2 a.m.

Tears Dry on Their Own Lyrics

New Point of View

We arrived yesterday to meet our new instructor for the next couple of weeks, a retired cop. I must say it is an interesting experience. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for peace officers. I have never been in trouble with the law. In fact, I've never had so much as a speeding ticket in 20+ years of driving. However, I have had few pleasant experiences with cops. The one exception is an OPP officer who interviewed me following a serious multiple vehicle accident. I was in tremendous shock (though uninjured), and he showed a great amount of compassion and reassured me that I was not at fault. I made a point of thanking him for his kindness and told him he was my first positive encounter with the law. Still have his card in my wallet.

Our regular instructor is a retired paralegal, and her great passion is for righting wrongs and studying wrongful convictions. Our primary focus has always been 'the client' in the classroom, in sharp contrast to the cop's viewpoint that all defence attorneys should be taken out and shot, they are not to be trusted, etc. He made several cracks about 'when we get to defend scumbags'. He's a nice man, but rather cynical and lacks compassion. Class was frustrating yesterday, because we are used to working independently, and the lectures are usually limited to 3-6 hours of rapid-fire transcription. His method involves repeating phrases from the textbook ad nauseam, interspersed with gory, shocking, and shameful tales about suicides, child molesters, murders, or techniques for sleeping on the job... all delivered in a facetious manner.

I understand that being a cop is a difficult job... believe me, I do. I've seen enough of human nature in my 36 years of life to know that it's not a pretty job, and to survive it you must detach and harden yourself in order to continue to function. It's probably a good experience for us to hear about the darker side of the law, and to try and see the realities of law from a law enforcement point of view, but I'm not enjoying it. He asked how many of us would be interested in working for a prosecutor, and not one hand was raised. The day was spent being interrupted by a couple of other students who felt a need to drone on about their own experiences with cops and the law, which irritates me to no end. I'd rather be working from home and getting things done than listening to people BS in class about personal issues. Not to mention, he's used to teaching beginning students who are enrolled in the police program, so everything is so pre-digested and dumbed down that it's insulting to our intelligence.

Ah well, the plan is to turn all the project assignments in a week early and keep my mouth shut. Pig noises are absolutely forbidden. Vacation countdown commencing......

Technorati Tags:law, paralegal, cops

Mock trials finally over!

I recently re-entered my paralegal program after withdrawing for 5+ months for health reasons. As a result, the familiar classroom faces were gone, graduated, and most of them already working in law offices. I have now become the 11th class member of the next class, and the odd-girl-out in a group of 11 students, 10 of them already paired up to argue opposing sides on 5 murder cases, and they were into 3 months into mock trial preparations before I got there.

I was assigned to the role of judge, and I was at first content, imagining that I would be allowed to coast until the trials began. I assumed my role would be limited to sitting on my ass, being called upon to sustain or overrule objections, look solemn and throw in the infrequent "Noted Council, you may continue."

Did I ever have it wrong.

My instructor assigned me to research the prepared charting, evidence and witness lists for both sides on all five cases. In three weeks, no less. I was to be able to recall facts from memory or notes so that I could make note of factual errors, creative arguments, etc. I murdered a minimum of 3 trees for this project.

Most of the murder trials we choose are high-profile US cases, of which there is an abundance of information available on the internet or in libraries. Canadian cases that are chosen are generally those involving wrongful convictions. (These are my favorite.) We argue them as if they occured in Canada, applying our laws in place of the US laws. Happily, this means Crown council need never argue for the death penalty.

The students are always quite creative in their arguments, bringing in evidence props that have taken months of work to mock-up. One lady made a full-scale cardboard vehicle with life-size dolls wearing the exact clothing that the children of Diane Downs were wearing when she shot them.

The trials I was allowed to judge this round, along with the charges and jury verdicts included:

Regina v. James Driskell
Charge: 1st Degree Murder
Verdict: Mistrial

Regina v. Lawrencia Bembenek
Charge: 1st Degree Murder
Verdict: Not Guilty

Regina v. Stephen Grant
Charges: 1st Degree Murder; Dismemberment of a Corpse
Verdict: Guilty of 2nd Degree Murder and Dismemberment of a Corpse

Regina v. Robert Baltovich
Charges: 1st Degree Murder
Verdict: Hung jury

Regina v. Andrea Yates
Charges: 3 counts of 1st Degree Murder
Verdict: Not guilty by reason of insanty

Note that the verdicts reflect how the cases were argued by each side, and don't reflect upon the actual trials of those accused. The most difficult cases for me to research and hear testimony and arguments on were Yates and Grant. I have a great empathy for Andrea Yates, and her mock-trial defense had such a powerful closing that I lost the ability to maintain impassive and had to call for a recess because I started bawling. Very unprofessional of me.

Grant was difficult to research, after reading his full confession (.pdf), and then watching the news clips of his interviews when he was still pretending his wife, Tara Grant, was missing. They are truly disturbing to view. In this video, which I watched 3 times, I never was able to catch him blinking or successfully swallowing. Quite eerie. I've been having nightmares ever since. Contemplating a cubicle job in real estate law at this point. I'm not sure Criminal Law is for me, though I find it fascinating.

