep. Sleeeep.

Thursday, March 22: To the Bat Cave!
Despite the fact that we didn’t dive today, we nevertheless arose for our early breakfast. Sure, that means waking up early, but when it comes to buffets and communion chalices during flu season, I’d rather be first in line than last! Today is the local version of Labor Day, so there would be many people at the beach.

After breakfast, we went on a hike through Guanica’s “dry forest” up to a cave. The cave itself is made of igneous rock, home to many bats, and despite its cooler temperatures, it was still quite humid. Reminded me of Paris Hilton: picturesque, hollow, and creepy, all at the same time.

Afterward, we cleaned up and had lunch. I made a futile attempt at a nap, hence the occasion for this blog update. Dinner is at 8:pm. We leave the resort tomorrow to start our way back to San Juan. Already I feel that inescapable vacation dread, the one you feel when the time is almost but not quite done. When you know that soon you’ll be back to work, but not yet. How insanely hard it is just to be where one is, rather than preemptively being where one cannot yet truly be. Bleh. Fortunately, the bar received a fresh shipment of mint leaves. I believe we may be able to treat this with a carefully built mojito, born of mint leaves, a mortar and pestle, DonQ, and a squeeze of fresh lime.

Hasta Proximo!

The Kind of Memory You Can Forget to Remember

2007-03-20T22:47:00.000-05:00

The Rest of Monday . . .
Monday night wife and I took stab #2 at a quiet evening of dining. Four little girls, a birthday cake, a violinist, and an unhealthy amount of self medication later (I’m only kidding about the self-medication) we decided that we’d done something horrible in the eyes of God. I mean, I don’t go to McDonald’s to get lit and use loud, abusive profanity. Why has Chuck E. Cheese decided to relocate to Restaurante Alexandra!?!?! We got desert to go.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007: The Sea Was Angry, My Friend . . .
Breakfast is easily one of my favorite meals here at Copamarina, even if an inaccurate signage did put the chastity of my Lenten fast at risk with the unannounced smattering of ham in the Eggs Fritata. Speaking of which, fast forward to lunch. I tried this “Seafood Mofongo” thing that was made of a smashed plantain edible bowl filled with various cuts of shrimp, octopus, and fresh fish covered with a garlic butter sauce I still haven’t stopped tasting. Afterward, I asked the waitress what “mofongo” meant. “Oh, uh, that is just what we call this dish. It has the plantain all mash up with the bacon . . .” Oh. Bacon. Right. Next year I gotta give up something less perilous for Lent.

The dive. OK, so we went back to the wall. Before we got in the water, I noticed that we had inadvertently left the “diffuser” for the camera strobe (read: high powered underwater flash) back in the room. Fine. We dropped in, and I started taking some better shots of wife than I did Monday. That was of course until the camera began to flash “MEMORY FULL.” NO! NO NO NO!!!! That was what I screamed ineffectually through my regulators! “This can’t be right! Wife emptied ALL the photos from the memory onto the computer when we put the memory card in it.” (insert moment of clarity . . . . HERE!) Oh, crap. Yep. Memory card was STILL in the computer. In the room. On dry land. So, just imagine, to humor me, that we had inserted a couple of photos here of the numerous barracuda, the 12 foot shark, the lobsters, the HUGE crab hiding in the barrel coral, a drum trigger fish, and an indeterminate but substantial number of yellowtail snapper schooled conveniently under the reef.

We ate dinner at the seaside bar tonight. We chatted with a nice couple from Germany. They asked where we were from. Not only did they know Alabama, I got to hear a German pronounce “Pascagoula.” Good times, good times.

The Last Spring Break.

2007-03-19T17:03:00.000-05:00

Sat. March 17: Be Careful What You Wish For!
The flight to Puerto Rico was a play in two acts. Act 1: The flight itself was largely uneventful, which is to say, we slept. And it wasn’t even really the landing. It was more the sitting on the tarmac for 45 minutes waiting on a gate to become available while the stewardess-Nazi forcibly raised people’s seats into the up, locked, and perturbed position and made intermittent snarky comments over the PA about the inability of the plane to taxi while even the least little bit of a buckle was not securely fastened into the metal fitting. This rousing melody served as a counterpoint to the incessant yammering of the three little boys in front of us playing a game of “slap” to which I wanted to play a brief but demonstrative role. I quietly wished three things: That we would not miss our connecting flight, that it would not be populated by annoying children, and that the flight attendants would be less fascist.
After a not-so glamorous jog through the Charlotte airport, we arrived at our connecting flight just in time to sit there and wait for late arriving flights to delay ours. Wish 1 answered! And the flight attendants? In a word: Fabulous! Wish 2 under wraps. And the annoying children issue? See, now that’s were it gets complicated. If by “children” you mean humans who haven’t reached the age of majority, fine. But if you include drunken, extroverted, spiky haired, fifty year old exhibitionist trophy wives who don’t have an “indoor voice” nor know when to grow up, um, you must have been on our flight. A flight which, by the way, sat a mere 30 minutes on the tarmac waiting for a gate to come available. I feel a theme developing here.
Firmly expecting things could only get better, Wife and I set out to find our first night’s accommodations. All in all, that would have gone swimmingly but for a single letter of the alphabet: S. See, in Spanish, if you are choosing North v. South as a direction for a given highway, Sr is the abbreviation for “Sur” (i.e., South) and Nr. is the abbreviation for “Norte” (yup, you guessed it, North). Two different webs sites told us to go Sr when we shoulda gone Nr. We discovered this only after an impromptu tour of an area just South of where our reservations were.
We ate. We slept. Better days were to come.

Sunday, March 18: Something about this feels VERY familiar.
We got up early and drove South and West through the interior of PR. The island is as breathtaking as I remembered it. The northern faces of the interior mountains are lush, green, and resplendent with hillside farmlands. Then, on the ride back down the mountain, the topography changes to a more “brown” theme, cacti become the common vegetation. Wife handled the driving, I played navigator. Although the overwhelming majority of locals we have spoken with are bilingual, the road signage is not. Hence, the his and hers roles.

We arrived at the resort and within 15 minutes, I was reminded of our days in Grenada! This place looks almost just like the Coyaba on Grand Anse Beach. The low-lying architecture, the palms, the beach toys, the pools and the adjacent pool bars, even the birds. Felt a lot like coming home. Our room has a back door that opens onto a private patio which faces the garden area around the second pool and its associated tiki bar, which in turn face the Caribbean Sea. Yeah, this will do fine. We made dinner reservations, took a dip, took a nap, and awoke just in time to make our reservations.
Dinner was delicious. Seafood crepes in coconut milk and wine sauce. Some kind of cannoli I really can’t remember the ingredients of. Halibut and risotto. Filet and lobster. Flan de queso and crepes. All of which were enjoyed accompanied by the distinctly annoying tunes of children produced by parents who have no business taking them out in public. Mmmm, the dulcet tones of parental irresponsibility!

Monday, March 19: Tony and BamBam.
Breakfast was early and worth every bite. They have a serious handle on the whole dining thing here! We then set out with the dive boat. Wife, me, and one other lady were the divers. Tony was our divemaster for the day, and Bambam our boat captain. Tony is tall, thin, dark, and confident. Like so many dive instructors I’ve known, he wears enough neoprene for about two normal people. I never fell prey to that thin skinned business. Wife and I were both fine in swim suits and spandex shirts. The ocean is bath water temperature as far as I’m concerned.
Dive one was a wall dive. Now, when I say “wall” what I mean is, the ocean floor rolls along at a depth of about 70 or 80 feet, then abruptly drops off to a couple thousand feet. I mean, you look down and there’s more “blue” than indigo day at the Crayola factory. We swam down the wall to a little over 100 feet. Great sea life. Very little coral damage. These sites are virtually exclusive to this dive operation, they’ve taken great care of the ocean floor, and it shows.
Dive two was a shallower reef dive. The current was a bit more aggressive, but there were some great morays, lobsters, angel fish, trumpet fish, and few schools of smaller species. We got a few good shots with the new camera. The ride back was rough, but quick.
Lunch! Well, see, if I keep writing about the food here, I fear it’s gonna get annoying. Plantains rock. MahiMahi is yummy yummy.

Operation of the Kegeration

2007-01-04T11:35:00.000-06:00

As of 10:00 A.M. Central Time, the kegerator is working. Well. Reasonable foam. Great CO2 pressure. Minimal post pour drip. Cold. Tower is well mounted to the granite counter top. No leaks anywhere. Now, I need some assistance getting this (experimental) Bud Light keg empty so I can get some real brew in there. If only I had a few friends who liked beer . . .

Prospero Neuvo Ano!

2006-12-31T22:44:00.000-06:00

OK, despite the fact that my new kegerator tower is still in transit, the Montgomery Sanitation Department has yet to deliver a garbage can to our residence (hey, no hurry; it’s just the holidays; It’s not like we have any rubbish!), and I never actually did get around to erecting a Christmas tree, it’s still been a fine end to a great year. This was (hopefully) the last year I’ll live in three cities at the same time. I graduate this coming May. I have employment in place for after graduation. We are officially moved in our new home. And after a mere two weeks of begging, cajoling, veiled threats, and being totally in the dark as to the comings and goings on in our town, our daily delivery of The Montgomery Advertiser has actually made it to our front lawn for two days in a row! It’s gonna be a good year! Have a happy one!

Death is Coming, Hell is moving . . .

2006-12-22T01:18:00.000-06:00

Well, we’re in the house. Let’s start there. The great exodus occurred last weekend. My dad, to whom I am quite grateful, came down and helped me and wife move. Someone asked my dad, “Do they have far to move?” to which dad sagaciously replied, “It ain’t how far, it’s how much.” One week and two Penske truck loads later, we’re still unpacking. By the way, Penske trucks rock!!! That hydraulic lift thingy is the bomb, the fuse, and a pack of matches! U-haul can forget about my business until they start putting lifts on the back of their trucks that can effortlessly raise and lower the weight of, oh, I dunno, say, the equivalent of a Honda S2000 with two passengers and a full tank of gas.
So, this week, in my post-exam state, I have coordinated furniture and appliance delivery (and redelivery in a few cases), done battle with the mindless bureaucracy that is the Montgomery Water Works and Sanitary Sewer Board (is it any wonder they have an armed guard in the lobby?), installed Bose in-ceiling surround sound speakers (which produce phenomenal audio reproduction!!!), repositioned sod which my dogs found necessary to reposition themselves, ordered bathroom mirrors (don’t ask), watched Bud Light flow in four TOTALLY inappropriate directions from my defective kegerator tower, and nearly lost my mind when I realized that despite my complete failure to do so, the rest of the world was plodding headlong into the Christmas Season despite my exhaustive refusal to go forth and purchase even the most rudimentary of gifts. I know where our pre-lit artificial Christmas tree IS (garage, second row of boxes, next to the toiletries); but in the triage of unpacking, it ranks somewhere ahead of unsorted photos and significantly behind the box that contains the pile of stuff that was semi-important-but-not-so-important-as-to-require-immediate-attention-which-came-in-the-mail-right-before-we-moved stuff.
Which is to say, MASSIVE kudos go out to my builder (L. Thomas Development, Inc.) and my real estate agent (Myra Pruitt, Coldwell Banker) for guiding us through this process. Lowell, I’m pretty sure a blue cheese stuffed olive appropriately drowned in Ketel One is waiting for you on the back porch.
Finally, whovever can first correctly cite the title of the hymn quoted in the above title get's claim to unlimited pulls on the kegerator, once functional.

Welcom Home, Mr. Bailey

2006-12-14T22:43:00.000-06:00

It’s been so long since I blogged, I doubt you’re even reading this. Which is logically impossible, since you are. Because if you aren’t, this posting has merely ontological existence devoid of any functional reality. Sorry. I’m not as good at philosophies of “being” as I used to be.

OK, I’m done with exams as of today. Which rocks. A lot. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Since we last spoke, uh, well, they finished building the house, we went on vacation to St. Thomas, wife and I went scuba diving with a sea turtle and some of his (her?) friends, came home, finished exams, and wrote this blog. Then, tomorrow, we close (are closing? Will close? Just finished closing? Darn this temporal existence!!!!) on the house. We move in Saturday, and then we’ll FEVERISHLY unpack and try to pretend that Christmas isn’t a mere 10 days away despite the fact we’ve bought TWO presents. Total. And one of those was a “duty free” purchase in St. Thomas.

So, I’ll get a fresh picture up soon.

Reformation Day!

2006-10-31T15:13:00.000-06:00

OK, I know you all know it’s Halloween. But! I have bigger reasons to celebrate! Today is the day that Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the door of the Church at Wittenberg, symbolically sparking the Protestant Reformation. My favorite thesis? Number 17: “With souls in purgatory it seems necessary that horror should grow less and love increase.” Good stuff, eh? OH, and this is also my Dad’s birthday! Happy Birthday, Dad!

BRICK!!!!

2006-10-13T23:58:00.000-05:00

I mean, it even LOOKS like a house now. Dry wall is in, cabinets, and brick in place. VERY exciting. I can’ wait to see how all this looks with a big ole Christmas tree tucked somewhere inside!!!

Scientific Evidence

2006-09-14T15:41:00.000-05:00

Right. Blog neglect. I know. I’m only bloggin’ now because I’m having a slow moment in a long class that also just happens to be the last class that keeps me in town before fleeing to Montgomery. And my friend Amanda just caught me doing so! Then again, she’s playing solitaire. So. You know. OK. House update. Plumbing, wiring, and tubs are in, and sheet rock is coming! Shingles are on the roof, and hopefully the brick is on its way. More later. Gotta get back to understanding the test for accepting new or novel scientific testimony in Alabama courts.

One thing more

2006-08-30T23:31:00.000-05:00

This pic is actually a few days old now, but most of the work is going on inside now. Rough ins of utilities and whatnot. The brick is ordered, along with a lot of the interior fixtures. It is just staggering how much you have to pick out for a house. Staggering.
School is going ok, I suppose. Well, I say that. Job hunt feels stagnant at the moment. This is of course exacerbated by the fact that I hang out in the law review office with my colleagues who have accepted jobs with Birmingham firms. I’m plagued by the “one thing” syndrome. I just need one job, one more article for law review, one more hour of time in my day, one more semester of law school, and about one more hour of sleep.

The Doors

2006-08-22T23:19:00.000-05:00

So, Monday, school started back for me. Which is fine. It's been great seeing my law friends, lighting the fuse on the bomb that is being a 3L. Heck, there's even a little gathering tomorrow night to commemorate the occasion. Wink wink. Nod nod.
OK, the house. As of yesterday it has windows, doors, and navigable hallways. The cabinets, interior doors, and brick are on order. Here's hoping for a viewing of "It's a Wonderful Life" in the new house before the new year.

Roof

2006-08-20T00:23:00.000-05:00

So, the house is under roof and looking suspiciously like a house. I have a couple of new pictures here. Now, one is self explanatory. The other: well, if you look just to the left of that piece of PVC piping, that’s the spot my kegerator is going. I’m back in school as of Monday. Fasten your seatbelts. Looks like we’re on track for us to close on property during my exams again! 5 for 5!!!

Geneva Believa

2006-08-15T23:24:00.000-05:00

I don’t really have a house update for you tonight. I did go speak with the home theater wiring people today, so I guess that kind of counts, but I doubt they would have liked me posting a picture of the receptionist on my blog. I do have my limits.

Now, I first have to give credit to The Wittenburg Door for alerting me to this link. If you don’t have an M.Div. or a morbid interest in Christian theology, it may not even really make any sense. But I found it too grotesquely amusing not to alert the few of you who are seminary grads who read my blog to this . . . this . . . words fail. Think “theologiggle” on crack. I apologize in advance.

Dreamland, and the opposite thereof

2006-08-13T22:22:00.000-05:00

So, the house is starting to look like a house! Or, at least, like the pine skeleton of a house. We think we have the brick picked out for the exterior, because, well, the abode we’re building . . . she’s a BRICK . . . . HOUWSE!

Went to Dreamland with my folks Saturday night. Now, it’s not that I don’t have an appreciation for local mom-n-pop barbeque stands. But I love Dreamland. Something about the glowing neon sign that reminds patrons of the strict “NO FARTING” policy adds the intangible spice to the already tangy sauce. Last night, I broke with my tradition and ordered a Coors Light draft, wife got Bud Light. Now, as the waitress was setting ‘em down, she commented that we should be careful not to confuse which is which. I said that they probably didn’t taste any different, began to reach for wife’s cup. Waitress grabbed by wrist, slapped my fingers, and said, and I quote, “BAD BABY!!!” Is it bad if I kind of liked that? So, after dinner, we headed down to Krispy Kreme because the “Hot Light” was on. There’s nothing like watching the donuts bathe in the crystal boiling oil, delicately flip half way through their journey, and then luxuriate ‘neath the pearlescent cascade of liquefied sin, or, as some insist on calling it, donut glaze.

