Stay of Execution

Scratch that Itch

Today my dog and I were in the yard when she sat down suddenly, got a funny look on her face, leaned her head to the right a little bit, and started moving her stump, just as she would have if she still had a leg and she was going to scratch behind her right ear.  I gave a little involuntary "oh!" that was half laughter, half-sadness when I realized what she was doing, and then I reached down and started scratching her right behind the ear, hard.  She leaned right into it, with that great dog look of concentrated bliss, and I scratched.  She leaned so hard she almost fell over, and she kept on pumping that stump as though the invisible leg were doing the scratching where my fingers were. 

Question for Practitioners

How would you go about sourcing, evaluating, selecting, training, and retaining a top-notch legal assistant? 

Wowsers

I got the mix CD in the mail that was the result of TauntingHappyFunBall's brainstorm.  It was made by dt, who blogs at Night Putting.  It's great.  It opened right up with Leonard Cohen, who I only know a little bit but like a lot, and it's exactly what a mix should be -- songs I like by people I've never heard of.  I'm going to seek out some of these guys -- Spoon, the Dandy Warhols, Frank Black & the Catholics, Goner, the Sun, R.L. Burnside (I'd heard of him....).  What a cool thing to get in the mail.  And by email I learned that a reader who got my mix is sending me one, so I have another treat to look forward to.  Plus I got a thank you note from someone in VA who liked my mix.  This is such a nifty little world.  My mailbox hasn't been this fruitful in a long time. 

I Want I Want

This weekend on our 12 mile walk, Housemate and I were talking about an artist she's familiar with, who makes giant sculptures -- big huge building size beds of stone and metal, for example.  For a few years all of her work was etched with the words "I want I want I want I want I want," everywhere.  I can relate, some days.

Anyway, today I have two small wants.  I want a pretty little necklace.  I am wearing a sweet delicate necklace that belongs to Housemate -- it is a silvery chain, with a small bird that hangs right in the hollow of my collarbone.  When I was getting dressed I looked at all of my necklaces and I found I wanted something like this for my own -- sweet, feminine, perhaps a little bit edgier than this tiny bird, but something that would feel like a symbol and a little piece of loveliness for my neck.  I have a necklace that my best friend gave me, another silvery chain with a glassy blue droplet and the word "dream" hanging there in my collarbone hollow, but it's getting old and a bit worse for wear.  Any ideas on where to look for a new amulet? 

I want someone to play chess with me this winter.  I used to play years ago -- for a time I was playing so much that I had chess dreams, or would see a telephone pole and think that it could capture the one across the street if it were a bishop -- but haven't touched a chessboard in perhaps ten years.  And I wasn't particularly good even when I played a lot.  I'm thinking more about chess by a fireplace, in a pub or a cafe, but I could also be happy to play a game or two online. 

Gmail Quibbles

I generally like Gmail.  I like the way it threads conversations, and I like the way they make little improvements without making a big deal about it.  (E.g., they changed a clunky double labeling system to a single box where you can choose what to do with an email -- delete, forward, archive, or label it, and then if you choose to label it your label choices are right there in the same box, which is an improvement over having to go through two menus). 

Here are two improvements I would like to make.  I would like the ability to have two different browser windows, each open to a different Gmail account (I use two actively).  What seems to happen with Firefox is the two different browsers sync with one another so even if I started out logged into separate accounts they merge so I end up with two windows open to the same Gmail account.  This is mysterious to me, and has even resulted in an email message sent to one account ending up in the other account because while I had the message open the browser merged with the other account.  I am undoubtedly describing this in cloudy and imprecise terms, but I swear it is true.  And mildly irritating.

The second improvement I would like would be the ability to be drafting a message and access past messages, or my address book, without discarding or abandoning the message I'm working on.  I get around this by opening a second window, but it's a pain. 

The threading function might be improved if it distinguished between original emails and forwarded ones.  From time to time I'll have an email conversation going, and then I'll forward the email to a third party with commentary or questions (sometimes snarky) about the original email thread.  And the forwarded email becomes the start of a whole separate and different conversation with the third party, albeit with the same subject line.  They're all lumped in together in the Gmail interface and I'm always a little bit afraid that I've inadvertently sent the snarky forwarded conversation to the original recipient instead of my third party friend.  Of course, the best solution is a non-technical one; if I were never snarky or I never invited third-party comment on a conversation there would be no worries at all. 

If anyone out there still wants a Gmail invite, I'm happy to pass some along.  I figure by now anyone who wants a Gmail account has gotten it, but if that's not the case just ask. 

He Wrote The Book On Being a Miserable Lawyer

Well, he hasn't written the book yet.  But Anonymous Lawyer writes the nasty, satirical truth/fiction(?) about BIGLAW life on his blog, and his readers chime in in the comments with a mixture of awful meanness and spite, and, at moments, raw honest confessions from their own professional lives.  I read the weblog weekly.  I find that AL makes me laugh, and sometimes the comments of his readers make me cringe.  The contrast between AL's voice -- bitter, sarcastic, but honest and funny, with an eye for authentic detail -- and the tone of those who comment on the site makes me admire AL himself more than I might otherwise.  After all, the guy and the life he describes is a picture of the worst kind of credential snobbery, relentless materialism, and disregard for family and real relationships -- almost a caricature of the worst parts of the legal profession.  But there's enough glimmer of humanity -- AL's clearly not happy, and at times reflects on his choices with a real vulnerability -- to keep it from being a caricature.  The readers who chime in don't have quite the skill or depth, generally, although their voices corroborate the truth AL is describing. 

