Last weekend I was at the Olive Garden. I noticed the listing of sauces for the Never Ending Pasta Bowl no longer included spinach alfredo. It wasn't crossed out. There was no sticker over it. Just a blank space where the words "spinach alfredo" used to be. Gotta credit the menu editors on working quickly during this E.coli mess. Hospitaliano takes a back seat to litigatiano.
Story 69 September orders farfalle for formal occasions.
He gazed downward as he spoke. “My first time
wasn’t all that typical. She also worked in the
factory. Few years older, had lips that went on for
days. After hours we’d wandered into the area
where they mixed the shoe polish and…”
He looked up and saw 99 other souls in the room,
transfixed. It was not how he’d imagined it, but the
freshman Senator had the floor.
Showing posts with label law. Show all posts
Showing posts with label law. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, August 07, 2006
August's fictional speaker
For the twelfth and possibly final installment of the Fictional Speaker Series, we here at Brevity noticed that our speaker list has never included a lawyer. This is unacceptable. The practice of law can be an important part of good business. How do you think law firms stay afloat? Enthusiastic billing, maybe, but also strong leadership. And for that, we turn to Richard Fish of Ally McBeal.
Richard Fish on priorities: Make enough money, and everything else will follow. Quote me. That's a Fishism.
On professional responsibility: Let me tell you something. I didn't become a lawyer because I like the law; the law sucks. It's boring, but it can also be used as a weapon. You want to bankrupt somebody? Cost him everything he's worked for? Make his wife leave him, even make his kids cry? Yeah, we can do that.
On adverse verdicts: Let the record show: dammit.
On lay opinions: Is that the two cents? I'd be looking for change.
On the bottom line: Piles and piles of money. If I help some along the way, great, but mainly I'm in this for the piles, heaps, the really big piles.
On inter-office romances: Everybody's alone. It's just easier to take in a relationship.
On pro bono cases: Helping others is never more rewarding than when it's in your own self-interest.
On administering justice: Objection! Your Honor, this is boring!
On self-evaluation: You're not who you are, you're only what other people think you are. Fishism.
On compassion: It's not my style to care about others, but what's going on?
On obstacles: "Problem" is just a bleak word for challenge.
On legal instincts: Never trust second thoughts. Next thing you know there'll be a third and a fourth... you'll be thinking forever!
On communication: I couldn't help but overhear, probably because I was eavesdropping.
On employee retention: New firm policy, listen up! Anybody who sues this firm or me personally, we all drop whatever cases we are working on. We devote all of our intellectual and creative efforts to ruining that person's life. Are we clear? I don't want to stop short with just getting even. Retribution is not strong enough. Ruin, that is the goal. Irreversible, irreparable, irrational ruin! New firm policy!
On staying on point: I'm nothing if not redundant! I also repeat myself.
On honest approaches: For whatever reason, people would never trust me, so I started being unscrupulous on purpose, and that way, I felt in control of people's reactions.
On dispute resolution: I can't do anything about it, but I'd be happy to sympathize.
On moral relativism: I plan to have character one day, great character, but if you want to be rich, you better get the money before the scruples set in.
On answering questions: Quiet! Let me ignore you one at a time.
On professional responsibility: Let me tell you something. I didn't become a lawyer because I like the law; the law sucks. It's boring, but it can also be used as a weapon. You want to bankrupt somebody? Cost him everything he's worked for? Make his wife leave him, even make his kids cry? Yeah, we can do that.
On adverse verdicts: Let the record show: dammit.
On lay opinions: Is that the two cents? I'd be looking for change.
On the bottom line: Piles and piles of money. If I help some along the way, great, but mainly I'm in this for the piles, heaps, the really big piles.
On inter-office romances: Everybody's alone. It's just easier to take in a relationship.
On pro bono cases: Helping others is never more rewarding than when it's in your own self-interest.
On administering justice: Objection! Your Honor, this is boring!
On self-evaluation: You're not who you are, you're only what other people think you are. Fishism.
On compassion: It's not my style to care about others, but what's going on?
On obstacles: "Problem" is just a bleak word for challenge.
On legal instincts: Never trust second thoughts. Next thing you know there'll be a third and a fourth... you'll be thinking forever!
On communication: I couldn't help but overhear, probably because I was eavesdropping.
On employee retention: New firm policy, listen up! Anybody who sues this firm or me personally, we all drop whatever cases we are working on. We devote all of our intellectual and creative efforts to ruining that person's life. Are we clear? I don't want to stop short with just getting even. Retribution is not strong enough. Ruin, that is the goal. Irreversible, irreparable, irrational ruin! New firm policy!
On staying on point: I'm nothing if not redundant! I also repeat myself.
On honest approaches: For whatever reason, people would never trust me, so I started being unscrupulous on purpose, and that way, I felt in control of people's reactions.
On dispute resolution: I can't do anything about it, but I'd be happy to sympathize.
On moral relativism: I plan to have character one day, great character, but if you want to be rich, you better get the money before the scruples set in.
On answering questions: Quiet! Let me ignore you one at a time.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
National man of mystery
My visit to the Bay Area was an education in the business of law practice, a comparison between city and country life, and a personal triumph over a bad case of bloggerphobia.
I braved public transportation Tuesday night to meet Maisnon. While I had faced my fear of meeting other bloggers earlier in the week, I was still nervous about meeting a fellow blogging attorney. How competitive would it be? Would we take turns shouting exceptions to the hearsay rule? Would we overhear conversations at neighboring tables and try to spot the most legal issues? Would we have to chug a glass of wine every time the server mentioned Justice Alito? All good concerns, I think.
We dined at Maverick at 17th and Mission. I was disappointed that I couldn't run with the Top Gun theme by ordering the goose, or the iceman. Maisnon used her adept wine wisdom, and I mean that earnestly. (I am much more of a wine slob than she is a wine snob. I usually pick the box with the fewest dents.) After dinner we joined her friends (some or all of whom also blog) for dessert. As the outsider, I listened intently and began to understand the pecking order of the mini-society. As a people watcher, I found it fun.
Wednesday night I decided to try my luck with Janelle once more. I clung for dear life as she raced across the Bay Bridge to meet up with fellow blogger Mike, a native of San Francisco. (He recounts the evening here, and Janelle offers her dreamy interpretation.)