Then this morning, since we hadn’t had nearly enough health damaging dining for the weekend, we met wife’s cousin and her beau at the local Cracker Barrel. Now, my blog has already dealt with the phenomenon that is the Crack Barrel. (See eg., blog entry for June 28, 2005). And this morning didn’t disappoint. We sat by the window, chatting it up over our mostly empty coffee cups due to the negligence of the waitress who confessed that if she sold 32 glasses of orange juice that morning, she could have a free steak lunch when her shift was over. We didn’t order any. And the guy at the table beside us spilled his. Speaking of spills: while eating our breakfast, we noticed a town car parked in the handicap spot just out our window that had a steady flow of water pouring out the rear passenger door. The car itself was cream, had a gold-spray-painted grill and fender flares, and a tag that read, “If it ain’t country, it ain’t music.” Charming. Three characters who would have made the Clampett’s shudder came and eventually got into the car after it had dripped a couple of gallons, and no one seemed the least bit surprised at the puddle around the back of the car. Then, the Lyle Lovett loving leaky Lincoln lurched away. But wait! It get’s better. When we went to pay our check, I was handed a wad of one dollar bills that were visibly burned. When I asked why, I was told, “Oh, we just left ‘em in the microwave too long.”

Got Wood?

2006-08-12T09:13:00.000-05:00

The power is out. Candles are lit all over the house. Kim’s reading. I’m writing (obviously). The computer is supplying tunes, at least as long as the battery holds out. Currently, Frampton, “Baby, I Love Your Way.” Good stuff. Sure, the house is already a little stuffier than I’d like. But if you want a nice, quiet night, even if forcibly imposed by a little stunt from a storm cloud, this is a fine way to do it. And the fact that you’re reading this means it’s over. Rather than wrestle with the existential problem of me writing this in a power outage and you reading it with the lights on, why don’t I just update you on the house?

As you can see from these photos, the forms have been removed from the slab, framing wood has been delivered, and we can’t go 24 hours without scampering out across town to see what has been done! I’m ready to go back to school so I can’t check every night. I think it will make it seem like it’s going faster.

Today was my last day as a summer legal clerk. We were really fortunate this summer. Between the former governor of Alabama’s trial going on down the street first half, and incredibly strange cases second half, if nothing else, it’s been a train wreck of a good time! I have next week off, but that’s only half true. I have a few more articles to go before my job with Law Review is satisfied for the year. There’s some more bits and pieces to be picked out for the house. And wife needs an oil change. Oh, and there’s some spacklin’ what needs doin’ here at the existing house. And, I’m sure, each day, there’ll be something. Always is.

M E M O R A N D U M

2006-08-09T16:55:00.000-05:00

I’d update you on the state of the estate, but as of my last site visit (approximately 20 hours ago), nothing has changed. Dad tells me that is good. You want that slab to be nice and cured before you start building. So, I won’t whine.

In other news, my summer legal clerkship is winding up as of this Friday. As I approach the last year of my formal legal education, I find that my attention is no longer exclusively focused on how to most effectively achieve an efficient ratio of class rank to hours per night of sleep. Rather, now I’m more than just a little interested in being offered a job before I’m next offered a cup of seasonally appropriate egg-nog. With this in mind, I recently read a blog post my Constitutional Law professor wrote on instapundit.com last noting the rising number of employers who check out facebook.com and blogs prior to hiring new associates. Not that I have anything to hide, but not unlike the last minute house cleaning one does prior to guests arriving, I have come up with the following proposed amendments to my blog and facebook page prior to hiring season.

Top 10 Things I Need to Edit on my Blog and Facebook Prior to Job Season:

10. Delete this post! I don’t want them thinking I have time to write top ten lists.
9. Change the name of my blog to “What Would Jesus Bill?: A Handy Compendium of How Everything We Say, Do, Eat, Drink, and Breath is Ethical, Holy, a Great Idea for a Law Review Article, and, Most Importantly, Billable.”
8. Change the picture on my facebook page to me in navy pinstripes or seersucker (See eg., Cameron, Nathan, et al.).
7. Go back into my blog and edit posts from the past two summers with peppered comments about how beautiful the sunrises were from the employee parking deck, and how friendly the night cleaning staff is.
6. Delete all entries from my comment “wall” on facebook.
5. Forbid everyone I currently hang out with from posting any comments that do not involve what a great time we had at the firm outings.
4. Post a top ten list of my favorite lunchtime eateries in Montgomery based on speed of service, proximity to the firm, and whether they offer fast, friendly, in-office delivery.
3. Title all future blog posts as: M E M O R A N D U M.
2. Write five blog posts next week drearily lamenting how empty my life is now that my summer clerkships have all come to and end. Oh, and I’ll need to backdate a couple of entries from earlier in the summer when I had two weeks off between my first and second half clerkships. Yep. Life was pretty bleak back then, too. I never would have made it through without the love of Jesus Christ, my personal Lord and Savior. Actually, the Jesus part is true, but I thought it would reinforce the whole personal stability thing.
1. Shamelessly continue to go on and on in my blog about the very permanent, very stable home we’re building that’s perfect for entertaining, conveniently located just minutes from the firm.

Little House on the Prairie Soil

2006-08-06T21:39:00.000-05:00

OK, so, it was a good wekend. The wife got word that she passed the "boards." Which is really good, 'cause, that means she can keep supporting my "professional student" self for a few more months until I start pulling my own weight around here.

In other news, the slab, she is poured, and pictured to the left. The little 'uns are our neice and nephew. Wife and builder are in the background. Now, if you look just to their right and ever so slightly to the forground, you'll see the spot where the undercounter wine fridge goes. Like I said. I love being an adult.

Blab 'bout the slab!

2006-08-03T22:22:00.000-05:00

They're gonna pour the slab for our new house tomorrow! Here's what it looks like, um, before they pour the slab. You know. Rebar. Vapor barrier. Conduit. You see that wad of conduit in the middle, just to the left, kind of in the kitcheny area? That's where the undercounter beer tap goes. Mmmhmm. Being a grown up is goooood.

The life you save

2006-08-01T23:10:00.000-05:00

As if getting rear-ended twice in one semester wasn’t enough to take the “farfeg” out of my “nugen,” try spending your summer at a law firm that specializes in car wreck defense litigation. Don’t misunderstand me, I like the work, I’m grateful for the experience, and I really hope they (or someone like them) will offer me a “real” job soon. But, you know, you can only read so many depositions, see so many file photos, and hear so many lunch time tall tales before you come to the inescapable conclusion that driving is un-freakin’-believably dangerous. And it seems like I can’t have a round trip to work without seeing a major wreck. OH! Proof? I get a letter two weeks ago from my insurance company saying that per my request for changes to my policy, my rate has gone up. What change was that? I moved to Montgomery!!! That’s it!!!! I think I pray more driving now than I did most days in seminary. Scary.

Respite

2006-07-25T15:57:00.000-05:00

One of the attorneys I’m working for is out of town this week, and was nice enough to offer his cushy corner office in his absence. Where am I? Still in the attic. Not sure why, but I like it up here. I have a little fan that keeps the breeze going. My MP3 player is shoehorned full of jazz. I have a supply of Starbucks "DoubleShots," an apple, and a picture of my wife. But today, what really draws it together is the sound of the rain on the roof above me. It’s been so hot and so dry this summer, it’s nice to just remember what rain sounds like, even if it does likely mean I’ll have to drive home with the top up. Maybe I’ll lounge it up in the partner office tomorrow. Today, I’ll play in my law closet.

My summer has settled into a deceptive little routine. Work by 8, lunch at 11, drive at 5, meet with the real estate agent and home builder at 6, dinner at the Eastside Grille, play guitar, go to bed, and when the morning light comes streamin’ in, I’ll get up and do it again. Amen. Dry cleaners on Wednesdays, minor league ball on Thursdays. A man could get used to this. But I know this is borrowed time. In less than a month, I’ll be back at school. My routine will go back to full-time student, part-time husband, "permanent law job" seeker, and amateur stealth pastoral counselor. And I know, even that is temporary. But that’s okay, too. The appearance of routine is a useful illusion. Even a seemingly endless stream of sunny days gets annoying without the occasional shower to freshen things up.

and Peace.

2006-07-14T23:00:00.000-05:00

OK, usually, I like to rant about the little, the nothing things in our world. Like, stupid stuff. Like, how crappy my rental cars are. Or, mall culture. Or the minutia of law school. Whatever. No big whoop.

That doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention. I mean, I know the difference between minor petty annoyances and global freakouts. Like, the other day, take my dear friend Cam. Now, you’d think with a name like “Cam,” he’d know that the Honda S2000 has four sets of cams (two overhead for ‘reglar drivin’, and two more for scarin’ the schnot out of everybody else). He didn’t. Hey. I’m ok with that. Cam is good people. And by good people, I mean, people who are much more likely to give you a free book containing another revelation of Jesus the Christ than blow up your family because you read the “wrong” book. Like I said, I like Cam. No harm, no foul, brother. Let’s go for a ride some time!

Which brings me to the last few days. OK, I’m biased. I still think God has a soft spot for Israel. Which is to say, I don’t think I’m the only being to ever fall in love. Let me be as clear as I know how: I am opposed to senseless human suffering. I abhor needless death.

Now let me be equally clear: If you mess with Israel, I hope your term-life policy is paid in full.

Now, another rarity. I don’t dig public displays of religiosity, but, let us pray. ‘God, we’re sorry. We have more blessings than we know what to do with. We have oil, mineral, environmental, and human resources in abundance, yet we hoard like toddlers. Please forgive us. We have an abundance of varieties of ways of expressing our devotion to you, yet we act like we have obtained a divine patent on orthodoxy. Please forgive us. We kill in your name. I’m barely sure how you’ll do so, but please, forgive us. We have applied our theory of “Supply and Demand” to the human condition, thinking our individual value is quantitatively low simply because our supply is relatively high. Please, God of all humanity, forgive us. And even when you took on human flesh to show us how much you value us, we got it all messed up. We declared a land to be “holy” and worshipped and fought over that, instead of declaring humanity to be “blessed,” and honoring and protecting that. I’m sorry, God. We messed up. Again. Please. Forgive us. Again. And save us. From ourselves. Again.’

Amen.

Go Bless Yourself!

2006-07-09T15:44:00.000-05:00

OK, occasionally, you need a good rant. Here’s mine. Unless you’re one of those weirdoes who thinks it’s hip to “live off the grid” (and you aren’t, given the fact you are reading this online), you may have had interaction with a customer service professional (read: cashier) who thinks it’s nice or spiritual or vaguely evangelistic to say the following upon your departure: “Have a blessed day!” Now, I’m not opposed to being blessed. In fact, I could really go for a good blessing. Bring on the blessings! And if said blessing should last the whole day, all the better. But, what good does it do to tell ME to have a blessed day? Do they think I have a vote on whether or not I’d be blessed? What? Like I’m sitting around with God constantly pestering me saying,
“Hey, Mike, want me to bless you today?”
“NO! Not today.”
“Oh, come now, my child. Let me bless you just a little.”
“If it’s all the same to you, God, this isn’t really a good time. There’s a cashier I’m trying to annoy by running about all day devoid of blessing. Earlier, I wouldn’t have minded being blessed, but I can’t take this pressure. It’s petty, but that’s how I get my jollies.”
“Well, if you change your mind, there’s this one particular blessing I’ve been working on for a few millennia I’ve been wanting to try out. Let Me know and I’d be glad to bless you.”
“Oh, heavens, no!”
SERIOUSLY! Who is this gonna help? If I’m already being blessed, this is a wasted greeting. If I’m not currently being blessed, this greeting will do little more than remind me that I’m NOT being blessed and make me feel like crap because I didn’t manage to twist God’s arm into blessing me! And if I’m not spiritually inclined, I’m annoyed. And if I am spiritually inclined, I’m probably already doing all I can to invite blessings and don’t need to be reminded of this at Arby’s. Or the cleaners. Or Office Depot. Or after holding for 45 minutes for tech support. I don’t think my blog is frequented by waiters, cashiers, or tech support types, but if you are one, please note: Not that it’s any of your business, but rest assured: I’m richly blessed. Relax. Go back to work. Sheesh.

Too hot to fish, too hot for golf.

2006-07-05T11:54:00.000-05:00

Wife started work Monday. I’m still on vacation this week. This would be great except that it’s too hot to wash the car, mow the grass, or form complete thoughts. Fortunately, I’m not in danger of doing any of those things.
So, we went to the mall this weekend. I have come to the uncomfortable conclusion that I have fallen almost entirely outside the demographic that mall culture targets. So, I have had to find new ways to entertain myself while wife does battle with the clearance racks. Like what sort of things you might ask? Go to Spencer’s, find the new fangled high tech fart machines, test them out, and leave before people realize you weren’t testing the machine. Go into Hot Topic: cause, I mean, if they don’t have squares like me to rebel against, sales of chain-bedrenched black stovepipe jeans and “My Chemical Romance” t-shirts would plummet. Sit by the ice rink, because, I mean, how many malls have you seen that conveniently provide a basketball court sized sheet of ice in the middle of July? OK, it’s there all year, but I need this in July. Then there is the classic “make friends with the old men who sit on the bench” game. Or, in a pinch, and I’m not particularly proud of this one, there is people herding. That’s where you use all that stuff you learned in your freshman psych class. Pick a part of a department store with several people in it. Pretend to look at clothes around other shoppers, getting closer and closer to them until you breach the bounds of polite social distance, and move them around like iron filings on a sheet of paper. Good times.

Hot Town . . .

2006-06-10T00:09:00.000-05:00

I have this whole love/hate thing with Alabama summers. I mean, I love getting to exhibit my gaudy Hawaiian shirt collection (always a good time!). But, I hate sweating like a Baghdadi car salesman every time I walk out the front door. This summer continues to be a unique one. For the first time in our married lives, wife and I have moved to a city we plan to live in long enough to merit changing the address on our drivers licenses, if you know what I mean. So, even though I have 9 months of law school livin’ left to go as of this fall, I’m letting myself get used to living the life of a Montgomerian. Montgomerite. Montgomerican. Citizen of Montgomery. Biscuit fan. Fine. You get the idea. It’s been a while since I cranked out a Top 10 list. It’s time.

Top Ten Things I Love About Summer in the City (of Montgomery)
10. Thursday night home games for the Montgomery Biscuits at Riverwalk Stadium = Cheap beer.
9. Watching the tiny minority of goth kids who stick it out in their all black attire during the summer sweat themselves into a coma waiting for the bus to go to the mall to be seen by the other goth kids and septuagenarian mall walkers.
8. Three words: “Meat and three”
7. Three more words: “Fried Green Tomatoes”
6. Yet three more words: “Extra Strength Rolaids”
5. Getting to be part of the almost exactly 66.6% of Alabama Republican voters who on 6/6/06 told Roy Moore they’d rather keep the governor we’ve got than entrust the state to a publicity monger who can’t tell the difference between a judge’s robe and choir robe. Here’s a hint, Roy: They probably won’t take your choir robe for giving the finger to a U.S. Supreme Court order. The middle finger, Roy. Oh, forget it. I’m sorry, Roy. I was just kidding. Hey, Roy, you gotta hear this one: Do you know what the difference is between a Political Action Committee and a Baptist Church? No? Hmm. That’s what I figured.
4. I can comfort myself with the thought that as expensive as gas is, a double tall non-fat extra dry cappuccino at Starbucks is still roughly 10 times as expensive per ounce than 93 octane gasoline. Wait. Why is that comforting?
3. Alabama Shakespeare Festival is currently showing Harper Lee’s “To Kill A Mockingbird.”
2. The only thing stupider than a convertible top down in the winter is a convertible top up in the summer.
1. Only 53 more days until Alabama Football returns!

Quarter Summer Flash

2006-06-04T17:10:00.000-05:00

So, I love clerking. I mean, seriously, I know why they put a time limit on this job, because if they didn’t, we’d all quit law school and clerk the rest of our lives. We sit in at trials and take notes, get off work, go for beers. OR we research issues of law, write a memo, proof read it, have a friend proof read it, hand it in, get two words of feedback, then go out for beers. OR we get a four day weekend for Memorial Day, go watch our minor league baseball team play (GO MONTGOMERY BISCUITS!!!!), and have a few beers. Then again, I may just be happy because, once again, I’ve found a job that gives me free coffee all day. I’m easy like that. Easy. Like Sunday morning.

