Same bat channel, same bat time

Last year, I watched the State of the Union address without sound.

I should be doing the same this year so as not to get all riled up. But the volume is on, and GW's pronunciation seems to be on fire tonight. He got through "rigorous" without falter but has yet to take on "nuclear."

Not that this address is any more interesting than last year's, I might add. I looked up when he said "OBGYN," but I had already missed the point, having gotten caught up in a blog post about Pamela Anderson and Kanye West.

I support our President, but these SOTU addresses don't mean squat to me, though I watch every year. He's got good sound bites, but I'm not buying the Iraq war, no matter how hard he tries to sell it at a bargain. I was pleased that he recognized Sandra Day O'Connor, but then he launched into his disdain against "unethical science," lumping cloning and stem cell research into one sentence.

Yeah, stop yourself, George. Have a drink and take a load off.

Make a better life for yourself by stealing office supplies

My other favorite associate decided to leave the firm last week. He's a brilliant guy who had a solo practice prior to joining the firm. He realized that the firm culture didn't suit him so well (i.e., he didn't play well with the partners), so he's off to hang out his own shingle once again. I'm sure he'll be happier and more successful on his own. He's that kind of guy.

I had hoped that he would come in over the weekend and clean out his office. It's not that I want him to beat a hasty retreat - I don't, necessarily. I just want first access to his office so I can steal all the leftover office supplies before someone else gets the jump on me. A good stapler goes for a premium price around here, and I think he's leaving his computer stand, too.

Independent lady

My grandma (the recent widow) proclaimed this past weekend, "Well, I think your grandfather thought he was going to live forever. Look at all these address labels!" And she proceeded to show off a box full of thousands of address labels with variations of his name, her name, their names. I'm not surprised - at his age, he got a lot of mail. Besides, he was a charitable man, which always results in bazillions of labels from the various organizations. And he was thrifty - no sense in buying labels for $2.99.

Later on that day, my grandma sat at the kitchen table and used a black pen to cross out the "Mr." and first name of my grandfather so she can recycle the labels with just her name on them. Apparently, she learned a thing or two about being thrifty from my grandfather.

In addition to taking charge with the address labels, Grandma also is giving away a few things that belonged to my grandfather, like his clothes. My dad came home the proud owner of a new belt, a copper planter pot from the garage, and a variety of other items he doesn't need. Unfortunately, my father did not snag the 1970s zipper shirts that I was so fond of, but he did score an Old Spice gift set that someone left at the hospital for my grandfather right around Christmas. We never knew who left the gift set, but it was missing the deodorant sample. All other sample items were intact (cologne, aftershave, lotion, cleanser), but someone apparently removed the Old Spice deodorant and passed the gift set along to a sick old man in the hospital. It was very sweet that someone thought to bringing my grandfather a gift while he was sick, even if they did keep the deodorant for themselves.

But the fact that my dad brought it home is twisted.

From PostSecret.com

FYI - 10 most common poisonous plants for your pets

Marijuana Ingestion of Cannabis sativa by companion animals can result in depression of the central nervous system and incoordination, as well as vomiting, diarrhea, drooling, increased heart rate, and even seizures and coma.

Sago Palm All parts of Cycas Revoluta are poisonous, but the seeds or “nuts” contain the largest amount of toxin. The ingestion of just one or two seeds can result in very serious effects, which include vomiting, diarrhea, depression, seizures and liver failure.

Lilies Members of the Lilium spp. are considered to be highly toxic to cats. While the poisonous component has not yet been identified, it is clear that with even ingestions of very small amounts of the plant, severe kidney damage could result.

Tulip/Narcissus bulbs The bulb portions of Tulipa/Narcissus spp. contain toxins that can cause intense gastrointestinal irritation, drooling, loss of appetite, depression of the central nervous system, convulsions and cardiac abnormalities.

Azalea/Rhododendron Members of the Rhododenron spp. contain substances known as grayantoxins, which can produce vomiting, drooling, diarrhea, weakness and depression of the central nervous system in animals. Severe azalea poisoning could ultimately lead to coma and death from cardiovascular collapse.

