Question

So what do you do when you know your client is the victim, but everyone involved in the incident, including the five people that jumped her, the "friend" that set up the encounter, the neighbors who saw it happening and opted to steal from her purse rather than stop the fight, and the cops who came in at the last second and only saw her fighting back, will say that she was the one who committed a crime?

High Tech

Apparently my RAZR's got powers beyond anything mentioned in the sales pitch, specifically the ability to call people of its own accord. Yesterday I went to pick up my girl after she was done with work, and I left my phone at home. As I was pulling in, she was on the phone checking a missed call. The missed call had come from me, only moments before. When I got home, I checked my phone -- true indeed, my phone placed a call to hers that lasted 1:41 long. It usually takes about 3-5 minutes to get from my apartment to her work, depending on traffic, and last night was no different. Therefore, it appears that, after I left the apartment, my phone decided to call hers. My only conclusion can be that my phone is trying to hit on my girl behind my back.

The other thing is, now every time I set my phone down for a bit, I have to check it again to make sure it's not making calls in my absence. So if anyone tries calling me in the near future and my phone seems to be turned off at an unusually early hour, assume its because I don't want my phone to stay up making calls all night.

An American Hero

CNN talk show host Glenn Beck ought to get an award for his show last night. Commenting on the steam pipe explosion that occurred this week in New York City, Beck first chided the witnesses, most of whom panicked when it happened. Then he suggested this shows a greater problem, that we are all completely unprepared for the next terrorist attack. Then he and a couple of guys discussed how to be prepared for such an attack.

If I may be so bold, on behalf of the citizens of New York, I say thank you, Glenn Beck. Where would we be without people like you? By "people like you," I of course mean "fat, rich television pundits who sit behind their cushy news desks hurling criticism down the mountain at people who actually experience these events first hand." Thank you, Mr. Beck, for pointing out exactly who among us is letting the terrorists win.

First of all, some massive explosion occurs in the middle of Lexington Avenue in downtown Manhattan, and the first thing people do is panic? What the hell is the matter with them? Are these people so easily frightened that all it takes to upset them is a massive explosion? Do they think they're doing a service to anyone by running for their lives and ensuring their own safety? What cowards. If Glenn Beck had been standing there that day and a steam geyser shot up higher than the 77 story Chrysler Building, creating a deafening roar as it rained soot and chunks of concrete down on bystanders, and putting a giant crater in the middle of the street, you know he would have stood firm and looked to rescue other people.

Second, this just goes to show that when you don't spend every minute of every day waiting for a terrorist attack to occur, the minute one actually does, you're probably screwed. The next big attack could come at any moment; it could kill hundreds, thousands even. It could happen anywhere, by any means, from anyone. And if that isn't enough to make you afraid, and if you don't spend every day living in fear, then clearly, you may as well be a terrorist yourself. For shame, America. For shame.

Finally, everyone should go out an get themselves a "Go Pack" for when the next strike happens. Sure, go out and get a backpack, and fill it with a flashlight, a first-aid kit, some rope, some basic food supplies, a blanket, and you'll be the most prepared citizen in case of an attack. That way, if you're standing on the street and a building next to you explodes, surrounding you in a firestorm complete with shattered glass, ruptured concrete, and twisted steel, you'll be able to...um...eat an energy bar, and clean up some minor cuts and bruises. Just hope you don't have a massive slab of concrete smash down on your skull, because then you'll be just as unprepared as anyone else.

So here's to Glenn Beck, a real American hero, for pointing out the faults and inadequacies of others in a crisis, while not ever having to face a real crisis himself.

Score!

So while the State is working on its appeal of the dismissal in that big case I've mentioned, I took a moment to look at some of the other charges, which seemed pretty much indefensible. Lo and behold, I found a little problem with one -- a fairly subtle twist on one of the elements, because the case law actually narrowed the statutory language quite a bit. To the point where our client didn't actually do what the statute was designed to prohibit.

Last week I knocked out a motion to dismiss, and this week we found out the State moved to dismiss the charge without a fight.

Boo-yah, bitches! (Oh yes, I'm taking boo-yah back.)

For those of you keeping score at home, that's 3 out of 6 charges dismissed.

Yes, Mom. Yes They Do.