We met at the Chenery Park restaurant, one of many business fronts where Mike is a well-regarded investor and semi-godfather. It was like out of some Coppola film circa 1972 or 1974. As we entered, our eyes naturally landed on a man sitting alone in the back table, decked in a white suit and hat, like some Caribbean villain. Several wine glasses lay in front of him, as he was sampling that week's shipments. He twirled his moustache and shouted at the sommelier in some unidentifiable accent. Like the weather outside, a fog of mystery surrounded the man. We treaded cautiously.
"Oh good. I thought you were with the Zamboni family," he said, motioning for us to join him. As I wondered what kind of business he had with the ice resurfacing company, he grinned wickedly and complimented us on our all-black attire. "I hate to be shown up at my own table." I think Janelle and I both breathed a sigh of relief.
Servers were always on hand, and we were treated like the kings of dinner. Never afraid to show his power, Mike suggested a comely young waitress sit on my lap, cut savory bites of my entree, and feed me. I wondered about the repercussions should anyone decline his requests, but was too afraid to find out. When he asked me to sit on Janelle's lap and feed her dessert, I did as I was told.
After a joyous if awkward meal, Mike wished us well and let us live. I suggested that we take a look around the hipster areas while in the City, but Janelle wanted to call it an evening. Window shopping wasn't her thing. She has a point: quirky neighborhoods are to people in the Aughts what restaurants were to people in the Eighties. I read that in a magazine.
I braved public transportation Tuesday night to meet Maisnon. While I had faced my fear of meeting other bloggers earlier in the week, I was still nervous about meeting a fellow blogging attorney. How competitive would it be? Would we take turns shouting exceptions to the hearsay rule? Would we overhear conversations at neighboring tables and try to spot the most legal issues? Would we have to chug a glass of wine every time the server mentioned Justice Alito? All good concerns, I think.
We dined at Maverick at 17th and Mission. I was disappointed that I couldn't run with the Top Gun theme by ordering the goose, or the iceman. Maisnon used her adept wine wisdom, and I mean that earnestly. (I am much more of a wine slob than she is a wine snob. I usually pick the box with the fewest dents.) After dinner we joined her friends (some or all of whom also blog) for dessert. As the outsider, I listened intently and began to understand the pecking order of the mini-society. As a people watcher, I found it fun.
Wednesday night I decided to try my luck with Janelle once more. I clung for dear life as she raced across the Bay Bridge to meet up with fellow blogger Mike, a native of San Francisco. (He recounts the evening here, and Janelle offers her dreamy interpretation.)
We met at the Chenery Park restaurant, one of many business fronts where Mike is a well-regarded investor and semi-godfather. It was like out of some Coppola film circa 1972 or 1974. As we entered, our eyes naturally landed on a man sitting alone in the back table, decked in a white suit and hat, like some Caribbean villain. Several wine glasses lay in front of him, as he was sampling that week's shipments. He twirled his moustache and shouted at the sommelier in some unidentifiable accent. Like the weather outside, a fog of mystery surrounded the man. We treaded cautiously.
"Oh good. I thought you were with the Zamboni family," he said, motioning for us to join him. As I wondered what kind of business he had with the ice resurfacing company, he grinned wickedly and complimented us on our all-black attire. "I hate to be shown up at my own table." I think Janelle and I both breathed a sigh of relief.
Servers were always on hand, and we were treated like the kings of dinner. Never afraid to show his power, Mike suggested a comely young waitress sit on my lap, cut savory bites of my entree, and feed me. I wondered about the repercussions should anyone decline his requests, but was too afraid to find out. When he asked me to sit on Janelle's lap and feed her dessert, I did as I was told.
After a joyous if awkward meal, Mike wished us well and let us live. I suggested that we take a look around the hipster areas while in the City, but Janelle wanted to call it an evening. Window shopping wasn't her thing. She has a point: quirky neighborhoods are to people in the Aughts what restaurants were to people in the Eighties. I read that in a magazine.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Vicious cycle
Looking back over the past few months, I've noticed that for a lawyer who blogs, I don't write about the law. (Well, I did mention a joint tenancy in my review of The Break-Up.)
That will have to change. I'll use baby steps to get there, just as the best physical therapist in Pittsburgh might suggest to the recently injured Ben Roethlisberger. That's not my best segue, but I did want to talk about motorcycles and professional athletes.
Do they mix? As a matter of attitude, oh yes. Motorcycles have thrived for decades as an expression of virility. As a matter of public relations, oh no. Pro franchises do not want to take the hit of losing one of their athletes to a motorcycle injury, and face the question of whether to cut their losses or voluntarily keep the player on the roster as he heals.
But as a matter of contract law? The answer is less clear. Specific agreements between teams and players may directly address motorcycles (Roethlisberger's contract apparently did not), but according to the Sports Law Blog, the standard NFL contract says:
3. OTHER ACTIVITIES. Without prior written consent of the Club, Player will not play football or engage in activities related to football otherwise than for Club or engage in any activity other than football which may involve a significant risk of personal injury. Player represents that he has special, exceptional and unique knowledge, skill, ability, and experience as a football player, the loss of which cannot be estimated with any certainty and cannot be fairly or adequately compensated by damages. Player therefore agrees that Club will have the right, in addition to any other right which Club may possess, to enjoin Player by appropriate proceedings from playing football or engaging in football-related activities other than for Club or from engaging in any activity other than football which may involve a significant risk of personal injury.
This clause, taken alone, seems to address activities during the season and offseason. Which makes sense: an NFL team doesn't want its player to moonlight by playing in some rival upstart summer league. Or participate in extreme weight-lifting competitions. Or wrestle alligators.
But would riding a motorcycle qualify as "any activity other than football which may involve a significant risk of personal injury"? Possibly. There are precedents where athletes on motorcycles hit a curb, pole, or wet spot and injured their arms or legs.
Ben Roethlisberger, the Steelers quarterback who won the Super Bowl last season, suffered injury not because his motorcycle took a spill, but because a woman in a Chrysler hit him. He was thrown off the motorcycle, and his head came into direct contact with the pavement because he wasn't wearing a helmet.
Ah, no helmet. Now the picture is clearer: riding a motorcycle without a helmet involves a significant risk of personal injury. The Steelers coach and organization warned him, but Roethlisberger assured them he'd be careful. But anyone who's taken a defensive driving class knows that one driver being completely careful is only a small part of the story. You still have to worry about every other idiot on the road.
