i heart public defense

Et ceteras.

2007-03-16T08:09:00.000-05:00

The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency is one of those rare, perfect books: perfect descriptions, perfect resonance, characters fleshed out just enough so that your mind fills in all the details to - of course - perfection. I always love reading about different cultures, how different people handle their day-to-day lives, and this book was a very satisfying glimpse into that aspect of Botswanan existence.

While the novel was bound by one over-arching plot purpose, each chapter contained a separate, little story, that actually could have stood on its own in a short story collection. During my reading, I suddenly started having a lot to do, and the compact little chapters really helped me continue reading - if they'd all been complicated, requiring memory of previous ones, I don't think I'd have ever finished the book.

Which is why I just gave up on The Omnivore's Dilemma, frankly. One can only read about corn for so long. I know that at some point I will absolutely devour this book, but right now is not at all that time. Plus, the book reminds me a bit of Fast Food Nation - a jolting, life-changing read that pretty much exposes you to all of that subject you can stand. Reading it rehashed in Dilemma just doesn't interest me at the mo.

I've been looking more through my reference books lately - specifically, my triathlon ones - to gauge my training. I hit a really great landmark for me yesterday, so yay! I credit a lot of my excitement about it to my Polar 625x - I can measure both my running and cycling distance/cadence/speed, then see it graphically on a PC (with Polar ProTrainer software) and on my Mac (with iSmartTrain). Consequently, for the past three weeks I"ve been in absolute biofeedback bliss:

I highly recommend it. But then, I'm the kind of person who gets copies of my x-rays so I can stare at my bones (recently I went to a podiatrist and got a good look at the bones in my feet - which to me is just beyond fascinating, that all those teeny things bear all our weight over the years . . . ).

My Trial Practice competition is coming up in a couple of weeks. If one more prosecutor comes to "sit in" on our class and disparages PDs again - ooooh I think I am going to wrench off my shoe and pop him in the head with it (they're usually men). Last week it was "Professor, if you don't mind me interrupting for a - for just a second you know" - with that horrible, supercilious, know-it-all kind of shrug and laugh - "So class, you all know what you're not supposed to do during Opening Statement, right? Right?" A few students mumble, "Argue?" "Yeah, that's right - argue. So, uh, would somebody mind - you know, would somebody just explain to me why public defenders do it all the time? I mean, I was just in trial, and I had to make about five objections during the PDs opening statement - I mean, it's not Opening Argument, is it?" Professor Prosecutor: "So, did the judge let it slide?" Dumbass: "Of course not, he sustained every one of my objections! Every single one! Shoulda seen their faces. So let that be a lesson to you, students - you try to slide by, and it aint. gonna. happen. But you'll all be good - you're being taught by Professor Prosecutor here, he won't steer you wrong."

And then, the week before that: Mock Trial Professor (former Prosecutor) "comes to visit" our class and chats with Prof Prosecutor. MT Prof: "You know, I one time accompanied students up to Buffalo for a competition, and the judge was really harsh on our students, reminding us that, 'Up here it's called Oral Argument. Not Statement - Argument.'" Prof Prosector: "Did he use to be a PD?" "You know what, he did! Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha." Prof Prosecutor: "Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

*barfs*

oh p.s. Man of the Year really reallly really sucked. I was beyond disappointed. The trailers made it out to be something completely different. Plus it attempted to incorporate some hard drama, but it failed absolutely and completely at that too. Bleh.

Long Time No Write

2007-02-23T20:17:00.000-05:00

I've tried to keep this portion of the blog about defense stuff - but, alas, my life at the moment has little to do with defense stuff. In my trial class, sure, but that's such a pony show it hardly qualifies (in fact, I now hate that class - and the egomaniac prosecutor professor - so much that all I can focus on, gleefully, is the teeny tiny size of the professor's hands. They're like a child's. Ordinarily this would not amuse me, but with him, it does. Totally. I hate him.)

Anyways, I haven't had anything defense-esque to post, so I'm changing this aspect of the blog, and making it a bit more personal. I'm also updating the sidebar to include my reading stuff, which, along with training for the Disney World Triathlon in September (aaaiiiieeeee), is about the most exciting stuff going on in my life at the mo.

Speaking of, I am currently very, very interested in reading African-American novels - I just haven't received any good recommendations, besides, of course, The Known World by Edward Jones, and anything by Toni Morrison. While I'm very excited to read those, I admit I'm more curious about works set in more current times. Does anyone have any recommendations??

Update: I just flipped through People and found a good review for Man Gone Down by Michael Thomas.

2007-02-06T13:52:00.000-05:00

Today I’m sick, so I’ve got the day off. I’ve got lots of days off, actually, but I’m trying to do schoolwork with this one. Monday and Wednesday I only have one evening class, and no class on Friday. Plus I’ve quit reading for the rest of my school life. That alone has been enormously freeing. I’ve never studied my notes for Final exams, just the BarBari, Siegel’s, etc., so I figured Why not just do that at the beginning?

And suddenly I have so much free time!!!

It’s glorious – I’m really really savoring it because I know it’s all downhill from here.

This also means I get to focus a lot on my Trial Practice class. I’m of two minds about this; the entire class (and, more importantly, the “competition” that serves as our Final) is performance-oriented, with its only basis in reality being its form and procedure. Our “crime story” kinda sucks and we can’t stray outside the lines – ie, if we want to explore alternate theories, or go deeper into the evidence, the profs look at us with raised eyebrows and give a little laugh. Now, to be fair, we’re all babies at this, so such restriction can help keep us focused. But it also reinforces the fact that our “job” is just to figure out the script the profs and judges want, do the little song and dance, et voila.

But it’s also really good experience – I say that as someone with zero courtroom experience, so I might not know what I’m talking about. At this point, I think any exposure is good exposure, and I am learning a ton. My workshop prof is demonically charismatic – the second he starts speaking I just believe everything that comes out of his mouth. I can’t help it. Now that’s a trait to model (or is it?).

Anyway, we’ve done our Direct Examinations (look at me capitalize it!), Crosses, and tomorrow we are to have “perfected our Direct” so we can integrate Exhibits and demonstrative aids. I did rather poorly on my Cross (I suppose I’d heard the objection “Calls for speculation” in movies and stuff, but I didn’t know how it was used in real life, nor did I even remember it could be used – I had no idea what I was doing, period!). That still smarts, and it doesn’t help that tomorrow I’m going to give my “perfected” (ha!) direct in the voice of a backwater frog. (And that ain’t Cajun! Hoo . . . the cold meds are kicking in). If we miss a single class, we fail the course.

I really have a problem doing canned stuff, it’s so frustrating. And I also want to win, which is doubly frustrating. I *have* to win – my partner wants to win (she is really great), the prof’s team has won for the past 5 years (and I don’t want to be the one to break that record), and plus, I know I won’t be handling any trials for probably like a billion years because of just how the system goes, so I want to do well.

Only I have no idea what I’m doing. Suppose I should get used to it, eh?

Trial Practice Workshops

2007-01-22T20:26:00.000-05:00

One of my classes this semester is a Trial Practice Lecture + Workshop. I really lucked out on this one - I managed to snag the Workshops being held at the courthouse (as opposed to the school), as well as the professor who's coached the last five Mock Trial teams to championships. He's a prosecutor, but whatever. And then I managed to be assigned the criminal case, vs the civil! Yay!!! Seriously, the poison of civil paralegal work is part of what sent me flying to law school, determined never to draft another Operating Agreement again, ever. So yay!!!

I do have a major problem though, and I would like to ask for some advice!! How does one learn to successfully project one's voice? I mean, I know where my diaphragm is, and how to breathe deeply using it, but I don't know how to speak using it, or if there's anything else? Does anyone have any tips? I sound so quiet and I really absolutely have to overcome this!

Ahhhh

2007-01-15T16:16:00.000-05:00

I was pretty sure I'd failed two classes - but I actually B'd it across the board! Yay!!! Even tho I don't get any deep soul-affirming jump from this, it does make me happy that I managed to scoot by somehow! Yay!!

Until school started back up at the last of last week, I'd been practicing my rollerblading at a middle school across the street from me. The abandoned outside hallways were great for learning how to stop, spin, etc., neither of which I've come even close to mastering but oh well. I have a lot of respect for people who can rollerblade. It definitely requires discipline.

As I rolled from metal post to post, I got a little education in young kids' minds. So I took photos:

Everyone has drawn a variation of these faces at some point in their adolescence. It's like a really bland rite of passage or something.

mmhmm. I'd bett my latest NSync CD that Kyle wrote this himselff.

Just some random ass.

You know, I've never had this thought about a band or singer. What inspired it? Did he use some poor lyrics? Was some girl listening to Hey Little Momma and he was all, "Another Jazzie Fizzle, Bow Wizzle Calaborizzle my nizzle," and so she was like, "Nuh-uh, that's it. No more Bow Wow! No more! And you know what else?" and grabs a pencil.

The world may never know. And, anyway:

I found myself hoping it was a teacher rather than the horse, and then my brain just kind of exploded.

um. I'm already going to hell so I'll admit I had a little laugh at this

no?

hell yeah cause I'm buyin

this deserves to go on a tshirt

and last but not least . . .

I so know what you mean.

2006-12-10T20:08:00.000-05:00

A particularly lovely post from Scoplaw:

". . . [P]lease remember, there’s an arbitrary element to grades, and all they’re really telling you is what you know anyway – that you’re in the same ballpark as your peers; better on some things, worse on others. They don’t measure your worth as a person. (So don’t act, positively or negatively, as though they do.) They also don’t measure your knowledge of the law against an objective standard. They also don't measure your future ability to be a lawyer or even begin to assess the myriad of skills that you can bring to bear on lawyering. Grades are just points on a curve relative to your peers.

If you find yourself freaking out, have a beer (or two), sit down, and think about all the worthwhile things you accomplished on your way to this point in time; you're going to accomplish just as many, if not more, great things after you leave here. And whatever psychological impact grades have, it's already come too late - it can't undo who you are, what you've done, or what you can do in the future."

Ah-men! Lordy lord, amen.