I was having lunch with my parents the other day, trying yet again to explain the difference between my taking appointments for the SPD and trying to get an actual SPD job, as well as what other opportunities are out there for me. The conversation moved in the direction of personal injury law, because I had said that there aren't really any big criminal law firms to my knowledge, mostly smaller firms, and I was asked about Habush Habush and Rottier, which I said dealt more with PI cases. My mom said that she read in a John Grisham novel that you don't want to be a tort lawyer, and I replied that is pretty much what personal injury lawyers work on - tort cases. Mom asked if that was like the term "ambulance chasers," and I said yeah, they would be personal injury lawyers.

Then, God's honest truth, my mom asked me, "So how the firms get those cases? Do they just send someone down to the hospital to look around?"

How Do I Get That Job?

Next to being His L-Ness, playing World of Warcraft, Online poker, and doing just about whatever he feels like at any given time, I'd have to say the second best job might have to be working at the Division of Juvenile Corrections. Their office is only staffed weekdays from 8:30-11:30 am (15 hours a week). I've called there before around 11:15 am and got no answer. Today I called at 10:20 am, and also got no answer. So, when your office is open only 15 hours a week and no one's there to answer the phones, what the hell are they actually doing? And how can I get in on that racket?

Damn It Feels Good To Be A Lawyer

This is a time of transition, of graduation, of moving on to bigger and better things. All my law friends are somewhere on this spectrum -- all have graduated, some have jobs, some do not, some are studying for the bar, some are not, some are practicing, and some are not yet. But we've all accomplished a great deal, and I think it's worth taking a moment to celebrate that achievement. We're lawyers now, or close enough. And having experienced a taste of what it's really like, I'd say it has been worth the effort.

So, to celebrate what comes next, I thought I would share a ceremonial song, a rite-of-passage, if you will. To the tune of "Damn it feels good to be a gangsta" by the Geto Boys - you all know how it goes:

Verse 1

Damn it feels good to be a lawyer
Cuz real lawyer-ass niggas never lose
A real lawyer-ass nigga always runs his fuckin mouth
Cuz real lawyer-ass niggas talk smooth
And real lawyers always rock the fly suits
Pimped out like a straight-up gangsta mack
Like a real lawyer I don’t gotta brag much
Though I’ve got a chair made out of money stacks
And everythings cool in the mind of a lawyer
Cuz lawyer-ass niggas think deep
Working 24/7 ‘til our loans paid
Then we’ll only work three days a week

And all I gotta say to you
Wannabe, gonnabe, law students livin’ that torture
When you finally get admitted it be worth the fuckin’ wait
Damn it feels good to be a lawyer

Verse 2

Damn it feels good to be a lawyer
Getting clients, charging up the massive bills
I used to spend my days in a classroom
But now I’m in the courtroom makin deals
Damn it feels good to be a lawyer
I mean one that everybody know
Ridin around town with my rimz not spinnin
Hittin corners in my Ford Escort
Now real-ass lawyers come in all shapes and colors
Workin’ business law, real estate, and crim
Litigators, public interest, I-to-tha-P
Livin’ lavish ‘cause our pockets never slim

Now all I gotta say to you
Wannabe, gonnabe, 1Ls who wish you’d never entered
Those three years of bullshit will pass by quick
And then damn it feels good to be a lawyer

Verse 3

Damn it feels good to be a lawyer
A real lawyer-ass nigga gets respect
You can call my secretary, set up an appointment
Cuz ain’t nobody that speaks to me direct
And we never have to worry bout the little things
Cuz a real lawyer makes his own rules
We just hire peeps to do our shit for us
And then we never have to tie our own shoes
And the laws of the world don’t apply to us
Because a real-ass lawyer’s above the law
Drive a hundred miles an hour, dead hookers on the roof
Then chase a cop away with a chain saw
And that’s just another day in the life of a lawyer
Cuz real lawyer-ass niggas got it made
And real lawyers never got to worry bout cash
Cuz real lawyer niggas always get paid

Now when you see me you had better get the name right
I’m the motherfuckin court room destroyer
And now I got the world swingin from my nuts
Damn it feels good to be a lawyer.

Date with Destiny

Upon venturing forth to Wendys yesterday, I encountered a sign bearing a portrait of the next great Sandwhich I must acquaint myself with 'ere too long: The Baconator. Now, this Baconator (or "Nator," as its oft referred) contains two beef patties, two slices of cheese, SIX slices of bacon, what appears to be mayonnaise, and a sesame seed bun.