Perhaps his Steelers teammate Joey Porter said it best:
"Some guys are real good on motorcycles and know what they're doing, but accidents happen," Porter said. "I can't knock the guy for doing it, but it's probably not the wisest thing to do. I don't own a bike because I don't trust them."
Porter occasionally gets on a Jet Ski, but he said that's different from steering a motorcycle through heavy traffic. Roethlisberger acknowledged many drivers become distracted when they see him riding, shouting or waving at him.
"If I fall off a Jet Ski, I hit the water, and I like my odds," Porter said. "I'm going to get wet. What I say about motorcycles is that concrete is undefeated."
That will have to change. I'll use baby steps to get there, just as the best physical therapist in Pittsburgh might suggest to the recently injured Ben Roethlisberger. That's not my best segue, but I did want to talk about motorcycles and professional athletes.
Do they mix? As a matter of attitude, oh yes. Motorcycles have thrived for decades as an expression of virility. As a matter of public relations, oh no. Pro franchises do not want to take the hit of losing one of their athletes to a motorcycle injury, and face the question of whether to cut their losses or voluntarily keep the player on the roster as he heals.
But as a matter of contract law? The answer is less clear. Specific agreements between teams and players may directly address motorcycles (Roethlisberger's contract apparently did not), but according to the Sports Law Blog, the standard NFL contract says:
3. OTHER ACTIVITIES. Without prior written consent of the Club, Player will not play football or engage in activities related to football otherwise than for Club or engage in any activity other than football which may involve a significant risk of personal injury. Player represents that he has special, exceptional and unique knowledge, skill, ability, and experience as a football player, the loss of which cannot be estimated with any certainty and cannot be fairly or adequately compensated by damages. Player therefore agrees that Club will have the right, in addition to any other right which Club may possess, to enjoin Player by appropriate proceedings from playing football or engaging in football-related activities other than for Club or from engaging in any activity other than football which may involve a significant risk of personal injury.
This clause, taken alone, seems to address activities during the season and offseason. Which makes sense: an NFL team doesn't want its player to moonlight by playing in some rival upstart summer league. Or participate in extreme weight-lifting competitions. Or wrestle alligators.
But would riding a motorcycle qualify as "any activity other than football which may involve a significant risk of personal injury"? Possibly. There are precedents where athletes on motorcycles hit a curb, pole, or wet spot and injured their arms or legs.
Ben Roethlisberger, the Steelers quarterback who won the Super Bowl last season, suffered injury not because his motorcycle took a spill, but because a woman in a Chrysler hit him. He was thrown off the motorcycle, and his head came into direct contact with the pavement because he wasn't wearing a helmet.
Ah, no helmet. Now the picture is clearer: riding a motorcycle without a helmet involves a significant risk of personal injury. The Steelers coach and organization warned him, but Roethlisberger assured them he'd be careful. But anyone who's taken a defensive driving class knows that one driver being completely careful is only a small part of the story. You still have to worry about every other idiot on the road.
Perhaps his Steelers teammate Joey Porter said it best:
"Some guys are real good on motorcycles and know what they're doing, but accidents happen," Porter said. "I can't knock the guy for doing it, but it's probably not the wisest thing to do. I don't own a bike because I don't trust them."
Porter occasionally gets on a Jet Ski, but he said that's different from steering a motorcycle through heavy traffic. Roethlisberger acknowledged many drivers become distracted when they see him riding, shouting or waving at him.
"If I fall off a Jet Ski, I hit the water, and I like my odds," Porter said. "I'm going to get wet. What I say about motorcycles is that concrete is undefeated."
Monday, September 19, 2005
Single page view
I was speaking with a friend and law colleague last week who'd taken a look at my resume and had some suggestions. She had many suggestions, actually.
One of her most striking comments was that I could be more detailed in explaining my skills, writings, and work experience by (dramatic pause) making my resume two pages. Two pages? While it makes some sense, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea. (Any lawyers out there make the jump to two pages? Write in and let me know what made you decide to brave the staple.)
Sometimes a multi-page resume is entirely appropriate. My experience in composing resumes started 14 years ago, when I helped design and edit what would become my father's final resume, before he started a business and later retired. That resume was two full pages describing his 30-plus years of engineering work. Using 11x17 parchment paper, we printed a title page on half of one side and the resume content on the other side, creating a professional-looking document when folded.
Doctors compose a curriculum vitae that would include lectures delivered, conferences attended, and research conducted. There's no stigma of length when it comes to a physician's CV, so someone my age might already have one around 5 pages.
But I'm a newly licensed lawyer, and one with limited experience. I'm 31, but you can subtract about 7 years of limbo from that number. I have one professional degree and speak only English well. I haven't been on the career fast track since 1997. It's hard to break the single page view when I feel like I haven't done enough.
But what the hell.
One of her most striking comments was that I could be more detailed in explaining my skills, writings, and work experience by (dramatic pause) making my resume two pages. Two pages? While it makes some sense, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea. (Any lawyers out there make the jump to two pages? Write in and let me know what made you decide to brave the staple.)
Sometimes a multi-page resume is entirely appropriate. My experience in composing resumes started 14 years ago, when I helped design and edit what would become my father's final resume, before he started a business and later retired. That resume was two full pages describing his 30-plus years of engineering work. Using 11x17 parchment paper, we printed a title page on half of one side and the resume content on the other side, creating a professional-looking document when folded.
Doctors compose a curriculum vitae that would include lectures delivered, conferences attended, and research conducted. There's no stigma of length when it comes to a physician's CV, so someone my age might already have one around 5 pages.
But I'm a newly licensed lawyer, and one with limited experience. I'm 31, but you can subtract about 7 years of limbo from that number. I have one professional degree and speak only English well. I haven't been on the career fast track since 1997. It's hard to break the single page view when I feel like I haven't done enough.
But what the hell.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Duty calls
An important note for my readers: my availability this weekend will be scattershot.
I'll be in Los Angeles through Sunday night, having been assigned the task of massaging Eva Longoria's head. (See that? I'm a lawyer who cares.)
I'll be in Los Angeles through Sunday night, having been assigned the task of massaging Eva Longoria's head. (See that? I'm a lawyer who cares.)
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Writing samples
For the law types who read this blog, I'd like your input on writing samples. I have a few that I've tried to re-purpose for use in job applications and interviews, of various lengths.