*exhales*

Public vs Private, and the Simple Effect of Providing Clear Information

2006-12-09T20:21:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to write about this for some time, and Wretched of the Earth's Courtroom Etiquette post reminded me of it. (excellent post, by the way, I'd love to see an actual draft. I think Imapd mentioned something similar, but I can't find it. Where is she, anyway?)

Have many of you PDs worked in the private sector before going to work for the State? I would be interested to hear of your experiences. I worked in the Corporate world - attorney offices and CPA firms - for 7 years before going to law school. Already I can see tremendous differences between that world and the PD's office here in town. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the fact that billable hours don't drive the paycheck, but there is something else, as well.

One thing I was told by fellow interviewers (well, two, and they were good friends from school) was to stop freaking out. Like, if I was one minute late, I'd be feeling guilty, and I'd certainly note it on my pro bono time sheet. How much of a dork am I. But seriously, I have this crazy, someone's-over-my-shoulder-with-a-whip thing about working. I daydream like the rest of us, but lord knows I'm always worried I'll get caught and be considered a disappointment. It's not because I want to look the best or something. It's because if I get caught, I will feel ashamed. Like I have let the business down. My conduct - hell, all of our conduct - affects the business' bottom line, whether it's a Big Corp or a small one. See, my parents own their own business, as does my sister, and I had a small graphic design one for a while myself. So I feel a very close, immediate relation between my work (its presence and its quality), the success of a business, and all the business' employees ability to buy a house, car, and groceries. This has served me very in the Corporate World - I was never conscious of it, but I always did my best, because, frankly, I couldn't live with myself otherwise.

So - the PD's office. A real shock. Everyone was able to operate on their own. No one looked over their shoulders - maybe formally, in that people had performance objectives and stuff, but it didn't feel like a realistic threat. People just did what they needed to do, and got on with it. I have to admit, it felt pretty wonderful. I thought I was dreaming it, like there must be a catch somewhere. And there may be yet. But not one that I could see.

To be fair, that's the extent of my experience with the PD's office; I was up at the jail most of the time. Like I said, I'd be very interested to hear of your experiences, and if you have any advice for a smooth transition.

**
Now for a different observation. People in the corporate world are constantly beseiged by management's efforts to be "more efficient." Efficiency equals more time, and time is money. It's good logic, if only because efficiency is nicely helped along by information, usually a deluge of it. We all remember the memo about the TPC Reports. But these things can be so helpful: to inform new employees, to keep everyone abreast of changes, etc. Now, I am not a memo-happy bureaucratic paper pusher! But in areas that are suffering from a decided lack of information-giving, a little explanatory memo or two can go a long way.

I'm speaking specifically of the criminal legal process. In my time at the courthouse, I've seen so much confusion, just a general wtf-is-going-on, people milling about aimlessly because they haven't got a clue where to go, people who don't even think to ask for assistance in figuring it out because it doesn't occur to them or because it's beaten out of them, or whatever. When I was to interview Juveniles right out of their first appearance, the kids were instructed by a Bailiff to walk down the hallway and "go into the door on the left, far down, across from that other courtroom." Okay, there are like a billion people milling around, about seven doors, all on the left, that qualify as "far down" and "across from that other courtroom". Few signs. So people don't question the Bailiff further, they just go wandering down the hall; some make it, some never do. My little interview room is on the far left, the courtroom is on the far right, with bench seating outside that people sit at before they go in to their hearing. Me, I've got a little clipboard that I'm supposed to perch on the little half-wall separating the open hallway from the benches, across from my room. A lot of people - none of them juveniles or their families - are waiting in the seats outside this courtroom, coming and going. They see my clipboard. On the clipboard is a sheet printed by the PD's office: "Sign in here, then come on in." You can imagine what happens. Multiply that by 100 and that's what actually happened.

Seriously, it was so crazy that I don't know why other interviewers weren't so absolutely disgusted with all the superfluous crap they had to deal with, just because of a confusing little sheet of paper - I don't know why they didn't just change it. Why? It seriously makes no sense. So you know what I did? I wrote on the sheet "Juvenile Court only" "Parents and guardians, please stay with your children" "Please knock" instead of come right in for pete's sake, it's a little room and I'm interviewing someone and 80 times throughout the day I'm interrupted by people just waltzing in - sometimes juvenile, mostly people who were supposed to be going to the courtroom opposite. What a mess.

Anyway, once I changed up the Sign-In sheet (took me 5 seconds tops), and asked the bailiff if he wouldn't mind telling the kids "exactly 5th door on the left", life changed, too. It was great. Things suddenly went so smoothly - for me and, more importantly, for the kid and family - that I wondered if all the headache had actually been a dream. And so this got me thinking, What else is going on here in this system that could be helped by just a few instructional words? It blows my mind that there's not already some Courtroom Etiquette hand-out to give to Defendants. I truly mean no offense, but, seriously, why isn't there? (Or is there and I just don't know about it? distinct possibility) Criminal defendants are the most likely to be unfamiliar with the formal mannerisms of judicial proceedings, to be unfamiliar with the (usually white) Judge's concept of respect and manners, of the (usually white) Jury's. I've been reading a lot of blogs and this seems to be a recurrent complaint, that the defendant just botches his whole case before the formal trial has even started. Additionally, it seems to me that many criminal defendants will refuse most verbal suggestions, warnings, and admonishments to sit up straight, dress nice, etc, because it is demeaning to be told to do that. I think a memo on proper dress and activity would really work, especially if it was presented as routine. I could be totally wrong. Disasterously wrong. What has been your experience?

The fact is, because of my type of schooling and formal jobs, I'm used to having a lot of information guide me to where I need to be, what I need to do, throughout my day. I like to think that, as a result, I'm very focused. I'm always looking for things to help focus me, to help me get things done; even just moving down the street, I pay attention to the lights, cars around me, speed, whether there's a cop, whether there's an opening up ahead, etc, always evaluating my circumstances and actively making decisions. Always computing, always thinking. I'm constantly taking in data and so it only seems logical to put it to some use. I hated the corporate world, but I think I was very well suited for it.

So if I was a kid that just came out of juvenile court, being me, I would ask for very specific directions to the interviewing room. If someone wasn't very clear, I'd ask someone else, or just start exploring. And I wouldn't be distracted from finding it. And if I saw a general sign-in sheet, I'd ask if it was for the courtroom or the PD. Because I want to make sure that I get done what I need to get done.

How must it be, then, for someone who lives an almost opposite existence? Who doesn't expect - and certainly doesn't get - much helpful information from others? That row of courtrooms is the most disorganized walk in all of history, to me. So are Social Security offices, and lord knows what else. Probably the kid's whole life, and his family's, too. Oh, and the jail. The jail. Nobody explains anything, just waits for an enterprising soul to come forward to ask. And it's only rarely that a clear answer is given, so the person who dared ask is now flummoxed yet again, and usually just goes and sits down or leaves. How many times have I been waiting for my Special Pass at the Jail's visitor entrance, only to listen to the COs tell some wife or son that the inmate's not here, they're at such-and-such, or at the courthouse, or in transit. With these last two issues, wouldn't you ask, "Well when might they be back?" but no, the visitors just wander off. And, if the inmate's been transferred, and the visitor asks for directions, my GOD the COs practically send the visitors to Abudabi and then back. The visitor asks for clarification (and a good many of them don't speak much English), and the CO compeletly confuses them again before waving them off, "Next please!" The visitor blinks, backs away, and sinks into the shadows.

I mean really. So much stress, so many headaches, could be saved with just a clearer bit of communication. I don't understand why people don't do this automatically.

I am making it my goal to provide the absolute best, clearest, most instructive information to my clients once I am a PD. I think about this a lot, actually, and all the experiences I read about on these blogs are so helpful. I would appreciate any advice you may have on the subject, as well; who knows, I could be beating a dead horse and not even know it. I hope not. That would be depressing.

Thank you in advance for your thoughts. :)

EDIT: From A Public Defender's Life in Alaska:

Learning after you get here that the State will not pay all of your medical dues or your bar dues or your case load will be huge does not do you any good. I'm sure it is just not Alaska. I'm sure it is the same everywhere. But going from a private employer to a public employer has it's drawbacks. In a private office there is someone you can go and directly bitch to. The State just shrugs and says "hope you don't ruin your credit or go hungry over our mistake but what can we do?"

eep. seriously

Mina-kins Invades!!!

2006-12-06T22:20:00.000-05:00

For some reason, it's very hard to work on a take-home final exam when Mina is around.

Here she is, innocent as pie:

And then -

and then -

success!!

(yes I did it I posted photos of my cat omg)

Female Chauvinist Pigs

2006-11-29T09:20:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, NPR's Fresh Air had a very interesting interview with Ariel Levy, author of Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture. Raunch Culture embraces this all-consuming trend of commercialized sexuality, of 5 year-old girls wearing Playboy bunny logo t-shirts, of women treating both themselves and others as sexual objects, a culture that is fast becoming (has already become?) the New Identity for just about every girl over the age of 12. I highly recommend giving the interview a listen.

Some interesting points made by the author:

- Porn stars like Jenna Jameson (and other less professional "stars", like Pamela Lee) have become celebrity role models of sexual freedom and success. Yet these women are paid to simulate sex, to imitate enjoyment of sex, of one fake orgasm after another. Why would others want to imitate an imitation? Shouldn't women's sexual role models be those who actually get the most out of real sex, the most pleasure, the most fulfillment - rather than the ones who get the most money to imitate it?

- Indeed, porn movies (or, a la Vanessa Williams, Former Miss USA, a simple video of two women kissing) used to be something women had to "recover" from. Williams had her crown taken away. Today, porn is something that makes you famous, something that gets you noticed and gets you money and gets you that all-American gold-seal of approval: celebrity.

- Whether it's due to the commercialism of the day or this "raunch" culture (and I'm not certain that they're very separate), sexuality has been reduced to breast implants, thongs, lingerie, boots, PVC, and brazillian waxes - all things women must buy. The media does not tout self-awareness, or even sensual knowledge, as a prerequisite to sexual satisfaction. Nope - just buy some boobs, and you'll be okay. You'll automatically find sex - and life - more rewarding. It's frustrating because I know several girls like this.