But ho - you may say Vice, ye of the puny stomach and terrible chest pains, how can you expect to tame such a behemoth? 'Tis true, my powers of burger rangling have diminished greatly from my youth, when I regularly conquered Monster Burgers and Ultimate Bacon Double Cheeseburgers with ease. Now I oft recoil from such a feat, as even ruminating upon a burger of this stature can render my pitiful stomach into a quivering, useless wretch.

But to this I say "No more." I shan't cower from the Baconator; this is my solemn vow. And, when the day is passed, and the Baconator is no more, all who witnessed this feat shall say, "Behold, there goes a man in severe chest pain. Alas, he should have listened to reason, and gotten the 5 piece chicken nuggets and small fries."

By the Seat of My Ass

Here you go - Vice's tips to prepare for a successful court hearing:

1. Incorrectly assume that the date of the hearing is two days from now, rather than today

2. Put on some shorts and a t-shirt, wander up to the school to do a little preparation

3. Before you can start preparing, get a phone call from your supervising attorney asking if you're going to show up for the hearing, which starts pretty much right now

4. Grab the case files, sprint from the school to your car

5. Speed over to your apartment, and haphazardly throw on a suit and tie

6. Run over to the courthouse and head up to the floor, now dripping with sweat

7. WIN THE HEARING, in total badass fashion.

Newswhore

I could never lower myself to work in broadcast journalism. Know why? I couldn't ever be successful at it. People would come at me with stories, and I'd say no -- we're not covering that. That's not news. Of course, no one would watch my show, because I wouldn't cover the things that most people want to read.

Case in point - Paris Hilton gets out of jail today. I know this because CNN was on at the SERF while I was running yesterday. They advertised today as "Paris's Day of Freedom!!!" I'm not kidding - I saw the headline and thought there would be two exclamation points to convey just how exciting it was -- turns out I underestimated CNN. So Paris gets out of jail after serving her relatively innocuous sentence. Now she's free, and every single news source in the US will be clamouring outside of the jailhouse doors to cover this. They've already fought over who will have her first exclusive interview upon release, and that (dubious) honor goes to Larry King.

Judging by the news coverage, you'd think she was fuckin' Nelson Mandela, finally getting out of prison after the end of apartheid. But no -- she's just a dilitante of reality TV and amateur porn fame. (And, of course, Smashing Pumpkins single cover fame.)

I don't get it. I just don't get it. How is this news? How is this newsworthy? Say what you will about bad things happening to bad people, but I can't see why on earth I (or anyone else) should possibly care about this.

But we do. Clearly we do, otherwise the news wouldn't cover it, because it wouldn't be profitable. So the question is, whose fault is that?

Pop Quiz, Hotshot

What was the weirdest thing I saw yesterday?

(a) Old man doing what looked like jumping jacks on Regent St. yesterday, although he was barely moving his legs, and appeared to be doing them less for exercise purposes and more for "I don't remember my own name or where I am, dear God somebody help me" purposes

(b) The ambiguously gendered figure walking down the Square wearing purple pants, neon green socks, and a blue and white polka dot shirt

(c) The drunken girl that nearly stumbled to the floor on her way to the elevator of the courthouse, then incoherently slurred which floor she wanted to get off at and laughed like it was the funniest thing ever

Answer: Probably (a), although (c) was probably the stupidest. Seriously people, going drunk to court never ends well.

Look Out Below...

Your old pal Vice has a State Bar number, bitches!

I shall not reveal it here, for the dark power contained within those seven digits would blind even the most malevolent eyes. Soon will be the day the minstrels sing of this number, which will go down in infamy as "The number that would be Mr. Vice's State Bar number, bitches!"

Milestones

Tomorrow I get sworn in. Know what that means? It means that when people ask what I do, I can say "I'm an attorney" as opposed to "I'm a law student." That's pretty badass.

Although, the next question, "Where do you work?" is still giving me some problems.

The Glory of Stupidity

As far as satisfying moments go, there just isn't one quite like when you do something you know is stupid and it turns out beautifully. I'm talking about when you make a plan, realize that its a really terrible idea that could go wrong in hundreds of ways, then implement it nonetheless. It's kind of a "Wow...for some reason, this isn't going nearly as bad as I expected it to. I am awesome!" type of feeling.

