I understand those of you who wish to remain anonymous. Really I do. However, with the spoil sports from last week, and the JACKASS who put up some crap link today NO MORE. (and apologies to you anon, if you are a person who actually read and liked my blog... But your blog has no content, so I think that's not the case....)
Were this the real world, where I could shun people who do stuff like this, I'd do that. But you private sorts may get an excite or yahoo account and make up a name and then post....
Sorry kids. If anyone knows how to fuck with the person who posted the crap link, please tell me how.
St. Yves
Thursday, August 11, 2005
She Put What Where?
Thought I might do a legal post before I did my "Alabama Lawyer in Colorado" series.
Ok, so on the plane to Denver Mommy Dearest is reading our local paper. She begins choking at one article, piquing my interest.
The article is about a woman who is arrested on only FTA (Failure to appear) traffic warrants.
These aren't such a big deal.
When she arrives at the Jail the corrections officer who supervises her changing from her clothes to the jumpsuit sees something emerging from her privates. They call in other officers and do a cavity search that reveals that the "something" is a bag of pills. Oops, now we have a felony possession charge and a misdemeanors "promoting prison contraband."
But wait, there's more!
After the pills, she complains of abdominal pains. It turns out there is more up there than pills. Oh yes! Further checking reveals a (soft) pack of Newport cigarettes.
She was taken to the hospital for X-rays to insure there wasn't more up there.
Newports-- Soft enough to go... No, I can't. I can't say it.
Ok, so on the plane to Denver Mommy Dearest is reading our local paper. She begins choking at one article, piquing my interest.
The article is about a woman who is arrested on only FTA (Failure to appear) traffic warrants.
These aren't such a big deal.
When she arrives at the Jail the corrections officer who supervises her changing from her clothes to the jumpsuit sees something emerging from her privates. They call in other officers and do a cavity search that reveals that the "something" is a bag of pills. Oops, now we have a felony possession charge and a misdemeanors "promoting prison contraband."
But wait, there's more!
After the pills, she complains of abdominal pains. It turns out there is more up there than pills. Oh yes! Further checking reveals a (soft) pack of Newport cigarettes.
She was taken to the hospital for X-rays to insure there wasn't more up there.
Newports-- Soft enough to go... No, I can't. I can't say it.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Back in Town....
Well, I have returned from Denver Colorado where my mother and I flew to help my grandfather settle his younger brother's estate. 1 two hour bus ride, 45 minutes waiting in the rain for enterprise to "pick us up," 1000 cell phone minutes, 1 kind coroner, 1 angry neighbor, 1 antelope named Cantalope, 2 retired FBI agents, 1 retired Army intelligence officer, 1 probate office that would not accept faxes, 1 battery so coroded it had eaten through the positive connecting wires, 4 accidental car alarm incidents, 1 person's ear shut in the door (how do you even do that?), 1 locking gas cap to which we did not have the key, 3 hours of sleep in a 40 hour period, so much fast food I never want to eat it again, and enough cafeine to keep the State of Alabama awake.
I have some great stories. First, I have to help my clients, go to Court and try to get some sleep.
I have some great stories. First, I have to help my clients, go to Court and try to get some sleep.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Comment to the 4th comment on Pissed-at-the-world-itis
I'm having trouble posting a comment to the comment left by anon. so I'm going to enter this as a seperate post. I had a whole retort to this person's anon. comment... but then I remembered, I'm Philosophicalawyer and so I say to you, "Is that right?" (Must be said with a southern accent for full effect)
(Look through the archives for the post about this fabulous phrase a wise woman taught me : ))
(Look through the archives for the post about this fabulous phrase a wise woman taught me : ))
Wednesday...And some stories from England....
This morning I walk into City Hall at 8:25 for Court and what do I see but an older overweight man sitting casually on a bench in the lobby. He was dressed normally, except for the fact that he was wearing a platinum blonde, page boy, shoulder length wig. He is still there when I walk out 30 minutes later after having requested and received a continuance for my client who is in jail in another city.
Fabulous.