Oleander All parts of Nerium oleander are considered to be toxic, as they contain cardiac glycosides that have the potential to cause serious effects—including gastrointestinal tract irritation, abnormal heart function, hypothermia and even death.

Castor Bean The poisonous principle in Ricinus communis is ricin, a highly toxic protein that can produce severe abdominal pain, drooling, vomiting, diarrhea, excessive thirst, weakness and loss of appetite. Severe cases of poisoning can result in dehydration, muscle twitching, tremors, seizures, coma and death.

Cyclamen Cylamen species contain cyclamine, but the highest concentration of this toxic component is typically located in the root portion of the plant. If consumed, Cylamen can produce significant gastrointestinal irritation, including intense vomiting. Fatalities have also been reported in some cases.

Kalanchoe This plant contains components that can produce gastrointestinal irritation, as well as those that are toxic to the heart, and can seriously affect cardiac rhythm and rate.

Yew Taxus spp. contains a toxic component known as taxine, which causes central nervous system effects such as trembling, incoordination, and difficulty breathing. It can also cause significant gastrointestinal irritation and cardiac failure, which can result in death.

Source: ASPCA

Exactly

"The social purpose of tort law is accident and injury prevention. It is only when we fail in our initial purpose that we move to the secondary purpose, which is compensation for the injured person." - Harry M. Philo

This post is sexy

Well, sexy has definitely become the buzzword of the day around here. Since I went on my investigative venture to root out the source and reasoning behind the recent sexy phenomenon here, I've heard the following from people in-the-know (the staff, primarily):

That file is sexy.
Your candy is sexy.
Make sure you get in the sexy photos of that injury.
Have you had some of those muffins in the breakroom? They're sexy.
Hey - check out my sexy eye infection.
Keeping your door shut is sexy.
Do you think I'm sexy?

We have an all-attorney meeting next Monday. I am now taking bets as to who will inevitably use the word, and how many times the word is used during the meeting. If no one uses sexy with 5 minutes left in the meeting, I have agreed to step up, raise my hand, and find some way to incorporate sexy into a sentence.

I realize that I am immature.

I'm too sexy for my job

So what's up with using the term "sexy" as an adjective for things that are clearly not sexy? For example, "We really want to market some of the sexy litigation we're doing."

Sexy litigation? What's sexy about drug litigation? It's not sexy, I can tell you that. But it seems the word has been thrown around a lot lately. Last week, our marketing guy was talking about the sexy litigation. Then this morning, I was told, "You really want to include all the sexy memos in those responses - any of the really sexy items that we might want to touch on in depositions."

Is the use of this word out of context catching on like wildfire around my firm, or is this a more widespread thing? Am I missing something? Is "sexy" the new black for adjectives?

Either way, I don't like it. The black marble tile walls in the elevator are sexy. Memos in response to requests for production are not sexy. Leave it to the powers that be to ruin a perfectly good word.

Running the gamut in today's news

The good: Coach Dungy will return to the Colts next year.

The bad: A case of mad cow disease detected in Canada.

The downright ugly: The Buttafuocos and Amy Fisher are planning a reunion.

Four four four for my headaches...

I've been tagged. And because it's from Kelly (and because I'm running low on blog inspiration these days), I'll comply.

4 jobs you've had
1) When I was in high school, I worked for KayBee Toys in the mall. I was 17. My boss was a spitting image of Ed Rooney from Ferris Beuller's Day Off, except he was twice as creepy and a complete pervert. I quit on the spot when he came onto me as we were closing the store one night. I told him to go fuck himself. I never went back to work, and I never told anyone about it.

2) I was a hotel maid the summer between my first and second years of college. The money was pretty good, I could follow Days of Our Lives while cleaning rooms, and I absolutely loved having a cart full of cleaning supplies. My slightly obsessive-compulsive ways were satisfied by leaving every single room exactly the same as the last one, with two puffs of air freshener as I was walking out the door. I loved this job, and I won the White Glove Award the second month I was there. The hotel was a relatively pricey place marketed to business men, and I often found a stash of porn between the mattresses. Once, I found a bag of weed.

