As one of the editors of IndieInk, I agreed to participate in one of its weekly writing challenges. This week, my challenge was from Sir: “He/She placed the stereotype on the anvil and began hammering it into something sharp and deadly that could be used to open the minds of the self-righteous.” And, while that’s poetic and all, it doesn’t really fit with this blog or my writing style. But it does lead into the idea of stereotypes and self-righteousness -- and, with that, a story.
When I was in my last semester of law school, I worked as an unpaid intern in the county public defender’s office. (I've mentioned it before, in passing.) I had great, lofty goals about what I would be doing there – the kind of lofty goals that only a 22 year old with no real-world experience could have. Mostly, they were along the line of defending the wrongfully accused, reforming the criminal justice system, abolishing the death penalty, etc., etc. Oh, the naïveté of youth . . .
The internship was jointly supervised between the assistant chief of the office and one of our criminal law professors. We had a classroom session each week, where we learned, essentially, the basics of how to practice law as criminal defense attorneys. And during the week, we were required to work a certain number of hours at the office. In bigger cases, we were required to work under the actual attorneys – and generally, they were busy enough to be thankful for whatever help we could provide. In smaller misdemeanor cases, the clients could agree to let us act as their lead attorneys, with assistance from the supervising attorneys.
Early on in the semester, the professor asked us what kind of cases we were uncomfortable with. My answer, as an upper-middle class sheltered suburban girl was easy: I wanted nothing to do with domestic battery. I didn’t want to envision a world where men hit women, where families were anything less than happy and stable. And, of course, if a fight escalated to the point where an arrest was made, in my mind it was clear that the man must have hit the woman. Accordingly, I, perhaps self-righteously, did not want to defend those men.
Of course my professor saw that as an engraved invitation to assign me to a pretty horrible domestic battery case. And lucky for me, the defendant had agreed to let me be his lead attorney. Worse yet, even though it was a misdemeanor, my client had been sitting in jail for days, because the arrest was a violation of his probation, and if he plead guilty or lost at trial, he was facing mandatory jail time.
My client was a stereotype: a young black offender with a history of violence and drugs. I remember going to the county jail to see him. I was frightened out of my mind. I remember the security, the sound of the doors closing behind me, the fear as I was led to a private interview room where I was to meet with my client – alone, without any of the guards to protect me. When my client was brought to me in shackles, I was scared to death.
I finally relaxed enough to start talking about the case with him – whether he would be interested in a plea deal if it meant that he would have a reduced sentence. But he kept maintaining that he was innocent. I didn’t believe it, not for a second. Not with his violent background. Not with the photo in the case file of his cute little girlfriend with bruises on her face and arms. I firmly believed that his desire to fight the charge was posturing, or a fear of having to do real jail time.
But then I remembered that I was there to do a job. I also remembered, from our classroom sessions, that we needed to examine the facts of the case carefully, avoid responding instinctively and jumping to conclusions, and instead, use our intellect. And so, I started digging through the files, interviewing witnesses, piecing together a defense. First I researched my client's alibi for the night of the attack, but it was a bit shaky.
But then the tide turned: I found out that the alleged victim, my client’s ex-girlfriend, was also the mother of his child, and that she had been pressuring my client to sign away his parental rights to the child. I also found out that the officer that helped her fill out her statement was her new boyfriend. The officer-boyfriend had taken the photo of her injuries, handwritten the affidavit detailing the fight, had her sign it, and one of his co-officers witness it.
After I interviewed her, the prosecutor dropped the charges against my client.
Do I think that the ex-girlfriend was a victim of violence? Unequivocally, yes. After all, it was before digital cameras, and the police report had that horrible, horrible picture in it. On the other hand, do I think that my client was innocent of the charges? I’m still not sure, but I am firmly convinced that the outcome of the case was correct.
If I learned anything from the case, it’s that not everything is what it appears to be. And I am certainly glad that I opened my mind enough to prevent stereotypes, prejudices, self-righteousness and biases from getting in the way of doing my job.