- The author talked about visiting a middle school dance, where the girls began to kiss each other and give the boys simulated lap dances. First of all, WTF!?!??! but I can also totally see that, am not surprised. Girls are becoming aware of things so early these days (and why not, when everything they see tells them it's okay to, to jump in with wild abandon). But it's not a true sexual awareness - those girls kissing each other aren't exploring some animalistic, wild sensuality, they aren't doing this in an act of true, free love. They're giving a performance. And they know it (apparently they admitted so to the author). They are, yet again, imitating. Creating a reality before the true reality begins to sink in (if it ever does - I am reminded of an Australian tourbus driver who took tourists to see Uluru / Ayers Rock. He said that people would descend from the bus in wonder, but instead of standing there and soaking in the sight, they'd raise their cameras, take tons upon tons of photos, and then, at the end of the day, some of them would actually go up to the Rock and see and touch it, begin to experience it truly).

- But why all this imitation, this performance? It's true that we do imitate in an attempt to wade through the unknown; children do it all the time. But shouldn't there be a point at which the imitation ends, and true sensuality/knowledge begins to take hold, to be explored? A point at which celebration of imitation is shrugged off? The author thinks that women do still crave acceptance from men, and if you can't beat them, join them. They don't want to be thought of as prissy, or as a prude, because they think that drives men away (gaggh arg blek). So they embrace raunch. It makes sense, I suppose, but just because it makes sense doesn't mean it's smart (like that prison logic: "I'm a convicted felon, therefore I'd never touch a gun! Think of how much time I'd get for that!" It makes sense somewhere, but . . . )

Of course, it's so difficult to talk about sexuality - all theories cut big swathes that don't truly apply in people's minute-to-minute life. But it is fun to think about, anyway.

Incidentally, for the sake of a smoother read, I repressed the urge to preface the word "sexuality" every time with "American". There is a wide, wide gulf between American culture and that of just about everyone else on the planet. I do not mean to imply that as America goes, so goes the rest of the world. Other cultures really do laugh at us, especially at our obsession with big fake boobies. Oh, and big fake teeth. As if you didn't already suspect.

Last Day

2006-11-25T18:54:00.000-05:00

Friday was my last day interviewing inmates. Finals are here, and my course schedule next semester is going to be pretty time-consuming. I'm taking Constitutional Law II, Criminal Procedure, Professional Responsibility, Florida Practice and Procedure, and a Trial Practice Workshop. I'm also trying to get a Plea Bargaining intersession class started; we'll see if there's enough student interest.

I'm really going to miss interviewing. Despite the horrible hours it made me keep, it was an unbelievable experience. I can now talk to just about anyone, immediately comfortable, and my eyes have been opened to these entire universes all outside my own. I wish I could check up on some of the people with whom I spoke, see how they're doing, but I know that's impossible. There was a girl just yesterday whose situation really, really got under my skin, distracted me for almost the whole day, and I found myself, for the first time, glad to leave the jail. Hers was a reality so barbaric, so primitive, that its mere existence distressed and terrified something deep inside of me.

I am so thankful for my life now. For my ease in obtaining food, water, transportation, heat, bedding, schooling - everything, I am so thankful. Out of all the things I have learned interviewing, it is this that matters most.

Also - someone who reads this blog told me that I am too "familiar" with the inmates, that I'm falling prey to their wiles, etc. While it is very true that I feel emotionally close with many of the people with whom I speak, it is because they are simply people, not because they are criminals, that I feel this way (and then choose to talk about it). The fascination - and that's what it is, fascination - resides in finding out that we are alike. All of us, no matter from what background, what age, color of skin - we are all alike. We have moments, together, that transcend all cultures, and are pretty amazing to share. Why not celebrate it? Or, at the very least, mention it? Speaking well of people causes no harm. Relating stories that make me smile, talking about people that make me feel good, complete, causes no harm. I personally don't care if the inmate has broken the law - I see the inmate as a person with whom I've been given a few minutes to share concerns, maybe a laugh. I'm not interacting with them to judge them. Lord knows they have - and will continue to have - enough of that from everyone else. So I will continue to share my experiences, to write as I do and about what I do. I know that I can't control you, but please have faith in me, and do not feel alarmed at what I say here.

Alors . . . All of that said, I don't think I'll actually be interviewing again, simply because it gives me zero contact with the PD office. I show up at 7:30, get paperwork together, leave for the jail, come back at 11:30, leave again at 12:00, then back to the jail. I talk to virtually no one but inmates and COs. So, with my time off from class/studying next semester, I'm just going to plant my butt in the PD's office and ask if I can follow someone around. I was supposed to shadow a PD not too long ago, but that fell through and now the guy is leaving the office. :( But that's okay, I will work it out. I mean, seriously, they're going to have to kick me out before I leave voluntarily.

I also want to get used to how a government office works. In between university and law school, I spent 6 years as a corporate slave, and the strangeness of the PD's office - in the few minutes I was even there - was pretty pronounced, to me. It's going to be very different. But I'll save this for another post; it's something that I have many questions about. I also have many questions about plea bargaining. Till then!

p.s. A fun idea for your next seminar, or similar:

Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T19:17:00.000-05:00

I worked today, interviewing 12 inmates. Silly me asked the front entrance CO if they served any Thanksgiving lunch or something; the COs just laughed.

Earlier I posted how I was having some trouble getting older black men to open up to me, feel comfortable enough with me to discuss their side of the story. Well, I interviewed four this morning, and it went really, really well! I am very happy. One guy had the most happy, expressive face I've ever seen; he had a happy heart to match, and we had a lot of fun chatting. Another guy reluctantly (but with a smile) told me he'd been seeing a lady other than his wife, and I got to rib him about that good-naturedly, that was fun too. He was like 65!! :)

I also spoke with a girl who danced on the weekends in Miami. She had a dancer's nonchalance, that sort of unpretentious ease in giving and receiving compliments, in completely disregarding personal space. She was lovely, with an angular face and eyes that naturally seemed fashionably lined with eyeliner, just by virtue of her skin color. She was also very kind. I hope everything works out for her.

My last interview was with an 18 year old. It was very strange, but in an interesting way: this kid and I were as opposite as worlds can be, and yet I felt like he and I were family in some way. I know that sounds strange, and it was, but his mannerisms, his immediate comfort with me, his lack of any kind of attitude - I felt like I was sitting in a room with my brother. Like we could have talked about Nintendo or something, or I could have asked him why he ate all the Rice Krispies and he'd laugh at me and say Sorry, or something. Or like he'd just plain hang out. He was quiet most of the time, reading all the paperwork, and maybe that's what it was, just two people being comfortably quiet around each other. It felt really good, for me. I hope he felt it, too. Who knows. It was very strange.

And then I come home for real family-time. And a certain family member is going to join our police force in February, and that person's amor du jour is a detective who, upon hearing that I worked for the PD's office interviewing people, said, "God, I'm sorry, you know they're all lying, right? How do you do it?" then shook his head, wandered off with his Glenlivet scotch to go have a Nicarauguan cigar with Big Kahuna. I didn't want to push his eyes in because of what he said, I wanted to push his eyes in because of his tone. Know what I mean? I can't even describe it, it makes me so angry.

Anyway. It was mostly a good day.

Taser Use

2006-11-19T11:02:00.000-05:00

Have you seen this video (article here) of an Iranian-American UCLA student getting tased? It's awful. The cops tased him two or three times after he was in cuffs, and, apparently, only because he wouldn't stand back up - hrmm, don't know about you, but after being tased a few times I might not be able to jump back to my feet at attention. To be fair, who knows, but it's shocking to watch, really makes me want to do - ahem - more than some of these students, who are, I believe, fairly representative of the coddled youth of our age, so beaten down and drugged with inaction and consumerism that all they can do is think about shouting, then actually shouting and trying to look self-important. There, I said it, but come on people, it's all well and good to stand back on the sidelines and "yell" at someone who is apparently unjustifiably tasing another, but . . . Again, to be fair, I wasn't there . . .

One of the interesting things about Tasers is that there seems to be a huge discrepancy between what it looks like to be tased, and what actually happens when you are tased. For ince, when I see that student being tased, it looks to me like he's being freaking electrocuted, and I imagine it is extraordinarily painful and horrible. But most cops talk about how it's just a lock-up of the muscles, and feels more like an all-over sting (I asked an inmate what it felt like to be tased; he looked at me kind of blankly and said, "Well, it stings, that's for sure," but wouldn't elaborate further). In my wee town, cops calls ambulances after they tase someone, but I don't know if this is a bureaucratic requirement to save their butts later, or if it's actually necessary. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.

One Fine Day III - Photo Post

2006-11-17T18:59:00.000-05:00

Some lunar landscape-esque sand images:

One Fine Day II - Photo Post

2006-11-17T18:41:00.000-05:00

One Fine Day - Photo Post

2006-11-17T18:22:00.000-05:00

I've been stressing pretty horribly (and stupidly) about exams, but no big surprise there. So today I went to the beach to relax and clean out my brain. I saw quite a few dolphins and devised a plan to next time go out far enough to swim with them (involves rope, post, weight belt, boogie board, and mallet). There are always dolphins out there. The channel in which they swim is very swift, very deep, but it's only about twenty feet from the shore. So I'm going to wear the weight belt, thread it with a rope, then attach the rope to a deep post in the sand, and zoom out there on a boogie board. It's a nice idea, anyway. Let's see if I ever actually do it.

*sigh* I really hate this time of the semester, it is so depressing . . .

But anyways! on to the photos:

Barnacles

Mr PD

2006-11-09T20:18:00.000-05:00

Our elected Public Defender (“Mr PD”) came to our school to talk about professionalism in the courtroom. It was really wonderful. He was so gracious and polite while the 21 year olds around us chomped on free pizza and noisily drank soda.

This is probably some kind of old hat for all you PDs, but for those new to public defense – new to litigation in general – a lot of what he said was very interesting:

- The prosecutor’s job is to seek justice. He has an absolute duty to give mitigating or exculpatory evidence to the other side. It may hurt his case, but it does not hurt his cause.