3) I spent a few months in Colorado in my early 20s trying to break into some area of forensic science, hoping that the wild west would have more opportunities than Indiana (it didn't). With my science-oriented undergrad degree, I was able to land a temp position as a "laboratory biotechnician" for an environmental company. Essentially, my section of the lab tested the contamination levels of run-off water from the mines hidden deep in the Rockies. A government mandate for the property owners to have water collected and tested kept the lab busy with plenty of work. Unfortunately, our testing method involved placing 10 baby fat-head minnow fish in multiple containers of the water, including a control group and variations of distilled water mixed with the run-off water. We charted how many fish lived and how many died for each concentration. The ones that lived were retrieved after 10 days, placed in a foil dish, baked to death, and weighed. All of the data was meticulously gathered and recorded. Every evening before I left work, I collected fat-head minnow eggs from stacks of breeding tanks to hatch overnight for the next day's series of contaminated water samples. In a nutshell, I bred fish, collected the babies, put them in toxic water, and then, if they managed to survive the nasty water, I killed them in the oven. It sucked, and I quit after 2 months.

4) Before I went to law school, I was the executive director of a small volunteer-based non-profit organization dedicated to downtown revitalization and economic development. It was a far cry from killing fish in Colorado or my dreams of being a forensic anthropologist. I had absolutely no experience with non-profits, economic development, or volunteers. I was, as one politician put it, a "neophyte." The hiring committee hired me because of my "youthful enthusiasm and work ethic" but I think they might have been swayed by a friend of mine on the board of directors. The job was highly political and demanding and exhausting. I organized major community events, helped develop a revolving loan fund for building facade rehabilitation, converted an alley across from the courthouse into a garden walkway, complete with 1920s-era murals and benches, and I learned more than I ever wanted to know about tax abatements, port-o-pots, and the old boy network in my hometown. It was an awesome job.

4 movies you could watch over and over
1) Better Off Dead with John Cusack. "Gee, Ricky, I'm sorry your mom blew up."
2) Pretty Woman
3) The Breakfast Club
4) To Kill A Mockingbird

4 places you've lived
1) Indiana (3 different cities, or 4 if you count the weeks I shacked up with a boyfriend in Fort Wayne, which I do not)
2) Denver, Colorado
3) London (briefly while studying abroad)
4) With my parents

4 TV shows you like to watch
1) Meet the Barkers
2) The First 48 (or any show about homicides or autopsies)
3) Trauma, Life in the ER (or Dr. 90210. It's always a toss-up between the two)
4) The Real World/Road Rules challenges

4 places you've been on vacation
1) Cancun, Mexico (love love love Mexico)
2) Niagra Falls/Canada/upstate New York
3) Las Vegas
4) Nappa Valley

4 websites you visit daily
1) MSN and CNN
2) Martinis, Persistence and a Smile and a handful of other great blogs
3) google
4) The Smoking Gun

4 of my favorite foods
1) wine (shut up. It's a food group)
2) watermelon
3) meat (any kind, I'm not a picky carnivore)
4) Anything from Qdoba

4 places I'd rather be
1) home
2) Mexico
3) buying new dishes at Crate & Barrel
4) taking a weekend roadtrip with AJ and Mel

4 albums I can't live without (this one is nearly impossible to narrow down)
1) Jimmy Buffett "Meet Me in Margaritaville - The Ultimate Collection"
2) Prince "Purple Rain"
3) Darden Smith "Little Victories"
4) The Grateful Dead "American Beauty"

4 people to tag with lists
1) Kelly P.
2) Moose
3) Robin
4) Tommy

The greatest man I ever knew

My beloved grandfather passed away. He was, without a doubt, the greatest man I ever had the privilege of knowing and loving. I will miss him deeply every single day for the rest of my life.

There ain't no bones about that

Overheard in New York:
Girl: Oh look, this would be cute for the baby.
Guy: What baby?
--Gift shop, Empire State Building

I stopped by Osco Drug on my way home with the intention of picking up a card and some contact solution. As usual, I picked up a few other things I don't necessarily need.