Showing posts with label lawyering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lawyering. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Fini
I graduated from law school on December 18, 1998, three weeks after I turned 23 years old. Nineteen months later, after the bar exam and an extra year spent getting my LL.M, I was sitting in my crappy apartment in a complex where one of the Gainesville murders took place, packing up my meager possessions into boxes, and waiting for the movers to come get my stuff to cart it a thousand miles north. Other than continuing education seminars, I was done with school, raring to enter the working world.
Fini.
Or so I thought.
Which brings us to the beginning of 2010. After the loss of my mom, several painful failed relationships, and interminable work stresses, I found myself looking for something, well, more. That more turned into a graduate degree program at Georgetown. And as of a few minutes ago, I just turned in my final exam for my very first class.
I am proud of myself for finishing that first class, but I have so many more to go if I want to complete the degree program. I have no idea whether I’ll ever make it to the end, with work and responsibilities and (arguably) life. But still, in this moment, I am proud. Exhausted too.
Fini.
Or so I thought.
Which brings us to the beginning of 2010. After the loss of my mom, several painful failed relationships, and interminable work stresses, I found myself looking for something, well, more. That more turned into a graduate degree program at Georgetown. And as of a few minutes ago, I just turned in my final exam for my very first class.
I am proud of myself for finishing that first class, but I have so many more to go if I want to complete the degree program. I have no idea whether I’ll ever make it to the end, with work and responsibilities and (arguably) life. But still, in this moment, I am proud. Exhausted too.
Monday, August 02, 2010
The Umbrella Theorem
I'm leaving for vacation in a few hours. I'm on the verge of going computer-free for the entire week. I hope I don't go through withdrawal.
In preparing for the week off, I had to make sure my work was covered. So I had to go from office to office to talk to the coworkers that were covering for me, to explain the status of the various projects that they would be covering. It was during my last conversation, with one of my colleagues that I've known since my first day in the office, I realized that this is an extrapolation of the Umbrella Theorem.
I learned about the Umbrella Theorem almost ten years ago, when I first started working. My coworkers and I would, occasionally, head out to lunch. We'd meet at the elevator bank and head downstairs. On occasion, someone would note the presence or absence of an umbrella. Eventually, I realized what it meant: If you're heading outside and see clouds in the sky, you bring your umbrella -- not to avoid the rain, but to prevent it. And so, the Umbrella Theorem became a part of my life. I always bring my umbrella -- because, more often than not, it seems as if the Universe only enacts its revenge when I'm unprepared.
So, today, as I was making sure that my boss, my coworkers, and my assistant were fully informed about my vacation, the cases, and whatever issues might arise, it was not in real preparation for dealing with anything, but was really a prophylactic measure against anything happening. And at the exact moment I realized what I was doing, my colleague figured it out too. "This is like bringing the umbrella along to lunch," he said. I laughed, "Exactly."
It's the same thing for the BlackBerry -- I could leave it at home and attempt to totally unplug. But, in my mind the Umbrella Theorem prevents it: if I leave the BlackBerry at home, there will, undoubtedly, be an emergency. And so, I'm bringing it with me. As I said to my boss, there's only so much unplugging I'm capable of. Baby steps.
In preparing for the week off, I had to make sure my work was covered. So I had to go from office to office to talk to the coworkers that were covering for me, to explain the status of the various projects that they would be covering. It was during my last conversation, with one of my colleagues that I've known since my first day in the office, I realized that this is an extrapolation of the Umbrella Theorem.
I learned about the Umbrella Theorem almost ten years ago, when I first started working. My coworkers and I would, occasionally, head out to lunch. We'd meet at the elevator bank and head downstairs. On occasion, someone would note the presence or absence of an umbrella. Eventually, I realized what it meant: If you're heading outside and see clouds in the sky, you bring your umbrella -- not to avoid the rain, but to prevent it. And so, the Umbrella Theorem became a part of my life. I always bring my umbrella -- because, more often than not, it seems as if the Universe only enacts its revenge when I'm unprepared.
So, today, as I was making sure that my boss, my coworkers, and my assistant were fully informed about my vacation, the cases, and whatever issues might arise, it was not in real preparation for dealing with anything, but was really a prophylactic measure against anything happening. And at the exact moment I realized what I was doing, my colleague figured it out too. "This is like bringing the umbrella along to lunch," he said. I laughed, "Exactly."