- Just because you’re a lawyer and others aren’t, does not make you in any way better than them. However, don’t try to apply this to judges!

- The Bailiff keeps security in the courtroom. If you want to get some fried chicken for your capital defendant, which he hasn’t had in over a year, make sure you and the Bailiff get along. If he says he thinks something “might” be a problem, the Judge is automatically going to say No.

- True victims deserve compensation; they do not deserve to run a courtroom.

- Apparently, our Bar was considering a new, informal system whereby attorneys could complain about other attorneys’ courtroom behavior. The attorney would be brought before a sort of “peer review committee” – which might include your very judge!! Mr PD wasn’t too keen on that. Also, judges were (of course) excluded from such review. Mr PD asked, “Well, why not the judges?” A judge answered back, “Well, we’re not your peers.” “Ah,” said Mr PD. “Then I’ll not send my attorneys to your panel.” Perhaps needless to say, the State Attorney had already proclaimed to his office, “I’m firing anybody who doesn’t go!”

- The former elected Public Defender was a very nice man, by all accounts. He also never complained about a judge to the Judicial Qualification Committee (JQC), the judicial ethics board. Well, Mr PD, a bit before being elected, found out about two judges who convened a quick re-sentencing of a defendant – with no warning or notice to the assigned pd, and first thing in the morning – because the victim apparently didn’t feel the defendant was given harsh enough treatment. Lord only knows to what family this victim belonged. Anyway, so the deed was done, and Mr PD met with the judges, told them he’d like to resolve this amicably – just apologize, reverse, etc. The judges refused. Mr PD said that, in that case, he was going to look at JQC. “Ha ha,” laughed the judges, “you’re running for office. Your boss never did it. You’ll never do it.” Well guess what! And, ever since then, Mr PD only has to show his face after, say, a judge’s derogatory remark about lesbians, or, say, a remark about how “Yes, miss pd, that result probably wasn’t what you were looking for, but judging by your shoes and handbag, a bit of shopping after work should set you right as rain . . .” Oh la la!

Photo Post!

2006-11-08T19:59:00.000-05:00

It's Finals time again, yay.

The Public Defender for our Circuit visited our school yesterday, gave a fantastic speech about professionalism in the courtroom. I wrote down a lot of his stories, what he said; will post them tomorrow.

In the meantime . . .

So I spent last weekend in total seasonal-change mode. My body seriously changes with the seasons. I don't know what it is, but it feels like about the best thing in the world. Unfortunately, my neck of the woods doesn't quite pay attention to "seasons" . . .

discovered while romping on zee beach

One day it's 89, the next it's 72, then 61, then 95. Whatevs, I've figured out how to jump-start my change: reading about (and looking at photos about) the beautiful beautiful Alaska. Then I went to the library and rented two "travel" tapes on Alaska. Then we watched The Edge (shot in Alaska - btw, bears scare the absolute life out of me). Then walked to the store, daydreaming in the overcast weather that I was in Alaska, and on the way, in our little lake/retention pond, saw an otter swimming around. An otter!! For a minute I thought I'd imagined myself right into Alaska. She had a baby otty in her mouth, and ran away when I didn't leave fast enough, which was sad. Hopefully she'll come back. I have no idea how she found our little fishpool.

Also got to meet a manatee!! (though not in ye olde retention pond, of course)

First one I'd ever seen up close. They really are like giant swimming cows. Cow pig things. So sweet and serene. But I think they'll be high-tailing it out of here pretty soon, as the nights are getting chillier. Oh and the sign said, "Do not touch manatee! $25 billion kazillion dollar fine if you do!" Can you guess what we did?

And even though most of our garden is shriveling up (or has been yanked up by enterprising coonies) -- on the back porch at least, life finds a way . . .

Extra points if you know what these baby vegetablelings are!! And yes, there are over a hundred little white cups all stacked in neat rows . . .

Lastly, I found $10 in an old coat pocket so got food from my favorite restaurant in the world:

mmmmmm, Thom Kha and deep-fried tofu with peanut sauce . . .

"I have no room in my heart for vengeance"

2006-10-31T15:11:00.000-05:00

Currently listening to: A Dying Sailor to his Shipmates - Rogue's Gallery: Pirate Ballads, Sea Songs, and Chanteys

In the mornings, after my bike ride to school, I have a big breakfast in the student lounge, a smallish room with a TV. Usually I read the NY Times but this morning it hadn’t yet arrived, so I turned on the TV. This was around 8:00am. I didn’t leave till well after 9:30.

The reason for this was Link TVs broadcast of Deadline, a documentary about wrongly-convicted defendants on death row throughout the United States and, particularly, in Illinois. It paid particular attention to Governor’s Ryan’s blanket commutation of 167 death sentences, culminating in a final scene that left me in tears.

I wish I’d had my notebook with me for the viewing; there were many, many, many gems I’d have liked to have written down. Many names, many projects, foundations, and thoughts. Absolutely everything struck a chord.

Of interest was the group Murder Victims’ Families for Reconciliation, an organization of those whose “members has lost a loved one to murder -- through homicide or execution -- and every one opposes the death penalty.” The documentary filmed these members standing at a podium, each reciting the horror committed upon their family, and then stating, “and I oppose the death penalty.” It was extraordinarily moving.

Also: Governor Ryan, before all the families, reporters, everyone, quoting Abraham Lincoln: “'I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice' . . . And if the exercise of my power [here] becomes a burden, then I will bear it.”

Separated at Birth?

2006-10-28T14:53:00.000-05:00

(with apologies to my Dad, and anyone else who - well . . . )

Dune's Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and Dennis Hastert?

Photo of the Morning . . .

2006-10-28T08:32:00.000-05:00

click to enlarge

Morning at Huguenot Memorial Park

Le sigh . . . Friday night thoughts

2006-10-27T20:56:00.000-05:00

At this stage in the game, I still don’t really understand bond. I mean, judges have been passing out $50,003 bond for simple crack possession, $75,003 for possession of a firearm. Is this normal? I’ve not been able to talk to any attorneys about it yet, but the other interviewers have been seeing it so much it’s normal to them. What is the purpose of these super-high numbers? Mr Transient is not going to find $7,500 . . .

Most people I interview have tattoos, and they spend a lot of time absent-mindedly inspecting them. Especially forearm tattoos. I know it’s kind of just something to do with the eyes and hands, but it is very interesting all the same. I kind of mark time by it.

I hear a lot about guys failing to update their addresses. As sex offenders, no one will lease to them, and so they stay with some friends while saving up for a house down-payment. I can understand where they're coming from; who wants your friend’s information in a sex offender database, when they’re just helping you out for a month? And when you do buy a house, what if a day care opens up three houses down? Do you have to move? No one has ever explained any of this.

An unfortunate aspect of interviewing is the typical logical fallacy. For example, an inmate will say, “Why would I touch a gun?!?! I’m a convicted felon!! There’s no way I would pick up a gun!! I know what that would cost me!!” To him, that sort of argument makes total sense, and should be included not only in the text of his narrative, but also in his formal defense. But the fact is, the world doesn’t work this way. The argument is dead the second it sees the light.

I worry that people have a hard time admitting to me they’ve done something unlawful. If they’re hesitant at first, I can sometimes draw it out of them, but not always. I wonder how to make myself more approachable in this respect. I’m horribly curious and maybe they find this offensive? I try to be very professional about it, though. Hrmmm.

I’ve had some people lie to me lately. Personally, that’s okay, because really, what do I care. But I do care about their defense. And, starting next week, if I feel I’m being lied to, I’m going to say something about it. I owe it to their defense to at least make the overture, say, “Listen, I don’t think you’re being completely honest with me. That’s okay, but be aware that I’m writing down what you’re telling me, and it’s all your attorney will have to go on. When he talks with the State Attorney, when he defends you in front of the judge, it’s all going to rely on this story. Be sure this is the one you want to be telling me.” Or something similar. Does anyone have any ideas on what to say? I don’t want to say the wrong thing.

A guy today leaned in close and said to me, “Have you ever seen a kid shit in the corner? I mean really, shit in the corner? And then his sister comes and cleans it up with sheets?? Ain’t nobody every teach them to use the bathroom? What kinda life is that? When you’re six years old and shittin’ in the corner? They like little animals! Animals!”

I still remember my first interview with a tremendous amount of fear. My little room didn’t face a bubble-mirror, so I had no idea when the guy was going to come in. And I didn’t yet know the groans of the sliding glass doors, or the clicks of the interior doors leading to the elevators, so every time I heard a sound, which was a lot, I thought it might be him. I was scared to death. Not of the inmate – though my eyes had not missed his stats: 6’4”, 290 lbs. – but I was scared of doing poorly. Scared of offending him with my very presence, scared he’d think I was judging him. Think, “What the hell is this tall white girl doing, coming in here and asking me about my business?” But I think, interview-wise, I did okay. And on a personal level, the guy got choked up, we talked for a while, it was very difficult for him. It’s difficult for everyone, as you’d imagine, but some are more open with it than others. It’s something I’ll never forget.

I caught our Supervisor reading one of my client’s narratives, and wave away someone trying to ask her something. This really makes me happy; I try to make them like a story, so they read like a story, keep the reader’s interest. I have the inmate tell me their whole story first, then I go back and we write it down, detail by detail. At this point I’ve got a good idea of its timing, and how I need to format it structure. And then we go. Some are more difficult than others.

Apparently the pickles at lunch are really, really, really good.

The first black guy I interviewed did not want to be in the same room with me. So I tried to be very very nice, probably was too nice. He was reticent, trailed off all his sentences, kept his head down, rubbing his forearms, and just made it clear I wasn’t going to get anything out of him without dragging it out. This didn’t upset me personally, I just wanted him to be happy, feel comfortable with me – this was part of his defense, after all. So I got all his information, the interview was over, and just as soon as I said “Thank you,” I mean just as soon as I said Thank you, he changed 180 degrees. He smiled, gave a laugh, shook my hand, and said, “You’re all right, you just keep doin’ a good job. I know you have to pay your bills, so just keep on smiling. That’s what I try to do. Have a good day,” shook my hand again, and about flounced out of the room. Laughing like he’d just had the best time. I broke out into a smile, after I picked my jaw up off the floor. It was extraordinary.