1. An appellate brief for an Environmental Moot Court competition in law school. Pros: it argues a particular position with footnotes and blue book style; it comes closest to the kind of writing sample an employer might expect. Cons: Like most moot court briefs, it was co-written, and to be fair I have to disclaim that. It's about 25 pages. Also, I wrote it 8 years ago.
2. Contractual documents supporting the sale of my parents' store. Pros: All documents were drafted this year. It's not hypothetical; it was used toward a real transaction. Cons: It's about 15 pages, and was not the final word. (The buyer's attorney eventually drafted that, and I had some say in its contents.) As a side note, it names the buyer and the terms of sale. I know my parents don't care, but is there an ethical problem disclosing information to potential employers that are not necessarily in any county records?
3. An advisory letter regarding a nurse's employment situation. Pros: It's not hypothetical. It's a very readable 4 pages. The names have been changed. Cons: It boils down to solicited legal advice in 2003, before I was licensed to practice law. The letter itself mentions this, and advises the nurse to seek a licensed opinion. Also, it makes repeated reference to a document by the nurse's employer that for confidentiality reasons cannot be attached.
4. An estate plan I drafted for a final exam in a law school class. Pros: I got a 95 in the class, so I did something right. There's an introductory letter which gives it context. It regards a fictional client, so there's no confidentiality problem. Estate planning is a professional interest of mine. And it's half as old as other law school writings, for reasons I won't get into. Cons: As Michael Vaughn would say, "It's long. Like, Tolstoy long."
5. A software license agreement I wrote for an Intellectual Property drafting class. Pros: IP law is a professional interest (though I'm not patent bar eligible). It's about 5 pages. It's refreshingly different in form and content from a traditional writing sample. Cons: "Refreshingly different" hasn't worked out so well for me in my career so far. It's 8 years old, practically an artifact in the software industry. Put it this way: it's got a section devoted to Y2K compliance.
1. An appellate brief for an Environmental Moot Court competition in law school. Pros: it argues a particular position with footnotes and blue book style; it comes closest to the kind of writing sample an employer might expect. Cons: Like most moot court briefs, it was co-written, and to be fair I have to disclaim that. It's about 25 pages. Also, I wrote it 8 years ago.
2. Contractual documents supporting the sale of my parents' store. Pros: All documents were drafted this year. It's not hypothetical; it was used toward a real transaction. Cons: It's about 15 pages, and was not the final word. (The buyer's attorney eventually drafted that, and I had some say in its contents.) As a side note, it names the buyer and the terms of sale. I know my parents don't care, but is there an ethical problem disclosing information to potential employers that are not necessarily in any county records?
3. An advisory letter regarding a nurse's employment situation. Pros: It's not hypothetical. It's a very readable 4 pages. The names have been changed. Cons: It boils down to solicited legal advice in 2003, before I was licensed to practice law. The letter itself mentions this, and advises the nurse to seek a licensed opinion. Also, it makes repeated reference to a document by the nurse's employer that for confidentiality reasons cannot be attached.
4. An estate plan I drafted for a final exam in a law school class. Pros: I got a 95 in the class, so I did something right. There's an introductory letter which gives it context. It regards a fictional client, so there's no confidentiality problem. Estate planning is a professional interest of mine. And it's half as old as other law school writings, for reasons I won't get into. Cons: As Michael Vaughn would say, "It's long. Like, Tolstoy long."
5. A software license agreement I wrote for an Intellectual Property drafting class. Pros: IP law is a professional interest (though I'm not patent bar eligible). It's about 5 pages. It's refreshingly different in form and content from a traditional writing sample. Cons: "Refreshingly different" hasn't worked out so well for me in my career so far. It's 8 years old, practically an artifact in the software industry. Put it this way: it's got a section devoted to Y2K compliance.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
A professional hit?
The rumors were out there a week ago, but the news was made official yesterday: the 2007 NBA All-Star Game will take place here in Las Vegas. This is no minor victory for this town. That the NBA decided to hold its midseason showcase in a non-franchise city speaks to the strong push by mayor Oscar Goodman, the Maloof brothers (who own the Palms casino and the Sacramento Kings), and other city promoters. More importantly, it's a significant step -- both in public relations and logistics -- toward bringing a major league team here, either by the expansion or relocation.
With a resident population of about 2 million, Las Vegas is on the small side of sports cities. But note that 30 to 35 million people visit here every year, and tickets to popular shows are always sold out. While an NFL or MLB team could theoretically work here, the advantage of bringing an NBA franchise boils down to two words: indoor play. A nice climate controlled arena would be steadily packed, and the built-in class structure of the seats (courtside, luxury boxes, general seating) lends itself nicely to corporations, casinos, high rollers, visitors, and locals. This is the city that mastered the status of the VIP.
I'm not sure what fact worked more in this city's favor: that there's a casino close to everywhere else, or that sports bookies are everywhere else. Either diminishes the stigma, and all of the local casinos have agreed to disallow betting on any home team.
Perhaps an unintended boon of a Las Vegas pro franchise will come to attorneys who practice family law. All those local ladies impregnated by the players of visiting teams. There'll be a lot of child support cases to be made.
With a resident population of about 2 million, Las Vegas is on the small side of sports cities. But note that 30 to 35 million people visit here every year, and tickets to popular shows are always sold out. While an NFL or MLB team could theoretically work here, the advantage of bringing an NBA franchise boils down to two words: indoor play. A nice climate controlled arena would be steadily packed, and the built-in class structure of the seats (courtside, luxury boxes, general seating) lends itself nicely to corporations, casinos, high rollers, visitors, and locals. This is the city that mastered the status of the VIP.
I'm not sure what fact worked more in this city's favor: that there's a casino close to everywhere else, or that sports bookies are everywhere else. Either diminishes the stigma, and all of the local casinos have agreed to disallow betting on any home team.
Perhaps an unintended boon of a Las Vegas pro franchise will come to attorneys who practice family law. All those local ladies impregnated by the players of visiting teams. There'll be a lot of child support cases to be made.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
A real legal wiz
Having read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I couldn't help but notice that J.K. Rowling's wizarding world could benefit from some legal assistance. While the creative use of a house elf cleared up a potential inheritance squabble, there are other unique problems that would require a lawyer. I believe I can help.
1. The screamer. To establish defamation, you must prove that a defamatory statement about you was published and injured your reputation. But what if you were Ron Weasley, and the statement was made in a screaming note from your mother that was delivered by owl? By definition, third parties will hear such libelous remarks. As a separate issue, we must determine whether or not the wizarding world keeps any immunities for intrafamily actions. (Given that Bellatrix Lestrange killed her cousin, probably not.)