Anyway, Evan Schaeffer wants to help AL write a book, and asked me to help.  Not help with the writing, but help connect AL to a publisher.  Heck if I know any publishers, or how to write a book from a blog.  Do you? 

Early Bird

It was soooooo dark this morning at 5:30, and my bed was sooooo warm.  Even at 5:45, and at 6, it was nighttime dark.  I grouched while putting on my shoes and my windpants.  Wouldn't a nice nap make more sense than going out into the chilly darkness?  Housemate was just motivated enough that she didn't cave easily, and I wasn't tired or lazy enough to try to persuade.  So we walked briskly.  It wasn't that cold.  There were big puddles on the gravel from yesterday's stormy rain, and we leapt over them when they crossed our path.  The tide was low so the cove was mostly mudflats, with just a channel or two from a feeder stream winding its silver way out to the ocean.  As the day got light I looked at one of those channels.  It was crowded with ducks, two dozen or more. 

Skype Experiment

Fiddling around with Skype, prompted, finally, by Michael Oliver's post.  Anyone out there have it, willing to talk?  My username is "stayofexecution".  I want to see how this thing works.

[UPDATE: thanks for trying to reach me -- I left the house but forgot to log off so that's why you missed me.  Still looking for someone to have my first real call with.]

[UPDATE: Okay, shouting at my laptop doesn't work.  Apparently I need a headset.  I am working on that part.  Will keep you posted.]

Stay of Execution: A Retrospective

Everyone's looking back.  Sua Sponte's revisiting past Thanksgivings, and my dad just wrote about reading his journals from a year ago.  I found myself having the same impulse.  I decided to pull my journals and look at what I was writing and thinking about in the fall and winter three, five, ten, and fifteen years ago.  Here are some snippets:

One year ago, November 2003: Here's what I was blogging about a year ago. 

Three years ago, late December 2001, Age 28:  At the Iron Horse in N. Hampton, waiting to see [Musician].  Afraid I've been thinking about this in a way that will lead to disappointment.  [Musician]'s been a platform for my daydreams since we saw one another in early December.  Part of it is that I have a crush, but another part, I think, it that I'm weary from this job....

I fear that I am entering a dreary time of life.  Perhaps not, what with my new hair and my new job.  But the job is a reason behind my suspicion.

The beauty of the job is the access it gives me to human drama -- a small tragedy in every case.  I'm learning a lot about human weakness.

Five years ago, November 1999, Age 26: This just in from S. -- a late night (drunken?) missive.  Still no call -- I called him two days ago, left a message wishing him well and asking what he's thankful for.  The text was: 'Dear sweet woman, you are as inspired as you are lovely.  You do truly warm and tickle my heart.  And for that and life's countless mysterious blessings I give thanks.'

Sushi and scotch last night.  Yum.  I was even wearing my cashmere pants.  Yummy.  E. says I glow.  I think I am beginning to.   Overslept and missed Con Law, was late to Admiralty.  Can't keep staying up late.

Ten years ago, November/December, 1994, Age 21: I think about J. all the time.  My thoughts probably have little to do with him right now and far more to do with my feelings of loss and listlessness.... Learning lessons is tough.  The loneliest times of my life have been right after J. left in August and these past two weeks.  It's amazing to me how I can see things happen to other people and still not imagine something until it happens to me.  So much for empathy.  Love has made me feel lonelier than anything else.  I'm lonely now, and the funny thing is that there's no cure -- I'll be lonely for a long time....Look at what I'm writing!  I sound like a wimpy girl!  This is the kind of cheese that I hate on top 40 radio and lame soap operas.  This experience will certainly help me be a little more open minded about other people's loves.  Nobody on the outside of a relationship can ever know what's right.  Hell, the people in it probably can't.

....Another day squandered.  Will I ever bring myself to do those horrid physics labs? 

    Last night A. & I went to Rudy's. We split 3 pitchers.  Talked about evolution and brotherly love and friendship.  He's great -- the more I know him the more I think so.  One of the best things about him is how comfortable he makes other people.  He laughs easily and sincerely and it feels good to be around him.  Although he's not an active friend he is a solid one and knows much about me.  I think I know him fairly well too, at least several facets of him. 

    I've been flirting with the idea of taking Prof. F's writing class.  If I can get in, that is.  I'll have to practice over break.  Tonight I was in the bookstore reading the Best American Short Stories of '94 and loved it so much.  I wonder if this is a colossal sign that I need to read and to write.  I guess my reaction to my physics labs and my total indifference to my senior project are clues. 