OK, still, I will be pathetic for a minute and say that I miss my school friends. We’re all kind of busy, so none of us are really blog-intensive, much less zapping emails back and forth across the ether. That wouldn’t be so bad, but this is my last year coming up, so, I already know, the number of late night sushi outings, parties at the Barking Kudu, occasions for trying to make undergrads feel uncomfortable on Samford’s straight-laced campus, four-day work weeks, and days sitting in class sending IMs instead of listening to the lectures are running rather short. Alas, time is not static. Then again, I’m tired of being broke, so screw it. Nine more weeks of clerking, 9 months of schoolin’, let’s take the bar and get to work! I got me some litigating what needs doin’!

The love of my life finishes her final residency duties the day after Father’s Day. Me and Nana are already trying to drum up business for her in Montgomery! Hey, half the population of that town is a potential client, er, I mean, patient, right? The “Bizarro World” Huckstables are ready for duty!

Clerks

2006-05-21T23:19:00.000-05:00

First, I should say thank you. If you are reading this, you are either deeply devoted to keeping up with the goings on of my life, or you are a summer legal clerk and wasting time of the internet. Either way, I know you have a choice of time wasting activities and we thank you for choosing “What Would Jesus Brew?”.

Now, that being said, HEY!!! EXAMS ARE OVER!!! Heck, for that matter, grades are in, too! But, I’m two years into the three years of law school, which means it is no longer grades but the home of post-graduation gainful employ that drives me. As such, I have started my summer clerkships here in Montgomery. I’d love to tell you all about it, but that would be a dreadful breach of confidence. So, instead, I share the peripheral details. Like, for instance, my parking space at work is conveniently located between the local minor league baseball park and the local microbrew pub. Cool, huh?
Other news? The house in Mobile sold. We can thank the artificially inflated post-Katrina coastal housing market for that. I’ve located a dry cleaners, strategic coffee shops, and a Guitar Center close to the house. So, you know, all is well.

Two Out of Three Ain't Bad

2006-04-25T15:15:00.000-05:00

So, I’m sitting in a review session, my last day of class as a second year law student. If you don’t count the exams that I have to take over the next two weeks (you know, ‘cause, like, who’s counting?), I’m teetering on the edge of being a bona fide 3rd (and final) year law student! Of course, that also means that in about two and a half weeks, I start work in Montgomery as a summer law clerk. That being said, I’ll be dropping off the radar again for a few more days. But I assure you: all is well. My baby is counting down the days to the end of residency and the start of private practice. I, of course, couldn’t be prouder. In other words all is well in my little world. Happy Exam Season!

Articulation

2006-04-08T00:39:00.000-05:00

OK, I know I am now officially guilty of blog-neglect. I wouldn’t offer excuses, except that if I didn’t I wouldn’t have much to blog about!
What’s kept me from bloggin’? Well, mostly being Articles Editor for the review. In the month of March, I got a total of 71 unsolicited submissions, and we’re getting pretty close to 20 already for April. I’d love to tell you that I’m getting close to having enough articles to finish off our demands for next year, but I don’t like to lie to my friends. Half the articles suck, half of what’s left is student written, and half of what’s left is then a race against the other reviews for the good ones. So, there’s that.
Then there’s trying to keep grass mowed in Mobile, Montgomery, and Birmingham.
And there’s that whole thing about trying to show up to class prepared once in a while. You know, just for jollies.
But, hey, it hasn’t all been tough times. Last night at the Law Review end of the year banquet, they announced which members would have their Comments (read: student written article of legal commentary) published next year, and mine was one of the six chosen! Yeah! My Comment entitled “Rusty Shields for Those Who Wield the Pen: The State of Alabama’s Reporter Shield Law In the Aftermath of Price v. Time” will be published in Vol. 37 of the Cumberland Law Review. Pumped.
BUT more importantly, it was also announced last night that I was officially voted law review member “Most Likely to Know the Temperature to Roast Sumatra Coffee Beans” complete with certificate almost suitable for framing. It just goes to show, if you work hard, remain goal oriented, and refuse to get discouraged, you can parlay a few magic beans into immortality!
OK, so exams start in a couple of weeks, so bloggin’ may continue to be scarce, but I’ll try.

Little Honda

2006-03-21T11:22:00.000-06:00

So, I got the car back last week. Tameron Honda of Hoover did a fine job, again, restoring the rear of my auto. Recently, in reviewing my rants regarding my rear-end-repairs requiring rentals, I realized I never reviewed my own ride. So, here goes.

Honda introduced the S2000 in late 1999, quickly catching the attention of the sport motoring community. Producing 240hp from a mere 2.0L 4-cylinder engine without the use of turbos or superchargers or trunk loads of cash, and with a teenie-tiny curb weight, it caught the attention of Car & Driver who rated it a 10 Best in 2000, 2001, 2002, and 2004. It also caught the attention of a guy who bought a 2000 Honda Civic EX in the summer of 2000. That guy? ME.
Back in September, I finally acquired one 2005 “Sebring Silver” Certified Pre-Owned Honda S2000. Now, when I say pre-owned, be not fooled: it had only 140 miles on it at delivery. After six months of ownership, my impressions are scarcely different than that afternoon I rolled it off the lot. The 2005 model benefits from the slightly enlarged 2.2L in-line 4 cylinder engine, which produces the same horsepower as the 2000-03 models, but with a bit more torque and a slightly lower redline of a “mere” 8000RPM. The set up is front-engine, rear wheel drive, an extremely short-throw 6 speed manual (only available transmission), limited slip differential, with independent suspension at all four corners. The 17” rims sport low profile tires with a bit more width on the rear. The unit body frame is strong, light, and rigid. At a curb weight of less than 2900 pounds, there’s not a lot of pork to haul around. You can still fit a set of golf clubs in the trunk, two reasonably sized adults up front, and a couple of odds and ends in the console mounted glove box. Pack light. Bring sunglasses and 45spf.

The cloth top drops in 6 seconds via a single switch. A simple bright red button on the driver’s left hand side serves as the ignition. The leather covered seats are firm but comfortable and supportive. The door sills rise high about the shoulders of most passengers, even those long in the torso like this reviewer. Leg room is surprising given the go-kart-like posture required by the low slung chassis. The stereo, arguably the weak point of the package, is a four speaker (read: a set of component speakers in each door) AM/FM/XM ready single CD system, neatly hidden behind a silver door and accented by remote dash mounted controls. The cabin is otherwise Spartan, but the controls are all conveniently placed such that one rarely needs to lift a hand from the three-spoke leather wrapped steering wheel except to shift and wave. Even so, the release controls for the trunk and fuel door are concealed better than the clues in the Da Vinci Code. Fortunately, despite the single-minded sport packaging of this wolf in the Honda sheep ranch, there is no sacrifice in fuel economy. This tester regularly experiences 24mpg in the city and as high as 28mpg on the highway, ever so slightly less if the A/C is needed. High octane petrol is required.

Great, but how’s it feel? The suspension has been tuned a touch softer in the 2005 model, but in the balance between daily driver comfort and racetrack stiff, the track wins. Thou shalt not fly over the speed bumps. The payoff of this stiffness is a tenacious grip on the pavement through the squiggly bits of urban canyon. The tough-love of the suspension is aided by the almost fanatically equal distribution of weight to the four corners thanks to a light aluminum hood and a lightweight engine nestled far back beneath it. Understeer is virtually unheard of, oversteer is available on demand above 5000rpm. The 2006 remedies this with traction control, although some of us don’t see the “oversteer” as a fault to be corrected any more than we’d say Cindy Crawford’s beauty mark is a blemish to be surgically removed. Straight line acceleration is brisk and visceral, at least once the tachometer makes its initial journey past four or five thousand RPM. Once the digital graphic tachometer registers 6000, the tone of the throaty little four banger shifts from the sound of persistent aggression to a pissed off surgical shriek for the very brief period of time it takes to reach redline, where the rev limiters kick in at just past 8000 spins. Assuming one does so artfully from a standstill, one may achieve 60 miles per hour with the passage of 2 shifts and 5.5 seconds: that’s less time than it took to drop the rag top. The quarter mile will pass after 14 seconds. Top speed, I’m told, is 150mph, rev limited. I assure you, I do not know this first hand. The shifts are short and satisfying, thanks to a clock-work 6 speed with highly precise synchros. Four wheel discs make short work of shedding the speed the S is so anxious to accumulate. Theoretically, if you paved a football field and started the S2000 from one goal line, if you could mysteriously hit 70mph at midfield (which you can’t), if you then hit the brakes and held them to a stop, you’d just barely break the plane at the opposite goal line. But, perhaps most importantly, it never feels like the car resents anything asked of it. If anything, it always feels as if the car is reminding the driver that there is a little something left at the top of the tach, you know, if you were so inclined. Sounds and feedback through the controls are communicative but never belligerent. That being said, there is plenty of sound to go around. With the top up at interstate speed, the cabin is a bit noisy. This is in no small part due to the 4000RPM necessary to achieve 75MPH in 6th gear. Add a soft top and wide tires, and yes, there’s gonna be a bit of noise. Is it worth it? Absolutely. My proof? Um, well, the rear tires only have 17K miles on them and I’m already shopping for new ones. Capiche?
Now, if you’ve read this far into a blog of some guy yammering on about his car, there should be some reward, preferably of the self-deprecating variety. So, this week, I’m on spring break. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and the wife is at work during the days, which leaves me free to do fun things like read constitutional law theory, do the taxes, and find excuses to put the top down and go “run errands.” Such I was doing on Saturday. I got a fresh tank of gas, pushed the button to reset the trip-meter, donned my silver sunglasses (they match the car), and took off down Dauphin Street, speed limit: 45. OK, all’s well, right? A few blocks down Dauphin, I take a quick glance at my speedometer’s digital readout: 71!!! HOW! How did I manage to go blazing 30+ miles per hour over the speed limit without noticing? About that time I realized, instead of pushing the trip-meter button at the gas station, I’d pressed the mph/Kph button. I was blazing along at 71 kilometers per hour. O, Canada, what a relief that was. What does 71 kilometers per hour convert to in miles per hour, you might ask? 44.11735464. Yep. That’s right. Even when I’m behaving badly, I’m still legal. Disgusting.

Why I don't buy insurance online. Or have a tongue ring.

2006-03-14T12:58:00.000-06:00

Right, so the S2000 is still in the shop. The shop is telling me possibly sometime the middle of this week. Of course, the whole thing would have been finished a week ago, were it not for the most ironically named insurance company ever: Progressive. See, to qualify as being “progressive” you’d need to do something like, oh, I dunno, let matters progress (i.e. move ahead) OR do things in a manner that are an improvement over other means of achieving a desired end. Not in this case. Nope. These clowns would rather continue to pay for my rental car while sending an adjuster out with a camera to take a picture of each step of the repair before authoring the payment thereof, you know, for the repair of my car which THEIR INSURED rearended. The first sign things were gonna go crappily? Well, with apologies to Foxworthy . . .
If your insurance adjuster has a tongue ring and T-back under-britches, you might have some delays in having your car fixed.
If your insurance adjuster is such an existentialist that she won’t believe your car has damage without taking a photograph of the Styrofoam energy absorber behind your bumpercover, the remnants of which were readily visible on the street after the accident, you can count on an extra day or two in the old rental car.
If the theme song for the insurance company that indemnifies the guy who hit your car is “This is How Life Should Be,” just go ahead and count on the fact that the more appropriate jingle would be Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers “The Waiting is the Hardest Part.”
If you call to complain to the crappy little insurance company, and they tell you that you have chosen a body shop that “everyone knows is the hardest to get along with in Birmingham,” you can rest assured that the insurance company was actually wooing that shop to become a preferred provider of repair services.
OH, OHHH, and OHHHH: If you are turning 33 on a BEAUTIFUL weekend in Mobile, with the sun shining overhead and celebrating being elected as Articles Editor for the Cumberland Law Review, you can be bloody sure that rather than enjoying a fleeting, balmy moment of your youth with the top down on the coolest car Honda ever crafted, your be putzing about in a rented Mitsubishi Lancer ES that smells like my college dorm.

It's a beautiful day

2006-03-04T23:13:00.000-06:00

What do the deaths of Crispus Attucks, Joseph Stalin, Patsy Cline, and John Belushi all have in common? And what further does that have to do with the Boston Massacre, the first public performance of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven,” the conviction of Martha Stewart, Winston Churchill’s “Iron Curtain” speech, and the announcement that the Braves were moving to Atlanta? Yep. That’s right! These events all occurred on March 5th! The day Andy Gibb was born! The day Dick Cheney last underwent angioplasty! And the day I came kicking, screaming, and jaundiced into the world in Talladega County, Alabama! Wooohooo! Happy Birthday to ME!!! March 5th, Baby!

Oh, and have a blessed Lenten Season. Grace Out!

Meaning? We don't need no stinking meaning.

2006-02-22T15:07:00.000-06:00

Now, I’m not a person who believes everything happens for a reason. I just narrowly believe that all things can “work to the good.” I am a person who believes that pain and suffering are endemic to the human condition and the point at which Jesus looks most human is when he suffers. But still, I find it a bit self-centered to think that nothing can happen to me without it having some objective meaning and purpose. What I’m trying to say is, fecal matter occurs. And today, it did. My car got rear ended again this morning. You know, the car I just got back from the shop about a month back? Yes, that one. The one with a freshly painted bumper? Right. That one. So, hey, let’s pull a pythonesque move here and look on the bright side: In the next couple of weeks, I’ll get to test drive another rental car!!! Oh! OH! And I’ll get to fill out and send in another accident report form SR-18 to the state of Alabama so I won’t lose my driver’s license! WOW! AND I’ll get to contribute to the economy of my state by needing more labor auto parts to get my car ready for top-down weather!!! I’m so excited, I could just go back to bed and pretend I hadn’t bothered to get up today.
ATTENTION RESIDENTS OF BIRMINGHAM: What say we stop running into the young attorney-to-be's convertible!

Uh, no, we didn't win

2006-02-21T12:32:00.000-06:00

Alright, Mike’s back! But not without a cost. I pulled one more all-nighter Thursday to finish my law review comment and get my cite check turned in by deadline. So far so good. Bought a cheap suitcase at Wal-Mart at 5:00am because, well, because I’m a dork and forgot to bring one up from Mobile, and my flight was leaving in about, oh, FOUR HOURS!
The flight from Birmingham to Atlanta was lost on me. Despite the fact that I was seated directly beside a mother with a baby on her lap, I was quite literally asleep before the plane was aloft, and I seriously don’t remember the landing. We almost got to see an indignant dad and a profane passenger go toe to toe on the last leg of the flight, but cooler heads prevailed as mine nodded off again.
Now, I see no need to provide a full chronology of the events of the Southeast Regional Client Counseling Competition, given that such an account might be the only thing more boring than actually being there. But a few details of the weekend were so bizarre as to warrant comment. And wouldn’t you know it, there are 10 such details.

Top Ten Really Jacked Events, Observations, and Odors from this Weekend In Orlando!
10. A disproportionate number of the homeless people in downtown Orlando have bicycles. I assign no meaning to this observation. I simply make it.
9. You’ll have an easier time getting a decent tattoo on your seat than a seat at a decent restaurant on Universal Blvd. on Saturday night. I got neither.
8. If you leave the remnants of two angus burgers and pulled pork quesadillas on the room-service tray in the suite overnight, your hotel room will smell like @$$ for the next 12 hours after the offending aliments have been removed.
7. Overheard from a ‘hip’ white kid on his cell phone on street corner in downtown Orlando: “No, my n#gg&r, in front of the Baptist church.” Again, no comment.
6. Overheard from local describing the staff at a local Chinese joint: “Yeah, they have good food and two Chinese midget sisters who work the register. The money looks so big in their little hands.” Um. No comment?
5. When we left our hotel Saturday afternoon, it appeared people were setting up for a rockin’ wedding reception. When we came back that night, rather than wedding guests, the hotel lobby was populated almost exclusively by sharply dressed lesbians chugging back booze and raising money for treatment for lesbians suffering from breast cancer. OK, this time, I’ll comment. I share their concern for quality women’s health, and I share a few interests in common with lesbians (which I will kindly refrain from here enumerating). And I’m very jealous that they didn’t invite us to come to their party. It was rockin. The next morning, a hotel employee fought a valiant fight to vacuum up the glitter that shimmered across the acres of commercial carpet in the hotel lobby.
4. We had eight total judges at varying stages of our three rounds of competition. If I took the time to tell you exactly how pompous, self-important, smug, needlessly verbose, and all around puerile the last judge was, I’d end up becoming that which I despise. Suffice it to say, he loves the sound of his own voice so much he can’t burp without feeling a little sad that no one was there to appreciate his eloquence, wisdom, and burbling sense of self-worth.
3. On Saturday night, a few city blocks of downtown Orlando’s club district are cordoned off to traffic and all those incapable or unwilling to part with a $5 cover charge. It’s amazing how much more fun it is to listen to live reggae when a $5 riffraff-deterrent-tax is firmly in place!
2. Thanks to the four hour delay of our flight leaving Orlando, I had the opportunity to study constitutional law with a great man: Sam Adams. Patriot. Brewer.
1. Florida A&M University School of Law has a fabulous, state of the art facility now in the heart of Orlando. Their students and faculty were gracious hosts, and I wish them all the best future competitions, recruiting, and securing permanent accreditation. Kudos, FAMU!

