Kleng Meedercher, Risen Iddien

Half of the judges took vacation this week. I work in the largest circuit in the country. This could indicate that, at the moment, our legal system is only working at half capacity. If that is the case, the state should really just close the courts full stop during the week between Christmas and New Years; give everyone a vacation. Nothing is really getting done this week, and the little that is getting done is not being done all that well (or is taking inordinately long due to the fact that I am behaving like a crack addled rabbit with ADD).

This would benefit the lawyers as well. Every type of lawyer who comes through here could definitely use at least some time off - the amount depends on the category of attorney into which they fit. I privately divide attorneys into several categories, depending on their skill, age, intensity, punctuality, cleanliness as well as their command of the English language and basic grammar. The system would probably get the most benefit if the attorneys at the top and the bottom of the food chain took a little break.

Yesterday I had to go back to the doctor to pick up my test results. (They weren't all completed, but that is actually another story. Apparently, Uncle Sam is subjecting me - or rather my blood - to some rather unusual, and lengthy, tests.) As per usual, I was running late, so I took a cab there. As it was raining I then took a cab from the office to Trader Joes, then from there to my apartment. This morning I took a cab from my apartment to work (was running late and it was actually possible). Bad idea for my wallet ($23+11.00+14+13=$62!) but a fairly interesting experience. Cab drivers are usually pretty interesting guys - I generally like talking with them.

The first driver was an older gentlement from Pakistan. He was the least talkative of the bunch, but had definite opinions on the best route (Lincoln Avenue). He also told me that he lived right by the office, so it was no big deal for him to get there. And he drove like a maniac, which I found endearing.

The second driver was a very young Pakistani boy (maybe 17). I was his first customer, and he was very energetic. He had a lot to say about the dangers of driving a cab. Apparently, it is the third most dangerous job - after prostitute, and cop. He regaled me with stories of his forays into the ghetto (his word). It was his least favorite place because people are always on the street and it is difficult to drive. He said there are hordes of people just walking on the street at all hours of the night. I have never seen this for myself, but I was not really clear as to what area he was talking about. He also had a lot to say about "ghetto guys" whom he picked up from time to time. Once, he picked up a well-dressed guy from the Drake and drove him into the "ghetto," and proceeded make multiple stops on street corners with this same guy in the car. Then they drove back to the Drake. He was paid $500. He also told me about this "ghetto" guy who worked at the consulate in Pakistan. Apparently he spoke like a rapper and terrified the applicants. I got the feeling that this first driver had a love/hate relationship with, as he termed them, "ghetto" people.

The third driver was a radiology student at Truman College. He was from North Africa. He really liked Snoop Dogg, and played B96 very loudly. I liked him because he gave me a cab company number, which I didnt have before. I was his first customer of the night too.

This morning my driver was about my age and of an indeterminate Asian nationality. He was studying finance at DePaul and wanted to be a currency trader. The idea of being a cab driver while going to school fascinated me. He did not like his job at all - said it was really, really boring. I told him that he should listen to books on tape.

Okay, this post is getting boring even for me to write. I'm sorry if you read all the way down to here.

Ciao

This evening I presented myself with two options with which to fill my time.

First: gym. I recently (last month) joined a gym approximately 5 blocks from my apartment and on the way home from work. It was expensive. I've been there 5 times, maybe worked out for a total of 4 hours. Not cost effective - I think I get a better work out walking there than actually working out.

Second: Baking bread - definitely preferable because it meant that I couldgo to the grocery store AND bake. So I did and it was awesome (ish). It worked out perfectly because I had the wonderful unplanned surprise of Ms. Jen, Mexican food and a delicious margarita. Fabulous, not only for the fun-ness of it, but also for the pure practicality of the distraction: the bread had exactly enough time to rise.

My adventure began when I came back from dinner. The pilot light had gone off in my oven; my ancient, and as I learned, terrifyingly flithy oven. Ms. Jen (ironically enough) had taught me the mystery of the stove pilot light; when the apartment smells like gas, the pilot light is most likely off. The stove light was totally on - and this light has nothing to do with the oven.