I don’t know why some cops throw away the arrested’s keys. I’ve heard of this 4 times, overheard it really, from inmates who’ve just been released, standing outside the jail. They’re on the phone with someone, trying to figure out how to get in their house. Either the cops purposely threw their keys in a ditch, or in a field, or left the keys on the road where they dropped. And now the guys can’t get in their own house.

Or feed their dogs. 7 puppies, newly weaned, in the house of a guy who got arrested 2 weeks ago. The cop wouldn’t let him put out food for them. He can’t get in touch with anyone to check on them. He cried for about 30 minutes. And all I could do was listen, and write it down. Write it down. Write it all down.

I don’t dare think about that one too much. Told my supervisor. What else can I do.

And then there’s the one who tried to stare me down. That’s okay too. It was interesting, because I’d write what he said, then look up at him to go on, and he’d just stare at me, aggressive, but not overly, trying to see what I’d do or say. It was a stare with a question on the end. And you know, under other circumstances, I’d have looked away very, very fast. I’d have forfeited without a second thought and gone on with life. But here, I just kept his stare. It was kind of an experiment with myself. I’ve never been able to do that before. And I wasn’t staring him down, I was staring his question down. In my mind, I was saying, “I’m here to take your side of the story. You don’t make me nervous, because despite your brawn and what you did, I care more about getting your side of the story. That’s what I’m here for. So give it to me. And if you have to get something out of your system and stare me down for a few seconds, that’s okay too. Because I’m still going to be here, and I’m still going to get your story. That’s what I’m here to do.”

I interviewed 14 people today. !!!!

Trying to teach myself to get used to the smells. Body, mouth, hair, shoes, etc. I mean, it’s not like they’re dangerous - smells are just indicators, as in, “This man smells of wee, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to swap spit with him.” But the smell itself is not dangerous. It won’t give you a cold, or the flu, or HIV. It just is. Socialization drills into us what is “good” and what is “bad”, why some smells seem offensive, and why others do not. But other than that, the smells don’t mean anything. Not in the jail, anyway. No one’s allowed deodorant (apparently), and most people sleep all day and have sleepy-breath. A lot of them smell like mildew. Why is this bad? I mean, aside from preconceived notions? It’s not going to hurt me, so why be afraid or grossed out?

The interview has ended, and the inmate walks from our room to the sliding glass door, presses the buzzer. “Doe,” he says, letting the cop know who was returning. “John Doe to West 68.”
There’s a long pause. “Who?” the cop says finally.
This guy is already really embarrassed. He shuffles his feet. “John Doe to West 68,” he repeats.
The cop’s mike switches on and catches the end of a laugh. “WHO?”
“John Doe, D-O-E, West 6-“
The door screeches open. “Ha ha ha, oh yeah, come on in, John Doe,what are you shouting for . . .”

aaaiiieeeee! I lost a post!!! Now I found it!

2006-10-23T16:12:00.000-05:00

Has this ever happened to you?? It was here last night! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Found it! Thank you J.B., I owe you lunch -

(Originally written last weekend, about my first Thurs and Fri interviewing)

I wake up at 4:45am (boooooo), shower, try to eat, get to the bus stop at 6:10 to catch the 6:20 bus downtown. I’m thinking the bus ride will take an hour, per usual, and the walk from stop to PDO (Public Defender’s Office) about 15-20 minutes. However, due to the early morning hour, the bus takes twenty minutes. Surprise! So I have a nice little stroll around downtown, surprisingly busy already; I look in windows, poke around lit alleys, listen to the really really frightening screams of birds that live under the monorail, look at my watch. Ten minutes has passed. Surprise! It’s only 7:00. Not supposed to be at PDO till 8:00. Well! So I wander around the river, give myself a hearty, mind-of-its-own 'fro, and sit on a bench. Stare at the sky.

So Day One started off rather relaxing, but the jail was to prove a bit more stressful. Not because of the inmates, or the surroundings, but because the PD’s office assigned B to train me. I know B from school; we used to hang out some before he graduated. He is wonderful in many ways. But he hates his job. He chainsmokes like I have never seen. And he will stretch lunch from one hour to two without a second thought. Frankly, he’d just rather not work. So, he’s happy to hang out with me and talk about stuff, but we are on two totally different pages.

One of the Investigators gets me my paperwork and pass, explains the interviewing sheet, and gives me 4 interviews to get the day started. On Thursdays, I work from 8-2. It’s already 9:30. So B grabs me and we head out the back of the building, whereupon B lets me in on his little ritual. Now, I love B, but this boy smokes two cigarettes before we leave, we walk down to the jail, and then he smokes two more. This ritual does not budge.

We can’t take anything into the jail other than our metal binder (containing forms, paper, and pen), although I managed to sneak some Dr. Pepper lip gloss and a mint into B’s front pocket. I can already figure that B, bless him, is not going to be very helpful in explaining why we do certain things, so I’m hyper-aware at this point, trying to figure it all out.

We give our IDs to the CO (Correctional Officer) at the desk just inside the front entrance, who assigns us Special Visitor tags. We pin them to our blazers, walk to the left, through the metal detector, and a CO opens a bulletproof glass door, which opens out to a glass hallway. COs watch us in a sort of production booth, again shielded with bulletproof glass, the overhead lights in their booth dimmed and all sorts of little knobs, buttons, and screens softly lit up around them. I didn’t see it at the time (much to the COs later amusement), but B flashes the peace sign at them, indicating he wants Floor Two, and elevators opposite the production booth open to admit us, with the “2” button already lit up.

The elevators rise and open to a similar layout as the first floor: production booth behind bulletproof glass, holding usually three to four COs. We slide our Interview Roster through a slot and the receiving CO points to a door on our right, where we will see the “East” wing prisoners. B and the CO chat for a second while I look all around – gray-painted cinderblock walls, gray floor – then the CO suddenly pipes the Doobie Brothers’ “Black Water” through the speakers, all the COs and B get up and do a little dance, then a buzzer sounds, the East wing door unlocks, and B pushes us through. Kinda surreal.

The door opens to a longish gray hall of 5 glassed interview rooms. It deadends in a wall, and the other end is a sliding glass door through which the prisoners, once called, will enter. Apparently – and I’m still not too sure on this – the CO looks at the roster and calls the inmate’s name over the PA system, telling him or her that the PD’s office is here to see them. The inmates appear or do not – it’s up to them. Which is why we don’t interview from 11:30-12:30 of 4:30-5:30, when they’re eating; stealing food is the largest cause of fights, and no inmate will leave his food, even to talk with his attorney.

So we are to wait no more than ten minutes for the inmate to appear. Sometimes it’s the inmate’s fault, sometimes it the COs (on Friday I had one forget about me). But this time, this first interview, where I was to watch B demonstrate proper skills and procedure (hmm), the inmate was quite prompt. The interview room contained three metal stools, bolted down, and a table, bolted down. I leaned against the wall and B sat at the table. The inmate arrived, and people, let me tell you, he was the Baddie from Highlander’s younger brother:

It was so amazing. He spoke to B almost exclusively (I didn’t ask any questions), but would occasionally glance up at me when making a joke, or sheepishly when talking about what he was doing with his girl the night he was arrested. He had a certain way of moving and definite accent to him, but he seemed quite mature and I initially thought he was at least 8 years older than the Arrest Report stated.

He also had a very interesting tic: occasionally, absent-mindedly, he would suck back his spit. I wonder why he did this. It sounded like he was cold, and was breathing in too sharply because of it, but I knew this wasn’t the case. Did he have too much saliva at some point in his life for some reason, long enough to establish this as a habit? It was quite fascinating.

It occurred to me, then, that I was experiencing something I’d always wanted but never thought possible: this man, with his tattoos and near-shaved head, with all his pretenses, was the kind of someone I have always wanted to examine up close, but never could. I mean really, I am not going to visit the guy’s house, pull him aside, and tell him to go about his business, don’t mind me I’m just watching, while I look him over from head to toe, ears to shoes, watch his movements, note his speech patterns, whether he cleaned his nails or not. Whether he keeps his head up or down, sits with a slouch or straight back. Now, though, I finally get to see it.

What’s more; if I were to see him out in his hood, it would be with (as he put it) his shoes, car, and clothes, all of which were specifically designed to match. I’d be seeing this Guy+More, with all his headdresses and plumage, be seeing him as he wished to be seen.

But in this jail, I get to see him as he actually is.

No props. No distractions. Just a man, slouched over on a stool too small, arms folded across his chest, looking down.

He was a human being. He might have done something unlawful a few days ago, but he wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t evil incarnate. He was just a man. Who shook my hand when he left.

Later, B will tell me that he didn’t take note of the guy’s height as he walked in, but definitely noticed it when he walked out. Taking a drag of his obligatory second cigarette outside the jail, he will say, “I thought he was a lot taller . . . He seemed taller.” And I don’t get the chance to interview anyone myself that day, or even see another interview in action, due to running around with B, but as I sit in my Thursday afternoon Happy Class (with fave philosophical Professor), I think to myself that the day really couldn’t have been any better.

Well okay, maybe less smoke. But that’s it.

And less hot sun.

Oh, and a shorter lunch. I’m really determined to not appear like I’m taking advantage of all this given-freedom (and we investigators have a ton of freedom – I’m not at all used to it). I really want to distinguish myself as someone who works hard, no questions asked.

Ce la!!

Life as a PD?

2006-10-22T09:20:00.000-05:00

I think there's something about the mechanics and nature of being a PD - some existing commonality - that all PDs seem to recognize, accept, and love. This is very interesting to me. Reading through the PD blogs, I'm reminded of certain soldier blogs, writings from people who share similarly difficult experiences, but who would never do anything different. Who love what they do. Who constantly get put through the wringer but, because they feel they work for a higher purpose, a greater good, see the hardship as simply part of the landscape. (well, at least upon reflection, anyway.)