Blog Fodder!

2006-02-14T09:48:00.000-06:00

I spoke with a family member last night who commented that she knew I must have been busy lately because I haven’t blogged much lately. Guilty as charged. This has been a very front-loaded semester. I have a 30 page “comment” due for law review on Friday, the same day I have a cite check due, the same day that Motlow and I jet off to Orlando for the weekend to represent Cumberland in the regional Client Counseling Competition. Yes, we even compete in that. Next week I have a mid-term take home exam for Consitutional Law. The week after that, I have tentatively scheduled a nervous breakdown or a birthday or whatever is most likely to give me the privilege to sleep late and sacrifice gourmet olives in a shaken but not stirred liquidy death.
In the mean time, no shockers. I go to class. I take guitar lesson here and there. I brew overpriced coffee and burn foreign oil. Hey, life is good. And I want mine back!

The Day My Toshiba Went "Vaio" Con Dios

2006-02-09T08:14:00.000-06:00

So, I’ve been a little lax in the bloggery department lately, but I have several good excuses. Let’s take the most salacious one! I should have known I was jinxed last week. How? Well, for one, while walking across campus, I tripped on the sidewalk, recovered, and then a couple of seconds later just narrowly avoided being run over by a “little person” on an electric motorcycle. Bad joojoo or mojo or something. Strange things were most definitely afoot at the Circle K, where K = Cumberland School of Law. Right, so I was jinxed and whatnot. So, I’m up late last Wednesday night working to meet a deadline for turning in my rough draft of my major writing requirement for Law Review. It was at that point that I cashed in my jinx. My Toshiba labtop computer, about which I had bragged less than 24 hours prior to be the most dependable PC I’d ever owned, ceased to be. After expressing my displeasure in no uncertain terms to an inanimate object which had somehow found a way to become even less animate that it had previously been, I spent Thursday night rewriting my paper. Joy-joy. Now, here is the silver lining: I took my cadaverous computer to Grace “the computer goddess of the otherwise coffee-hating Beeson Law Library” who performed an emergency harddrive-ectomy and successfully completed a documentary organ harvest from the donor PC, thus ensuring an after-life to the files which had formerly lived, moved, and found their being in my old machine. Oh, well. Tom Petty was right: Even the losers get lucky sometimes.

On My Hobbyhorse

2006-01-25T01:00:00.000-06:00

Long time no blog, right? What can I tell you? It’s been a rough semester, and said semester is like, two weeks old? Hmm. So, second day of the semester, I’m driving home, minding my own business. I’m sitting still in traffic, I hear a crash behind me, and a split second later feel my head, neck and shoulders fly back into the driver’s seat. Yep. You guessed it! Some kid two cars behind me is buying me a new bumper for my car which I’ve had less than 6 months. I’m fine, thanks for asking. The car, I’m told, will be fine Wednesday. But in the mean time, I’m driving a rental. Now, I love cars. Always have. I’m a long time subscriber to Car and Driver thanks to the compassionate understanding of my wife. But, I usually have to read the reviews rather than actually getting to drive the cars. Unlike certain professors at my law school, I may not simply drive the Aston Martin DB9 if the Range Rover is in the shop. And for my non-Cumberland friends reading that last sentence, no, I’m not kidding. Now, since I’m driving a rental, I have the opportunity to provide you with a review of a late model center piece of American automotive engineering, the last of its line, the 2005 Pontiac Grand Am. So, with apologies to C&D . . .

You might expect that after 20+ years of building the Grand Am, Pontiac would, for its final offering, present a refined car, benefiting from years of experience, efficiency, and performance data. You’d be painfully, heretically wrong. Instead, the swansong for the GM workhorse Grand Am is a rolling explanation for why the American auto industry is on the ropes and gasping.

The first thing I noticed about the gold sedan while doing a walk-around looking for pre-drive damage was that the side ground effects looked convincingly like they had been kicked and bent under. The rental-boy doing the walk around with me was equally convinced we had found structural damage until the other side of the car revealed that the hideous indention was intentional. Otherwise, the body joints are haphazard, clunky, and tectonic. The plastic side panels of a Saturn in a sub-zero weather would be hard pressed to show greater body gaps. Overall styling is mostly un-offensive but equally unimaginative and substantially dated. How about the interior? Entry was provided by an adequate keyless remote, complete with the appreciated trunk release button. Get your highlighter out; I’m about to say some thing positive about the Grand Am: I found the trunk to be surprisingly cavernous. Now, keep in mind, this author owns a daily driver with a trunk admittedly designed to just accommodate a brief case and a bag of golf clubs, but little else, so my subjective definition of “cavernous” is probably skewed. Unfortunately, the interior accolades thus end. Opening the driver’s door is the first portent of things to come. Everything from the feel of the handle to the sheer weight of what one would otherwise regard as a smallish door belies the bloated weight of this car. The interior is slathered in yards of velour and acres of molded beige plastic, c.1980’s. The driver’s seat is spongy and more or less fails to even grossly approximate comfort beyond the notion that humans fold slightly in half while seated. The dash board appears to not so much have been designed as it was congealed. The manual pressure needed to activate the steering wheel mounted horn is roughly equal to that of the frontal impact which might be required to trigger to inflation of the drivers airbag system. The airvents appear to have bubbled up to the surface of the dash in nearly obscene configurations. The central instrument cluster, how shall I put this, appears to have been inspired by a trip to Hooters. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that it is exactly the size, shape, and proportions of the imprint that an artificially endowed waitress might make if she stumbled forward into a molten dashboard. Once you get past the 36DD instrument cluster, the sexy-factor of the interior ends there. The locations of the controls seem to have been determined by a committee of hemorrhoidal masochists rather than by anyone with a view toward intuitive driver-oriented placements. The only thing intuitive about this interior is that you will have to take your eyes off the road to find what you’re looking for should you desire to do anything other than steer. Even the tragically low-rent vinyl boot on the shifter serves little purpose in this life other than to obscure the indicators which might otherwise tell you into which gear you have inadvertently placed the transmission. The lines of sight to the mirrors are acceptable, although the inexplicable bottom curvature of the rearview mirror gives the sickening impression that you are missing something behind you. Legroom is commendable owing to the fact that the lower area of the driver’s compartment was designed by a bowlegged cowboy.

OK, so she ain’t the prettiest belle at the ball. I’m a driver who cares about performance. Cue the “driving excitement” music!

Upon twisting the key in the ignition, passengers are greeted by a cacophony of metallic gurgles and asthmatic whirring mildly reminiscent of what one might expect from pre-glasnost Russian military transport. Tip-in on the gas is spongy and requires interminable attention to keep the beleaguered engine from succumbing to the unmitigated heft of the vehicle it has injudiciously been conscripted to haul about. Shifts from the four-speed automatic are pronounced and evoke depressed noises from the strained engine during normal acceleration, replaced by shameless engine thrash upon flooring the beast. Test numbers are not yet available due to wet pavement conditions. However, the front-wheel drive is all too happy to allow the outside wheel to spin into under-steer when trying to launch the car free from the tyrannical grip of inertia.
Wait a minute! I thought Pontiac was GM’s excitement line!? Maybe it’s in the handling? Nope. Remember going to the playground as a child and riding on those little horses which were mounted on those huge industrial springs? Ok, that is roughly the feel of the suspension. Fly over any speed bump you wish! The springs are as flaccid as, well, let’s be honest, you don’t need a simile to accent how flaccid this suspension is! Take any curve and this car will generate more body roll than a Girls Gone Wild commercial. Overall, the handling is as stable as a drunken sorority chick after a nasty breakup. This makes for cornering as forgiving as the dictator of an Islamic republic. Braking is less than memorable, and besides, I’m running out of derogatory similes to invoke in the pillorying of this rental.

The body shop called last night to tell me that my Honda S2000 would be ready on Wednesday. I cried a bit, asked to speak to a Honda Emotional Health Counselor, and decided to take this thing one day at a time, provided there won’t be too many more days left which I will have to take. Give me four wheel independent suspension on a racing derived chassis with a respectable weight to horsepower ratio or give me . . . well, something besides the sweet euthanasia of the Grand Am.

Lazarus? Is that you? What's that smell?

2006-01-11T21:50:00.000-06:00

Hi all! Classes are SOOOOO back in full swing. Would love to tell you all about it. Would also love to not bore you to tears with it. Oh, the dilemma! Anyway, just wanted to alert you that the long-dormant Job 10:4 blog is back up and has a new post. Soon as my Comment for Law Review is done, hopefully life will return to a meaningful endeavor, and I'll blog again. Lord, Speed the day!

I Can Stop Whenever I Want

2006-01-06T14:34:00.000-06:00

I’ve been to a casino before. Couple of times, actually. Atlantic City, Las Vegas, Biloxi. Been there. And I’ve even dropped a couple of dollars in a slot machine. And I can honestly say, it doesn’t do a thing for me. Nothing. For me, playing slots is like seeing a cop on the side of the road flick on his lights while I’m on the interstate: there may be flashing lights and loud noises, and there may be a lot of adrenaline involved, but I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I’m may lose some cash on this one. So, I’ve never understood the impulse that drives people to casinos. Until this week.

See, this is the week that my school posts grades. I’d love to say that this is the “day” that my school posts grades. That would have been Wednesday. As it is, this is the week my school is SUPPOSED to post grades. And that means that for close to 72 hours, the Cumberland School of the Americas (if you get that joke, I’m very impressed) has trickled a grade here and there, careful never to completely disclose any one student’s complete slate of marks. Where does that leave me and the rest of the detainees? Oh, we live a shadow existence. Like a geriatric chain-smoking wheelchair-bound oxygen bottle toting blue-haired slot machine jockey, we sit, put in the password, and pray to come out a winner instead of pathetic grade obsessed approval junkies who know that checking the school web any more than every 15-20 seconds signals the advent of some very unhealthy neuroses. I only have one grade left to go: Constitutional Law I. That’s right. I start Constitutional Law II on Monday but on Friday still don’t know if I swam, treaded water, or went swimming less that 30 minutes after eating a big meal in my first effort at this kind of important bit of my legal education. I’m pretty sure this is a violation of my 8th Amendment rights. And if you got that joke, shouldn’t you be checking your grades right now? I hear Payment Systems may have been posted. Suckers.

Other than that, all’s well. I am officiating at a law school friend’s wedding this weekend here in Mobile. Sunday I’ll try to figure out how to pack my brief-case-sized trunk with the crap I need to carry back to Birmingham. I need one of those Chinese guys who magically fit artificial Christmas trees into those little boxes and defy all laws of space, time, and physics by getting the strings of lights into those even tinier boxes. Maybe they could figure out how to get a suit, a week’s worth of clothes, a guitar, an amp, the Xbox (non-360), my computer, a cocktail shaker, a jar of olives, a few books, my shoes, and a semester’s worth of fear and loathing into the trunk of my S2K. Oh, and none of that can really go up front, cause that’s where Butters sits. Having a two seater forces one to embody the philosophy: “Live simply that others may simply live.” Or something like that.

Hiatus Interuptus

2006-01-02T10:23:00.000-06:00

OOooohhh the holidays! Such a special time! Now that they’re done, it’s time to clean house, take inventory of the blessings of the season, and schedule a double session with a therapist. Here’s the wrap up (no pun intended, wanted, or avoidable)! I engaged in all my personal favorite holiday traditions: I drank low-fat eggnog. I love that stuff. Loveitloveitloveit. I caught the Charlie Brown Christmas special. I bought some mixed nuts, spread out some newspaper on the floor, and cracked ‘em. Personal favorite: Brazil nuts. Super yummy. Least favorite: walnuts. They leave that weird dry feeling in your mouth. I watched “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I cried promptly, on cue, when George Bailey read the inside of Clarence’s copy of Tom Sawyer. I bought a Hallmark Keepsake Ornament. I spent an inordinate amount of time giving a rip about the grades I still don’t have even though I said I wouldn’t. Good times. Good times.

Then there are the not so traditional things that happened.
Top Ten Really Jacked-Up Things That Happened to Me Over My Christmas Vacation
10. I had a pelican almost hit my car while I was driving up I-65 in Montgomery.
9. I went five consecutive days without internet access.
8. I watched a convenience store clerk stutter sharply while studying my face to see if it was ok to wish me a “Merry Christmas.”
7. I had a “Bama Fever/Tiger Pride” employee at the Eastdale Mall in Montgomery, Alabama almost refuse to exchange sizes on two T-Shirts (his and hers matching, of course) because I walked into the store with the shirts WITHOUT having first placed the shirts “in a bag. I mean, how do I know you didn’t just walk in and pick them up?” Well, let’s see. That can mean one of two things. That harpy little retail shrew either thinks I’m so stupid that I shoplift the wrong size OR that plastic bags can magically keep me from walking in with an empty bag only to throw merchandise (of the wrong size) in the bag in an effort to inefficiently shoplift $42 in merchandise. Right. Oh, I got your magic bag. I got it right here, sister.
6. I attended a backyard bonfire/cookout/wake in honor of the next door neighbors’ cat.
5. Did some Christmas shopping with the top down!
4. Ran into a guy I went to college with over 10 years ago. Where? Starbucks. Is there anything that magical brew can’t do?
3. “Enjoyed” a conversation with my uncle at a family Christmas gathering in which he professed that in-house counsel at his place of employ had told him that he’d learned so much about the law through his experiences in drafting contracts that my uncle could probably pass the bar without the nuisance of going to law school, you know, if the state would allow it.
2. Received not one BUT TWO DVD copies of “It’s a Wonderful Life” to replace my tired VHS copy. Ok, I took one back for a gift card at Wal-Mart.
1. I made a few New Year’s Resolutions!

My Top Ten Amended New Year’s Resolutions!
10. I’m going to lose 20 pounds in the British lottery.
9. I’m going to stop smoking my tires in the law school parking lot.
8. Every morning, I’m going to jog my memory.
7. I’m going to start working out how to pay off my student loans before I die.
6. I’m going learn to love salad toppings on my hamburgers.
5. I’m going to start waking up earlier on days when classes start earlier.
4. I’m going to stop procrastinating about 6 hours before each project is done.
3. I’m going to volunteer my time to help children shut the &$#* up in public places.
2. I’m going to cut down on coffee that I have to pour out because I let it get cold before I can drink all its inky blackness into my waiting soul.
1. I’m going to study harder than people who don’t study as hard as me.

Resident Evils

2005-12-22T11:54:00.000-06:00

When I was in college, I had a roommate who was the son of an emotionally unavailable absentee father type. Let’s pretend to protect his dignity and identity by calling him, oh, Peter Pan. Peter collected comic books, decorated his room with Disney posters, VCRed cartoons if classes interfered, and had character oriented bed sheets. He wasn’t gay (that would be my other roommates), just childlike. One of Peter’s prized possessions was an original vinyl recording of the Star Wars Christmas album that included a deeply philosophical tune entitled, “What do you get a Wookie for Christmas when he already owns a comb?” Moving. I am now faced with a similar problem: “What do you get an resident physician for Christmas when she already owns a stethoscope?” Here’s my problem: It’s 3 days until Christmas. She’s on call tonight (which means I can go shopping without her!). BUT she doesn’t wear jewelry (you can’t wear it into surgery). You just DON’T give flowers for Christmas. She loves chocolate, but we are both trying to cut down. Hobbies? You’re kidding, right? Residents don’t get to have hobbies. She eats, sleeps, works, and takes long baths. That’s it. So, If in the next 12-24 hours you have any bright ideas, please, for the love of all that is good and matrimonially preservative, post a comment and help a brother out!