2. Uneducated use of spells. The plaintiff in this tort action, Draco Malfoy, argues that the defendant's intent was established because he knew that shouting "Sectumsempra!" while brandishing a wand will likely result in something bad, even if the defendant does not know exactly what.
3. The Weasley family locator. Again with the Weasleys. Does this charmed household device, which monitors the whereabouts of all family members at all times, invade any right of privacy? My client Percy Weasley seems to think so. Now estranged from the family, he works diligently for the Ministry of Magic on several matters of national security, and yet any visitor to his previous residence will always know where he is. Please note that my client's claim can be distinguished from the Marauder's Map case, which we all know was dismissed for a lack of service of process.
4. Fangirl rights. At issue is whether teenage female readers of the series have any rights to control the future actions of any of the books' male characters. Specifically, can a girl get Harry Potter to marry her? This question was answered by case precedent; in Jones v. Estate of Austen, a London court ruled that fictional characters could only be given "love reassignments" in authorized, published works. So there. And no amount of begging will reinstate Oliver Wood to the Quidditch team, as he has already graduated.
5. The Unbreakable Vow. Yeah, right. Is it in writing?
1. The screamer. To establish defamation, you must prove that a defamatory statement about you was published and injured your reputation. But what if you were Ron Weasley, and the statement was made in a screaming note from your mother that was delivered by owl? By definition, third parties will hear such libelous remarks. As a separate issue, we must determine whether or not the wizarding world keeps any immunities for intrafamily actions. (Given that Bellatrix Lestrange killed her cousin, probably not.)
2. Uneducated use of spells. The plaintiff in this tort action, Draco Malfoy, argues that the defendant's intent was established because he knew that shouting "Sectumsempra!" while brandishing a wand will likely result in something bad, even if the defendant does not know exactly what.
3. The Weasley family locator. Again with the Weasleys. Does this charmed household device, which monitors the whereabouts of all family members at all times, invade any right of privacy? My client Percy Weasley seems to think so. Now estranged from the family, he works diligently for the Ministry of Magic on several matters of national security, and yet any visitor to his previous residence will always know where he is. Please note that my client's claim can be distinguished from the Marauder's Map case, which we all know was dismissed for a lack of service of process.
4. Fangirl rights. At issue is whether teenage female readers of the series have any rights to control the future actions of any of the books' male characters. Specifically, can a girl get Harry Potter to marry her? This question was answered by case precedent; in Jones v. Estate of Austen, a London court ruled that fictional characters could only be given "love reassignments" in authorized, published works. So there. And no amount of begging will reinstate Oliver Wood to the Quidditch team, as he has already graduated.
5. The Unbreakable Vow. Yeah, right. Is it in writing?
Monday, June 27, 2005
Jedi counsel
Non-legal career alternatives are so not me. It's time to inch closer to reality by examining some jobs in the legal field. The following are at the top of my wish list, but they're not as easy to find as they used to be.
1. Jedi counsel. Okay, the Sith would probably offer more, but then I'd be traveling all the time. So I could settle for less money and work as in-house counsel for the Jedi on Coruscant. The job mostly requires a read-through of apprenticeship contracts, and rearranging whatever it is Yoda is saying. Also, I would get to attend the meetings, but I'd have to hide behind this guy.
2. Patent attorney, torture device department. This is an uphill climb to begin with because I didn't major in a science during college. But if I worked my way through it, and this were the Middle Ages, there'd be a lot of devices deserving of a patent application. Like the thumbscrews, or the iron maiden. And of course, the patent application for this should sail through, because nobody withstands The Machine. (Could use a better name, but that's really a trademark problem.)
3. Defender of witches. Talk about guilt by association. An angry mob would kill me about 10 minutes after the first case I win.
4. Frontier justice. Step on a crack, shoot you in the back. Seems simple enough. And you never see a courtroom in a Western, so I could keep my own hours. I would imagine the robe getting dusty, and I'd keep having to explain to people that I'm not that kind of Injun. Worst of all, because jails weren't all that secure back then, I'm pretty sure a convict would seek revenge against me.
5. Consigliere. I would have been outstanding in this capacity about 20 or so years ago, when jobs like this were still around. I'm all about family honor and codes of silence. Unfortunately, as organized crime has died down, so have opportunities to advise its participants. And you know the few remaining jobs go to the real gunners in law school.
1. Jedi counsel. Okay, the Sith would probably offer more, but then I'd be traveling all the time. So I could settle for less money and work as in-house counsel for the Jedi on Coruscant. The job mostly requires a read-through of apprenticeship contracts, and rearranging whatever it is Yoda is saying. Also, I would get to attend the meetings, but I'd have to hide behind this guy.
2. Patent attorney, torture device department. This is an uphill climb to begin with because I didn't major in a science during college. But if I worked my way through it, and this were the Middle Ages, there'd be a lot of devices deserving of a patent application. Like the thumbscrews, or the iron maiden. And of course, the patent application for this should sail through, because nobody withstands The Machine. (Could use a better name, but that's really a trademark problem.)
3. Defender of witches. Talk about guilt by association. An angry mob would kill me about 10 minutes after the first case I win.
4. Frontier justice. Step on a crack, shoot you in the back. Seems simple enough. And you never see a courtroom in a Western, so I could keep my own hours. I would imagine the robe getting dusty, and I'd keep having to explain to people that I'm not that kind of Injun. Worst of all, because jails weren't all that secure back then, I'm pretty sure a convict would seek revenge against me.
5. Consigliere. I would have been outstanding in this capacity about 20 or so years ago, when jobs like this were still around. I'm all about family honor and codes of silence. Unfortunately, as organized crime has died down, so have opportunities to advise its participants. And you know the few remaining jobs go to the real gunners in law school.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
11th hour career alternatives
The more I meet with local attorneys to get a lay of the land, the more that I feel this urge to rebel and delay one last time before I start lawyering. I realize it's the 11th hour, but a man has to look at his options. Consider this a bachelor party way of thinking.
1. Local winemaker. California has Napa and Sonoma. Oregon has Willamette. Virginia has Shenandoah. So basically, you just need a valley, and Las Vegas happens to be in the middle of one. I admit I may have an ulterior motive: somehow, in some way, I want to be a part of this. On the flip side, there is both a drought and the distinct possibility that, come summertime, the vineyard could spontaneously combust. Plus, people might catch me reading this book.