At the checkout, I stood behind a seemingly frazzled middle-aged woman. Her only purchase: an EPT pregnancy test. The female clerk said nothing, the customer said nothing, and I waited patiently with an armful of goods. When it was my turn, I put my items on the counter, including a bottle of Arbor Mist (cheap, yes, but I love the stuff over ice) and one Totino's cheese pizza (even cheaper, but who's complaining?).

Clerk: Quiet night at home?
Me: Something like that.
Clerk: You must be single.
Me: WTF, lady? Hmmm... you're right, single. I guess the cheap wine, frozen pizza and cigs gave it away, huh.
Clerk: Yeah, but at least you don't need what that last woman purchased.

True enough.

So sad - Colts lose 21-18, and the super season comes to an end.

WE BELIEVE IN BLUE!

GO COLTS!

Just when the day was feeling rather gloomy...

* On my way downtown, I drove through Starbucks in an effort to wake myself up a bit. I gave the man at the drive through my business card for their free latte drawing. He looked at it, looked at me, and said, "Miss, you look too young to be an attorney. Is this for real?"

* On my way into the office, I saw a young man with two little boys. The boys were playing in the revolving door, and laughing with glee like the door was the world's greatest thing ever. Their giggles cracked me up, and I told their father that I wished we all found so much enjoyment in little things like revolving doors.

* AJ sent me a couple of new CDs at work this week, and I just popped in James Blunt's "Back to Bedlam" for the first time. I'm on song 3, and I already love this music. It's original and beautiful, and there's nothing like a sweet girlfriend gift to make a gloomy morning feel a whole lot better. Thanks, AJ.

Got Excedrine?

Tennessee Local Rule 22.04(a) provides that "No party will serve more than thirty (30) single question interrogatories, including sub-parts, on another party without leave of court."

I've got questions. Lots of them. I cannot possibly squash all my sub-parts into less than 30 interrogatories.

On the partner track

I noticed that most of the partners are wearing ties today, so I asked one of them what the occasion was.

He said, "We're going to a bar after work that requires ties."

I said, "I didn't know the Red Garter had a new dress code."

I'm leavin' on a jet plane...

My favorite friend here at the firm, T, is leaving for another job at the end of the week. I'm going to miss her terribly.

Anyhow, she sent me the following e-mail minutes ago:

"You will undoubtedly be receiving a plethora of "i'm bored, i'm lonely, feel sorry for me" emails from me after I'm gone. i am bored at every job. This is why i've changed careers so many times."

I replied, "I have that problem with men."

You know what the problem is with clowns these days? They try and do magic, too.

Okay, so I was trying to think of something funny to lighten the blogging mood around here, but I'm fresh out of funny at the moment.

So go here if you want to laugh. Does being "hot" expire when one hits 35?

A Million Little Lies

I finished reading James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces" last week. I had a strong reaction to the book for a handful of reasons. While I was reading the memoir, I could not put it down. I stayed up into the early hours of the morning to finish the book, knowing that I would not be able to concentrate on work until it was out of my system. I was consumed with this story, the characters, the graphic detail of sex, addiction and violence. I was captivated by the knowledge that the book was a truthful account of one man's struggle to overcome and persevere, and for awhile, I believed him.

"A Million Little Pieces" chronicles young James Frey's journey through alcohol and drug rehab. The book opens with James being transported via plane to meet his parents, who drive him to an expensive rehab facility as a last-ditch effort to save his life from 10 years of chronic and hard-core drug and alcohol abuse. James has apparently hit his rock bottom, although he remembers little of how he came to be on a plane with his teeth knocked out, his nose broken, a hole through his cheek, and wearing clothes covered with "a colorful mixture of spit, snot, urine, vomit and blood."

Once checked into the rehab facility, James befriends a variety of characters, including a federal judge, a high-ranking mafia figure, and a crack whore named Lilly. Although James refuses to "work the program" or participate with his counselors' recommendations, he overcomes his addictions, confesses to his laundry list of disgusting and violent past wrongs, and comes to terms with his family issues. He is successful at his goal of sobriety, and he walks out of the clinic hopeful for a better life.