The most exciting was Bembenek's mock trial. I argued for her as defense earlier in the year and it's the only one of my trials that I saved all the documentation from, and the one I'm proudest of. The defense council for Bembenek in this mock trial emailed Ira Robins, the private detective who has worked on the case for decades. She wrote to inquire about obtaining some information, and he replied back, offering to attend the trial as a witness and to bring documentation. He was an amazing man, and I am pleased to have been allowed to hear him speak about Bembenek's case.

He's got HUGE cajones. The following day, he spoke with our department, along with the criminal justice students about his various ongoing projects in exposing corruption at the highest levels of state government in Wisconsin.

All in all, an interesting first few weeks back in school. We were assigned to choose and research new cases, which we will be working on until September. My partner and I chose the Robert Latimer case, the Saskatchewan farmer who confessed to killing his severely disabled 12 y.o. daughter, because she was living in constant pain. We couldn't decide which sides we preferred to argue, as both are fairly evenly weighted. The instructor tossed a coin, and I was assigned to represent the Crown. I'm looking forward to the challenge, and mentally preparing for some serious emotional upheaval.

As difficult as these cases are, I love the work involved and am very happy to be back in school again.

Technorati Tags:law, paralegal, mock trials, bembenek, stephen grant, yates, driskell, baltovich, ira robins

Solitude

Little do men perceive what solitude is,

and how far it extendeth.
For a crowd is not company,
and faces are but a gallery of pictures,
and talk but a tinkling cymbal,

where there is no love.

Francis Bacon

Technorati Tags:solitude, poem

Who should paint your portrait?

Salvador Dali Salvador Dali should paint your portrait. You love to think about the world in a different way then everyone else. You are very ambitious, and you like strange things. You are curious about everything and love to learn. Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Raincheck for Ray Bradbury

I invited Ray Bradbury to dinner once.

I was a 22 year old unwed mother, college dropout, convenience store clerk, and part time student at a local community college. I was a young woman with leaky breasts, a chip on my shoulder, the epitome of Wasted Potential, manning the cash register of a store that sold mostly beer, gas, and cigarettes. I hated the job and resented the minimum wage paycheck, but I enjoyed the opportunity it gave to meet some interesting characters.

I was propped against the clerks counter one warm day, when a scrawny, kind faced, toothless and bald old man walked in the door with a Scandinavian Adonis. While they waited for some customers to clear out, the Adonis surveyed the store items with a gaze of complete detachment. The old man introduced himself to me by his real name (which I no longer remember), and began asking me about the local area, in particular, the hills north of the small Colorado town where I lived. I wasn't able to give him much valuable information, but we got on the topic of Colorado history, which I had taken in college and enjoyed. He said he and the Adonis (a Dane, I believe) were researching some mysterious circumstances involving two of their respective ancestors. Apparently they had partnered on a mining claim north of the town long ago, and had either vanished or been murdered, though my memory of the story is now unclear.

We chatted for quite a number of minutes about the town, and I recommended some local restaurants to them. I also invited them to drop by my home for dinner, if they liked. They accepted. We talked about education, fiction, favorite writers, and science fiction. Shortly after this, he admitted to me that he was actually more than a researcher, he was actually a writer. Perhaps I had heard of him? The name he had given me was a real one, but he wrote under the pseudonym of Ray Bradbury.

I remember feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me, and my face had to have turned 10 shades of red, because I could feel the blood pumping into my ears so fiercely I'm sure they could have heard it. I wanted to disbelieve him, and perhaps he realized that because he said, very gently.. 'You wouldn't recognize me from the publicity photos on my book jackets, because they take them while I have on a wig, false teeth and other glasses.'

It wasn't the man's fame that had shaken me so deeply, it was more that he was a WRITER, and a writer whom I greatly admired that put me into a panicked frame of mind. And I had invited this man and his traveling companion to my home!

After giving them directions to my house, they departed to go explore more of the town. I begged my boss to let me go home early so that I could find some food (other than homemade baby food, popcorn and Ramen noodles, that is). Long story short, she was unimpressed by the stature of my guest, had never heard of him, and she refused to give me the rest of the shift off.

Something happened in the hours that followed, and it is something I have never been able to sufficiently explain to myself. I went straight from work to the local library and checked out every Ray Bradbury book they had, from Something Wicked This Way Comes to Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451. I headed home, sent the babysitter packing, and headed upstairs to our tiny attic bedroom with my son and the stack of books in tow. Then... I fell asleep, baby on tummy, book in hand.

That evening, I was startled out of a deep sleep by a knocking at my door. I was disoriented at first, but then reality hit.. and I realized that Ray Bradbury (himself!) was at my door. I had hospitality duties to fulfill, and had slept through the preparations. Now this is the part that I still try to dissect.. and still cannot fathom all that was going through my mind, though I remember some of the internal dialogue:

1) My house is shabby, I have no furniture.
2) I have no proper food.
3) I can't interact with this man knowing now how important and influential he is.
4) I won't be able to hide my hunger for what he could potentially do for me, if he chose. (maybe a job? education?)