Today I had one of those moments. I was cleaning out my old apartment, transporting the few things I have worth saving to a storage shed, when I came up against the futon. The decision had been made to keep the futon and put it in the office/guest bedroom of our new apartment. The problem for me was a) taking the frame apart, as I'm not exactly a handy man, or particulary handy, and b) transporting it to the storage shed with my 2001 Ford Escort. At my apartment I have one (1) screwdriver with several different attachments. I have zero (0) wrenches. Beyond that, I have a futon machete, if worse comes to worse. There are other tools at my disposal as well, as (oddly enough) my girl owns a pretty tricked out tool set. She's even got saws and shit. She doesn't really use them much, but still, it's kinda hot.

Anyway, I initially planned to take the futon apart, and hope the pieces (some approximately 6 feet long) would fit inside my little car. I don't know anyone within 90 miles of here who owns a pickup truck or van that could lend assistance, so that's out. So I look at the futon's frame, think about how I put it together in the first place, get frustrated and impatient because it didn't disassemble itself under the heat of my angry glare.

Then a thought occurred to me - maybe I could just drag the whole frame down, still assembled, and stick it to the roof of my car. Monumentally stupid idea. What happens when it slips out of my makeshift ropes and falls off mid-transport, then either a) gets run over by another car and smashed up, or b) gets run over by another car, gets smashed up, and causes an accident that is entirely my fault. Sounds like a winner to me. I found a few pieces of rope and extension cords, and hauled the bitch downstairs. I was able to lift it up and set it on the roof without a problem. I tied it down through the windows, then rolled up the windows to make sure the ropes and cords held tight.

And with that, I set out to the storage shed. Mid way through, it hadn't fallen off yet, and I started to get the feeling that maybe it would actually work. I ultimately arrived at the storage shed without incident and plopped the sucker in the shed, still assembled. Now, maybe I'll still have to disassemble it when we move, but maybe not. Maybe I saved myself a bunch of work through a pretty dumb idea.

I feel pretty good about that.

Assholes Don't Die, They Just Become Old Assholes

For those of you currently entertaining thoughts of "Now that law school is over, I won't ever have to see (insert random douchebag here) again for the rest of my life," here is a sad wakeup call. You may not have to see that particular douchebag, but rest assured, you will have to see plenty of others. Law school may have been the sun of our d-bag solar system, but venture out into space a bit, I guarantee you run up against, at the very least, satellite douchebags, and at worst, a whole douchebag meteor shower.

Take today for instance. Public Defender's Office has a training seminar. Our speaker has gone on five minutes past her allotted time, and the next period was supposed to be our break, which was supposed to give us fifteen minutes respite from all the mind-numbing "learning." When she stops, and most of us are just about to bolt for the door, Old Asshole raises his hand to ask a question. Speaker lady provides a thorough, 5 minute time suck of an answer. Anyone else? Old Asshole raises his hand, asking another pointless question. And these questions weren't even directed toward anything she had said - just anecdotes about the different failures in his career, and how one might go about avoiding those problems. I don't know what kind of answer that one got, because I stood up and left the room.

Just goes to show you, assholes never really leave for good, they just linger and became crotchety old assholes. Until you escape this profession, you will never escape the d-bag solar system.


*And for those of you who inserted your old pal Vice into the "random douchebag here" blank, you're right -- you won't see me. Not even when I creep out of the shadows, sneak up behind you, and decapitate you with a whale machete. Take comfort in that.

Forfeit

If a criminal defendant fails to appear at court, the judge issues a warrant for his or her arrest.

On the other hand, if the district attorney fails to appear at court, we fucking sit there and wait, and wait, and wait, and wait, until some other DA who just got handed the file strolls in (45 min late) and says she won't concede the motion, even though the expungement statute is supposed to be self-executing, because blah blah frickety blah blah. So then we have to talk to the judge, who says we need to order a transcript, and now we're setting the stupid motion off another month or so.....

I say fuck that in its lopsided ass. This is street ball rules. You don't show up, you forfeit.

One Down, Infinity To Go

KH and I celebrated one year together this week - the actual date was Thursday, May 31, but due to a bit of memory lapse on my part, we did the celebrating Friday night. I more than made up for it though, I'd say. I got my princess all princessed up, and we went out on the town.