And yet, when I finished the book, I did not feel triumphant for James and his sobriety. His story sucks you in, holds you tight, and then chews you up and spits you out. You feel dirty and disgusted and sad. After I read the last page, I wanted a double vodka tonic and a cigarette and a long, hot shower.

And over the next day or so, I couldn't stop thinking about the reality of the entire text of the book. There were too many little voices that bothered me about his account, his stories, his claims. It was not that I didn't completely believe his story. While I was reading the book, I believed everything I was reading. However, once I stepped away from the story, I questioned the severity of his addiction and the damage he'd done to his body, along with a million other pieces that just didn't add up in my mind. I assumed he had taken creative liberty with some of his story, but it was more than that. I just couldn't shake the feeling that this story had been greatly exaggerated. No doubt this author was a drug-addicted, alcoholic criminal in need of rehab. But was it really as bad as he claimed?

And what bothered me even more than whether he had fabricated or embellished his story was the praise he was receiving from people such as Oprah Winfrey. Oprah chose this book for her coveted Book Club, which inspired skyrocketing sales, instant mass media attention, and guaranteed success as an author. She had him on her show, and she praised him for saving lives with his inspiring story of overcoming demons.

And I kept thinking, "If I'm to believe the book, this guy destroyed his family, committed crimes, slept with prostitutes, degraded and humiliated numerous other human beings, disrespected his parents (but took their money anyway), sold drugs, sold himself, drank himself into a blacked-out stupor on a daily basis, smoked crack, snorted coke, huffed glue, popped pills, lied to everyone who ever tried to save him, beat a priest nearly to death (including landing several direct kicks to the priest's genitals) in Paris, France, and generally acted like a complete asshole for most of his life."

To top it off, James Frey came from an extremely affluent family who footed the bill for his degenerate lifestyle by providing him with a comfy financial allowance. Not to mention, his parents paid for his college education (which he somehow managed to participate in, join a fraternity, and complete in 4 years, despite his claims that he was in the midst of a gripping addiction that required daily feeding of mass quantities of drugs and alcohol), and several months-long trips to Europe. And they paid for his eventual trip to the best rehab facility in the country. Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying that affluent young men cannot or do not become alcoholics and drug addicts. I would venture a guess that it happens more often than society admits. What I am saying is that if you are drinking to the point of blacking out, snorting coke out of baggies, and taking every other drug imaginable whenever you possibly can, it would be a major feat to still manage to graduate from an undergraduate university like Denison without flunking out along the way. I'm also saying this kid was a privileged kid, which makes me feel less sorry for the mess of crap he found himself in at the age of 23.

I'm supposed to believe this book, and then praise James Frey's sobriety, and then be inspired by his ability to reach out to other addicts via some platform provided by Oprah Winfrey, and this guy nearly beat a priest do death in Paris? His portrayal of himself was among the most addicted persons my mind could ever imagine, but yet he subscribes to no program for sobriety other than, "Just say no," which may work for some but clearly not for the masses of addicts out there. I simply could not reconcile this in my mind. James Frey claimed to have served three months in an Ohio county jail after his release from rehab as his only punishment for the alleged felony offenses and criminal havoc he wreaked upon the world around him. His story isn't one of redemption and desire to help the world, but rather a story of self-promotion and bravado. At the end of the book, I did not think James Frey was a hero with a message to send. I thought he was an asshole who finally got sober.

The book is gripping, no doubt about it. I don't know if it would have been as gripping had I been told up front it was a work of fiction or simply based on a true story rather than touted as a non-fiction memoir of one man's journey. James Frey is edgy and clearly has talent to captivate an audience through his writing. Whether he wrote an accurate non-fictional account or a fictional "based on a true story" account, I would have likely enjoyed either version of his journey. But I don't enjoy being manipulated into feeling huge sorrow for a character (Lilly) only to have to question whether she actually even existed.