It's the same thing for the BlackBerry -- I could leave it at home and attempt to totally unplug. But, in my mind the Umbrella Theorem prevents it: if I leave the BlackBerry at home, there will, undoubtedly, be an emergency. And so, I'm bringing it with me. As I said to my boss, there's only so much unplugging I'm capable of. Baby steps.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
As seen on TV
People always think it's funny when I tell them that I don't watch television shows about lawyers. But I don't -- I can't. I used to, and then I would get angry about how the profession is so distorted.
On television, the case always goes right to trial. But in real life, the trial is only one event in a long chain of events, and in large part, it's kabuki theater -- a show for the judge and/or jury, and by that point, the lawyers and the witnesses have studied their parts, rehearsed their lines, and put on their costumes.
The television viewer doesn't see all of the investigative work that goes into preparing the case -- some of it before it's even filed. The viewer doesn't see all of the motions that are researched, written, filed, and argued before the trial takes place. The viewer doesn't see all the settlement conferences and mediations. The viewer doesn't see all of the scrambling around before the trial starts to get exhibit lists and witness lists prepared and exchanged. The viewer doesn't see all of the long hours in front of the computer screen.
The television viewer sees my job and thinks it's much easier and more glamorous than it is.
On television, the case always goes right to trial. But in real life, the trial is only one event in a long chain of events, and in large part, it's kabuki theater -- a show for the judge and/or jury, and by that point, the lawyers and the witnesses have studied their parts, rehearsed their lines, and put on their costumes.
The television viewer doesn't see all of the investigative work that goes into preparing the case -- some of it before it's even filed. The viewer doesn't see all of the motions that are researched, written, filed, and argued before the trial takes place. The viewer doesn't see all the settlement conferences and mediations. The viewer doesn't see all of the scrambling around before the trial starts to get exhibit lists and witness lists prepared and exchanged. The viewer doesn't see all of the long hours in front of the computer screen.
The television viewer sees my job and thinks it's much easier and more glamorous than it is.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
In another life
On May 10, it will be the eleventh anniversary of the day that I was sworn into the Florida bar. On August 7, it will be the tenth anniversary of the day I left grad school behind and started working as a lawyer. Since then, it's been a roller-coaster, to say the least.
As some of you know, I am an avid Lost watcher. And I am very very intrigued by the current plot-line where the main characters are featured in an alternate reality, where small changes in their lives lead to entirely different end results. Or, as Desmond famously says, "See you in another life."
(This may also explain why I am so fond of Hot Tub Time Machine. Well, that and the excessive use of hair metal. But I digress . . . .)
Every once in a while, when work gets really really busy and stressful and I reach a point where I've had it UP TO HERE with lawyering (in general) and other lawyers (in particular), I find myself wishing I work in a profession where people tried to be nice and kind and helpful instead of becoming deadlocked in a never-ending competition for the title of "World's Biggest Asshole." In these moments, instead of rushing home to cry, punching someone in the face, or announcing my decision to quit the practice of law and move to the south of France to write poetry, I try to make myself take a time out -- a pause in the action, like in the movies where the main character seems to be moving in slo-mo while all of the blurry surrounding action continues in fast-forward.
In that momentary stillness, I often reflect. I think about my decisions to go to law school, to be a lawyer, to take the job I have -- TWICE! -- to move away from my family, and pretty much every other step along the path that has led me to the place where I am now. And in so doing, I occasionally think about what my "other life" would be.
When I graduated from college and moved my stuff back from Tallahassee to Coral Springs, I was already admitted to law school, to begin six months later. Despite my protestations that I needed a break (i.e. lying out by the pool, extensive sleeping, and voracious reading) my dad told me that there was no way that he would allow me to live in his house for six months without a job.
At that point, my only real work experiences were 1) part time telephone sales for the Tallahassee Democrat and 2) working as an unpaid intern in a government office. So I did what any overqualified-yet-underexperienced unemployed new graduate would do: I applied to one of the many local neighborhood Target stores, thinking that, until school started, being a part-time cashier would be good enough. Target had other plans: they hired me as a management trainee, and, as a result, I spent the next few months working my butt off in retail.