Half Time Report

2005-12-16T02:39:00.000-06:00

Exams are done. I’m in Mobile. Wife is at work. I’ve skewered a few olives. And I can almost see in color again, but I think I can put a stop to that, too. I’ve given myself permission to not give a rip about the grades until January 4th, which is my professors’ deadline to turn in their grade reports to the registrar. Short of some ill-deserved Divine intervention, there’s nothing I can do to change the outcome of my semester’s gradable efforts. Super. So, I’m now officially half way through with my law school experience, which makes us like the “J” in “J.D.” Looking at it from the other end, that means I’m only three semesters away from having to pass the bar and take a real job that doesn’t give me three weeks of Christmas vacation. Hmm. Those exams are suddenly sounding like a smallish price to pay.

Anyway, I think I may have promised a couple or three lists? Right. Here goes.

Top Ten Gift Ideas from Mike for under $20
10. Starbucks gift card for $19.99!
9. USB thumbdrive preloaded with family pictures, recipes, and ransom notes
8. (For my law-dog buddies) Offer a free night of holiday designated driving for the turd in your family who is most likely to ask you to defend them in their second DUI case.
7. Offer valet parking at your holiday party which surprises your loved one with half a tank of gas (I mean, we are trying to get in UNDER $20).
6. Buy your loved one a used Hummer H2! I mean, resale on those lumbering petrol-disposal units is like, what? $14? $15 bucks, max?
5. See item #6, substitute “Chevy Suburban” or “Ford Expedition V10” for “H2”
4. A matching set of 12 pack double rolls of the nice toilet paper! Hey, they’ll either use it and be grateful, or least have a largely harmless means at hand for showing their displeasure on your front lawn!
3. Find out what your smart@$$ brother/sister is getting the person in question, and buy $20 in batteries to go with it. Timing is everything with this gift!
2. “I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time!”
1. Whatever piece of crap plastic toy was all the rage last year that no one could get but is sitting idly on the shelves this year under the curse of not being an XBOX 360.

Top Ten Gift Ideas FOR Mike for under $20
10. A Starbucks gift card for $19.90
9. A Starbucks gift card for $19.91
8. A Starbucks gift card for $19.92
7. A Starbucks gift card for $19.93
6. A Starbucks gift card for $19.94
5. A Starbucks gift card for $19.95
4. A Starbucks gift card for $19.96
3. A Starbucks gift card for $19.97
2. A Starbucks gift card for $19.98
1. A Starbucks gift card for $19.99

How to Spin a Dreidel Without Looking Like a Total Goy
10. Learn the fine art of crafting a perfectly balanced spinning toy out of clay.
9. Master the alef beth (or Hebrew alphabet for all you gentiles out there)
8. Save up some betting gelt for use in the big family dreidel spin
7. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m such a bacon scented gentile, it’s not even funny. I tried some kosher beef jerky once and almost hurled schmutz all over myself. Oy freakin’ vey.
6. Happy Hanukah!

Coming Soon!

2005-12-07T14:08:00.000-06:00

I’m a little concerned. I was studying today for my secured transactions exam scheduled for this Saturday when I decided to take a much needed procrastination break. In doing so, I have been presented with information which gives me a reasonable basis to believe that (1) the apocalypse will be really soon and (2) quite welcome, actually. First, Coca-Cola announced today that they will be producing a coffee infused version of their Coke Classic beverage sometime next year called (I'm not making this up) Coca-Cola Blak. Hearing the hoof beats yet? Mmm? Right. I love coffee as much and likely more than the next guy, but seriously, I think this sort of thing is clearly in contravention of Levitical law and general human decency. Next, today in a unanimous decision penned by outgoing Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, the Court decided that is was legal for the government to tap Social Security benefits to recoup grossly delinquent student loan debts, even those that haven’t been touched in over 10 years! “Even so, come Lord Jesus, Come!” Considering the debt which I, my wife, and my colleagues currently have in return for our admission tickets to the careers which Willie Nelson advised mommas were acceptable choices, we may well be retired before our debts are! Hey, Jesus! Seriously, any time you’re ready!

Here Comes Commerce Clause, Right Down Commerce Clause Lane!!

2005-11-30T22:21:00.000-06:00

OK, I know I said it would be a while before I blogged again, but this is important. I have generally tried to avoid including too much about my legal education on the blog simply because, to be quite frank, most of what we study in law school is more boring than listening to your sister's new boyfriend tell you about a traffic accident he almost got into this one time while he was driving this S-10 he fixed up, including his valiant verbal interchange with the other guy who was involved in the accident that didn't happen at all. Right, so while I was studying for Constitutional Law tonight (exam: Saturday, Dec. 6), I ran across this article that really cleared up for me the recent Supreme Court decisions regarding the Ten Commandments as it touches issue of the Commerce Clause. Horribly important stuff. Horribly.

Christmas Blend

2005-11-26T17:43:00.000-06:00

So, Starbucks has this new holiday marketing theme: “It only happens once a year.” Charming. But I have two contrary thoughts. First, in the words of my old friend Dr. John Improta, “It’s Christmas: you don’t need a theme.” Second, I’m about five days from the start of law school exams, and I can’t help but remember that this little event happens (wait for it) TWICE A YEAR!! I mention this because posts will be kind of sparse until, oh, I don’t know, December 16th. Why the sixteenth, you ask? Well, last day of exams is the fourteenth. A day of sackcloth, ashes, and Advil will be observed on the fifteenth. And I expect to recover with minimal dain bramage by the sixteenth. Cool? Cool. Maybe I’ll start back up with like, “Top Ten Great Gift Ideas From Mike for under $20,” OR! “Top Ten Essential Gift Ideas for Mike for under $20,” OR!!! “How to Spin a Dreidel Without Looking Like a Total Goy.”

Requiem

2005-11-17T22:47:00.000-06:00

Last weekend, I lost a dear friend. After 12 years of fiercely loyal companionship, Abu is no longer with us. I’ve had to take several days to think of how best to eulogize my baby. It’s not that I feel my words now do her justice. She deserved more.

In the Gospel of Mark 7:24-30, the story is preserved of a Syrophoenician woman who approaches Jesus seeking healing for her daughter. Interrupted, Jesus replies, “First, let the children eat all they want, for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” Not moved, the mother replies, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” For such an answer, Jesus gave her what she asked. Abu grew up as a pastor’s dog. She must have listened as I prepared that sermon, for she was never afraid to lift her voice in her own defense, to remind me and Kim that she was at the least entitled to a few crumbs.

Abu lived. When she barked, she used every muscle in her body. In her younger days, her ability to jump was legendary. On her third birthday, she learned three new tricks, just to remind anyone who cared to know that she was not old, thank you very much! She was fearless. She tore the tails off tardy lizards. She shrieked at Grenadian cows. Even in her latest days, she scoffed at the rottweilers on the other side of the fence. She’d seen worse. Abu had donned a lifejacket and ridden Smith Lake on jet skis. She loved Krystal’s hamburgers, cheese bugles, and pretty much anything else the momma and the daddy were careless enough to drop. She vacationed with overseas Baptist missionaries. She knew what to do with an open car door.

When Kim and I first went to Grenada, she stayed with my mother and my stepdad Oogie for a few months. Oogie was older, took naps under blankets by a heater, and snacked. ‘Bu was only too happy to curl up on Oogie’s lap and help him finish his snacks. She had gained three pounds by the time we got back from Grenada. That wouldn’t be such a big deal, if she hadn’t weighed 5 pounds when we left! I can only hope Oogie is taking good care of her again. I miss them both.

Abu loved. She adored clean blankets, in which she snored like her daddy. She knew no greater joy than to sit in the sunshine until she slumped panting to her dish for a sip of water, only to go bake some more. Although she’d bark at a falling leaf, she was equally happy to curl up with whichever family member had the good sense to enjoy a midday nap. She loved to put nose prints on car windows and show utter contempt for Venetian blinds. She taught Butters what to bark at. She taught me how to live life until there’s none left. Abu watched me and Kim grow up together, kept our confidences inviolate, and never withheld her love.

Abu was defiant. She once ransacked my sister’s kitchen, devouring half a quiche, and walked about looking miserable for the next day. Another time, she emptied a dish of Easter jelly beans, and crapped “fruit cake” looking poo for a week. She gave the mailman hell. And she wouldn’t stop barking until somebody was willing to see what she was protecting us from.

Abu learned. She “attended” the University of Mobile, St. Georges University School of Medicine, Princeton Theological Seminary, and the Cumberland School of Law. She sat in on Bible studies, and walked across innumerable textbooks to remind the momma and the daddy to take the occasional much needed study break.

I was not ready to say goodbye. And I’m still not. She was old, her eyesight weakened, much of her spring was a memory, but there was nothing wrong her memory or her spirit. She deserved a more dignified exit. I deserved a chance to say goodbye. We got neither.

May she spend eternity yapping at the feet of the saints, shamelessly lounging beneath the banquet table of the feast of heaven, and may large amounts of crumbs fall from the table, some of which, inexplicably, bear a suspicious resemblance to Krystal’s and cheese bugles.

I love you, Abu.
July 26, 1993 – November 12, 2005

O'Higgins

2005-11-14T20:52:00.000-06:00

Um, I'm newly inspired. I was having a hard time getting my momentum back up to study for exams, but I think I may have new motivation! I have to study hard so I can get a good job, make partner, bank some bucks, and buy myself a turbo tap and a retirement account!

F-Word of the Week: France!

2005-11-08T19:17:00.000-06:00

Ah, France! They told us that going to war would only be to invite violence in our own land. They told us that dialogue rather than force was the way to go. Peace can only come from peace! We should just give it time, you know, give peace a chance.

And look at how right they were! When I turned on the news today, all I heard about was riots in the streets, curfews at night, civil unrest, senseless civilian casualties, and no end in sight after two weeks of violence.

Oh, but one thing: turns out that the violence, unrest, and Islamic revolt are in France, not the U.S. But hey, we’re a compassionate nation. Maybe we should send them some help? OR! Now bear with me, here: we could do exactly what they did for us! Yes! That’s it! We’ll sit here at home, eat some chili, drink some beer, turn our collective bums to the east, and, with the solidarity of a country that knows how to remain united despite our differences, send our French “allies” a warm, comforting, fragrant, silent (but deadly) whiff of “dialogue.” Yep. Dialogue should do the trick.

Hallelujah!

2005-11-04T23:39:00.000-06:00

I should be sleeping right now. No, seriously, I should. I got up with Kim at like 4:20 this morning, I haven’t had a nap, and I went out to the Oyster House with the residents tonight. So I should be really tired. But I’m feeling all insomiacish. OK, and I know that isn’t a word, right, but it sure sounds like one if you are so tired you can’t recognize being tired. So I’ll blog, cause that takes, like, a total of four operative brain cells and a keyboard. And a martini. But I digress. And I meant to!

First, I gotta send a congratulatory shout out to one of my favorite Princeton Theological Seminary “imbibing compatriots,” Stephanie! Stephanie was there when I first discovered my “voice,” and learned to rant in public about amateur theologians. When she was great with child, she was STILL there on Thursday nights sipping a glass of ice water long after I had lost the ability not to slur. While I was learning the finer points of how to get around Federal Rule of Evidence 801, Stephanie was dealing with a youth group that played Guns ‘n Roses during a youth Sunday service. Steph has dirt on me that could get me kicked out of four different careers, and I’m only trained for three. Yet, she and her husband gave me the honor of presiding at their firstborn son’s dedication service. And tonight, Steph sent word that she has passed her ordination exams. For those of you in the legal world, that’s the pastoral equivalent of having passed the bar. For my medical buds, she passed the boards. For my diving friends, she aced the IE. For everybody else, she got all the way across the street in Frogger on the first screen! Stephanie, you rock! May your ministry demonstrate the love of the Father, the grace of the Son, and the power of the Holy Spirit all the days of your life.

In other news, my other seminary friend KC can’t figure out how to reward street people for stealing his guitar, and my other seminary friend ______ just found out that _______ and that will take place ______ but I can’t tell anybody yet because _______. Hey, life’s hard people. Fill in the blanks.

Tonight, I went out to dinner with Kim and her colleagues at the Original Oyster House out on the Causeway. Oddly enough, I sat by the husband of a resident who left South to finish her residency in Connecticut. What does her husband do, you ask? He’s a lawyer. Yes, I ate dinner tonight beside a lawyer who’s married to a fourth year OB/Gyn resident. And yes, we found stuff to talk about. What are the odds? Seriously, if only I had a friend with a background in statistics! Like, oh, I don’t know, AMANDA? WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!!!

Finally, a belated birthday greeting goes out to my Dad, who turned 23 years older than me on Oct. 31. I love you, Dad. See you Sunday!

I know! Can you believe I let my parents read this blog!?!?

Greenpeas

2005-11-01T19:24:00.000-06:00

OK, some of you may already know this, but for those of you that have managed to escape this story: I used to be a scuba instructor on a Caribbean island. No, I'm not kidding, and No, I didn't and still don't look fetching in 3mm neoprene. Right, so anyway, I was very careful around the reefs. They take years to develop, hours to appreciate, and only a few careless moments to destory. It's time we get serious about saving the fragile reefs! It's time we hold those responsible who have done damage! It's time we put an end to freakin' Greenpeace! Don't believe me? Follow this link.

No, seriously, what would he brew?

2005-10-31T14:48:00.000-06:00

Happy Reformation Day! OK, for all the non-seminary types, today marks the day that Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the door of the church at Wittenberg. If you’re unfamiliar with the story, you can do a reasonably good catch-up on your Luther history by renting the movie “Luther” without the expense of a seminary degree or the drudgery of actually reading a book. Surprisingly, it’s a pretty good flick, and if that’s not enough for you, he eventually marries a nun. Now admit it: there’s nothing as hot as a lapsed monk getting down with a lapsed nun. No? Ok, suit yourself.

I was surfing my old files the other day and found the song I wrote that is the inspiration for the name of my blog: What Would Jesus Brew? This song grew out of an unusual time in my life. Just before coming to law school, I was a shift supervisor at Starbucks by day and an adjunct Religion professor at Marshall University by night. About the time that Mel released “The Passion of the Christ,” the spirit moved, and I penned the following. Catch me with my six string some time and I’ll play it for you.

“What Would Jesus Brew?”

My head is so heavy the hour is getting late
But I procrastinated and the exam’s at eight.
Lord, it don’t look like I’ll get any sleep tonight,
And keeping my eyes on the page is such a fight.
Lord I know you once had to stay up way past two ,
And so I ask you humbly . . . What would Jesus brew?

CHORUS:
What would Jesus brew?
Staying up with me and you?
Enough to serve 5000
Or just a cup or two
Would it be espresso roast,
I need the Holy Ghost to tell me:
What would Jesus Brew?

I hope the Lord won’t think that my request is sacrilegious,
But I need a coffee even the Son of God would call delicious .
Everybody needs a savior and it looks like I’ll need two:
I need Jesus to be my Lord, and coffee to be my brew.
My stubborn ways have entrapped me in a night that just won’t end,
But I still need to know if the Lord would approve of Breakfast Blend.

The Good News is that the Bad News Isn't New

2005-10-21T00:20:00.000-05:00

Right, so, it’s been a rough week. I mean, dude, I don’t even know if this is like a positive thing or not. So, let’s weigh it in!

Top 10 Positive Things From Mike’s Week
10. I got to totally make an @$$ of myself in Decedents class. I just can’t stand it when my classmates stand by and act like none of their cute little 20-something @$$es is ever gonna be faced with a feeding tube. Bunch of p^$$ies.
9. Me and my mediation partner didn’t get eliminated in the first round of competition this week.
8. It’s official: my mid-life-crisis sports car gets 25 miles to the gallon.
7. NEW SOUTH PARK EPISODE CAME OUT THIS WEEK!
6. Steven Colbert got his own show this week!
5. Harriet Miers!
4. I launched a new blog this week, which has positive, redeeming qualities.
3. I just added the word “blog” to my spell check dictionary.
2. I may have uttered the following phrase in class today: “Butters has more rights than Kim.”
1. Jesus Saves!