Note the tiara, the pretty pink dress, and the necklace.

I also rented a white tux, and we had an amazing dinner at L'Etoile. The only disappointing thing about the whole evening was the lack of ludicrous french accents by our servers.

And for my present, KH commemorated the past year by giving me a scrapbook with every picture of us ever taken, and little messages that recapped all of our favorite moments. By far the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me.

So here's to one incredible year with my princess, and many, many more.

I Want To Go Camping, God Damn It

I've been wanting to go camping again at Devil's Lake for awhile now. Hiking those hella steep trails is one of my favorite things to do. The last time KH and I went camping, we had an awesome time on Saturday, swimming, hiking, and cake eating. However, that night we got rained out, and it continued raining all night and the next morning, forcing us to pack the tent up in the pouring rain and come home way too early on Sunday.

This time we wanted the full camping experience. We planned on going Wednesday and Thursday, as she is starting work full time on Monday. But the weather looked like ass - scattered thunderstorms all day Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Fearing another wash out like last time, we pushed camping off until the weekend, hoping at least that Saturday would be decent, and Sunday would be nice. Naturally, Wednesday and Thursday were pretty much fine. There was some rain, and plenty of cloud cover, but mostly it was nice out.

Fine - screw you, Mother Nature. Let's see what the weekend brings. So we got up yesterday morning, checked the radar, and found a massive stormfront covering pretty much all of everywhere, and the forecast now put thunderstorms on Sunday too. Not wanting to hike the treacherous bluffs in the rain, we said fuck it, and decided to try next weekend instead. It rained briefly yesterday, and then it was perfectly fine out. And today seems absolutely beautiful.

At this point, I assume the forecast will put next weekend at sunny and mild, until it gets here, and we drive to Devil's Lake, only to get hit by an effin' typhoon.

Hunting

Apparently Vice isn't the only one who's been apartment hunting lately. Last week Thursday KH and I purused another pretty nice place, and checked out the various layouts of their rooms. After looking at one particularly nice apartment, she noticed someone else scoping out the same apartment from the balcony - a giant falcon.

That's right - among the many amenities of this place, giant falcons come standard. He was just sitting on the railing, staring in at us like "I dare you to come out here, motherfucker. I double-dare you." Don't get me wrong, normally I wouldn't hesitate to roundhouse some greedy-ass animal standing on my potential balcony looking at my potential apartment, especially since normally that animal would be a racoon.

But this was no coon. This was probably two feet tall, with talons longer than my fingers. It sat there with no fear whatsoever and stared us down. It may as well have had a sign hung around its neck advising "Not to be fucked with."

So, by the looks of it, I'm gonna have to take up falconry if I want to live there. That, or get my eyes pecked out.

Test of Time

This week I rewatched the movie that really spurred my interest in law - A Few Good Men. It came out in 1992, when I was ten years old, and at the time I thought it was the coolest thing ever. So many big stars, so much awesomeness. But I wondered, after fifteen years have passed, including three years of studying political science and another three years of learning and practicing the actual law, would this movie hold up? Or would it be exposed as just another naive, contrived attempt at legal and political drama?

After rewatching it, I'm glad to say this movie still kicks ass. For someone who loves political theory and the ethical considerations that go into public service and the use of power, this movie has it all. It made me want to do criminal defense, because everyone deserves the protections and procedural safeguards of the law, even the guilty. It made me want to expose corruption, to give those who believe themselves above the law their comeuppance, and to serve my country and protect its ideals. The same values I saw back in the day were present now, and even moreso because I understood it more. This movie teaches that everyone's rights must be observed, even the weak among us. No, scratch that, especially the weak. It states that protecting democracy means protecting everyone in the democracy. Most importantly, it states that when the leaders of this country start making decisions that trample on the rights of the few under color of protecting the many, those decisions ought to be subject to review, and those leaders subject to removal where appropriate. No one is above the law, neither those that enforce it nor those that write it.

If I had read the credits closely beforehand, I should have known that this movie would stand the test of time, without even needing to see it again. Why? It was originally written as a play by Aaron Sorkin, and he wrote the screenplay based on his play. Sorkin, of course, brought us the brilliant political drama The West Wing, one of my personal favorites. To me, that show defined what public service was all about. No wonder, then, that A Few Good Men provides a similarly shining example, even fifteen years after its creation.