I diligently and quickly learned EVERY SINGLE JOB in that store. I met the trucks in the morning and unloaded them. I painted shelves and changed displays. I learned the inventory system. I opened the store in the morning and closed down the store at night. I even learned how to be a cashier, run security, and serve popcorn at the snack bar. After a few weeks, they gave me a real management job: I ran the seasonal department during what turned out to be the two busiest times: back-to-school and Christmas. I worked a lot of hours and was on my feet pretty much the entire time, but for me, it was relatively mindless menial labor.
Plus the job paid well for 1995. As a nineteen year old with no debt and no real obligations, I was making $10 an hour, plus overtime, and, as long as I remained a full time employee, I qualified for health insurance. I could have stayed in that job and moved up the management ranks. With no student loans and living with my folks, I could have saved money, eventually moved out on my own, and had a completely different existence than the one I've managed to create for myself. At a minimum, I wouldn't be confronted with the endless deadlines and toxic personalities that tend to permeate the legal profession.
When I get all stressed out, I think about this alterna-life, and, some days, when it's real bad, I envy it, more than just a little bit. On the other hand, if I had chosen this path, I would not have gotten to experience the things that I've experienced, made the friends that I've made, or learned the things that I've learned. I'd be me but somehow, not me. And most days, being me is pretty okay.
As some of you know, I am an avid Lost watcher. And I am very very intrigued by the current plot-line where the main characters are featured in an alternate reality, where small changes in their lives lead to entirely different end results. Or, as Desmond famously says, "See you in another life."
(This may also explain why I am so fond of Hot Tub Time Machine. Well, that and the excessive use of hair metal. But I digress . . . .)
Every once in a while, when work gets really really busy and stressful and I reach a point where I've had it UP TO HERE with lawyering (in general) and other lawyers (in particular), I find myself wishing I work in a profession where people tried to be nice and kind and helpful instead of becoming deadlocked in a never-ending competition for the title of "World's Biggest Asshole." In these moments, instead of rushing home to cry, punching someone in the face, or announcing my decision to quit the practice of law and move to the south of France to write poetry, I try to make myself take a time out -- a pause in the action, like in the movies where the main character seems to be moving in slo-mo while all of the blurry surrounding action continues in fast-forward.
In that momentary stillness, I often reflect. I think about my decisions to go to law school, to be a lawyer, to take the job I have -- TWICE! -- to move away from my family, and pretty much every other step along the path that has led me to the place where I am now. And in so doing, I occasionally think about what my "other life" would be.
When I graduated from college and moved my stuff back from Tallahassee to Coral Springs, I was already admitted to law school, to begin six months later. Despite my protestations that I needed a break (i.e. lying out by the pool, extensive sleeping, and voracious reading) my dad told me that there was no way that he would allow me to live in his house for six months without a job.
At that point, my only real work experiences were 1) part time telephone sales for the Tallahassee Democrat and 2) working as an unpaid intern in a government office. So I did what any overqualified-yet-underexperienced unemployed new graduate would do: I applied to one of the many local neighborhood Target stores, thinking that, until school started, being a part-time cashier would be good enough. Target had other plans: they hired me as a management trainee, and, as a result, I spent the next few months working my butt off in retail.
I diligently and quickly learned EVERY SINGLE JOB in that store. I met the trucks in the morning and unloaded them. I painted shelves and changed displays. I learned the inventory system. I opened the store in the morning and closed down the store at night. I even learned how to be a cashier, run security, and serve popcorn at the snack bar. After a few weeks, they gave me a real management job: I ran the seasonal department during what turned out to be the two busiest times: back-to-school and Christmas. I worked a lot of hours and was on my feet pretty much the entire time, but for me, it was relatively mindless menial labor.