I had no idea where the oven light was - none at all. All I knew was that it was off and my apartment smelled like a gas station. So, very intelligently, I stuck my head in the oven and searched around. I picked up the broiler and poked around some tubes at the back. Nothing. Moved my stove from the oven - nothing except I knocked out the pilot lights on the stove.

So I went online- googled "Magic Chef" + "pilot light." Apparently, I had the right idea on my first try. The message board I came across advised me to "Stick my head into my oven a la Sylvia Plath." Apparently, the reason it didnt work the first time I did it was that I did not actually try to light it with anything (yes, sometimes I am too smart even for my own ego to handle). Following that piece of anonymous-online-message board wisdom, I found myself with my head stuck in an old oven, reeking of gas, with a lit match trying desparately to get some sort of a flame.

Somehow I survived, and I am happy to report that the bread is delicious. Yum and goodnight.

Ciao,

Today I left work early to head up to Albany Park to start my medical clearance. That went smoothly, aside from the fact that the office staff (who are nice actually) lost my file. They drew blood (a lot) asked some questios and sent me to get some x rays. That was all fine.

My issue is that my doctor is kind of an odd bird. First, he made a comment under his breath when I told him I needed to get these tests and why. I wish I knew what he said --- it sounded like it might have been funny. Second, when I asked him for my for my normal prescription so I wouldnt have to trek up to the northwest tundra in another month, he made a comment about jail. It was weird of him. Third, when I was sitting outside of his private office having my blood taken he was on the phone with some patient having a detailed discussion about spermicide. He described the texture (thicker than the cream); how to use it (insert into vagina); and that if that is not something "she" is comfortable with, [anonymous patient] can always use a condom. He also informed the anonymous (and I am fairly certain male) patient that one could find spermicide in the "womens'" section of the drugstore. ("You know, where the ladies get certain things that they need from time to time.")

My question is who the hell needs to ask their doctor how to use spermicide. And what kind of doctor treats patients with such idiotic questions? Seriously.

And this is the man in charge of my health. Thank you blue cross blue shield.

Ciao - Ciao.

I got my ARDC card, which is basically a lawyer tag. This is not a bad thing - I am thrilled to be tagged. It means that I don't have to go through the metal detector anymore. I get to through the special entrance and flash my card the deputy. It's going to be awesome.

Pretty soon (perhaps) I will get a special diplomatic passport. This would also be awesome. I would be diplotagged. Tonight I finished filling out the security clearance forms (again). Some of my friends should be expecting a call in the next several months from the security officers. Hopefully they know who they are.

Ciao-Ciao.

There is a pretty strong emphasis on professionalism in the law. It's sort of surreal for me, because professionalism, maturity in general, sometimes feels like an alien concept to me. My problem is that when I put on my "professional" hat, I feel like I am doing some sort of elaborate ritual - which belongs to another culture entirely. In fact, given my current level of 'professionalism' I think that I would have more success if I moved to mongolia to raise wild horses.

I guess that one of the best personal(meaning outside any legal skills) advantages I am getting out of this clerkship - a few extra years to grow into the professionalism that seems to be required of an attorney.

On that note, however, there is nothing quite as ridiculous as a lawyer who takes himself too seriously. Why? As I see it, it's like everyone in the court room knows its an act of sorts. Some professionalism is respectful and necessasary - this is the genuine kind. However, there are those who wrap their 'dignity' around them like a cloak - maybe trying to mask that pike pledge that lies hidden beneath the surface? (You know the guy. He attempts to be the alpha male, but it doesn't quite take and there is this sort of sweet social awkwardness.) It's too bad, because in the end I think that everyone in the courtroom has a hell of a lot more in common with that pledge, than the pretentious jerk he is pretending to be.

One of the best things I have read today is from the now defunct blog 'Wings and Vodka.' Actually, this quote was the impetus behind this post. I just think it's great and I hope my friends, law school and otherwise, can somehow apply this to their lives (this means you laura, if you are reading this).

"Here’s to dropping the Ludacris footnote into your judge’s opinion, or the GHB in the hiring partner’s coffee, or your pants at the firm Christmas banquet. Here’s to providing fodder for the hundreds of law students blogging about their clerkships each summer. Here’s to setting aside a few minutes out of each day--each of the thousands of days we’ll spend in this serious profession--to take ourselves a little less than seriously. Seriously."

Seriously.

Ciao.