For instance, when I asked "What would you do differently?" I received three responses that I think are pretty indicative of PDs in general (if not, please let me know!).

acs said, “I don't think I'd do anything over”; ruth said, “How would I do it differently? I wouldn't, really. I love what I do, but nothing really trains you for it.” And audacity simply says, “I would not have given my clients my direct line. Bad idea.”

And when I asked, “What do you wish you knew when you started?” acs answered, “Hmm, after pondering for quite sometime, I don't think that there's anything I wished that I had known.” Ruth said similarly: “See above!” And audacity, of course, answers with “[T]he entire Georgia Code and all the caselaw that went with it. That’s really the only things that would have made my life easier at the beginning.”

Now, reading what I have of the blogs out there, this seems to be common sentiment. As someone who’s struggled with many different jobs in many different fields before a) deciding on law school and then b) deciding on being a public defender when I graduate, I find this commonality extraordinary. I mean, ask any number of office drones these questions, and you’ll get the same number of different, desperate answers. Ask any number of attorneys and the difference might be lower, but it will still be the norm.

I like to think that all this points to public defense as being kindof like a “craft,” or a very selective trade. It has its own nature, and it’s one you’re going to have to figure out on your own: as ruth says, “nothing really trains you for it.” Not everyone can abide by it. It’s going to make you walk through certain common fires - every single one transforming you, tempering you. And, looking back, there’s nothing you would change.

Acs: “I wouldn't do my job if I didn't love it”
Ruth: “I love what I do”
Audacity: “As much as I sometimes complain about my job, I really do love it.”

This is so incredibly, extraordinarily, and wonderfully rare. When I graduate and (fingers crossed) begin work as a PD, I’m certain I will have reason to express myself similarly.

Thank you for sharing it with me. :)

Photo of the Morning

2006-10-22T08:20:00.000-05:00

click to enlarge

It may be 80 degrees outside, but at least some of the backyard trees know it's Autumn.

Teen Wolf: Symbols Through the Ages

2006-10-21T16:00:00.000-05:00

For some reason today, I felt like writing a treatise on Teen Wolf and brushing up on my Bluebook skills. La!

Symbolic Characters in Teen Wolf, and in the World:

The Hero: Scott, aka Teen Wolf Usually a male, of average intelligence and mediocre athleticism. Sweet, kind, but aching for something more. Surprisingly brave and strong in some situations - a hint to the heroic nature hiding beneath. Is different from others, but only in a vague, promising sort of way.

The Sidekick: Stiles Comfortable in his own skin, “cool”, brave, doesn’t really care what others think of him, apart from the crowd and likes it, which gives The Hero (his best friend) some vicarious cred. The Sidekick represents a mature reality, in a way, but is also an anomaly, in that The Hero can never be like him. It takes a special kind of weird, flouncy person to carry it off. See Back to the Future (Universal Pictures 1985); Better Off Dead (A&M Films 1985). Is able to wear waffle sunglasses and funky t-shirts without a second thought.

The Hero’s Long-Suffering Soul Mate: Boof The Hero’s best female friend. Always accepting of him, no matter what he does, even if she gets impatient sometimes. The Hero has no idea they are perfect for each other. Usually the Soul Mate has grown up with the Hero, the better for her to know every aspect of him, and love him. Sweet, kind, almost always a brunette. See One Crazy Summer (A&M Films 1986); see also Just One of the Guys (Columbia Pictures 1985); cf. Sky High (Walt Disney Pictures 1985) ("Soul Mate" has red hair).

The Goddess, aka The Prom Queen: Pamela Almost always a blonde. She moves from Alpha male to Alpha male upon evidence of strength and popularity. She is seen as physically perfect, unattainable, responding only to Alpha-esque questions and behaviors. Doesn’t usually understand kindness, or sensitivity; she is merely a beautiful body, a trophy - yet, despite her near-total lack of redeeming qualities, a desperately desired one. See Better Off Dead; Just One of the Guys; One Crazy Summer; cf. Sky High ("Goddess" is a brunette); contra. Can't Buy Me Love (Touchstone Pictures 1987) ("Goddess", blonde, undergoes personality transformation and becomes "Soul Mate").

The Foils: Chubby, et al. The Hero must rise from the depths of somewhere, and, in 80’s high school movies, it’s usually from the depths of geekdom. The Hero’s Foils consist of his geeky/socially inept/Beta friends, who are alternately accepting and disapproving of the Hero once he begins to ascend. They hope some of the magic will rub off on them, but also scorn the Hero – out of jealousy, and also out of the knowledge that such heights can never be maintained. The Hero is, afterall, a natural geek. Foils take many shapes: overweight kids, skinny kids, kids who wear thick glasses, kids who wear bow-ties, Star Trek fans, math whizzes, etc. See Better Off Dead; Just One of the Guys; One Crazy Summer; Can’t Buy Me Love; see also Back to the Future (family - particularly Father - as source of "Foils", rather than actual fellow high school students); cf. The Karate Kid (only available "Foil" being Daniel Laruso’s mom, who, while enjoyably personifying New Jersey’s assertive voice, brunette hair, and self-confidence, comes across as polarizingly brash and unrefined in rich, blonde California).

The Alpha Male, aka The Prom King: Mick Always mean and undeserving of his popularity, yet able to effortlessly maintain it. Is always sleeping with the Goddess. Very athletic, a strong physical specimen. Intimidates the pack and wins at everything he attempts (if not always by ethical means). See All 1980's high school movies.

The Law: Vice Principal Thorne A strict authority figure who always assumes – for no discernable reason - that the Hero is up to no good. Pursues the Hero at every chance. Usually turns a blind eye to the Alpha Male, deepening the unfairness of the Hero’s lot. Symbolic of the unfair restrictions placed on Betas. Usually has had some sort of run-in with the Hero’s dad when younger. See Back to the Future.

Story Synopsis:

We first see the Hero in his very unheroic state. He knows, though, that something is wrong. His Best Friend / Soul Mate loves the Hero as he is, but he’s having none of that – certainly there must be something more!! The Hero’s desperation is highlighted by various showings of poor athletic ability, dismissals by the Goddess, commiserations from his geeky Foils – all in opposition to the Alpha Male, the relative popularity/comfort of the Sidekick, and the Law. The Hero, who is as sexually frustrated as any high school geek, sucks so much that when locked in the closet with his Soul Mate, he can’t even kiss her properly because . . . isn’t there something more?

Well, the Hero gets his something more later that night. He undergoes an involuntary physical transformation, becoming who – and what – he really is: a non-moon-abiding werewolf:

The Hero’s father takes him aside and informs him that, because he is naturally a werewolf, he will soon have great power. This is a common American theme, in the tradition of Manifest Destiny and Spider Man, where the Hero doesn’t actually have to do anything to be heroic – he just is heroic - naturally (X-Men), or because of a transfer of power (Spiderman). No need to struggle under a harsh Master in the mountains for this Hero, or paint fences and houses and wax cars, or perfectly scoop up little teacups of water without missing a drop while hanging upside down. No, this Hero doesn’t need to learn any of that – he just needs to blow dry his fur, turn up his collar, and go play some b-ball!!!

But the Hero is initially ashamed of his new (uncontrollable) appearance and identity, because he is afraid he will be ostracized. This causes him great stress and provides ample opportunity for the Hero to get into conflict-ridden, comedic situations with the Law, the Alpha Male, and the Goddess. The Soul Mate tries to get The Hero to open up and tell her what’s going on, but he won’t. The Goddess suddenly notices him and says with a little encouraging smile, “You look different" (right after the Sidekick opens his locker and unceremoniously collapses to the ground as its contents spill out atop him: a paddle, books, paper, a balloon, ribbons, rags, flags, shoes, cards, an umbrella, and googly-eyeball glasses). Speaking of the Sidekick, he, of course, thinks the Hero’s appearance is “beautiful . . . You know, with the right angles, we can turn this into something – haha – monstrous!” and immediately accepts him and gets on with life (especially after Teen Wolf helps him sniff out a bag of marijuana in the garage. I had hoped this illegal substance was to be a smoking gun, somehow later affecting the plot; but alas, sometimes weed is just weed).

Of course, the Hero can only hide his supernatural powers for so long. The Hero, busy displaying what he thinks is his natural nerdiness in a sweaty, athletic event, is suddenly tackled by opposing-basketball team Alphas. His id then realizes – without or without the ego’s help – that he is a Hero and changes him into what he is, Teen Wolf, without consent. Of course this change is physical as well as mental, the better to indicate to the masses his transformation.

And the masses are indeed shocked. They stare at him in his full Teen Wolf fur-galia while he lazily begins dribbling the ball. His id, still in control, tells him to drive it home, so the Hero sprints down the court and makes a spectacularly hairy spread-eagled slam dunk. Well, now! After witnessing the Hero’s sudden athletic prowess, his sudden uncharacteristic lack of concern about what the masses think, they accept him. As a Hero. And he earns it more and more, every day, by winning at basketball and . . . well, that seems to be it, pretty much.

We next see the masses’ newfound adoration for the Hero through a common, carefully-edited movie sequence, see Can't Buy Me Love; Sky High. The Hero, now clad in sunglasses and fashionable clothing, strides through the hall of lockers at highschool, greeting every single adoring person he passes, giving a handshake there, a cheek cup there, sometimes a little spin or turn to demonstrate his grace.

Screen capture by Chris Stangl

To remind us of why the Hero is, indeed, so suddenly awesome, someone passes him a basketball, which he tosses masterfully over his shoulder. Next, we see him mentioned in the school newspaper, emblazoned on t-shirts, breakdancing in the hall – courting the coveted “naturally cool” black crowd – laughing at his geek friend who doesn’t understand such coolness, challenging the Law – the school principal – and succeeding. Then the Hero is shown winning at basketball, stealing the ball from the Foils because, frankly, he is the only who’s any good, the crowds and previously-sexually-unavailable cheerleaders going wild, and then he is signing autographs for children. Making As on his tests. The government and CNN haven’t come knocking yet, but no matter.