Plus the job paid well for 1995. As a nineteen year old with no debt and no real obligations, I was making $10 an hour, plus overtime, and, as long as I remained a full time employee, I qualified for health insurance. I could have stayed in that job and moved up the management ranks. With no student loans and living with my folks, I could have saved money, eventually moved out on my own, and had a completely different existence than the one I've managed to create for myself. At a minimum, I wouldn't be confronted with the endless deadlines and toxic personalities that tend to permeate the legal profession.
When I get all stressed out, I think about this alterna-life, and, some days, when it's real bad, I envy it, more than just a little bit. On the other hand, if I had chosen this path, I would not have gotten to experience the things that I've experienced, made the friends that I've made, or learned the things that I've learned. I'd be me but somehow, not me. And most days, being me is pretty okay.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Baby steps
I worked on my novel again today, for the first time in months. It was just a chapter, but it felt like something major.
I applied for a promotion at work last week. It seemed like exactly what I needed to do to get back on the right track.
I spent time with my friends, some that I haven't seen in months, over the past several days. I went to happy hours and parties, had some drinks, ate holiday foods, laughed, and told stories. And the schedule of events on the horizon looks promising.
And yeah, I flirted. I had almost forgotten how good it can feel.
I applied for a promotion at work last week. It seemed like exactly what I needed to do to get back on the right track.
I spent time with my friends, some that I haven't seen in months, over the past several days. I went to happy hours and parties, had some drinks, ate holiday foods, laughed, and told stories. And the schedule of events on the horizon looks promising.
And yeah, I flirted. I had almost forgotten how good it can feel.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Needing motivation
I tried to go to sleep early last night -- I was exhausted -- but still managed to lie awake tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, and then the alarm went off way too early. And then I got into work -- where my big project for the week is to clean out and organize old case files from one of the file rooms that they're planning on turning into more office space. Of course, I felt singularly unmotivated all day -- and got next to nothing done.
If I really think about it, it's probably the perfect project for me right now, considering that my head's all consumed with the condo-purchasing slated for the end of the week. Still, I'm not rushing to go dig through all of those boxes. So what I need is some kind of motivation -- something to coax myself into getting through all of the crappy work by the end of the day on Thursday. But I'm out of ideas. I mean, usually my motivation would include some kind of shopping, but I am on a budget. (And I mean it this time!) Clearly I need help. So if anyone can give me pointers on how they convince themselves to get through boring, monotonous, and menial work projects, I'd appreciate it.
If I really think about it, it's probably the perfect project for me right now, considering that my head's all consumed with the condo-purchasing slated for the end of the week. Still, I'm not rushing to go dig through all of those boxes. So what I need is some kind of motivation -- something to coax myself into getting through all of the crappy work by the end of the day on Thursday. But I'm out of ideas. I mean, usually my motivation would include some kind of shopping, but I am on a budget. (And I mean it this time!) Clearly I need help. So if anyone can give me pointers on how they convince themselves to get through boring, monotonous, and menial work projects, I'd appreciate it.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Baseball and the law
Today I stumbled across 123 U. Pa. L. Rev. 1474, a law review article on "The Common Law Origins of the Infield Fly Rule."
What a great piece of legal writing. I can only hope that the author is a judge somewhere now.
The Infield Fly Rule is obviously not a core principle of baseball. Unlike the diamond itself or the concepts of “out” and “safe,” the Infield Fly Rule is not necessary to the game. Without the Infield Fly Rule, baseball does not degenerate into bladderball the way the collective bargaining process degenerates into economic warfare when good faith is absent. It is a technical rule, a legislative response to actions that were previously permissible, though contrary to the spirit of the sport.
123 U. Pa. L. Rev. 1474, 1476-77 (1975)(citations omitted).
What a great piece of legal writing. I can only hope that the author is a judge somewhere now.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Productivity
With the revelation that it's not really true that watching basketball during March Madness decreases my productivity, I've been thinking about my work productivity and how it could be better.
Clearly, the answer to that is "take away my internet access." Forget about managing basketball brackets; it's the reading websites and email that suck away all my time.
But you know what I really learned today? I'm currently at the pinnacle of my productivity: It's scientifically proven that I'll be way less productive if I ever have kids. That is a scary, scary thought.
Still, what scares me more is how this is surprising enough to merit a study.