2. Harajuku guy. I've always been about equal opportunity. So why should Gwen Stefani only have Asian girls backing her up? Sure, I'd have to get used to the weird tour schedule, develop a repertoire of poses for award shows, and maybe learn to dance. But it could be done. Then again, I'd have a hard time being in the public eye without being able to say anything, and I'm pretty sure that I don't like Ms. Stefani (not even when she wore the bindi).
3. Market analyst. The popular ones are just making stuff up anyway. And you know the ones who recommended Enron a few years ago are still gainfully employed somewhere. Still, I would have to follow the stock crawls on CNBC to a mind-numbing extent, and working in this field would require me to abandon my firm belief that the whole thing is entirely fictional.
4. Professional artist. I have no artistic skills, but that hasn't stopped some people. The paint fumes could inspire me, but could also just give me headaches. And the chances are high that I'd be financially successful only after I die, and I could accomplish the same thing without art by investing wisely. (Which would likely mean NOT investing in art.)
5. Mild-mannered reporter. Like Clark Kent, but without the Superman side. Wait a minute -- this basically makes me Jimmy Olsen. Never mind.
To hell with it. The Empire wins. I'm going to be a lawyer.
1. Local winemaker. California has Napa and Sonoma. Oregon has Willamette. Virginia has Shenandoah. So basically, you just need a valley, and Las Vegas happens to be in the middle of one. I admit I may have an ulterior motive: somehow, in some way, I want to be a part of this. On the flip side, there is both a drought and the distinct possibility that, come summertime, the vineyard could spontaneously combust. Plus, people might catch me reading this book.
2. Harajuku guy. I've always been about equal opportunity. So why should Gwen Stefani only have Asian girls backing her up? Sure, I'd have to get used to the weird tour schedule, develop a repertoire of poses for award shows, and maybe learn to dance. But it could be done. Then again, I'd have a hard time being in the public eye without being able to say anything, and I'm pretty sure that I don't like Ms. Stefani (not even when she wore the bindi).
3. Market analyst. The popular ones are just making stuff up anyway. And you know the ones who recommended Enron a few years ago are still gainfully employed somewhere. Still, I would have to follow the stock crawls on CNBC to a mind-numbing extent, and working in this field would require me to abandon my firm belief that the whole thing is entirely fictional.
4. Professional artist. I have no artistic skills, but that hasn't stopped some people. The paint fumes could inspire me, but could also just give me headaches. And the chances are high that I'd be financially successful only after I die, and I could accomplish the same thing without art by investing wisely. (Which would likely mean NOT investing in art.)
5. Mild-mannered reporter. Like Clark Kent, but without the Superman side. Wait a minute -- this basically makes me Jimmy Olsen. Never mind.
To hell with it. The Empire wins. I'm going to be a lawyer.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
No clear pattern
Last week I met with a city attorney who has been licensed in Nevada for a while. He helped give me an inkling as to what the legal community in Las Vegas is like. The guy was straightforward and casual, and probably very likable to those who know him, but mildly intimidating to a deferential nobody like me (who would like nothing more than to chat with him as a colleague might, but knows he hasn't earned that status).
I gave him a copy of my resume, in the event of future referral, and he looked over it. He mentioned that he'd read hundreds of resumes over the years, but that he'd never seen one like mine that conveyed no clear pattern. He found it perplexing, and I explained that I took the Whitman's Sampler approach to my past employment during my law school years. But I have to believe that I'm going to face a greater level of scrutiny in any interview, and should probably prepare a more serious answer.
On a related note, I would like to pose an open-ended resume question: where do you put the family-oriented job that is both chronologically first and last in your work timeline? A long time ago I decided to place it as the final entry, arguing that it is the least familiar to an employer, and therefore the least impressive. But now I'm thinking it should go first, seeing as how I've done the most recent legal work for the family business, and that the most recent paid non-family work I've done was in the last century. Any thoughts among my readers?
I gave him a copy of my resume, in the event of future referral, and he looked over it. He mentioned that he'd read hundreds of resumes over the years, but that he'd never seen one like mine that conveyed no clear pattern. He found it perplexing, and I explained that I took the Whitman's Sampler approach to my past employment during my law school years. But I have to believe that I'm going to face a greater level of scrutiny in any interview, and should probably prepare a more serious answer.
On a related note, I would like to pose an open-ended resume question: where do you put the family-oriented job that is both chronologically first and last in your work timeline? A long time ago I decided to place it as the final entry, arguing that it is the least familiar to an employer, and therefore the least impressive. But now I'm thinking it should go first, seeing as how I've done the most recent legal work for the family business, and that the most recent paid non-family work I've done was in the last century. Any thoughts among my readers?
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
The homestretch
Those who recall this entry way back in April know that I've been working on a deal to sell my father's convenience store and gas station for some time now. I spent all of last Saturday at the UNLV law library learning about North Carolina's laws on the title theory of mortgage as it applies to deeds of trust and seller financing. (Basically, the seller has to deed the property to the buyer, who in turn has to deed the property to a trustee, with the seller as beneficiary. Its satisfaction requires full payment of a separate promissory note.) Then I redrafted our deed, suggested other changes, and faxed everything to the buyer's lawyer.
He called me this morning. The buyer retracted whatever contingencies he was demanding, and it finally looks like the deal is reaching a close. The lawyer plans to send all documents overnight, which we have to sign, notarize, and return before my father gets checks for the final down payment and the first mortgage payment of (much) interest and (little) principal. Needless to say, this is a huge relief to the family, and a great step forward in my parents' retirement.
He called me this morning. The buyer retracted whatever contingencies he was demanding, and it finally looks like the deal is reaching a close. The lawyer plans to send all documents overnight, which we have to sign, notarize, and return before my father gets checks for the final down payment and the first mortgage payment of (much) interest and (little) principal. Needless to say, this is a huge relief to the family, and a great step forward in my parents' retirement.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Celebrity trial update!
While enduring the pain of watching the Fox News Channel and doing abdominal exercises last Saturday, I learned two things:
1. Neither Fox News nor my workout regimen seems fair and balanced.
2. Michael Jackson plans to call Chris Tucker (click it, it's a good mug shot) as a witness in his defense this week.
I started wondering what might happen when the prosecutor cross-examines the actor. It might be funny if he peppered his responses with some of his movie lines. (This is the kind of post you might expect over at this blog, and I considered giving its authors my idea, but then I decided that if I actually have content on a Monday, I should use it.)