    I have to make next semester fun.  This one has been such a vacuum.  I'm worried about disappointing people but really I've hated this fall.  It's been awful.  I've been honest about that.

Fifteen years ago, December 1989, Age 17: Yesterday at a pro-choice rally I fainted.  A doctor behind me said it looked like a seizure because my eyes moved and my legs shook.  I had a dream -- not anything I remember besides shapes and emotions, but it lasted a long time.  I felt like I had a series of dreams, until suddenly I was looking up to a cold blue sky with wispy clouds blowing past, dead tree branches, and dozens of concerned faces looking down on me.  Someone was holding my head.  I felt shocked -- disoriented -- could not understand where I was for several moments.  I had to recall the time before I passed out when I was feeling woozy and then figure out that I must have fainted.  It seemed like hours had gone by between the time that I'd felt like I might faint to the time when I woke up on the ground.  Someone had called an ambulance, and they carried me off in a stretcher and into an ambulance.  It was embarrassing, but I did feel too wierd to walk.  They gave me an EKG and then let me go.  It was a very strange experience altogether, and very disorienting.  I hope I don't have seizures, or faint for a while.  I have fainted about four times in the last three years -- Oct '87 in Sex Ed class, Jan '88 in the doctor's office, Nov. '88 at home when I was sick, and now Nov. '89.

I can't believe it's going to be 1990 soon.  That's something, isn't it?  At the end of this decade it will be 2000, and I'll be 27 years old.  I'll have gone to college, graduated, gotten a job and an apartment.... I wonder what I'll be like as a 27 year old.  I'll probably be too serious.  I hope when I get older I'll still hang out with younger people -- won't just blow them off because of their age.  There are some adults who are great with younger people, but most of them just can't do it.

Seventeen years ago: Thanksgiving, 1987, Age 14: Last night L. spent the night.  We talked for a long time.  She still likes T, the creep.  But she doesn't like most of her 'druggie' friends and wants to make new ones but finds it hard to do.  She got all Bs and one D+ this quarter.  The D+ was in World History. 

Why do I try to force good grades on people?  I think it's because Mom and Dad have always brought me up to think grades are important and school is important, etc.  And I agree but then it is hard for me because there are a lot of people who I love and admire (L, E, S, A) who are not what they should be.  I love them but not for my preconceived notion of what success is and what happiness is, because they don't share it.... So I feel a little uncomfortable at myself or at them because I love them very much even thought they don't fit my ideas, so I wonder if my ideas are wrong or if they're wrong.  It's easier to say they're wrong and to try to change them.  I'll decide they've got the right ingredients, the right notions, but they've just gone astray.  But sometimes my little formula isn't right for them and I'm faced with the fact that maybe everyone's not the same as me only gone in a different direction.  And if I can't think that then it's a lot harder to relate to them because I don't know who they are.  And maybe, I'm forced to wonder, if my formula doesn't work for them, maybe it won't work for me....

The beginning of the fossil record: February, 1986, Age 13: Guess what?  I won the city spelling bee!  Yes, me!  I even beat Josh W. (he got out quite early, actually, on UPBRAID, whatever that means).  But I won.  Super, huh?  Super is my new word, I'm saying it all the time now.  Yesterday Mr. L. gave me this long lecture about my behavior in math class and how I needed to conform to his rules.  I feel guilty about not telling my mom, but I don't know if she'd understand.  I hate Mr. L.  Yucky-yuck.... Tomorrow's Valentine's Day and I think I'll write a note to Bobby H. and slip it inside his locker.  471.  What a wonderful number....There's a writing workshop tomorrow, I was selected.  I have no idea what it's for, though....Well, the writer's group was pretty boring.  We wrote a few poems and the guy read us some eskimo poems.  BORING!  On Thursday nothing important happened, except I started really liking this kid on the track team.  I like him he's in eighth grade and is nice, I think.  He looks nice, like he's a nice guy, and he has curly hair.  He's the best (or almost the best) high jumper on the team.  Tori and Gwen also like him.  I'm not going to blow it with him like I did Bobby H. by being overly anxious....   

Old Friends and Bad Dates

I sat near a fireplace in the Portland Public Market for nearly three hours yesterday, with two old friends.  We all went to middle school and high school together; one of them was in elementary school with me.  Our conversation roamed around -- work, happiness, unhappiness, family -- but pretty soon fell into a loose collection of gossip about people we all knew back in the day, reminiscences of silly things we did in middle school and high school, and a comparison of the worst dates we've been on.  G told us about how she goes to the restroom to pass the time when a date gets bad.  I told about the California boy who picked me up in a Mustang with a busted muffler, asked me what I wanted to do, then brought me to the mall, where we roamed aimlessly.  A. told about the guy who told her he gets so angry at his mother that he hopes the brakes on her car will fail.  We laughed and swapped these stories -- long, stringy hair with lots of product in it, the gay man in denial, the guy who aspired to do a line of cocaine off his date's body, a man so nervous he was sweating.  Occasionally someone would walk by and we would lean in -- "was that ---?" "I didn't recognize him.  Oh, wait, what was his name?"  And we'd start up the gossip and reminiscing again.