Clearly, the answer to that is "take away my internet access." Forget about managing basketball brackets; it's the reading websites and email that suck away all my time.
But you know what I really learned today? I'm currently at the pinnacle of my productivity: It's scientifically proven that I'll be way less productive if I ever have kids. That is a scary, scary thought.
Still, what scares me more is how this is surprising enough to merit a study.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Game theory
At work, I'm taking this negotiation skills workshop that involves all sorts of little role-playing exercises. One involved a variation on game theory -- two teams are at war with each other, you both have 100 missiles, and can either try to annihilate each other or work something out.
My first instinct was total and complete annihilation. I think that's always my starting point.
My team was more open-minded. The majority decided that we should start destroying our own missiles as a sign of goodwill. In the back of my mind, the entire time, I was convinced that the other side was just lulling us into complacency. The prisoner's dilemma, yadda yadda yadda.
I was wrong. Surprisingly, my coworkers -- all lawyers -- are honorable people, people of their word, and both sides managed to negotiate a solution where there was no loss of life, and an almost complete destruction of both arsenals. Win-win.
I keep coming back to the same thought, though: If I had been allowed to follow my instincts, I would have caused World War III. Clearly this means that I need to work on some trust issues. For the greater good.
My first instinct was total and complete annihilation. I think that's always my starting point.
My team was more open-minded. The majority decided that we should start destroying our own missiles as a sign of goodwill. In the back of my mind, the entire time, I was convinced that the other side was just lulling us into complacency. The prisoner's dilemma, yadda yadda yadda.
I was wrong. Surprisingly, my coworkers -- all lawyers -- are honorable people, people of their word, and both sides managed to negotiate a solution where there was no loss of life, and an almost complete destruction of both arsenals. Win-win.
I keep coming back to the same thought, though: If I had been allowed to follow my instincts, I would have caused World War III. Clearly this means that I need to work on some trust issues. For the greater good.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Trial, day 21 -- a look back
So, we finally finished the trial today, and I got to drive back from Newark with a car full of boxes. But now the fun (read: briefing) begins.
But let's focus on other things for a minute. Like how different things are now, versus where they were on January 15:
But let's focus on other things for a minute. Like how different things are now, versus where they were on January 15:
- When this trial began, it was the beginning of winter. Now it's almost Spring.
- When this trial began, Mitt Romney looked like a viable candidate, and Hillary Clinton was the Democratic front-runner. Back then, the Republicans were playing attack ads, and the Democrats were playing nice. Now John McCain has the Republican nomination sewn up, and Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are fighting it out for the Democratic nomination.
- Since this trial began, I have had two changes to my salary, and I got a new boss. (actually my boss's boss's boss, but who's counting?)
- When this trial began, I hadn't stayed in a Hilton in the better part of a year. Now I have either gold or silver Hilton Honors status.
- When this trial began, I only knew of two good restaurants in Newark. Now I could direct people to at least six. (Unfortunately, five of them have very similar Portuguese food.)
- Since this trial began, I have eaten more M&M cookies than I could count -- more than any time since my childhood.
- Since this trial began, I have been to the gym approximately four times.
- When this trial began, I was eight pounds lighter, and one dress size smaller.
- When this trial began, I had two parents and two grandmothers. Now I only have one of each.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Trial, day 19 -- with cookies
My mom was not a baker. Every once in a while, she'd play along when I wanted to bake something, but it was not something she particularly enjoyed doing.
One year, I got an Easy-Bake oven as a birthday gift, and my mother was actually perplexed when I wanted to use it. She told me that it made no sense, trying to bake little mini cakes on a lightbulb. After one or two uses, the toy mysteriously disappeared. So if I wanted to bake something, I'd have to resort to looking up the recipe in my dad's well-worn copy of "The Joy of Cooking" and using the real oven.
When the subject of baking came up, she would tell the story about how, for one of my birthdays, she labored over frosting a Bert and Ernie cake for an ungodly amount of time. The cake was, indeed, beautiful. But she always left out the part where the cake itself was made from a mix, and how the beautiful frosting tasted exactly like food coloring.
