State of the Onion
"What are you blogging about?" asks Mo.
"I am venting," says I.
"Is it about work?" she asks, to which I reply "Yep."
Granted, the business of lawyering is not very interesting at times. These times are legion. For civilians I imagine the tribulations of lawyers are as compelling a subject as Himmler's blackheads problem in high school. My tribulation is a trial.
This correspondent is now, after a dog's age at the bar, finally running a mid length trial at the supreme court level. Am I old enough, chronologically, and professionally, to have done this many times before? Yes! Am I excited? Yes! Am I concerned I will be found wanting in experience and knowledge? Yes! Am I leaving small puddles of urine behind the lectern after standing there in objectionville, trying to take the judge through the layers of the evidence as I see them? No! Thank you, adult undergarment manufacturers!
Keep on peeling, I think, as I stand up to make another futile objection. The trier of fact, the renderer of justice, dispassionate and (much to my disadvantage) knowledgeable, doesn't care. None of it registers. "That position is not founded in law and accordingly..." Still I continue to peel the onion, peelpeelpeel, in an obscure court, on an obscure matter, in a small but liveable city, and I am happy. This is the life. What is lost amidst the constant whinging about the purported failures of the judicial system is the fact that we have a system. The point of the exercise is not the result but the process. (This is not to say I am serene regarding the outcome of this trial. I seek a rough and brutal victory, the head of my opponent raised on a ballpoint pen, and so on.)
As an aside I will now tout Wilco's latest release to those of you who have yet to spend your hard-earned disposable income on this product. You may have noticed, if you've been here before, I dislike shills. Bloggers who shill leave me cold. I don't want to ask you for anything (except creepy unconditional love and pictures of your underpants, ladies. Hooray!), or suggest I have a higher degree of insight to matters commercial, spiritual, or parental, as I do not. I would rather not discuss my purchasing habits because, well, who cares what kind of crap I buy? At some point the discussion becomes about quantity of purchases and not merely the quality of the said product. I feel self-conscious enough without adding layers of ostentation. The manufacturers can pay some other whore to advertise their crap. Not me, baby, I'm pure! (And largely anonymous. OK, that's the real reason.)
That painful disclosure aside, I like this album, and as importantly, so does my boy. One crabby mealtime I located the free online sample and we sat, munching, for an hour, while Wilco soothed our heads. Simple magic. Buy it now or your babies won't eat! Please, feel free to consider me a shill.