Top 10 Negative Things From Mike’s Week
10. Is it just me, or is the Republican party incapable of putting a genocidal maniac on trial for war crimes and still managing to look in control in the same week?
9. Me and my mediation partner got eliminated in the second round of competition this week.
8. 25 MPG doesn’t seem quite so sweet when your sports car runs on 93 octane.
7. I could have written the new South Park episode this week. I mean, we all know global warming, if not a myth, is not gonna over take my bloated generation during our lifetimes. Right? Right?
6. Steven Colbert got his own show this week!
5. Harriet Miers!
4. My new blog got two comments this week. I wrote one of them.
3. I just added the word “blog” to my spell check dictionary.
2. I may have witnessed the following tonight: Butters is licking the floor in an effort to ingest enough dust to cause herself to puke, which I’ll still have to clean up. Dammit.
1. Good thing that Jesus Saves! Turns out that Mike loses!

Job 10:4

2005-10-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

Last year I participated (irregularly) in a home bible study with a small group of law students. It went well, but ultimately, we succumbed to the inevitable scheduling demands of, well, the very thing that had brought us together: law school. After a couple of stalled attempts to schedule a new group this year, I have decided that scheduling is just not feasible. However, I can always find time for a good blog! Oh, shoot, give me five free minutes and a high speed internet hook-up and I’m off, baby!

So, below is the address for a new blog-based bible study I’ll be moderating. Although I have done this primarily with a handful of dear friends at Cumberland in mind, for the time being, I’m open to this not being a “private” undertaking. We’ll see how that goes. I envision best case scenario being a lively discussion in the “comments” area, possibly spilling over into informal real world meetings, preferably involving some type of fellowship, worship, or service activity. I envision a discussion which is not bound by traditional parameters of the Sunday School time/space/dress-clothing/decorum expectations. But, hey, like I said, we’ll see what happens.

The blog is named “Job 10:4.” It can be found at www.job104.blogspot.com. But please be advised, I do not claim Job 10:4 as my “life verse.” Nope. That honor is already claimed by Galatians 5:12, preferably in modern translation.

I anticipate a launch date of Sunday, October 16, 2005, with posts appearing (hopefully) weekly unless or until I am able to either produce more often or others in the “group” offer to contribute to the production of study material. I’m starting out with an erratic walk through Mark, but that may evolve or go on hiatus as necessary.

My normal vitriolic rants will continue to post on “What Would Jesus Brew,” but all bible study content will be channeled through Job 4:10. MmmKay?

Cold. Hearted.

2005-10-06T22:31:00.000-05:00

So, earlier this year, I posted a blog kvetching about how hot the Alabama summers are. I whined about my love of air conditioning. I may have even pined pathetically for love, a window unit, and freezer treats. Little did I know that whilst I was busy bitching, the “remodeling” they were doing at my law school back in B’ham was primarily intended to turn Robinson Hall into one great legal meat locker! And brother, they were showing off today!
Now, when I say that I can sweat underwater, I’m not kidding: I’ve experimented. But today, I achieved Nirvana (not the 90’s alternative rock band, but the metaphysical state of euphoric non-being that I don’t actually believe in). In class today, I got kind of chilly! No, seriously! I was downright uncomfortably cold in class today, and I couldn’t be happier about it! You know that thing where rich women pay lots of money to sit in oppressively hot rooms in spas even though no one has a gun to their head? OK, that was kind of what I got to experience today. Except that the room was oppressively frigid instead of hot. We still paid ridiculous amounts of money to be there, and no one had a gun to their head. And no one was wearing only a towel. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t Nirvana after all. But seriously, it was cold, and I did like it.

Are you what you are, or what?

2005-09-28T14:03:00.000-05:00

I have noticed, unscientifically of course, a general malaise drifting listlessly around my colleagues. I think some of it has to do with news-weariness from the multi-punch disasters we’ve had lately. Perhaps some has to do with shortening daylight hours, the early symptoms of seasonal affect disorder. And, at least with my fellow Cumberlanders, the realization that the reading load won’t be going away any time soon has firmly descended in our midst, executed a three point landing on our souls, and pitched tent stakes deep into the nether regions of our frontal lobes. September blahs, I’ll call it. I actually look forward to this each year. A mild depressive episode can actually be quite therapeutic. I remember a tree in Princeton that I always passed on my way to school. Each fall for a few days, that maple would turn flame red/orange/yellow and (I’m probably going to engage in some hyperbole here, but you knew that about me) glow. No, seriously, the thing reflected more light than actually hit it. It was as if it inconspicuously absorbed energy all summer long for the sole purpose of spending a few brilliant days in the fall inspiring awe before the harsh New Jersey winters engulfed the populace of the Northeast in interminable gray. I distinctly remember my last Autumn spent at Princeton. I distinctly remember making a conscious effort to take it in, to notice the trees, to smell the fall air, to walk more slowly across campus, to be “where I was” while I was there. And I did all this because I knew I would miss it. And I know that now. Sooner than it seems, my days at Cumberland will be the stuff of boring stories I share over bar luncheons and with which I will torture young attorneys-to-be who are smiling at me hoping I’ll give them a job at the wonderful firm where I will have just made partner.

But we aren’t there yet. So when I drive to school, I chose the soundtrack carefully. I drive slow over the speed bumps, not just becuase of my low ground clearance, but because I’m taking it in. I try not to turn down many lunch outings. And a few weeks from now, I’ll notice the trees. As it turns out, both Lennon and Solomon were right. Life is what happens while we are busy making other plans, so remember, there is nothing better a man may do than to eat, drink, and find satisfaction in his work.

Confirmation Consternation

2005-09-16T22:02:00.000-05:00

So, I was watching some of the Judge Roberts hearings this week, because I’m a law student, I’m taking constitutional law this semester, and the peer pressure was phenomenal. It reminds me of when I was a vocal Baptist at a Presbyterian seminary and I would have to spend every June after the annual meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention explaining why Baptists love Jesus but hate gays, Disney, women, science, and fashion men’s apparel. You’re just expected to have some answers. And as I watched the Roberts confirmation hearings, I was appalled at the idea that people would bring stuff up to a 50 year old man that he wrote as a law clerk when he was 26 and say, in present tense, that those thoughts ARE his ideas. I mean, it totally made me think, what if some fruit cake is out there printing off my blogs and cataloguing them to bring up against me should I ever run for office or be nominated for the Supreme Court or some inferior bench. Perhaps I should be more careful what I write. Perhaps I should use more decorum, be more reserved in my personal ranting and revelations. Or perhaps Americans should get a friggin’ grip, stop deifying their leaders, and give guys like Judge Roberts a break. I mean, the guy is getting confirmed for the US Supreme Court, not the fourth person of the Trinity. And if YOU are printing these blogs of mine for the ignoble purpose of future blackmail, character assassination, or negative campaign fodder, I hope you print the following sentences and insert your own name in the appropriate blanks: “Mike is running for the Alabama Supreme Court. But Mike once told blog-reader ______ to get a friggin’ grip and stop deifying America’s leaders. Is that the sort of level headed, free thinking, politically incorrect, legally competent, socially aware, Hawaiian shirt wearing hero you want on the bench of the Alabama Supreme Court? Really? Good. Me too. Elect Mike, Alabama Supreme Court Justice. Paid for by the Committee Who Got a Friggin’ Grip, Stopped Deifying Leaders, and Supported People for Important Positions Without Acting Like a Self-Serving Little Brat Like Joe Biden did back in 2005.”
Mike in 2020!

Conflict of Disinterest

2005-09-13T12:29:00.000-05:00

So, when you go to the doctor, do you ever ask where they went to med school? Or what their grade was in gross human anatomy? No? Hmm. So, by the same token, when you choose an attorney, and let’s hope you haven’t had to, do you ask how they did in their ethics course? See, I only ask because I’m writing this particular blog post while sitting in my legal ethics course. Before you get sanctimonious or shocked, let me share what I see going on in the room around me. From my vantage point, I can see three games of solitaire. (NOTE: I took a break there to take a brief note. Just to provide a sense of the multitasking going on here, I’ll indicate further note breaks with a capital “N.”) I just heard two classmates remember to switch their cell phones to vibrate. OH! A fourth solitaire player just joined the fray! N. I count at least five classmates who are actively, visibly “disengaged” from the lecture. That doesn’t include me! N, complete with class comment. I count three colleagues using the “canned” notes available for purchase from the Cumberland Law Review for the reasonable price of $20.
And the discussion at hand? What constitutes a conflict of interest in representing a client. Dryer things have been discussed at law schools, but not without involving the federal income tax codes. N. OH! I believe I see a computer with the Nintendo classic “Mike Tyson Boxing!”

So, life is largely back to normal in Mobile. Gas prices, oddly enough, are pretty close to pre-Katrina levels in Mobile, while Birmingham continues to siphon dollars out of its petroleum customers at rates equal to their highpoint in the post disaster fuel scare. And I meant to say scare, not shortage. Great piles of desiccated yard debris still line the streets of Midtown Mobile, inviting a stray cigarette butt to convert the substantially recovered neighborhoods into well mapped out conflagrations of latent Katrina wreckage. Let’s hope I’m wrong.
Back in Birmingham, I’m back to my semi-daily pilgrimages to my personal library, i.e., Starbucks. My ‘bucks in Trussville now has open wireless internet access, greatly improving the utility of that location. I say they understand me there. My wife says they are only faking it to get my money. I say that is a valuable illusion. Then again, so is most of life.

Who is this who darkens my counsel?

2005-09-05T11:38:00.000-05:00

Thanks to all who inquired about me and Kim in the aftermath of Katrina’s ruthless visitation to the Gulf Coast. All things considered, we came out quite well. A tree leaned on our house, but did no structural damage and was recently removed with the assistance of a tree surgeon and the payment of a few hundred bucks. We recovered power at the house yesterday after a week of the generator howling on the back porch as a part of the symphony of personal power plants in our ‘hood.
I’m back and school and a bit behind as a result of taking care of things around the house. I’m sure I’ll catch up in time. Life Lesson 32: You can’t schedule a hurricane.
Other than that, life is beautifully back to normal. I “feel” like a second year law student. Classes are in full swing, law review is demanding a bit of time here and there, and next summer’s job hunt is well underway. There exists a good possibility that I’ll just clerk again for the same firms I worked for this summer. I’d happily take a job at either of them.

Oh, and for the record, as an actual resident of the Gulf Coast (rather than an armchair critic), with property that was, if only minimally, impacted by Katrina, to all of those who are criticizing Bush as being the SOLE agent responsible for any real or (more likely) imagined delay in the relief effort, I say, “Shut the f%&# up and get to work.” It’s easy to point the finger. But I haven’t seen a single critic, including the New Orleans mayor who seems to be suffering from a glutial-cranial inversion disorder, who has been able to pull 100,000 helicopters and provisions out of their orifices at the snap of a finger. It’s easy to criticize, difficult to drag order out of chaos, and impossible to make the world equitable simply by bitching that it isn’t. I feel better now.
Oh, and to Kanye West, "I don't profess to have the ability to read other people's minds to know if they care about black people. But I know this: I don't care in the least about you. You should consider going back to college before you say anything else so blatantly racist, useless, and disunifying. It wasn't Bush that didn't care about black people. It was Katrina. Get your facts straight. Amatuer."
Wow. Now that was cathartic.

Back in the Saddle

2005-08-23T13:17:00.000-05:00

So, I’m back at school. With little fanfare, it’s back to the grind. I had law review orientation on Sunday, bought some books on Monday, and it’s been classes and occasional breaks for supermarket sushi ever since. I can’t be the only one feeling the pull, since none of my classmates have posted on their blogs in anywhere from a few days to over a month!

My house in West f-ing Virginia looks like it will finally sell this week. There’s something about making mortgage payments in two different states that sort of eats up one’s pecuniary gain from summer clerkships. Just glad to sever that last tie.

The law school had some major updates done this summer. A layer of dust covers more than just the largely abandoned books in the library. There are construction crews all over the place, inconveniently rerouted walkways, and the menace of the imminent arrival of the new freshman undergrads, i.e., crappy parking issues for a fortnight. But, it’s been nice to see all my buds, back with war stories from clerkships, Europe, and the beach.

The Little Things

2005-08-19T10:30:00.000-05:00

The wife and I are on vacation this week. And we’ve needed it! The summer clerkships were great, but they were still work. We spent most of last weekend at a “resort” in Biloxi, MS. That was pretty cool. We went to a show one night. Watched the Eagles get smacked about by the Steelers from a couple of bar stools at the micro-brewery. And then got his and hers massages at the spa. Now, the massage was nice and everything, but not life changing. I tried to enjoy the sauna and steam rooms afterward, but remain firmly convinced that a sauna is the rough equivalent of the waiting room for the complaints department in hell.
The rest of the week has involved chasing Kim around as she interviews for her first job. She finishes residency in June. That’s been a strange experience. People keep acting like they have to sell us on how wonderful life is in Alabama. Um, I was born here, grew up here, moved away and intentionally came back. This is not a tough sell. Now, if they were trying to get us to buy those nightmare-inducing “Fitness Made Simple” tapes with that freakish self-proclaimed “fitness celebrity” in ‘em, yeah, that’d be a hard sell. The wife and I need a few basic things to be vocationally content. The list follows:

Top Ten Requisites When Recruiting Me and the Wife
10. A real Starbucks. No little kiosk thingies in Barnes and Noble.
9. Fresh Market. I mean, they have this whole little section devoted to martini olives.
8. Minor League Baseball teams are a plus. Semi-regular dollar beer nights are an upgrade.
7. A couple of good-sized “Jesus Barn” style mega-churches. I won’t actually attend them, mind you, but they make for horrifically entertaining billboards. It's "Religion Made Simple" with "religion celebrity" Pastor Pomade.
6. Sushi: It’s not just for freaking out the relatives anymore.
5. Guitar Center is a baseline. Mom and Pop shops are an upgrade.
4. A Honda dealership. Wife wants a Ridgeline. Me? S2000. But a low mileage NSX would do in a pinch.
3. Multiple Barbeque joints. Waitresses that call everybody “hun” are an upgrade.
2. Lot’s of pregnant people. Pregnant people with private insurance are an upgrade.
1. Defense litigation. A court house building with a Starbucks in the lobby is an upgrade.

Two. Dozen.

2005-08-08T23:33:00.000-05:00

Yesterday made 12 years the wife and I have been married. We marked the weekend by enjoying substantial amounts of sushi. I wrote her a song, lyrics included below.
Today, a slightly different celebration. I made law review. We went to one of our favorite Mexican joints to mark the occasion. This place is totally tex-mex, has a cool “hot sauce bar” with like 30 different sauces. And they play all 80’s tunes. Fittingly, as I was sweating my way through a particularly hot jalapeno sauce, I noticed the lyrics overhead: “Doctor, doctor; can’t you see I’m burnin’, burnin’.” I love it when life provides a soundtrack!

OB’s
(wailed to the tune of Willie Nelson’s “Momma’s Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys”)

OB’s aren’t easy to love, nor are gynos, I’m told,
Their hearts are warm but their hands and their speculum’s cold.
Old faded scrub pants and 50 pound lab coats,
Each on-call screws up your next day,
After some of the ugly babies they’ve seen,
They prob’ly wish more folks were gay.

Momma’s don’t let your babies grow up to be OBs,
Don’t let ‘em wear latex and pagers that beep,
Doctor’s stay up late but lawyers can sleep.
Momma’s don’t let your babies grow up to be OBs,
Cause they never come home and you’re usually alone,
While some drug vendor’s feedin’ ‘em lunch.

OB’s like goin’ in folks rooms at four in the mornin’
Checkin’ on mommies who freak out at week 25.
Them that don’t know ‘em might envy what they do,
But me, I don’t think I could take it.
They don’t treat supermodels,
and sometimes they see things that might just leave you scarred for life.

Dog and Butterfly

2005-08-04T21:54:00.000-05:00

I played with my dog a long time tonight. I felt sorry for her. She is young, energetic, and beautiful. Her name is Dory. She’ll play fetch for hours and not gripe. She spends most of her days bored, sitting in one spot, waiting for me to get home. She is so beautiful. She is muscular, intelligent, and bred for a life larger than that my back yard can afford. But she’s fine, as long as I show her I care, once in a while, by throwing the bone, over, and over, and over.

I am summer law clerk. I guess that’s ok. I am still young, energetic, and eager to get a job. I fetch cases for hours and pretend I love nothing more. I try to convince multiple partners that I am cost-efficient, and can sit in one spot, bored out of my mind, and love nothing more than to bill their clients for quality product hours. The occasional bit of praise is sufficient to keep me scrambling to find the case they couldn’t, the statute their opponent hasn’t, the Supreme Court case they haven’t had time to read.

Oh, and although I have photographic evidence of knowing Scot Kripayne, Wayne Watson, and Mylon LeFevre, I have never met Michael W. Smith nor been his roadie. And, if you know who any of those other guys are, you are a bigger Jesus-nerd than me.