And this morning, my suspicions were confirmed. The Smoking Gun broke the story that much of James Frey's book is, in fact, fabricated and embellished. He exaggerated a great deal of his criminal record, and he fabricated several parts of the story, including an emotional turning-point about a childhood friend that was killed in an auto-train accident. The mug shots are not of the near-death addict dressed in clothing covered in blood, snot, urine and vomit. The mug shots are of a rich frat boy who drank too much, smoked some weed, and snorted some coke. James Frey probably was, in fact, in need of rehabilitation for his addictions. But his fabrications, his cover-ups, and his denials call into question the credibility of the entire book. The manipulative behavior of his addicted, alcoholic and criminal days apparently carried over into his literary endeavors.

James Frey is no doubt a brilliant writer, but not an honest one. This guy is just another alcoholic who lied to the world, got sober, and then continued to lie to the world.

Contaminated pet food kills dozens of dogs

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration reports that at least 76 dogs nationwide are believed to have died as a result of eating contaminated Diamond Pet Foods. Full story here. See what products and states have been affected here. Luckily, Indiana was not on the list, and I do not feed Milo this particular brand.

I would completely flip out if this happened to me. Unfortunately, I don't think you can sue the company for the emotional distress of losing your dog, but I would be one pissed off customer.

You're fired!

When I was 25, I took a job at an Ameritech call center as a customer service representative. I had completed my undergrad two years prior, started my master's program in forensic anthropology in London, took a break from the program, moved back to Indiana, moved out to Colorado, moved back to Indiana, went back to IU to complete a second undergrad major, left that program, and found myself back in my hometown bartending at the local lawyer hang-out across from the courthouse, thinking about being a homicide detective or a lawyer. I clearly had no academic or professional direction, and so, at the request of my father, I found myself accepting a respectable job with decent hours, decent pay, and great benefits. And it pretty much sucked.

First of all, I worked in a large call center - a vast room on the 2nd floor of a warehouse-type building with over a hundred cubicles. Approximately 110 women and 10 men staffed the call center, and we took incoming calls from customers requesting service and repair to their telephone lines. Imagine - working with over 100 women in the same room. It was the most catty, gossiping, all-up-in-yo'-business group of people I have ever worked with in my life. Most of the ladies were nice, down to earth types who were happy to be providing for their families by working outside the automotive factory environment, which is the main employer of people in my hometown. I respected these ladies and generally tended to gravitate to their groups during breaks and whatnot. However, just like high school, there were cliques of women, particularly the young 20-somethings with bad attitudes, who always seemed to stir up trouble.

For the majority of my time there (about a year and a half), my cubicle group consisted of a pill-popping 40-something druggie named Becky, a 30-something red-headed nymphomaniac I dubbed Psycho Cindy, and Angel, a young devout Christian woman who married her church's youth pastor at the age of 18. And then there was me, a mixed bag of tricks who got along well with all three. We spent 7.5 hours every day tethered to our desks by our headsets, receiving calls from angry, crappy customers who blamed us for the many problems with the company. We got yelled at, cursed at, and hit on by dirty old men. Taking call after call after call on the busy days was difficult, but it wasn't the worst part of the job. The worst part of the job was Compliance.

Compliance was part of our "job goal" and in a nutshell, compliance was how well you adhered to the Ameritech cult-like job program. Compliance included things such as logging in and out of your computer at the exact minute for each morning, afternoon, and lunch break. Our breaks were staggered, so we constantly had to remember to log out at precisely 10:13, or 12:26, or 2:48. You had 15 minutes for breaks, 30 for lunch. So you had to be back at your desk, ready to log back in at precisely 10:28, 12:56, and 3:03. And the powers that be were keeping track and deducting some kind of points when you were one minute early or one minute late.

Compliance also included staying at your desk, keeping your headset on, not talking across cubicles, not being disruptive, and playing well with others. Basically, compliance was the conduct/citizenship of the elementary report card. I didn't score the highest marks in third grade, and I didn't do so well 18 years later, either.