PROSECUTION: State your name for the record, please.
CHRIS TUCKER: Christopher Tucker.
FEMALE JURORS: Ooooh...
CT: Quiver ladies, quiver.
P: Do you know the defendant, Michael Jackson?
CT: What's up Big Perm?... I mean, Big Worm.
P: Please answer the question.
CT: Yes.
P: Would you consider Mr. Jackson to be a family man?
CT: Of course.
P: Do you see his kids over there in the gallery?
CT: Why don't you tell your daddy to comb his damn hair, look like some spiders is having a meetin' on his head.
DEFENSE: Objection!
CT: I'm sorry.
P: Mr. Tucker, is your testimony today freely given?
CT: Excuse me?
P: Has anyone influenced or coached you as a witness?
CT: I've been smokin' ever since I was two.
P: Seriously?
CT: No, I'm just playin'.
P: Are you trying to confuse us, Mr. Tucker?
CT: I'm Michael Jackson, you Tito. Your ass belongs to me.
P: That was a joke, right? Let's get back on point.
CT: Okay.
P: Did you know the accuser and his family?
CT: Ouch!
P: What is it?
CT: Which one of y'all kicked me?
JUDGE: Oh, sorry.
CT: Daaamn! Yeah, I knew the accuser. His family tried to take advantage of me, but I wouldn't have it.
P: Do you have a position on fans who want money from you?
D: Objection!
CT: I don't want one position, I want all positions!
P: Excuse me?
CT: I'm willing to spend some time with my fans, but it doesn't go further. (coughs)
P: Would you like some water, Mr. Tucker?
CT: Yes, please. Got any sugar?
P: Sorry, no.
CT: No sugar? Damn. Y'all ain't never got two things that match. Either ya got Kool-aid, no sugar. Peanut butter, no jelly. Ham, no burger. Daaamn.
D: Objection!
P: Now, Mr. Tucker, did you ever see the accuser when you visited Neverland Ranch?
CT: Yes, I think I did. I've been there a few times, so I can't be sure.
P: But you saw the accuser there, is that correct?
CT: Yeah, I think so.
P: So you say that you and the accuser were both there.
CT: That's what I said.
P: Could you say it with absolute certainty?
CT: Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?
D: Your honor, objection!
CT: What's wrong with you? What you screamin' for? Every 5 minutes there's somethin', a bomb or somethin'. I'm leavin'. Bzzzz.
1. Neither Fox News nor my workout regimen seems fair and balanced.
2. Michael Jackson plans to call Chris Tucker (click it, it's a good mug shot) as a witness in his defense this week.
I started wondering what might happen when the prosecutor cross-examines the actor. It might be funny if he peppered his responses with some of his movie lines. (This is the kind of post you might expect over at this blog, and I considered giving its authors my idea, but then I decided that if I actually have content on a Monday, I should use it.)
PROSECUTION: State your name for the record, please.
CHRIS TUCKER: Christopher Tucker.
FEMALE JURORS: Ooooh...
CT: Quiver ladies, quiver.
P: Do you know the defendant, Michael Jackson?
CT: What's up Big Perm?... I mean, Big Worm.
P: Please answer the question.
CT: Yes.
P: Would you consider Mr. Jackson to be a family man?
CT: Of course.
P: Do you see his kids over there in the gallery?
CT: Why don't you tell your daddy to comb his damn hair, look like some spiders is having a meetin' on his head.
DEFENSE: Objection!
CT: I'm sorry.
P: Mr. Tucker, is your testimony today freely given?
CT: Excuse me?
P: Has anyone influenced or coached you as a witness?
CT: I've been smokin' ever since I was two.
P: Seriously?
CT: No, I'm just playin'.
P: Are you trying to confuse us, Mr. Tucker?
CT: I'm Michael Jackson, you Tito. Your ass belongs to me.
P: That was a joke, right? Let's get back on point.
CT: Okay.
P: Did you know the accuser and his family?
CT: Ouch!
P: What is it?
CT: Which one of y'all kicked me?
JUDGE: Oh, sorry.
CT: Daaamn! Yeah, I knew the accuser. His family tried to take advantage of me, but I wouldn't have it.
P: Do you have a position on fans who want money from you?
D: Objection!
CT: I don't want one position, I want all positions!
P: Excuse me?
CT: I'm willing to spend some time with my fans, but it doesn't go further. (coughs)
P: Would you like some water, Mr. Tucker?
CT: Yes, please. Got any sugar?
P: Sorry, no.
CT: No sugar? Damn. Y'all ain't never got two things that match. Either ya got Kool-aid, no sugar. Peanut butter, no jelly. Ham, no burger. Daaamn.
D: Objection!
P: Now, Mr. Tucker, did you ever see the accuser when you visited Neverland Ranch?
CT: Yes, I think I did. I've been there a few times, so I can't be sure.
P: But you saw the accuser there, is that correct?
CT: Yeah, I think so.
P: So you say that you and the accuser were both there.
CT: That's what I said.
P: Could you say it with absolute certainty?
CT: Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?
D: Your honor, objection!
CT: What's wrong with you? What you screamin' for? Every 5 minutes there's somethin', a bomb or somethin'. I'm leavin'. Bzzzz.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Rain delay
Note to self: keep musical entries down to a minimum. They can be quite draining.
It's a rare rainy day here. In other words, a great day to stay in and finish drafting letters to my parents' store buyer and the useless attorney he rode in on. (See Monday's entry.) It's difficult these days -- my Dad feels compelled to pour his consciousness and heart into a letter, and then I have to make it sound coherent and businesslike. He has to appear resolute, not betrayed.
Any lawyers out there? If so, does it feel different when you act on behalf of family?
It's a rare rainy day here. In other words, a great day to stay in and finish drafting letters to my parents' store buyer and the useless attorney he rode in on. (See Monday's entry.) It's difficult these days -- my Dad feels compelled to pour his consciousness and heart into a letter, and then I have to make it sound coherent and businesslike. He has to appear resolute, not betrayed.
Any lawyers out there? If so, does it feel different when you act on behalf of family?