Then one of MadDog's oldest clients calls me thinking he needs to declare Bankruptcy and I explain to him how to get out of his mess without going through Bankruptcy. Good deed for the day done, I read the comments on my blog and Southern Magnolia reminds me of a story from my days at Oxford:
Ok, I'm riding the train up to London with a guy who lives in the dorm next to me who is a graduate researcher and has special access to these really wonderful documents at the British Museum. We'll call him the Kiwi because he's from New Zealand. I am going to achieve one of the items on my personal list of things to do before I die which is to touch the Rosetta stone. Please note: I did so underneath the carved face as I would never want to mar the actual stone- but I just had to touch it. And I did! I also want to see the Magna Carta and some of the Ben Johnson stuff the Kiwi is going to see which I will only get to see if I go with him... And of course the Elgin Marbles and the Egyptian collection. Oh, and I'll meet BL at his Club for lunch.
So, we're on the train. There is a group of young people about four rows down from us and they are all wearing University of Alabama T-shirts- of some form or another- the two girls had on Sorority shirts and the boys were wearing readom Alabama football shirts. At first its fine. The Kiwi and I (quietly) discuss the American penchant for wearing clothing with logos on it. I have never done a lot of this, but you can usually pick out Americans abroad by either their garishly loud athletic jackets, the fact that we're wearing tennis shoes at non athletic events (and I do that one all the time!) or their T-shirts emblazoned with school logos. The only time I saw British people wear logo shirts was at an athletic event (and then primarily only if they were practicing for said event or participating in said event, not as a guest at said event) or in some other similarly super casual event. Riding the train to London required lace up shoes, cloth pants (not shorts or jeans) and a button down shirt of even my college friends.
While we're doing this, these Americans begin discussing, loud enough for me to hear four rows back, how awful and stupid England is. How bad the food is, how crappy the weather is, how stupid the accents are (in thick redneck accents no less) and how great the University of Alabama is.
I have my back to them so I turn around with the rest of those who are within hearing range and give them the evil eye. They are oblivious. The Kiwi wants me to get up and go give them a piece of my mind but I am loathe to do so for several reasons-- I'm blending in, I might actually know one of them, I wouldn't really care if someone decided to beat them up because they should know better, (Yeah, I'd like to see someone say that stuff about Alabama to them...) and frankly, the more people who believe Alabama is a redneck idiot's paradise, the nicer the state stays for me. I was quite relieved when the ire of the carriage was diverted by some very drunk Australians playing rugby while running through the carriage.
The ugly Austrailian just doesn't have the same ring as the ugly American thought does it?
The lunch at the Club was far far worse than that for the Great State of Alabama. Apparently in England, it is not polite to set your knife and fork down when speaking to someone- it is a sign you're done. They naturally use the European method aka don't switch hands with the cutlery method, while I was taught the switch hands/ rest the knife at the top/right of the plate/ set your fork down to the side of the plate while drinking/talking method. The napkin placed on the table being the signal one was done. BL said the waiter was going nuts behind me. After that I went with the When-in-Rome theory and switched to the European method, which is really far easier than all that pesky hand switching. Mommy Dearest and MadDog were not amused when I returned.
Next week I'll tell you the Kakhi Pants story if I haven't already...have to check the archives. I'll preview it with the quote I heard somewhere, "America and England are two countries seperated by a common language."
Fabulous.
Then one of MadDog's oldest clients calls me thinking he needs to declare Bankruptcy and I explain to him how to get out of his mess without going through Bankruptcy. Good deed for the day done, I read the comments on my blog and Southern Magnolia reminds me of a story from my days at Oxford:
Ok, I'm riding the train up to London with a guy who lives in the dorm next to me who is a graduate researcher and has special access to these really wonderful documents at the British Museum. We'll call him the Kiwi because he's from New Zealand. I am going to achieve one of the items on my personal list of things to do before I die which is to touch the Rosetta stone. Please note: I did so underneath the carved face as I would never want to mar the actual stone- but I just had to touch it. And I did! I also want to see the Magna Carta and some of the Ben Johnson stuff the Kiwi is going to see which I will only get to see if I go with him... And of course the Elgin Marbles and the Egyptian collection. Oh, and I'll meet BL at his Club for lunch.