Management advised me that I consistently scored among the highest employees on customer service. No surprise there - the people I talked with loved me because I actually tried to cut through the corporate bullshit and help them, which got me in trouble with management more than once. But I also consistently had trouble staying in compliance. In fact, the entire 20 months I worked there, I never had one month where I was actually "in compliance." I talked to my cube-mates too much, I was disruptive, I stood up most of the afternoon talking on the phone, I surfed the computer system for something interesting to read, I got caught reading People magazine at my desk while simultaneously talking to a customer (more than once), I egged on Psycho Cindy to tell us more stories about her 18-year-old hispanic lover, I spent weeks trying to convince Angel to go out for margaritas with us on Wednesdays, I kept a running tally of how many Zanax tablets Becky took. I stuck up for the girls who got picked on by the bullies in the office, and I didn't take management serious at all. None of these behaviors helped my compliance. I think my managers liked me because I did a great job at my job, and my high numbers made them look good, but they didn't know what to do with me and my rotten compliance. They finally gave me some special projects to work on that got me away from the phones and my co-workers, and that seemed to help a bit.

Toward the end of my term at Ameritech, management finally threatened to fire me after I told one of the managers that I thought the Ameritech employee program sucked and caused people to hate their jobs and defy their ridiculous compliance standards. I quit soon thereafter for a great job that would make better use of my talents and not tie me to a desk and expect me to stay there. Angel eventually had kids and is now a stay-at-home mother. I'm sure she probably teaches Sunday School, too. Psycho Cindy is still crazy and still "dates" younger men. Becky died a couple of years ago from an accidental drug overdose. She died in her sleep, and her husband woke up next to her dead body.

These days, I think about compliance occasionally when I am sitting at my desk on a Saturday morning trying to maintain a self-imposed goal of billable hours. I hate the billables, but it could be worse. No one here at my firm has ever once mentioned the word "compliance."

Don't blame the lawyers

The following article has been copied in its entirety from yesterday's Statesman.com and can be found here. The author eloquently sums up what has been floating around in my brain for some time now as I search for a response to the onslaught of negative perceptions, jokes and often-asked questions, "Do we really need more lawyers? Do we really need more trial lawyers?" The answer may be that no, we may not need more lawyers. We just need more good lawyers.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

As a teacher and writer on legal ethics, I enjoyed my friend Tom Palaima's recent op-ed column in the American-Statesman ("Doing the right thing in a world full of spin," Dec. 28). But the denouement, which decries the collusion of lawyers in unethical conduct, does require a response — if for no other reason than to help squelch the eternal cultural myth that lawyers are responsible for society's ills.

The world's most dangerous lawyer can't accomplish anything without the complicity of judges and society generally. It ain't a problem of not having enough rules. We love rules. We have plenty of them — boxes of them, suitcases full of them. As the guardians of justice, lawyers and judges are always creating and refining the rules, penalties and sanctions.

Society just isn't always willing to use them. When push comes to shove, we often makes excuses and turn a blind eye to obvious wrongdoing. Giving our government "the benefit of the doubt" has become nearly a national pastime.

So how do we punish people in a society that, as Palaima points out, seems to celebrate "getting away with it?" When we've had enough, we do what has become actually our greatest social legacy: We turn to the third branch of government and say, "This isn't right." Yes, we sue. And we slowly change society.

Thus, the Bush administration's attorney general can use all the sophistry in the world to justify a breach of civil rights, but any good constitutional lawyer knows that won't stand up in court. So go to plan B: Hedge your bet and attempt to make lawyers the problem.

It's always fun to demonize lawyers, and the myth that lawyers are responsible for society's ills is a comfortable, uncomplicated yarn — like the myth that courthouses are brimming with "frivolous lawsuits" (despite a 50 percent reduction in non-family law cases over the past decade). And that prejudice gives the opposition a leg up when lawyers exercise their most important role in society: messengers of a society unhappy with itself.

When someone finally declared that it was time that African Americans stop being treated as second-class citizens, it was said with a lawsuit. But bringing these social messages in lawsuit form condemns lawyers for challenging the status quo and upsetting the apple cart. And it takes courage. Those Fifth Circuit judges who originally ruled that blacks deserve an equal education (in a ruling eventually affirmed in Brown v. Board of Education) were subject to vicious criticism, social ostracism and even physical attacks on their families and property.

The most important changes in society all too often make us squirm. Remember, we live in a country that, in 1959, produced a poll indicating that 90 percent of our fellow Americans favored legal bans on interracial marriage. Such an abhorrent proposition would be unthinkable today. But how could one expect a 1959 lawmaker to buck that social norm? So when our lawmakers fail to act, we are often forced to turn to our third branch of government.