Monday, April 25, 2005
Closing the deal
Over a month ago, on behalf of my parents, I drafted 5 documents supporting a contract to sell their convenience store to a willing buyer. (There was a Promissory Note, a Financing Agreement, a Statement of Assurances, an Inventory Sale, and something else, maybe an explanatory letter. It's been so long ago I don't remember.) Since then we'll periodically call the buyer, who's already started operating the store, and he tells us that his lawyer is still reviewing our materials. All they need to do is sign the documents and mail them back to us. I composed little notary blocks and everything. (Side note: we're willing to wait a little, as the unpaid balance will be repaid at an interest rate that will be fixed at closing. The interest rate is based on the prime lending rate, which continues to rise every 6 weeks.)
So imagine my surprise today when we received a UPS envelope full of documents that are completely unrelated to what I drafted, topped by an illegible handwritten note on law firm stationery. Oh, it describes the same deal, I think, but it's like this idiot lawyer is trying to earn his keep. There's some Internet printout of the amortized payments over the next 15 years that seems hastily put together and unnecessary. Plus, he's not a title company -- did he really need to draft a settlement statement? Maybe he needs to justify his service fees so he's able to afford those yellow "Sign here" stickers. (But no notary blocks! Damn him!) It's going to take us quite a while just to figure out what the hell he did and why it took him over a month to do it. I mean, I did his work for him back in early March, and I did it for free.
I hate lawyers.
So imagine my surprise today when we received a UPS envelope full of documents that are completely unrelated to what I drafted, topped by an illegible handwritten note on law firm stationery. Oh, it describes the same deal, I think, but it's like this idiot lawyer is trying to earn his keep. There's some Internet printout of the amortized payments over the next 15 years that seems hastily put together and unnecessary. Plus, he's not a title company -- did he really need to draft a settlement statement? Maybe he needs to justify his service fees so he's able to afford those yellow "Sign here" stickers. (But no notary blocks! Damn him!) It's going to take us quite a while just to figure out what the hell he did and why it took him over a month to do it. I mean, I did his work for him back in early March, and I did it for free.
I hate lawyers.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Things to do
As always, this is not a comprehensive list. (To do that I'd have to include things like "tell Nicky Hilton her petticoat is showing whenever we dance at Ra.")
1. Update the resume. It feels good to have a licensure section. Feels really good to take out "Nevada Bar candidate" or whatever I wrote a couple of years back.
2. Re-befriend all those people who passed the bar exam before me. They tend to have, you know, jobs and stuff. And here I am, for nearly two years, with no concept of the city's legal landscape. Names of firms are like a different language.
3. Look into volunteering. Outside of the family, for whom I've worked pro bono for years too numerous to count, I'm not much for sharing my knowledge and services. Find a cause, or at least something that I can pretend matters to me. Educating our children? No.
4. Embrace the unfamiliar. Actually, I've been doing some of this. I'm getting over my fear of real-life economic issues -- I took classes at H&R Block and Century 21 -- and am slowly becoming knowledgeable about those things that only old people usually know about. Still a little sketchy on the concept of equity, though.
5. Use this blog as a vehicle for good, not evil. I considered steering its purpose into the realm of solicited advice, but then I realized I don't care about the general public enough to help them out. So, for starters, I'll introduce 55 Fiction Friday, which for me will be a shameless opportunity to rehash old content in a new venue, but to you will seem as creative as it is alliterative. Here goes:
We decided to adopt.
Paperwork, interviews, more paperwork, background checks, Romania trip, more paperwork. It was all worth it when Frederica came into our lives. Our first family photo centered around her beaming face, surrounded by two new parents and their inexperience, their workaholic lives, their cramped apartment, their convertible coupe…
We decided to adapt.
1. Update the resume. It feels good to have a licensure section. Feels really good to take out "Nevada Bar candidate" or whatever I wrote a couple of years back.
2. Re-befriend all those people who passed the bar exam before me. They tend to have, you know, jobs and stuff. And here I am, for nearly two years, with no concept of the city's legal landscape. Names of firms are like a different language.
3. Look into volunteering. Outside of the family, for whom I've worked pro bono for years too numerous to count, I'm not much for sharing my knowledge and services. Find a cause, or at least something that I can pretend matters to me. Educating our children? No.
4. Embrace the unfamiliar. Actually, I've been doing some of this. I'm getting over my fear of real-life economic issues -- I took classes at H&R Block and Century 21 -- and am slowly becoming knowledgeable about those things that only old people usually know about. Still a little sketchy on the concept of equity, though.
5. Use this blog as a vehicle for good, not evil. I considered steering its purpose into the realm of solicited advice, but then I realized I don't care about the general public enough to help them out. So, for starters, I'll introduce 55 Fiction Friday, which for me will be a shameless opportunity to rehash old content in a new venue, but to you will seem as creative as it is alliterative. Here goes:
We decided to adopt.
Paperwork, interviews, more paperwork, background checks, Romania trip, more paperwork. It was all worth it when Frederica came into our lives. Our first family photo centered around her beaming face, surrounded by two new parents and their inexperience, their workaholic lives, their cramped apartment, their convertible coupe…
We decided to adapt.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Miracle on sand
On merely my 4th try, I finally managed to pass the Nevada bar exam. I've only been studying for this, on and off, since January 2003.
I'm sure it helped that local pressures (UNLV Law School has some friction with the State Bar office) made the pass rate 67% this time, rather than the 61% in July 2003 and July 2004, and the downright scary 50% pass rate in February 2004. Messy politics? I love you.
Now what?
I'm sure it helped that local pressures (UNLV Law School has some friction with the State Bar office) made the pass rate 67% this time, rather than the 61% in July 2003 and July 2004, and the downright scary 50% pass rate in February 2004. Messy politics? I love you.
Now what?
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
I'm declaring!
Why should those Carolina basketball guys get all the press?
I'm taking this opportunity to officially end my anonymity (where I still enjoyed several years of eligibility) and declaring myself ready to take my commentary to the next level. While I'd like to thank the people who have gotten me this far, I'd rather not.
Expect a sharp focus on the issues that matter, like college basketball, law, and college basketball law.
I'm already cold. Is there a draft in here?
I'm taking this opportunity to officially end my anonymity (where I still enjoyed several years of eligibility) and declaring myself ready to take my commentary to the next level. While I'd like to thank the people who have gotten me this far, I'd rather not.
Expect a sharp focus on the issues that matter, like college basketball, law, and college basketball law.
I'm already cold. Is there a draft in here?
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