So, we're on the train. There is a group of young people about four rows down from us and they are all wearing University of Alabama T-shirts- of some form or another- the two girls had on Sorority shirts and the boys were wearing readom Alabama football shirts. At first its fine. The Kiwi and I (quietly) discuss the American penchant for wearing clothing with logos on it. I have never done a lot of this, but you can usually pick out Americans abroad by either their garishly loud athletic jackets, the fact that we're wearing tennis shoes at non athletic events (and I do that one all the time!) or their T-shirts emblazoned with school logos. The only time I saw British people wear logo shirts was at an athletic event (and then primarily only if they were practicing for said event or participating in said event, not as a guest at said event) or in some other similarly super casual event. Riding the train to London required lace up shoes, cloth pants (not shorts or jeans) and a button down shirt of even my college friends.
While we're doing this, these Americans begin discussing, loud enough for me to hear four rows back, how awful and stupid England is. How bad the food is, how crappy the weather is, how stupid the accents are (in thick redneck accents no less) and how great the University of Alabama is.
I have my back to them so I turn around with the rest of those who are within hearing range and give them the evil eye. They are oblivious. The Kiwi wants me to get up and go give them a piece of my mind but I am loathe to do so for several reasons-- I'm blending in, I might actually know one of them, I wouldn't really care if someone decided to beat them up because they should know better, (Yeah, I'd like to see someone say that stuff about Alabama to them...) and frankly, the more people who believe Alabama is a redneck idiot's paradise, the nicer the state stays for me. I was quite relieved when the ire of the carriage was diverted by some very drunk Australians playing rugby while running through the carriage.
The ugly Austrailian just doesn't have the same ring as the ugly American thought does it?
The lunch at the Club was far far worse than that for the Great State of Alabama. Apparently in England, it is not polite to set your knife and fork down when speaking to someone- it is a sign you're done. They naturally use the European method aka don't switch hands with the cutlery method, while I was taught the switch hands/ rest the knife at the top/right of the plate/ set your fork down to the side of the plate while drinking/talking method. The napkin placed on the table being the signal one was done. BL said the waiter was going nuts behind me. After that I went with the When-in-Rome theory and switched to the European method, which is really far easier than all that pesky hand switching. Mommy Dearest and MadDog were not amused when I returned.
Next week I'll tell you the Kakhi Pants story if I haven't already...have to check the archives. I'll preview it with the quote I heard somewhere, "America and England are two countries seperated by a common language."
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
I got this from BritLawyer who is a Junior Partner at this point in his career....
I am working my way through a report on a VERY big project prepared by someone else. I am about to tear a gentle strip off them for having the most disorganized report in the world. Ever. Some poor person (probably me) is going to have to re-write the thing in English. In sentences. That make sense. (Weeps silently and bemoans the modern education system.) [Note: the lack of sentences in the above is not because I can't do sentences, but because I don't want to, just in case you worried.]
I suddenly feel better about my idiot clients because I don't exactly expect them to be able to function, you know? When you work in a law firm with an international reputation you expect your associates to be able to write. In fact, you expect them to be able to write well. Its always harder to have your expectations not met, than to have no expectations and to be pleasantly surprised should some unexpected competence arise.
I am working my way through a report on a VERY big project prepared by someone else. I am about to tear a gentle strip off them for having the most disorganized report in the world. Ever. Some poor person (probably me) is going to have to re-write the thing in English. In sentences. That make sense. (Weeps silently and bemoans the modern education system.) [Note: the lack of sentences in the above is not because I can't do sentences, but because I don't want to, just in case you worried.]
I suddenly feel better about my idiot clients because I don't exactly expect them to be able to function, you know? When you work in a law firm with an international reputation you expect your associates to be able to write. In fact, you expect them to be able to write well. Its always harder to have your expectations not met, than to have no expectations and to be pleasantly surprised should some unexpected competence arise.