Screen capture by Chris Stangl

The Goddess has started seriously approaching the Hero now. She sees he is naturally a Hero, and so deigns to crown him as her lover. She is, of course, still technically tied to the Alpha Male – she won’t let the Hero win her that easily! The Hero, being a nice guy underneath it all, doesn’t understand and is hurt – but hell, when a girl like that takes off all her clothes for you, how can any Hero say no?

His father’s words now come back to haunt him: “With great power comes great responsibility.” The Soul Mate begins to feel dumped by the wayside; the Sidekick is off unashamedly reaping the spoils of the Hero’s popularity; the Law is now for some reason approving; the Goddess – while deigning to sleep with him – is unfathomably cold, unavailable, and mean to the Hero’s old posse; the Foils feel jealous and unnecessary. (It is interesting to note the selection of basketball as the Hero’s athletic vehicle – a sport much more susceptible to an individual stealing the spotlight – with the result that the Hero must pay for it eventually - as opposed to the group-oriented sport of football, where an individual’s only true effect is to make or break the team) The Alpha Male, who before was worried he would be usurped via his mate, the Goddess, now senses all is not well with his rival, and teases him accordingly: “You don’t scare me, freak. Underneath all that hair, you’re still a dork, Scott.”

No matter. There may be truth to the Alpha’s words, but the Hero still thinks he is invincible. He uses his power indiscriminately, surfing and dancing on top of vans and blowing off his job.

But when he returns home, he’s chastised by his wiser father. “You’ve dug your own hole,” his father informs him, then tells him that he once became a werewolf out of anger. This, we gather from the father’s expression, is bad. “You’ve got to get a hold of it, son.” Ominous words.

Anyway, time for The Spring Ball! and, because the Goddess is attending with the Alpha Male, the Hero figures he ought to ask out the Soul Mate. The Soul Mate, loving him for he who he is, demands he come as a human. The Hero interprets this as demanding he come as a geek – and he’s spent too much time fighting off that bad image. No dice. So he blow-dries his were-fur, puts on his best clothing and travels to the requisite high-school auditorium, its teeming horde of masses, who immediately recognize him as godly and part so he may pass. The Goddess gives him an approving glance – but he’s looking for the Soul Mate (though why I can’t figure out, except to fulfill the story's obligation). She is put off by the masses’ adoring chanting of “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” but decides to dance with him anyway.

They monster mash to 80’s music for a while. The Alpha Male and Goddess look irritated – the Alpha because the crowds aren’t busy adoring him, the Goddess for the same reason. The Soul Mate then somehow drags the Hero to the locker hall (their budding relationship is not approached very convincingly, even though the relat was always meant to be – alas), and, apparently upon the taste of love on her lips, the the Hero immediately, uncontrollably, morphs from Teen Wolf to Human Scott. Ah, so his real self is truly Scott! Interesting.

Upon returning to the dance, the Alpha Male takes out his aggression on the now-human Hero and the Soul Mate, calling her a “tramp” – and lo, the Hero transforms into the werewolf out of anger. Did his father not warn him of this? The Goddess calls him an animal, everyone looks at him askance, and Teen Wolf, sensing he has worn out his, er, welcome, leaves. (Oh, and his dad gets to settle his score with the Law.)

Now everything starts falling apart. The Hero is unsure of himself – who is he? Is he Teen Wolf? Is he Scott? This is a common theme as well (Am I Peter Parker or am I Spidey? etc). “They want the Wolf – but I can’t give it to them . . . You saw what happened . . .” Because almost getting into a fight with a jerk over his calling your girl a tramp is indicative of outright, black magic-tinged, murderous rages. Flee! Flee for your lives!!!

So the Hero must make a decision. And, at the championship basketball game, he makes it. He attends, despite being forbidden by the Law as punishment for lashing out at the Alpha. And he attends as Scott. “I want to play. I want to be myself! I think we can take these guys. I think we can win this! We got to pull this off by ourselves. We don’t need the Wolf!” Whether he says this out of true conviction, or in the hopes it will convince him, is unclear, but that’s unimportant, as it’s now time for some championship basketball!! woohooo!!

Of course, the Alpha Male is on the opposing team, and makes snide remarks about the Foils, the Hero’s teammates. But he is up against an unstoppable truism – when the Hero wins, everybody wins. Including Chubby. Who knocks the Alpha on the ground. Rock on, Chubs!!!!!

Of course the Hero wins. If he didn’t, the world would implode. But it’s not easy – he must inspire himself and the others to recognize their true selves, their true talents – and it is this that makes the Hero truly heroic. As the music says, “I won’t fight behind a mask – what you see is what you get from me.” The score is 50 to 52 (pretty lousy score, actually), and the Hero gets knocked down by the Alpha, setting him up for the dramatic final foul throw. The Alpha Male always causes his own downfall, for no one else is strong enough to open that door. The Hero takes the ball in his human hands and lands an easy, irrelevant point to bring the score 51 to 52. And then - and then! - in a minute of slow-mo, sweat-soaked, heart-stopping glory, the human Hero makes the final toss. And it’s good.

The Alpha Male’s eyes close. He is defeated.

The crowds go wild! Everyone is screaming, shouting, waving hands in the air, spilling out onto the court! The Hero is lifted up onto the shoulders of his comrades and escorted indirectly towards the Goddess, who waits to crown him again as the Master – deservedly, this time. But the Hero ignores her. He knows her worth now. She can’t rightfully crown him. He slides off the shoulders of his celebrating friends, pushes past the Goddess – who has now become just a scheming Whore – to find – who else? - his Soul Mate, who he knows, now, is meant to be his. Her worth crowns him. They kiss, and ride off into the auditorium’s sunset, to live out the rest of their happy lives.

But it is not only the Hero who undergoes a transcendental experience. The Goddess – now the Whore – recognizes what she’s become. She sees the Alpha Male for who he really is. He grabs her arm to leave, and she wrenches away in physical and mental anguish, growls at him to “Drop dead.” Not quite as satisfactory as I would've liked, but whatevs.

Ah well. It is true, as Teen Wolf demonstrates, that with great power comes great responsibility. And it is even more true that we like to think we can shirk that responsibility; that, if only the situation was just right, we wouldn’t have to worry about others, or even, truly, ourselves. This cannot be. “You’ve got to get a hold of it, son,” the Hero’s father reminds him. Reminds us all.

For another account of Teen Wolf, via Chris Stangl, see Jeeze Louise!: Notes on TEEN WOLF (1985) and Wolf Buddy: A Celebration of Stiles

I'm dead.

2006-10-19T20:35:00.000-05:00

It's true. That's why I didn't call you, [insert name of crazy cousin, neighbor, classmate, uncle], the second I got home from the jail. It's a good thing you checked up on me, who would feed the cats afterall. Geez louise, peoples!!! :P

Okay so I'm not dead, but I am dead tired, exhausted, and really grimy from walking back and forth from the PD's to the jail in the FREAKING HOT SUN WHY GOD WHY IT IS FREAKING OCTOBER FOR PETUNIA'S SAKE!!!

But I (tiredly) digress. This interviewing-inmates-experience has been overwhelming, life-changing, I laughed, I cried, it was so much better than Cats, I want to see it again and again. (sorry, old SNL gag) And I go back tomorrow. My mind is filled to the brim with newness and curiosities and a strange, heart-pounding peacefulness. Everyone at the office has assured me it will wear off soon enough - all the more reason to savor it right now.

I have so much to tell. Oooooooh and I'll have even more after tomorrow!!!! And then on Tuesday I get to shadow!! MAN life is good

Le Sigh

2006-10-18T18:50:00.000-05:00

It is a very early bedtime for me, I have to be up at 4:45am so I can catch the bus downtown with enough time to walk to the PD's office. Eep!

Thank you so much to who responded to my questions. I will formulate a more proper response in due time, because so much of what they had to say was so wise, and helped me to feel even more that I am on the right path. Thank you again!!

And now for something . . . well, I don't know what to call it. But with the news of late it's been kindof bugging me.

The summer of 2005 I came across a very interesting blog via another blog. It wasn't as interesting as it was about to be, but I printed it out and read it over and basically had a few "epiphanies" or break-throughs (about the world and state of things) or whatever you want to call them. At this time, I knew little to nothing of the criminal legal world, of its procedure, or the peoples involved (I don't think I'd even started law school yet). So this post, in particular, really startled me, Little Miss Sheltered:

The term "sex offender" is an interesting choice of words. In the past the term "ex-convict" was used to describe offenders who were released from prison. The "ex" obviously implying that the mistake was in the past. But States have unanimously and officially dropped the term "ex-convict" and replaced it with "offender" - a present tense term that implies the person was, and still is, offensive.

The term "ex-convict" was suiting, since it did not indicate that a person was bad, or even guilty. It just meant that at some time in the past the person was convicted of a crime . . .

I really learned a lot from this blog, not the least of which was how "other" worlds exist outside of the middle-class happy-go-lucky experience. It was a tremedous eye-opener, regardless of whether the posts were fiction or non, the rants of a crazy fiend or of a person who was lucid and okay at one point. I've accepted that it's just going to be weird. And that I can't talk about it to many people, because many misunderstand where I'm coming from, they think I'm sympathizing and then everything gets even more weird. I mean, a couple of people even stopped talking to me completely because I wanted to discuss and explore some points made in this blog - rather than do the usual lambast, "burn n die sucka! If you aren't with us, you're with him!" Truthfully, I'm tired of feeling guilty about it, and I think I will just have to get used to this sort of ostracism.

This is because the blogger from whom I "learned" so much, the blogger who helped open my eyes to a whole other world that existed outside of Main Street, USA, was Joseph Duncan.

Knowledge doesn't always come packaged exactly how we would like it, and we don't always receive needed gifts from the most pure of people.

Such is life.

I'm going to bed. Good night!!!!

p.s. tomorrow I start interviewing inmates, yippeeeeee!!!

Things that are great this week : Voyeurtastic!

2006-10-16T17:37:00.000-05:00

Tiffany stayed silent.

"She told me all about it," said Miss Level. "Miss Tick never mentioned the hat . . . You know, sometimes it helps to talk about these things."

More silence from Tiffany.