When the other kids' moms brought in cupcakes for their birthdays, I was excited. I love cupcakes. But when it was my turn, I begged and pleaded for Munchkins. Trust me, it was safer -- and better.
Then there was one time, in 7th grade, when I had to make some kind of dessert for a school project, and do a demonstration of how it was made. She actually had me make rum balls. I got in trouble. She thought it was funny. In retrospect, I'm surprised that I didn't get suspended.
In all honesty, there were a couple of things she baked well. Cream puffs and cannoli were her specialties. Actually, now that I think about it, I think she used pre-baked shells for the cannoli, and just made the filling. For her kids, she made really good M&M cookies -- mostly because the recipe was on the back of the package and it's pretty much foolproof.
Anyway, one of the best things about this hotel is that, every day, it puts out cookies for the guests. More often than not, they're chocolate chip, or chocolate with white chips. Sometimes they're coconut or peanut butter or white chocolate cherry. Today they were M&M cookies -- just like my mom's.
The M&M cookies are still my favorite.
One year, I got an Easy-Bake oven as a birthday gift, and my mother was actually perplexed when I wanted to use it. She told me that it made no sense, trying to bake little mini cakes on a lightbulb. After one or two uses, the toy mysteriously disappeared. So if I wanted to bake something, I'd have to resort to looking up the recipe in my dad's well-worn copy of "The Joy of Cooking" and using the real oven.
When the subject of baking came up, she would tell the story about how, for one of my birthdays, she labored over frosting a Bert and Ernie cake for an ungodly amount of time. The cake was, indeed, beautiful. But she always left out the part where the cake itself was made from a mix, and how the beautiful frosting tasted exactly like food coloring.
When the other kids' moms brought in cupcakes for their birthdays, I was excited. I love cupcakes. But when it was my turn, I begged and pleaded for Munchkins. Trust me, it was safer -- and better.
Then there was one time, in 7th grade, when I had to make some kind of dessert for a school project, and do a demonstration of how it was made. She actually had me make rum balls. I got in trouble. She thought it was funny. In retrospect, I'm surprised that I didn't get suspended.
In all honesty, there were a couple of things she baked well. Cream puffs and cannoli were her specialties. Actually, now that I think about it, I think she used pre-baked shells for the cannoli, and just made the filling. For her kids, she made really good M&M cookies -- mostly because the recipe was on the back of the package and it's pretty much foolproof.
Anyway, one of the best things about this hotel is that, every day, it puts out cookies for the guests. More often than not, they're chocolate chip, or chocolate with white chips. Sometimes they're coconut or peanut butter or white chocolate cherry. Today they were M&M cookies -- just like my mom's.
The M&M cookies are still my favorite.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Trial, Day 17
We've had seventeen days of trial -- and it's not over yet! There are at least three more days of testimony -- more likely four -- and then a day for closing arguments.
More importantly, I've been away from my apartment -- and my life, such as it is -- for the better part of seven weeks.
I am sick of room service. I am sick of the three or four decent restaurants that we can walk to for dinner. I am sick of the three or four places that we get lunch from. I am sick of Newark.
Really, I am just going stir-crazy.
I want to go home.
More importantly, I've been away from my apartment -- and my life, such as it is -- for the better part of seven weeks.
I am sick of room service. I am sick of the three or four decent restaurants that we can walk to for dinner. I am sick of the three or four places that we get lunch from. I am sick of Newark.
Really, I am just going stir-crazy.
I want to go home.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Trial, Day 16
You know what would totally suck? Having to come back to Newark to finish up the trial in March.
Oh, wait. That's not a joke.
Oh, wait. That's not a joke.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Alone
Today was the first day I spent entirely by myself since my mom died. And I spent it in a hotel in Newark.
I could have gone back to my apartment for the weekend and relied on my friends to distract me. I could have gone down to my Uncle's house. I could have gone into Manhattan and been distracted there, either by shopping or by seeing friends or family. Heck, I could have gone to a hockey game here in Newark. But instead, I chose to have a quiet day of sleep, work, and tv here in the hotel.
I think the solace is good for me. Maybe I'm wrong, though.
