Strange Doctrines

Michael Drake Finds This Hard to Fathom

Drake's Principle

Every principle will break down under arbitrarily close scrutiny except for Drake's Principle.

The Roundup

In my capacity as Blogger at the Federal Public Defender, I've taken to doing a "TGIF Roundup" series on Fridays (as you will have guessed from the series title). My brief for the series is to enable members of the federal indigent criminal defense bar in our district to get plugged into the Juristischerzeitgeist of the past week in under 60 seconds. (And maybe get a laugh or two.)

The blog is currently designed mostly for internal use, so there are no bloggy accoutrements like RSS, tags, comments, trackbacks or the like. Still, I thought some readers might be curious, and legal readers might even find it useful, so a link to today's Roundup post is here. An item for the nonlegal readers:

Kind Only to Be Cruel. The AP reports that condemned Ohio inmate Lawrence Reynolds took an overdose of medication in an apparent suicide attempt just hours before his execution, which had been scheduled for Tuesday. Authorities say that Reynolds is recuperating in a Youngstown hospital and should be well enough by next week to be put to death.

All Work and All Play

Blogging's been slow because when I'm not delivering justice for the Federal Public Defender, I'm learning material for a new country rock project. In the residue of time I try to, you know, eat. So: not much time for blogging.

In lieu of a proper post, then, I'll recap a few of my apothegmatic Facebook stati for the past week, which seems suitably frivolous:

A poor workman can't afford tools.

A journey of a thousand miles ends after about two million steps.

Moderation in a reasonable number of things.

It takes two to tango. Unless it's more of a solo or group tango.

Don't count your chickens before they've actually become chickens.

If it's not one thing, it's either more or less than one thing.

A rose by any other name would still have the same physical characteristics.

Now you go.

Happy New Year? Sure, Why Not.

I was going to abjure a "happy" New Year (per my usual), and instead recommend a thoughtful one.

But the coda to Tony Judt's reflection on life with advanced stage amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's disease) has given me, well, second thoughts:

The pleasures of mental agility are much overstated, inevitably—as it now appears to me—by those not exclusively dependent upon them. Much the same can be said of well-meaning encouragements to find nonphysical compensations for physical inadequacy. That way lies futility. Loss is loss, and nothing is gained by calling it by a nicer name. My nights are intriguing; but I could do without them.

(Via 3 Quarks Daily.)

Strange Way to Spell "Salad Mix"

Justice Never Parks

I just won my first case as an attorney: contesting my wife's parking ticket.

I'd like to think it was all due to my superb advocacy. But nothing beats a good set of facts - see if you can spot the No Parking sign:

Latent Dream Thoughts Blogging

I was just awoken from a dream in which I was doing an impersonation of Elvis (old, pathetic Elvis) singing Roy Orbison's "Oh, Pretty Woman" (I was right in the middle of the desperate, imperative crescendo, "Be mine toniiii-hiiiiii-HIIIIIiiiight!").  Hence showing that it's not necessarily a bad thing that dreams don't often come true.

Phone Home

European astronomers have found 32 new planets outside our solar system. Still haven't figured out which one I'm from yet.

Late-Night* Sentencing Law Insomnia Blogging

You wouldn't think that reflections on sentencing law would interfere with sleep, but:

Wife: Can you not sleep?
Me: No.
Wife: Why not?
Me: Because you let me nap too long.
Wife: [Laughs.] Are you not tired?
Me: I'm tired, but I can't stop thinking.
Wife: What are you thinking about?
Me: Just now I was thinking about how, surprisingly, I don't actually know what the precise basis for the Supreme Court's rule on reasonableness review is - constitutional? statutory? prudential?
Wife: [Silence - an unmistakable signal that she desires to hear more.]
Me: See, I've been thinking about what a post-Booker model of guidelines-based (or guidelines-informed) sentencing should look like...
Wife: Well, at least one of us will be able to sleep.
Me: Good one. [Pause.] Hey, this will make a great blog post...

  *Late for me anyway.

This Is The City

Looks like we'll be busy at the office.

Bona Fide

Yesterday was an unusually good day, twice.

First, I was offered a permanent position with the Federal Public Defender. (So suck on that unnamed Beverly Hills entertainment law firm.)

Second, Strange Doctrines was blogrolled by the Reality Based Community. (Looks like I'll need to blog more and start earning my keep around here.)

On the other hand, the universe is expanding. So don't think that any of this has dampened my pessimism.

Free Willy

My wife and I were at a wedding party the other day. The means of entertainment included several free-standing arcade games, among them, Pac-Man. My wife had never played, so I showed her the ropes.

Shortly, an adorable little boy approached. Call him Willy. Willy was maybe five years old. He watched, intrigued, as Pac-Man chowed down on pac-dots and battled Blinky and the other ghosts.