Pissed-at-the-world-Irrititis
So I'm sitting here thinking of things to write about and nothing particularly exciting has come to mind. The summer can be like this- quite a rut of same shit different day... And often I feel quite jaded because the stupid clients don't really phase me any more... Like this morning, my friend and I are sitting in Court and her client comes up to her and asks if she should have brought her phone records with her for Court today... And my friend looks at her and says, well of course, what did you think we were doing today? And I barely even rolled my eyes.
I mean, do you just not get it? Today is your day in Court- of course you should BRING YOUR STUPID EVIDENCE. Do you think we're just going to talk about what we're going to do? Why would you EVER come to Court without your evidence? I see that kind of stuff even on cases like the People's Court on TV... What did they think- they were going to be on TV twice? At least sometimes I find out they're actually lying- trying to pretend they have the evidence when they don't and I can truly understand that...but more often, they actually have the evidence and just don't bring it and THAT blows my mind.
I have a client coming in today and I don't think he'll be half an hour early this time. Last time he came half an hour early, and I said, "Why are you half an hour early?" and then I was irritated because I was just walking back from MadDog's office where I had gotten a ColdDrink and was going to come back and get his file ready and check my emails and mentally prepare for him, and there he was.
But oh no, he did come 20 minutes early- so this entry was interrupted.
I am in a service job, I am in a service job. If people did what they were supposed to do I would have to get a real job. Must repeat my mantra at least 20 times.
At least this time he didn't cry. Last time he cried. I felt really bad for him because he was in a bad way, and he deserved to cry from the stress- but still, dude, don't show up early and cry at me when I'm not mentally prepared for it. You would think after last time he would have gotten it and showed up ON TIME. But noooo, I guess I was just too nice. I should have sent him away and told him to come back when the big hand and the little hand were both pointing at the sky.
But, of course, I didn't, because its a bankruptcy and its easy money and so, I just sat down and went over it and printed it and filed it for him and said nothing about his inability to follow simple instructions possibly, just maybe being part of why he had to file for Bankruptcy....
So now I'm going to go and try to get the rest of my work done because I definitely have post vacation pissed-at-the-world Irrititis and the only way to cure that is to go home early and pretend your vacation really did relax you and wasn't too short... oh laws and its only Tuesday.
I mean, do you just not get it? Today is your day in Court- of course you should BRING YOUR STUPID EVIDENCE. Do you think we're just going to talk about what we're going to do? Why would you EVER come to Court without your evidence? I see that kind of stuff even on cases like the People's Court on TV... What did they think- they were going to be on TV twice? At least sometimes I find out they're actually lying- trying to pretend they have the evidence when they don't and I can truly understand that...but more often, they actually have the evidence and just don't bring it and THAT blows my mind.
I have a client coming in today and I don't think he'll be half an hour early this time. Last time he came half an hour early, and I said, "Why are you half an hour early?" and then I was irritated because I was just walking back from MadDog's office where I had gotten a ColdDrink and was going to come back and get his file ready and check my emails and mentally prepare for him, and there he was.
But oh no, he did come 20 minutes early- so this entry was interrupted.
I am in a service job, I am in a service job. If people did what they were supposed to do I would have to get a real job. Must repeat my mantra at least 20 times.
At least this time he didn't cry. Last time he cried. I felt really bad for him because he was in a bad way, and he deserved to cry from the stress- but still, dude, don't show up early and cry at me when I'm not mentally prepared for it. You would think after last time he would have gotten it and showed up ON TIME. But noooo, I guess I was just too nice. I should have sent him away and told him to come back when the big hand and the little hand were both pointing at the sky.
But, of course, I didn't, because its a bankruptcy and its easy money and so, I just sat down and went over it and printed it and filed it for him and said nothing about his inability to follow simple instructions possibly, just maybe being part of why he had to file for Bankruptcy....
So now I'm going to go and try to get the rest of my work done because I definitely have post vacation pissed-at-the-world Irrititis and the only way to cure that is to go home early and pretend your vacation really did relax you and wasn't too short... oh laws and its only Tuesday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)