I could have gone back to my apartment for the weekend and relied on my friends to distract me. I could have gone down to my Uncle's house. I could have gone into Manhattan and been distracted there, either by shopping or by seeing friends or family. Heck, I could have gone to a hockey game here in Newark. But instead, I chose to have a quiet day of sleep, work, and tv here in the hotel.
I think the solace is good for me. Maybe I'm wrong, though.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Snow Day!
I grew up not too far from the hotel in which I am currently staying. During the winter, almost every night I would go to sleep hoping and praying for a snow storm big enough to cancel -- or at least delay -- school.
Last night, I was hoping against hope that the predicted storm would be small enough that court wouldn't be cancelled. I just want the case to get over with already.
But that was not to be. It's snowing pretty hard here:
Last night, I was hoping against hope that the predicted storm would be small enough that court wouldn't be cancelled. I just want the case to get over with already.
But that was not to be. It's snowing pretty hard here:
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Trial, Day 15
Today was a late morning, so I got to sleep in. I am still tired. I am still coughing. Newark is still cold. And it's probably going to snow tomorrow.
Nothing changes. Every once in a while, I think that everything is normal. And then I remember otherwise.
Nothing changes. Every once in a while, I think that everything is normal. And then I remember otherwise.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Trial, Day 14
Well, we had more trial today. And then we had dinner. Boy, did we have dinner. We went to a Portugese/Brazilian restaurant, where several of us had the rodizio -- where they bring out giant skewers of meat and keep cutting pieces off until you beg them to stop.
One of my coworkers then told me that he can find this blog by googling my name, and that maybe I shouldn't write specific details about the trial anymore, just in case.
My first reaction was that's probably a good thing, because it's not like anyone really wants to read about my work anyway. But then I got curious. So, once I got back to the hotel, I was on a mission -- I googled my name in an attempt to figure out whether you could find the blog through my name.
Turns out, I couldn't. Especially not when I googled my first and last names, as anyone who knows me would likely do. In fact, I didn't find the blog until I googled the words "Dara" and "blog" -- and even then, it was on the second page of the results.
So, I'm safe for now. But who knows -- tomorrow, I might very well ignore the work stuff and post about Lost. It's more interesting anyway.
One of my coworkers then told me that he can find this blog by googling my name, and that maybe I shouldn't write specific details about the trial anymore, just in case.
My first reaction was that's probably a good thing, because it's not like anyone really wants to read about my work anyway. But then I got curious. So, once I got back to the hotel, I was on a mission -- I googled my name in an attempt to figure out whether you could find the blog through my name.
Turns out, I couldn't. Especially not when I googled my first and last names, as anyone who knows me would likely do. In fact, I didn't find the blog until I googled the words "Dara" and "blog" -- and even then, it was on the second page of the results.
So, I'm safe for now. But who knows -- tomorrow, I might very well ignore the work stuff and post about Lost. It's more interesting anyway.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Trial, Day 13
Yesterday afternoon, on the train up, I kept thinking about how young and innocent and naïve I was when this goddamn trial started. Back when I thought the universe was a rational place, with a logic -- and, for lack of a better word, sanity.
I have been disabused of such notions. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Today, the trial started up once again -- and I am sick, once again. The judge was clearly feeling badly for me, so, after I had a particularly nasty bout of coughing, she kept offering me cough drops. It wasn't until later in the day that she made it clear that she knew about my mom when she called me up to a sidebar to ask a question. She then followed up with an offer of more cough drops, and told me that if I wasn't feeling well, her courtroom deputy had an office with a couch that I could go lie down on.
And that's when I remembered, once again, that I had entered the twilight zone.
I have been disabused of such notions. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Today, the trial started up once again -- and I am sick, once again. The judge was clearly feeling badly for me, so, after I had a particularly nasty bout of coughing, she kept offering me cough drops. It wasn't until later in the day that she made it clear that she knew about my mom when she called me up to a sidebar to ask a question. She then followed up with an offer of more cough drops, and told me that if I wasn't feeling well, her courtroom deputy had an office with a couch that I could go lie down on.
And that's when I remembered, once again, that I had entered the twilight zone.
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