Nine Lives, and One Fake One

2005-07-29T21:29:00.000-05:00

Top Nine Weird Events From My Life I Use to Keep Conversations Going, and One That I Just Made Up Even Though It Isn’t True:

10. I went to seminary with a guy who was Axel Rose’s personal assistant.
9. I have been swimming in the pool of a sunken cruise ship, 136 feet under water.
8. I have looked into the crater of three different volcanoes, only one of which was dormant.
7. I have played basketball in an outdoor swimming pool while it was snowing in the middle of Colorado.
6. I have been allergic to egg-plant, camel hair jackets, and colas (Coke, Pepsi, RC, etc.) since I was a child, which made going to Italian restaurants, men’s shops, and birthday parties really awkward.
5. I spent the summer after my senior year of high school as a roadie for Michael W. Smith.
4. I once danced with street children in the middle of the night in the town square of Carazo, Nicaragua.
3. I saw Guns and Roses live when they were still an opening act.
2. I went to high school with Terrell Owens, and have absolutely no recollection whatsoever of having seen him play football.
1. I was a late night disc jockey at a light rock radio station which targeted women between the ages of 25 and 49, many of whom would call to flirt with me while wallowing drunkenly in their man-free existence.

Yes, but it isn't just the humidity

2005-07-25T22:23:00.000-05:00

It’s hot in Mobile. Hot. Like, I mean, I went jogging at 6:45 this morning and stopped sweating at, like, 8:34 tonight. And that’s only because I decided to have my 8-olive-martini in the bath tub. Have I mentioned I like olives?

Right. So, I was discussing how hot it is. See, it isn’t just that it is hot. I drive a black car. That adds a bit. And I wear suits to work. And who’s freaking idea was this? Men, who are always burning up are clothed in layers year round, while women, who we all know are cold as a penguin’s bum until they hit the “change” get to run about in degrees of revealing attire. So, the secretaries gripe about how cold it is in the office while wearing spaghetti straps and mini-skirts while the senior partners sweat through their freshly starched dress shirts. Do you have any idea how much it costs to dry clean a suit! Sheesh, it’s hot. So, like, God forbid anything ever happen to my lovely bride, I’m gonna find me a woman just hitting menopause, and we’re gonna live out our days together, paying exorbitant power bills, shivering happily ‘neath a 56,000 BTU window unit in a 100 square foot room, singing Christmas carols and eating Otter pops. I love the Gulf Coast. But man, it is hot.

The Tie That Binds

2005-07-24T23:19:00.000-05:00

I had most of today by myself. No papers to write. A bit of laundry to catch up on. But mostly, a day to myself. So, naturally, I took my copy of the Sunday Mobile Register with me to Starbucks. You may not believe me on this one, but I don’t make it to the ‘Bucks very much down here. That’s because my “real” ‘Bucks is on Airport Blvd. For the uninitiated to Mobile, that the is the main drag where fabulous amounts of petroleum are expended on paying homage to the all-powerful traffic light. Starbucks was rather full, but I managed to snag a table between the merchandise wall and a middle aged lady doing the cross word puzzle. I read an editorial written by a Chicago journalism professor who lamented the current exodus of men from the evangelical black church. He was lamenting, not to chastise black men into going back to church (for he no longer goes himself), but to call the church to turn back to black men. It was a powerful piece. Personally moved, I went home, put on a tie, and went to church.

OK, one of the hardest questions I answer with some regularity is how it is I came to leave the ministry to enter the practice of law. Harder still is the remaining question: “Do you know of a good church around here?” Whether that question is asked in Mobile or Birmingham is usually irrelevant. I say to my shame and that of the larger Christian community, “No, not really.” I won’t claim to have visited every church in both cities in my quest, but I will make the unpopular claim that such an exercise is largely unwarranted. I know ‘em. I’m not the guy who pisses and moans about all those hypocrites who populate churches. And even though I have in fact been “burned” by a church experience, no, that is not the reason I am so infrequently a pew warmer. My heart is broken for the modern church. My life the past three years has been fed with a steady stream of people who desperately miss the fellowship, worship, and restoration of a good church home, but are no longer willing to subject themselves to the “usual.” The usual being: Music that is either ancient and dry or modern and vacuous. Preaching that is somewhere between a browbeating on one extreme to spiritual masturbation on the other. Fellowship that is so program driven that there is something for everyone, provided you have zero interest in spiritual depth or making a difference in this country. Mission work? We go to third world countries for that. And there’s plenty of them. Somewhere between churches with a physical plant that dictates the clientele necessary to support them and the concept-church teetering on the brink of solvency, a good many of my generation have opted out. I do not profess to have the solution. But I do profess to be heartbroken over it. I never wanted to leave the church. I still don’t. My main comfort in my situation is that the New Testament never really seems to indicate that Jesus had a ‘membership’ at any particular synagogue. It looks much more like wherever he went, he found believers, or at least people who wanted desperately to believe, who were hungry for something other than tradition, cultural religion, and soul-leaching demands on an already taxed spirit. I still find those believers. We’re out there. We’re hungry. And we may be lonely but we are never Alone.

Cheers

2005-07-21T21:49:00.000-05:00

Ok, this post could be mistaken as sappy. Don’t care if it is. No apologies.

Today was a day I’ll remember. I wasn’t handed anything that I’ll frame. I took no pictures of grouped friends with staged smiles fighting not to be the one guy in the picture who blinked. And to be honest, I’ll probably eventually merge this night into some other memory, and tell it all wrong one day. Irrelevant. I’ve come to recognize nights like this as if by scent. They fall into the following category of nights:

In high school, I had no greater joy than to water ski on Lake Martin. Best feeling on earth: driving home at twilight, mildly sunburned, tight skin, muscles sore from pulling against the ski rope. My motorcycle hummed beneath me. I was young, immortal, and was convinced that nothing but good was ahead of me in life. No pictures. No diplomas. But I remember it like it was today.

In college, I had no greater joy than to take my girlfriend and my discount card to the McDonalds in Saraland, Alabama. Kim and I learned about each other across the table, across a pile of fries and ketchup. Both our moms were nurses named Carol. Her sister: Dana Marie. Mine? Donna Marie. The first night I asked Kim out, I went back to my dorm and thumped my radio on. The first words out of the radio were, “Go west, young man, find a heart that’s golden.” I did. Kim’s maiden name was West. A few pictures, a couple of college diplomas. And I remember it like it was today.

When Kim was in her last semester of med school in St. Vincent, I got an email from home. I had applied to seminary in New Jersey, knowing we were about to be back in America after two years of living in the Caribbean. The email said that I could attend Princeton Theological Seminary on scholarship. I sat on the railing of the veranda of our house overlooking Young Island and the island’s western view of the Eastern Caribbean. I smoked a Cuban cigar, sipped a bit of Grenadian rum, and knew that that moment was beautiful and transient. It was both. I have no pictures of that moment. I have two diplomas from the seminary. And I remember it like it was today.

At seminary, every Thursday, me and anywhere from 3 to 30 of my closest friends would walk down the street to a hotel bar and grill. Snow? No problem. DUI? Nope. Nobody drove. A guy named Keith played cover tunes behind the bar. Guinness was $2 a pint. Theology, politics, sex, morality, sports, and our futures were discussed as if the stream of Thursdays would never end. But they did. Pictures? I can’t find any. Diplomas? Uh, I’ve already covered that. But I do have several stolen beer glasses in my freezer from that bar, up to this very day.

Today. I took lunch from work and ate left over pizza in my own house. My home. I went out to a young lawyers’ bash at a local bar after work. I ate huge shrimp. My wife showed up in scrubs. My friend from Cumberland came and made me laugh. You know who you are. I dropped my cell phone. I drank Coronas. And I made a deposit into the bank of memories for which pictures are impotent, diplomas are inappropriate, and of which life is constructed. I care little what tomorrow holds. I’ll let tomorrow worry about itself. Tonight, I’m OK.

. . . and I Feel Fine.

2005-07-20T20:48:00.000-05:00

I should carry a note pad with me through the day. I don’t. Here’s what I can remember from what I kept thinking I should tell you:

-Headline on front page of Mobile Register last week: “Officials Plug Sex Offender Loophole”
Is it just me, or is that intentionally suggestive (keeping in mind that I live in the King James Version of the Bible Belt)?
-Seen on beach at Gulf Shores this weekend: Dude with a mullet and a Morey Boogie Board with a Confederate Flag on it. His consort also sported a mullet. “This is my south.”
-Overheard from a friendly “associate” in canned meat aisle at the Super Wal-Mart just before Hurricane Dennis took a big piss on the Gulf Coast: “NO! We are out of Vienna sausages! Potted meat is gone, too. Check the end-cap, we may have a little spam left.”
-Thought I had after seeing preview for the movie “Devil’s Rejects”: You can’t be serious? Somebody gave Rob Zombie some money to make another movie while still being even vaguely aware that he is the brainchild behind the churning bucket of putrescent monkey mucus that is “House of 1000 Corpses”? No, this can’t be happening. If this is where free enterprise gets us, I’m through believing in capitalism. Bring on Kerry, Ms. Clinton, Howard Dean, and the rest of the neo-socialists. Next thing you know, you’ll be trying to tell me that Alanis Morrisette is now an American citizen.
-Reaction of the actor who originally played “Cooter” in the TV version of the Dukes of Hazzard: “Don’t see it.”

Maybe I was too harsh on Jenkins and LaHaye. We are WAY overdue for a good apocalypse.

No recuerdo nada, pero, todo me duele. Todo.

2005-07-16T22:36:00.000-05:00

OK, so my casenote is written, postmarked, and out of my hands. Best case scenario, I made law review. Worst case scenario: there’s some punk wanna-be 1L out there this summer, gonna work too hard next year, claw his way to the top 15% of the top 1% of society, get invited to write for law review, and I won’t have to grade his self-important, overworked, intellectually masturbatory, ladder-climbing casenote because I made one-too-many boo-boos on my bluebooking. But I am not worried about it tonight. My therapist, Jose Cuervo, has told me to tell you the following message of hope: “No me importa. No nescesito nada de nadie! No me importa NADA, PUTAS!” Thanks, Jose. Muchas gracias.

Tropical Depression

2005-07-12T21:17:00.000-05:00

Hurricanes suck. Or swirl. Or something. We’re fine. House is fine. Law clerk job is fine. And as soon as I mail off my casenote for law review on Friday, I’ll be fine. And immediately after I become fine, I intend on using whatever chemical means prove necessary to not care exactly how fine I am. Until Monday. When I’ll go back to being fine with being a law clerk. Which is fine.

Rock you like a hurricane

2005-07-08T22:23:00.000-05:00

The problem with not blogging for a few days is that it brews the temptation to attempt some sort of blitzkrieg update. I don’t think I can pull it off this time. Instead, here is a nice little stream of consciousness sentence, since that is how the past few weeks have felt. Sure I have that memo since IV painkillers are the only way to numb kidney stone pain associated with having family in town over a holiday weekend celebrating my inability to get up on one ski when everyone knows I’ll need two or three trips to the pharmacy to keep from feeling like I was hit with a double-decker bus with a bomb on it but my friends are OK so let’s hunt the miserable bombing bastards and torture them and refuse to apologize for feeling like law review writing assignments could not have come at a better worse time to kill, time to heal, time to not realize I switched law firms, wardrobes, and musical tastes which will soon rock you like a hurricane. Let me off, or I promise I’ll puke.

Right. So, after the way this summer has gone, I’m kind of looking forward to the brain-shearing monotony of impending doom that comes along with the gentle daily flogging that is law school. At least at law school, you have advance notice of when you will be tested. For you will be tested. Be safe, all. I’ll blog again once Dennis passes.

Meaning and Meaninger

2005-06-28T09:55:00.000-05:00

So, my summer break is half over. And no, I don’t mean half full. A summer isn’t like a glass of water that you can go refill at the sink. And by that same token, last night when I went to get some take out from Cracker Barrel, and they lost my ticket, and it took them 30 minutes to fill a very simple order, Well guess what folks! I don’t get those 30 minutes back! Ever! 30 minutes of prime, healthy, clear headed life in my early thirties: GONE! Poof. Congratulations, here’s your receipt, come again. Bastards. Oh, well, I probably would have just wasted those 30 minutes on something stupid like checking email, writing in my blog, or voting for a democrat. And none of those activities come with the charming smell of Yankee candles you get in the Crack Barrel gift shop. Oops. Was that a typo?
So, I guess that means I can now have my “Mid-Summer Crisis.” Here goes: Who am I? What has my summer been about? Do any summers have meaning, or is the search for meaning merely another part of the constructed reality we mentally superimpose on an otherwise chaotic existence in a futile effort to avoid having crises? Or is life really replete with meaning, simple and rich like a Christian bumbersticker, and my summer has failed miserably in grasping the simple beauty of spending seven weeks running down obscure cases on Lexis? Does everything happen for a reason, and even if there are reasons, do those reasons arise to the level of meaning? If a tree falls in the woods, does it ever fall tree-hugging-hippie-side-down?
Phew. Glad that’s over. I’m pretty sure that whole thing was non-billable.

The last post was better

2005-06-21T22:46:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I read my old posts, look for recurring themes I may have worn out, moods I must have been in. Turns out I was pissing and moaning about grades a few weeks ago. Everything I said then was true. I passed. I'm fine. I'm within a few hundredths of what my previous GPA was. I'm within less than a percentage point of where my class rank was first semester. I.e., I worried, statistically speaking, over nothing. Why am I even sharing this with you, considering many of you are specifically the people I won't discuss these grades with? There's a point here. I believe John Mayer said it well:
"I wanna run through the halls of my high school. I wanna scream at the top of my lungs. I just found out there's no such thing as the "real world"; Just a lie you've got to rise above."
(Ha. So there, Jim!)

Although, to be honest, I hated high school even when I was there. I tried telling several of them their world view was inadequate, unrealistic and approval driven. I have even less desire to return now and tell them my research has proven subsequently affirmative. Let the bastards continue to labor under the illusion that life has meaning. Let them run through the hall themselves if they are so inclined. Buncha schmucks.
Grace and peace, my homies!

Sybil Procedure

2005-06-19T21:57:00.000-05:00

Toward the end of Civil Procedure this Spring, I had pretty much mentally checked out. Which is to say, there were days I would rather have listened to a live performance from a choir made exclusively and exhaustively of all my high school ex-girlfriends singing 50 minutes of Barry Manilo's Greatest Hits rather than drink the requisite amount of Caffe Verona necessary to maintain consciousness and skirt the coasts of apathy which shoal the sea of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. Professor/Asst. Dean/Corky Strickland moved slowly and predictably, and my classmates seemed inexplicably determined to comment only on substantive rather than procedural matters. Normally in law school, that would be a good thing. Unless of course you are in a course called Civil PROCEDURE, rather than, say, Civil SUBSTANTIVE MATTERS!!!! But since when do we expect lawyers (or even lawyers-to-be) to act in a reasonable and prudent manner? I was watching the big meeting scene in “The Godfather” yesterday and heard one of the bosses say, “We are all reasonable men; we don’t need assurances as if we were lawyers.” Before I could even be offended, I smiled and agreed.

Anyway, while I was enduring Civ Pro one beautiful April morning, I wrote the following song. I think we were arguing over summary judgment on a wrongful death case where there was NO substantive evidence to support the claim of an accident on a rail yard. The bleeding-heart-liberal-punitive-damages-loving-ambulance-chasing-pocket-lining-in-the-name-of-“justice” types in the class were whining about how they thought the case should still go to the jury even though there was no way a jury could find fault for the railway, unless of course each juror stood to pillage a hefty percentage of the money judgment such as the plaintiff’s counsel was likely to take. Right, so anyway, I was cleaning up my notes tonight and thought I would share my song with you, in case you are asked to sing a number while sitting around the camp fire at your firm’s summer retreat on Fourth of July Weekend. You remember the Fourth of July, right? That’s the day we celebrate the birth of our country where you can be deprived of your private property if a jury finds that you are more than likely (51%) although not almost certainly responsible for the intangible, immeasurable, unsubstantiated soft tissue pain and suffering of people who are tired of playing the lottery and/or having working brake lights. I have GOT to switch to decaf.

Enjoy.