Remember that our society changes largely without violence and anarchy because lawyers and judges serve as constitutional ombudsmen between social progress and the inattention, political deafness or outright refusal of the other two branches to secure that progress for us.

The most important right ever created by this society is your right, under our Constitution, to hire a lawyer and go to the courthouse. We must never forget that. Those who dislike your legal rights to an equal playing field and a jury trial haven't forgotten. Every Texas Legislature brings us more statutes and even constitutional amendments to curb that right. We're slowly but inexorably nailing the courthouse doors shut to people and entities with less resources — requiring instead slow, expensive, ineffective and unpredictable nonjudicial remedies.

When enough people finally get fed up, the pendulum will swing back, but at what cost? As both: a) access to unbiased reporting, and b) public interest in knowing the truth continues to diminish, the journey could be slow and miserable.

In this country, when I know I'm right, I don't want a gang of thugs or henchmen — or even a press secretary. Just give me a good lawyer and a good judge. And it should ever be so.

Ducloux is an attorney in Austin and chairman of the Texas Center for Legal Ethics and Professionalism.

The harmful effects of Listerine

My friend Robert, who works in the wine business, told me last night that he doesn't use mouthwash with alcohol in it because the trace amounts of alcohol that get into your body from the use of mouthwash cause "stress to the liver." The dude is a wine salesman. He drinks wine.

I love the guy, but he is a complete hypocritical, obsessive-compulsive maniac.

The votes are in...

... and no one likes the new template, including me. I don't have the time or motivation to explore other options right now (thanks for the blogskin suggestion, Kelly!), so back to the original skin.

Now how do I get my info on the right side to pop up at the top where it is supposed to? And does anyone know how to link other blogs to my page?

I am the absolute worst at this techie stuff.

Happy Blogging Birthday

This blog is one year old today, and according to Site Meter, I recently received my 10,000th hit here. Of course, most traffic other than the regulars is generated from searches such as "whoop somebody's ass" and "bar exam psychosis" and "people who think their dogs are little people in dog suits." To mark the occasion, I'm trying out a new template, although I'm not sure I like it quite as much as the other template. We'll see.

Happy Thursday :)

I loved the original Mr. Big

This CD is a must-have. I just saw it advertised on TV, and I jumped out of bed to see if I could order it online, which, of course, I can and did. This is no impulse buy like the time I saw those Dooney & Bourke bags on QVC for a really great price. This is the Platinum Edition of Monster Balads, with great 80s hits such as Heaven by Warrant, When I See you Smile by Bad English, Is This Love by Whitesnake, Forever by Kiss, Honestly by Stryper, and my three Platinum Edition favorites, When I'm With You by Sheriff, Silent Lucidity by Queensryche, and To Be With You by Mr. Big. The only thing that's missing is I'll Be There For You by Bon Jovi.

This music was high school dances, riding down the hometown strip in the backseat of my sister's Dodge Charger, wearing acid-wash jeans, fringed jean jacket, teased hair and slouch boots, listening to Poison's Talk Dirty to Me and thinking the song really was dirty, and having a major crush on resident badboy with a motorcycle, Tony Winger. When I was fifteen, I loved this stuff. I loved the original Mr. Big.

We find it's always better to fire people on a Friday. Studies have statistically shown that there's less chance of an incident if you do it at the end of the week.

Apparently the powers that be in the NFL don't subscribe to the Office Space philosophy of waiting until the end of the week. Six coaches have been let go since Sunday night, with one more retiring and another's fate on the line. Maybe they should just throw all the reject coaches into a hat and do a "coach exchange" like the traditional white elephant.

The hazy shade of winter

A winter thunderstorm blew through here this afternoon. Milo sat out on the porch and watched the wind whip through the trees and the rain splatter the ground, barking occasionally at the flashes of lightning. I thought the rain was refreshing and comforting and perfect for a lazy afternoon of doing nothing. Now that the sun is trying to shine, I may head out for a walk.