We asked Willy if he'd like to play. His eyes lit up. As he took my wife's spot, I explained the basics. He played a round, which ended quite prematurely. Then it was my turn. I commenced Pac-ing, explaining to Willy the meaning behind all the happenings on the screen.

But Willy didn't seem to hear me. He was concentrating; he thought he was playing. The whole time I was controlling play, he was moving the joystick, using body English, exclaiming when Pac-Man was in this or that tight spot. It was very amusing. And also illuminating. Willy hadn't yet learned which events in the world were ones he could plausibly take credit for.

The Last Throes of the Apocalypse*

The Christian revivalist who sermonizes most evenings near my train station (Hollywood and Highland) today proclaimed that we have only a week before comes the command to restore and build Jerusalem.** He says the same thing most every week.

I think the first time I heard him say it was last December.

So I'm thinking it must be a metaphorical week.

_________

*I suppose a more accurate title would have been something like "The Last Throes of the Antetribulation." But it wouldn't have been as snappy.
**I paraphrase.

Good Heavens!

Years ago I started using the phrase jokingly. But it is now an improbably settled, active constituent of my vocabulary.

This became clear to me on Friday, as I entered a public restroom. I was immediately accosted by a foul odor proper to freshly used public restrooms.

Wearing an expression of distressed incredulity, I exclaimed (quite spontaneously), "Good heavens!"

Whereupon I realized that the odorant's manufacturer was still seated. I decided to leave and let him finish his business in privacy. One must be civilized, you know.

A Visit to the Managerie

A hummingbird was just hovering outside our living room window. He scrutinized us momentarily, like we were an exhibit at a zoo. Then, appropriately unimpressed by the sight of humans in their natural habitat, he flew off.

Bad Ass Tires

Kumho is a well-known brand of tire.

Kumho Tire Co. v. Carmichael is a well-known Supreme Court case (concerning the admissibility of expert testimony about an allegedly defective tire).

But Kumho wasn't well-known to me along either of these dimensions. And as I read the case yesterday morning, I spelled it 'Kulho' in my notes.

Then I went to have a meeting to discuss my research.

One thing I did get right about 'Kumho' is that the 'h' is silent. And so it was that at that meeting, I proceeded to share my newly-acquired erudition on the law on expert testimony, with emphasis on the key aspects of...culo.

Lake Mishymash

It's not a place but an insult. A German insult. Or rather, a mondegreen of a German insult. 

My friend, Roger der Klavierspieler, once tried to share with me a German phrase he'd heard from a friend who, as it happens, spoke German with a mixture of American and (it seemed to me) Ostfraenkisch. 

His rendering of the phrase was: "lake mishymash."

I couldn't figure it out at first, but then I realized its root: leck mich im Arsch.  Probably no translation required, though just in case, the nearest (and marginaly more piquant) idiomatic American English equivalent is kiss my ass.

Anyway, the minute I decoded the syllables, I knew I had found my purpose in life - to become famous so that I could have a fan club called "Lake Mishymash."

Well... it's...it's not much of a philosophy, I know...(indignantly) but... well...Lake Mishymash!!

Census and Sensibility

Turns out I should have given it a lot more thought before I went and mailed in my census questionnaire yesterday. First, it was incredibly tedious to fill out. Second, they'll probably use it to steal my vote and send me to a concentration camp.

Get Real

Recently, I attended closing arguments before a notorious federal judge (whose name is subtly, imparsably encoded in the title and body of this post). I'd heard the legends, but this was my first time seeing the Real thing.

Early on, it became clear that the judge would more than live up to his billing. More than that, though, his performance confirmed my long-standing suspicion that court transcripts are ridiculously insufficient instruments for appellate courts to assess the fairness of trial court proceedings. Consider one exchange as it will have been recorded in the standard format; the scene begins as the prosecution has concluded opening argument, and defense attorney rises to address the court:

Defense Attorney: Your honor, may I have a moment to prepare my easel and chart?
Judge: You do not have authority through this court for that.
Defense Attorney: I'm sorry your honor, I received permission from Mr. Clerk.
Judge: You do not have authority through this court for that.

Alright, nothing to see here. But now consider the same events supplemented by pertinent detail:

Defense Attorney: Your honor, may I have a moment to prepare my easel and chart?

Judge looks at defense attorney, gives no verbal response, but momentarily flexes his Mentalis and shrugs his eyebrows, in an apparent expression of acquiescence. Defense attorney accordingly repairs to the side wall, against which his easel and chart rest.

And just as Defense attorney touches the easel, the Judge suddenly barks:

Judge: You do NOT have authority through this court for THAT!
Defense Attorney: [Pausing to turn back toward and address the court.] I'm sorry your honor, I received permission from Mr. Clerk, and thought...
Judge: [Barking more loudly] You DO NOT HAVE AUTHORITY through THIS COURT for that!!! [Looks away from Defense attorney and toward jury, with an expression of exasperation tempered with disgust.]

Let's just say it didn't go any smoother for Defense attorney once he started with his actual argument.