"Actually, that's not true," Miss Level added. "But as a witch I am incredibly inquisitive and would love to know more."

From A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett

Terry Pratchett, my favorite author of all time, has come out with Wintersmith, the third book in The Continuing Adventures of Tiffany Aching and the Wee Free Men. I admit I’ve sneaked a few chapters already and it is, of course, wonderful. They are all classified as “Teen” reading, but never have I read novels as resonating, self-deprecating, as beautifully cheery and sorrowful, and laugh-out-loud funny as this series. Every time I read (and re-read) them, different passages leap out at me, keeping time with my life.

For instance (from A Hat Full of Sky):

”Respect is meat and drink to a witch. Without respect, you ain’t got a thing. She doesn’t get much respect, our Miss Level.”

That was true. People didn’t respect Miss Level. They liked her, in an unthinking sort of way, and that was it. Mistress Weatherwax was right, and Tiffany wished she wasn’t.

“Why did you and Miss Tick send me to her, then?”

“Because she likes people,” said the witch, striding ahead. “She cares about ‘em. Even the stupid, mean, drooling ones, the mothers with the runny babies and no sense, the feckless and the silly and the fools who treat her like some kind of a servant. Now that’s what I call magic – seein’ all that, dealin’ with all that, and still goin’ on. It’s sittin’ up at night with some poor old man who’s leavin’ the world, taking away such pain as you can, comfortin’ their terror, seein’ ‘em safely on their way . . . and then cleanin’ ‘em up, layin’ ‘em out, making ‘em neat for the funeral, and helpin’ the widow strip the bed and wash the sheets – which is, let me tell you, no errand for the fainthearted – and stayin’ up the next night to watch over the coffin before the funeral, and then going home and sitting down for five minutes before some shouting angry man comes bangin’ on your door ‘cuz his wife’s havin’ difficulty givin’ birth to their first child and the midwife’s at her wits’ end and then getting up and fetching your bag and going out again . . . We all do that, in our own way, and she does it better’n me, if I was to put my hand to my heart. That is the root and heart and soul and center of witchcraft, that is. The soul and center!”

Echoes came back from the trees in the sudden silence. Even the grasshoppers by the side of the track had stopped sizzling.

“And Mrs. Earwig,” said Mistress Weatherwax, her voice sinking to a growl, “Mrs. Earwig tells her girls it’s about cosmic balances and stars and circles and colors and wands and . . . and toys, nothing but toys!” She sniffed. “Oh, I daresay they’re all very well as decoration, somethin’ nice to look at while you’re workin’, somethin’ for show, but the start and finish, the start and finish, is helpin’ people when life is on the edge. Even people you don’t like. Stars is easy, people is hard.”

Next on the list is Jean-Leon Gerome. This weekend I cleared out a lot of computer files and came across files of his paintings, each of which is like a story. The composition, subject matter, and posture are so out of place with the typical paintings of the day – it’s a wonder he isn’t more well known. The ARC’s Gerome collection is like a photojournalist’s account of mid-19th century Egypt and Persia, and I get goosebumps every time I realize they are largely from real life. For example:

All the rest can be found here at The ARC, “the internet’s largest online museum.”

And lastly – but certainly not leastly - I start interviewing inmates on Thursday. I cannot wait! My parents own a pre-employment screening business, and what I have always loved about it – what I have only loved about it, besides the free printer paper – was the absolute deluge of criminal records pouring forth from the fax. I would do summer work for them, and I always seated myself right next to the fax. I never judged the people to whom the records applied, because I knew that a Lewd and Lascivious charge could just as easily be due to a girl flashing her chest while drunk at a bar (or at least used to be), as it could be something more. But I just find it so incredibly interesting, so undeniably enthralling, and to think that I will also be helping the inmates' struggle through this system, helping the PDs, and at the very least providing an un-judgmental ear – well, it just doesn’t get any better.

Ah, well. Life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Questions for the PD community!

2006-10-15T20:51:00.000-05:00

As a 2L, I of course have little practical public defense experience (tho I'm working hard to change that). I've read so many wonderful blogs over the last few months, and am so thankful for all their wisdom.

So here are some general questions I've been mulling for the PD Community. Thank you in advance if you should answer.

If you could do it all over again, how would you do it differently?

What do you know now that you wished you had known when you started out?

How has being a PD changed your minute-to-minute life?

I have tons others but I'll leave them for later. Thank you again!!

hello world

2006-10-14T01:38:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Skelly and PD Stuff for linking! I've wiled away a good few couch-n-tea weekends on their blogs; if you haven't already (and why haven't you!), go there now!!

OMG especially if you're in Florida OMG

And thank you for reading!

Picture of the Day (Night)!

2006-10-14T00:47:00.000-05:00

click for full size

poison puffball mushroom
at Florida Caverns State Park

they begged me to smoosh them. I didn't, of course, but man oh man, they were like bubblewrap, calling my name . . .

OMG so fun

2006-10-13T13:33:00.000-05:00

Argghh why are some prosecutors so annoying? I've nothing against strongly-opinionated people, but when one of those opinions is "I'm on the right side" - well, I automatically bristle. That sentiment comes a lot from evangelists and prosecutors alike (are they very different!), and yesterday I had the opportunity to witness those two careers bundled up in one person - an Assistant State Attorney.

Our school held a Crim Law Panel during lunch - ye olde cross-wearing "God bless you" Prosecutor, a PD, and a private defense attorney. I ended up taking a lot of notes because some of the things being said (verbally and non-verbally) was just . . . wow.

Miss Prossy must've applied her face with a trowel, and smiled - constantly, insincerely - with her eyes half closed. She kept touching the PD's shoulder in a manner that to some must have seemed encouraging, but to me it was very controlling. She touched him every time she expected him to pipe up with a retort, and lo and behold yon PD stayed silent. He's had to deal with a lot of irritating stuff in his career, though, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised. Anyway, she quickly "took control" of the panel, smiling at her little pets sprinkled throughout the crowd, mentioning their names and their current pro bono or CLI positions every chance she could get, calling them "my young lawyers", going on about how she is "den mother for the police office".

The whole thing reminded me of Prom. And two of her "boys", "Dusty" and "Rabe" (changed a bit), truly lounged in their chairs, in their spotlight, smiling and making little jokes amongst themselves, Miss Prossy giving them permissions here and there to enjoy and laugh. As a female, I was totally grossed out. As a future PD, I was enraged. How totally grody!!

But I won me my shadowing opportunity, yay! With the PD, bien sur. When they called out my name (it had been a raffle), I couldn't help but yelp in happiness. Miss Prossy looked at me and said, "You want to be a PD?" and, of course, being in the moment, I simply cried, "You bet!!!!" and whooped it up. But now I've had time to think about it, what did she mean by that?!?! I mean, she specifically was surprised. I wonder why. And I'm hesitant to flatter or degrade myself. Oh well whatever I am so so excited!!!!!!

oh ps I just had the best sandiwch in the entire world - avocado and sauerkraut. It sounds beyond disgusting but is actually h e a v e n, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . . .

fur-en peoples

2006-10-13T12:58:00.000-05:00

Right now on Court TV, a French (I think) prosecutor is cross-examining an expert. His accent is quite luscious. Like almost all Americans, accents send little shivers of excitement through me body. But I have to wonder at the effect of these accents in situations other than, say, al fresco dining in the city on a cool summer night.

For instance, as the prosecutor continued his questions, I found myself simply listening to his accent. A couple of seconds later, I realized I had no idea what he'd asked. And then, as I tried to listen harder, I couldn't really understand what he was saying. The witness found this troubling, too. You could see it on his face.

Knowing nothing about jury considerations, what is the usual benefit/risk of employing an accented prosecutor? Does the jury automatically attach authority and credibility to their position? Or does it run a risk of confusing them?

A gentleman in many of my classes is from France. His accent is still quite thick, but I have noticed it clearing. He is also incredibly un-self-conscious (like most Europeans); unfortunately for him, this means he does not seem to care that he hunches over almost double when sitting/standing/walking, that his general facial expression is one of mental slowness, and that all in all his demeanor is . . . well, I don't know, actually. I hasten to say that I mean none of this as derogatory towards him, but I notice it all the same. I guess one of the things I'm trying to say is that I don't think he would make a good trial attorney. Like I'd know, right? But the jury listens to a lot more than just testimony.

In contrast, I also have many classes with a Jamaican girl. She always stands up very straight, looks at you clearly/directly, and this makes her accent (which is gorgeous and I mean gorgeous) drive a stake right through you, communicate directly to your brain, you can't help but pay attention to every single beautiful word she says. I think she would kick total ass in court.

Aboot Me

2006-10-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

I'm not a Public Defender - yet. But I will be soon. Almost wrote "fates willing", but, let me be honest, the fates will have nothing to do with it - just determination and work. And want and need. I'm a 2L and next Thursday I start interviewing inmates at zee jail. Some people think I should be more serious and respectful, seeing as how its inmates and all, but frankly all I've been thinking all freaking day long is

YayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYayYay

I'm so excited I've almost peed in my pants, like, twice.

Nervous?

2006-10-12T19:59:00.000-05:00

One of my professors gels his hair. It actually looks really nice, but in a sort of complicated way. He lifts it up on his forehead, where it sort of forms a large curl, and then he smoothes back the side. Looks like something from the 40s.

Anyway, he kept fiddling with it last class. Making sure it was brushed back. Flipping it. Now to be fair he only did it a few times, but even once sends alarms ringing in mah head. It meant that he was scared it didn't look right. He was worried. Enough to mess with it during lecture, in full view of 50 students. So he was worried he would look - not stupid or ugly, because I don't think men think like that - but . . . less than how he wanted, which also means that natural is less than how he wants. Whatever, I'm confusing even myself.

So I started looking at him, and it's true - if he didn't style his hair all up in some gel, it would hang down in his face like a bowl cut or something. I wonder if he would be hesitant to go swimming with friends, or at picnic-thingies, or if he would ride in a convertible with the top down. What about it when it rains? What would he do? I'm tempted to think he'd care, else why fiddle faddle with your high-maintenance hair?

I just find it so interesting when people openly display their self-consciousness.