Ode to Plaintiff’s Counsel
(with apologies to Jimmy Buffett)

I really do appreciate the fact you’re sitting here
Your claim sounds recoverable, though the fault ain’t all that clear
So let’s sign the retainer; I’ll recover for you
Honey, why don’t we get drunk and SUE

Chorus 1
Why don’t we get drunk and sue
I feel “values-neutral” about the companies I screw
You say your neck is hurting, and I doubt that it’s true,
But, why don’t we get drunk and sue

Chorus 2
Why don’t we get drunk and sue
I work on contingency, the percentage is 42!
Contributory negligence won’t apply to you:
So, why don’t we get drunk and sue?!

12 Angry Minutes

2005-06-13T19:03:00.000-05:00

I started out writing a post that was a rant against the recently announced Michael Jackson verdict. After typing a while, I read my own work and decided that I had given too much attention to Jackson. He’s been hitting the snooze button on his 15 minutes of fame for way longer than any sentient being, medically altered or otherwise. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stand to waste a good rant. I enjoy getting pissed off once in a while. After having read the editorial page over the past couple of days and watching the jury verdict today in Jackson’s case, here are my current Top Ten (or Twelve) Favorite Incendiary Rants:

I believe OJ, Blake, and Jackson are all guilty; but I don’t expect all justice to be wrought in this life.
I believe the jury system has flaws. But I also believe it is harder to bribe 12 fallible jurors chosen at random than one fallible judge selected by popular vote (or appointed by someone who was).
I believe Terry Shiavo’s constitutional rights were violated: It’s cruel and unusual to keep a person alive like that.
I think we were right to invade Iraq: fighting mosquitoes and terrorists require similar tactics: lure them away from your home, kill them before they can reproduce, and destroy their breeding sites. You’ll never get them all, but that doesn’t mean you should just let them take your blood without a fight.
I think flushing a copy of the Koran down the toilet is a lot less heinous than kidnapping and beheading innocent civilians. For that matter, I think stewing, eating, and defecating a copy of the Koran is still a better idea than having countries that systematically oppress women and people of other religious beliefs.
I don’t think calling a Christian a liberal is a bad thing. Jesus “broke” the Sabbath, went out to eat with sinners, got a pedicure from a prostitute, questioned church authority, carried a weapon into the temple, and made 180 gallons of wine in ceremonial church vessels as his first miracle. OH, and unlike Pastor Rice of Calvary Baptist Church in Pinellas, Florida who asked federal court Justice Greer to leave the church because he disagreed with his rulings in the Shiavo case, Jesus forgave and actively reconciled with Peter after he’d denied Jesus three times.
I believe bad things sometimes happen to good people, good things sometimes happen to bad people, and that in more occasions than we feel comfortable admitting, there is no reason or meaning to such occurrences other than what we need there to be in order to avoid insanity and despair. Sometimes fecal-matter happens, and it is OK to mourn without feeling guilty for saying so, even to God. (Psalm 22:1)
I believe that you haven’t understood what grace is until it offends you.
I believe punitive damages are unconstitutional. How can we allow deprivation of property in cases involving a lower standard of proof than in criminal cases? If punitive damages are such a great idea, why do we not have them in breach of contract cases?
I believe socialized medicine is a crappy idea. Imagine the DMV hooking up your IV. Bleh. No thank you.
I believe humanity’s unbridled, often religiously endorsed, sprint to overpopulation is going to cause more war, poverty, and disease than the planet has yet encountered.
I believe LaHaye and Jenkins wish they hadn't crammed so much dispensational eschatology in their first book, not knowing they'd be wearing the whole theological theory thin by like, the twelfth? Is it twelve international-money-making-super books they’ve shamelessly pumped out? I mean heck, if Jesus hasn’t come back by the time you release the 13th sequel, maybe your skills as a apocalyptic prognosticator are somewhat suspect, eh?

Lost in translation

2005-06-04T21:21:00.000-05:00

Most careers have their own lingo, usually out of convenience, perhaps necessity, probably to keep outsiders willing to pay for the services rendered. And it makes sense. A carpenter would much rather order pre-cut studs than “two-by-four framing boards cut to ninety-two and five-eighths inches long.” Nurses get to starve us with NPO orders while giving us medication BID. Lawyers? Oh, yeah, we got ‘em! Mandamus. Writs. TRO’s, privity, and worse. But I got trumped the other night. A friend of mine claims to have had a patient come into her ER for treatment, requesting, and I quote: “peanut butter balls for my smiling baby Jesus.” Sadly, this was not a mental patient. She was just calling back what she had heard, which was, “phenyl barbital for my spinal meningitis.” Sure, I may have been in a contracts class where the distinctions between cows, heifers, steers, and bulls were CLEARLY and vividly delineated by an enthusiastic Tennessean with a penchant for pink pullovers. But peanut butter balls? Nope, I fold. OH. OHHP! Now I am all verclempt. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic: “Two-by-fours are neither two inches thick nor four inches wide.”

No longer a 1L, not yet a JD

2005-06-03T22:51:00.000-05:00

I’ll approach the on campus interviews a lot different this fall.
I’m enjoying my summer clerkships. Heck, I’m exactly halfway through the first one! And in just three short weeks, I’ve learned quite a bit. I’ve learned that people in the media get sued a lot for reporting the news. I’ve learned that lawyers love to eat lunch at greasy spoons that make your nice new suits smell like fry grease. I’ve learned to get over feeling like a jerk when I hand off nauseatingly mundane jobs to secretaries. After attending a few minor court sessions, I’ve learned that I have some classmates who are going to kick some serious adversarial ass in the real world (where do they get some of these guys?). I’ve learned that law is a TINY frickin’ community where everyone knows everyone such that you can’t burp in Birmingham without lawyers in Mobile knowing what you had for breakfast.
Yep, so many lessons. Heck, I’ve even learned that it’s good to go put in a token appearance on a Saturday at the office, not because you have to, but to earn cred points with the folks whose lives now are addicted to it. Finally, though I have now actually been on a golf course and even made contact with a couple of dimply balls, I still DO NOT know how to play golf. Damn, what a ridiculous sport that is.
Oh, and Kim bought me a Les Paul electric guitar on Memorial Day.
Yes, I love the summer time.

. . . and what should never be

2005-05-26T23:09:00.000-05:00

Tonight, my ears are bleeding. No blunt trauma. No earwigs. No. This was worse. And if you know me at all (and if you don’t know me by now, you will nevernevernever know me ooohoohoohwu) you know this now requires a story. Right, so, I was driving to the hospital (nota bene: ears not bleeding yet) to take Kim some dinner. So far, so good. Then I turn onto the long, picturesque drive that leads up to Children’s and Women’s Hospital, resplendent with tasteful landscaping and whimsical bronze statuary grotesquely appropriate for a hospital that deals with women and the tricycle-motors they periodically squeeze out in fits of bad judgment and poor taste in men. As I’m coasting along, a pain slammed simultaneously into both sides of my head with roughly the force one might expect to be produced by the collision of a moist, smallish planet and a bean burrito the size and shape of Michael Moore’s smug sense of self-importance traveling at exactly the speed of sound. For a sound it was. And by sound, I mean the squall a demon might make who has just inadvertently shut his scrotum up in his car door.

Mothers of small children should promptly usher them from the blog. In fact, mothers of small children have no business reading this particular blog. The child will be able to taste the misanthropy of my blog in her breast-milk for days should she read the sentence after next. You were warned.

My radio, in direct violation of all things good, decent, copasetic, and cool, broadcast Dolly Parton’s cover of “Stairway to Heaven.” Look, if your ears are experiencing sympathy-hemorrhaging, don’t be mad at me, I tried to warn you.
But that wasn’t all. As I’m sure you have already surmised, I was paralyzed by the inequity of what I was hearing. But my foretaste of perdition was not yet perfected. For before me was a Buick being driven by a geriatric masochist with nothing better to do than maliciously drive in front of me. Now, at the time I was behind the Buick, my speedometer was reading 4mph. That wouldn’t be such a big deal, except that I know for a fact that my speedometer is fast by 3.5mph. So there I was, being subjected to aural sodomy, trapped in my car, my flesh, my corporeal prison, behind a septuagenarian succubus, experiencing the sort of time-lapse torment usually experienced only during your required college public speaking class at 2:30PM, Friday afternoon. Oh, sure, you’re probably saying to yourself, “Uh, Mike, why didn’t you just pass her or change the channel, or both?” I pray you never have to understand why those two options were denied me. I dream of a world where men are powerful enough to push car stereo buttons while yet in the presence of the desecration of Led Zeppelin classics. I aspire to own a car that can accelerate, pass a Buick, and slow back down before the next speed bump. But until Dolly Parton repents and I make enough bank to trade my Honda Civic for an Acura NSX, we’re all just gonna have to pray a little harder on the nights I carry a sack of Taco Bell to Kimmy.

Validate Me!!!

2005-05-22T22:53:00.000-05:00

I logged onto the internet for the first time in 1995. I was at Beeson Divinity School at Samford U and we had a professor who wanted to force us into the digital age and had us turn in an assignment via email. The temptation for people like me, who have written entire papers on an actual typewriter, is to say that "it was a simpler time." Well, it wasn't. Information came through labor, card catalogues, and the f*&#ing yellow pages. And grades? Well, they came in the mail in a paper envelope. And that sort of thing could be checked ONCE and only once per day. Not so anymore. Back in December, I was largely and blissfully unaware that my Cumberland School of Law grades could be viewed upon submission ONLINE!! That is, until Will "El General" Motlow calls and informs me grades were out.
Now second semester is over and I'm a nervous f*&#ing wreck. I know the key sequence to log onto the school web portal and flip to the "grades" screen so well I have become my own macro. My wife makes fun of me for this, asking me each day, "How many times did you look today?" It is a jibe well founded. I'm a junky, and I need help. It's silly, really. I mean, even if you called RIGHT NOW and told me what all my grades are, what my new GPA is, and where I now stand in the class rankings as a result, it's not like it matters all that much. I made a solemn vow to myself before I started law school that I would not discuss my grades with classmates. As I found out first semester, personal privacy and grades at the Cumberland Rumor Mill don't always mix. And you know, my updated resume won't be worth diddly until like, what, September? So, I should relax, have a(nother) martini, and remember that by worry I can't change the color of a single hair on my head, add a second to my life, or avoid the inevitable reality that soon and very soon, I, too, shall pass.
Oh, and the summer job is going fine, blah, blah, blah.
Grace,
Mike

No Such Thing as the "Real World"

2005-05-15T22:24:00.000-05:00

FREEDOM!!!! I feel better now. Exams are so totally done. I’ve already gotten my first grade back (Property). I have even gone to the DMV to change the vanity license plate on my Civic since “1L” is no longer appropriate. My new plates, you ask? “I OBJEKT.” The “k” is a little homage to my honey, “Kim.” By the way, if you spell Kim backwards, you almost get Mike. Close. Close enough to be sickeningly cutesy.
BUT as good as it feels to be done with exams and have a paper license plate on my car, there are a few things that are still congregating uncomfortably in the back of my mind. As it turns out, there are ten of them.

Top Ten Eerie Feelings I Can’t Seem To Shake Since Exams Are Over
10. Sometimes I get this “not-so-fresh” feeling.
9. My life is going way too well for there NOT to be an LLR assignment due on Monday.
8. I’m almost certain that at some point during the second semester I prayed something like, “Oh, dear God, if you’ll just let me not be called on today, I swear that when I get out of law school I’ll . . .” generally followed by something dreadfully unprofitable.
7. I read “One L.” Scott Turow was a whiney little law student who surrounded himself with whiney little law students. I didn’t do that, did I?
6. Corky will have his revenge.
5. I should have paid better attention during the Westlaw and Lexis training sessions, seeing as how I put that stuff on my resume.
4. Shouldn’t I be studying something right now?
3. Shouldn’t I be driving back to Birmingham right now?
2. Wasn’t I supposed to mail something to the Alabama State Bar?
1. Do I really have to go to work in the morning?

Despantalontada

2005-05-11T02:43:00.000-05:00

I’m not a first year law student. Not any more. Not now that I’ve finished exams. Which is to say, I may now use the phrase, “Well, when I was a first year law student . . .” and then add whatever mindless verbal flibberdy jibbert I wish to belittle right after that. Allow me to demonstrate:
“Why, I remember back when I was a first year law student, people used to give a flying load of dingo’s kidneys what happened on ‘The O.C.’ but now that California has finally been smote (smoten? Smited? Smitten? Geschmotten? Esmotado? I missed that day in seminary) by the angry God of James Dobson, and Arizona does in fact have ocean front property, I greatly prefer to watch ‘The Scotsdale.’”
Right. So, exams are done, I’m in Mobile, and all is well with the world. My lovely bride bought me a celebratory bottle of 18 year old Scotch with which I am now appropriately acquainted. If Amanda’s blog’s revolve around food and traipsing about pantsless, mine appear to involve booze. It appears that I may be a drinker with a writing problem. C’est la vie. There are worse lots in life. One could be reduced to making a living as an Evidence instructor. God save us all!

Olivejuice

2005-05-07T23:38:00.000-05:00

OK, so I had officially gone crosseyed looking at FRE 803(4), and if you don't know what that means, I DEMAND that you go to whatever house of worship causes you the least amount of cognitive disonance and do whatever candlelighting, incense burning, donation making, genuflecting, or whatever makes your deity happy as you praise your conception of ultimate reality for not making you learn the Federal Rules of Evidence as they apply to hearsay exceptions.
Right, so I'm doing that, and watching SNL, and imbibing a dirty martini. Oh, those garlic stuffed olives! Oh, the juniper berry! Once again, I digress. SNL does this Mother's Day sketch in which two sons are with their mother for brunch when their dad shows up in drag (Johnny Knoxville) while in the midst of his sex change transformation. The younger son is being all obsequious. The older brother calls him on it saying: "You're only sucking up to dad because you're flunking out of law school," at which point younger son looks at dad-mom and says, "Tiffany (for that is what dad-mom wishes now to be called), I am a professional video game player trapped in a lawyer's body." I so almost know how that feels. I am a professional student trapped in a lawyer's body. Which sucks, because lawyers have like really short lifespans. Crap.
Happy Mother's Day!
Grace

Mobile, 10 years ago

2005-05-06T21:08:00.000-05:00

So I was driving back to Mobile tonight, coming down off the caffeine and M&M high that defines my exam taking aura. I had both windows rolled down, moon roof open. I will unashamedly confess to listening to the “80’s on 8” on XM, although I quickly switch to the 90’s or Braves baseball whenever they play anything by Michael Jackson. Anyway, I took Prof. Bishop’s “Contracts II” exam this afternoon. Ouch. I mean, I didn’t miss a single one of his classes. Few cases did I skip. I read the Law Review notes. I listened to review CD’s. I lit a candle at the Catholic Church down the street. Ok, I just made up that last one. Bust seriously, there was stuff on that exam that would have made Williston, Corbin, and Llewellyn say, in perfect synchronicity, “Where in Vishnu’s trousers did that come from?” I’m paraphrasing, off course. But what’s done is done.
And I digress. I had temporarily forgotten that today is a very special day in my life, kind of. Once this evening when the “80’s on 8” pissed me off by playing some Duran Duran, I switched back to the Braves and heard one of the on-air announcers say, “I thought Cinco de Mayo was always on Friday.” Fortunately, Skip Carey was there to put things back into their Hispano-mathematical alignment, and I realized today is May the 6th.
You know that stupid interview question you sometimes get asked, “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?” If you had asked me that question exactly 10 years ago today, you would have been asking me at my college graduation. And the correct answer, which I would not have given, would have been, “Using some creative vulgarity to describe the physical sensation of having survived Bishop’s contracts exam, certainly.” And that would have been a very strange thing to hear from a Religion major graduating from the University of Mobile Religion, class of 1995. What a long, strange trip it’s been. And thank you, God, that it isn’t over.

The Holy Roast

2005-05-03T17:34:00.000-05:00

So, I'm all sitting here trying to think of some witty, auspicious beginning to my first blog. I decided that idea wreaked of cat flatulance. I am instead now sitting here wondering if I misspelled cat flatulance. Flatulence. Whatever. I hate cats. I have hated them since I was 16 and had just gotten my '77 Nova painted black in the middle of an Alabama summer. That night some miserable cat walked across the top of my car and nearly ruined the finish. And for those of you wondering, NO, I did not buy the car new! I was still in single digits when that car was built. Actually, Reagan was running for his second term before I hit double digits, thank you very much!

Anyway, I used to write this "Dear Friends and Family" letter to keep, well, my friends and family updated. It was an email thing and I think technology may have outstripped the genre. So I'm gonna try this. As soon as I take a nap, recover from that Civil Procedure exam I took this morning, and yell at the dogs a bit. Cheers.