Along with the negative voices.. there were positive ones striving to be heard:

1) You invited these people to your home, they would not have come if they didn't enjoy your company.
2) You are an intelligent person, and you were capable of conversing with him before you knew who he really was.
3) He may give you unparalleled advice, on a variety of topics.
4) He may be capable of helping you find decent employment, somewhere, somehow.
5) You have the opportunity to entertain a person of staggering intellect, who has a deep empathy for mankind and a love of science and knowledge.

But..

I convinced myself to stay right where I was: crouching, undignified, holding my breath in silence and praying my baby wouldn't wake up and give me away. The voices argued in my head, tears ran down my cheeks, all the while they continued to patiently knock and wait for me to open my door to them. I believe they waited a good 15 minutes before finally leaving. I peeked out the attic window and saw that even while they were slowly driving away, they were watching the door of the house to see if it would open. I sobbed all that evening, and spent the next day in a fog of loss.

I've admitted to 'meeting' a famous person a couple of times, and when asked and I admit that it was Ray Bradbury, generally it doesn't impress anyone. Among those who might be impressed, even awed, I steer clear of the story completely, because I've never wanted to admit how badly I blew it.

It was a very big deal to me at one time. Still is, though the reasons have changed over the years. I was honored to have met him, I do regret that I lacked the self esteem, maturity and courage to invite him into my house.

These days.. I'm still broke, I still don't keep 'company' grade food around the house.. but I have become less self-conscious, less introverted. I wouldn't be ashamed to invite anyone into my home, even if all I had on hand was popcorn and Ramen noodles.

I've figured out that the only things that truly matter in my life are the relationships I have with other people. I'm sorry that I missed a wonderful opportunity to get to know the man behind the amazing stories I've loved for so long. When I read his books today, I still feel a tiny sting of regret, though it's soothed somewhat by the thought that he would definitely have understood my behavior, and might have tried to alleviate my discomfort had he known.

If I had it to do over, I'd choke that negative voice and invite Mr. Bradbury and friend right in, shabby house be damned! I'd offer them a glass of ice water, put on some music and start making a batch of popcorn. I'd forget about worries over the future and hopeful expectations, and just enjoy the company.

Mr. Bradbury.. if you ever read this, the rain check still stands.

Ooo Baby

"After a few years of marriage a man can look right at a woman without seeing her and a woman can see right through a man without looking at him." ~Helen Rowland

Married over 4 years, and lately thinking that my husband sees me as a multi-functional home appliance rather than a wife or lover. He surprised me Saturday - not only going into Chapters, but picking out these out-of-the-blue gifts:

Quicksilver - Neal Stephenson

The Border: Canada, the U.S. and Dispatches from the 49th Parallel - James Laxer

Canadian Law Dictionary

I guess he pays more attention than I give him credit for. For a man with an aversion to reading anything not 4x4 related, or a mechanical manual, he has a knack for picking out something that I would choose for myself.
He got more lovin than he expected to get this weekend. Way more.

Today I...

1) Picked up an unexpected final paycheck from my latest shitty job venture.
2) Browsed through Chapters and picked up:

The Golden Ratio (The Story of Phi) by Mario Livio
No Logo : Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies, by Naomi Klein

3) Got approved for my OSAP (Ontario student loan), and completed registration for Paralegal studies.

Pretty good day so far. Now to see if I can get laid tonight.

Monster Conglomerate, Inc.

Bad workers can't be controlled by management, especially when they're ready to pretend to be loyal employees and otherwise lie to the enemy.

I simultaneously love and hate my new job.

Into only my second week of training, I'm learning a lot of technical info that, quite honestly, I would have paid to obtain.

Being thrown onto telephones the first three days (no training, no warning) to do outbound calls obtaining usage counts on equipment was a fucking nightmare. I was on the verge of throwing my headset at the closest authority figure. This would have been quite easy to do, as the site director, project manager, trainer, various supervisors and an HR honcho were all circling in panicked conferences around our cubicles. Oddly enough though, whenever one of us cogs stood in panic with a software, VoIP, or client issue, all they had to offer were blank stares and furtive whispers into their OP-control walkie talkies.

All through the first day, I had fantasies of standing at the revolving security doors, swiping my ID card and flinging it backward over my shoulder with a ear-splitting cry of "FUCK THE SYSTEM!"

The entire a.m. training crew hung on through those horrible first 3 days, and now we're settled into a 'blended learning' class to prepare for being thrown onto the phones yet again. The countdown commences.

The classroom population could have been copied and pasted from a high school basic maths class, summer school version, the only difference being, there are some others like myself who appear to be parental chaperones of socially retarded teenagers.

There are girls in the classroom who talk at a giggly pitch all through the lectures on confidentiality, 'customer care', log-on processes and various software systems. These same girls frequently apply frosted pink lip gloss, file their nails, comb their hair, change hairstyles and discuss their menstrual cycles during class time. They all invite me to join them on IM after work, or go the bar before heading home. Bless their useless little hearts. They don't take notes, but having pegged me as the maternal alpha female nerd, they invite me to lunch in hopes that I'll help them. I find myself hiding out from them in the deviant smoker section outdoors. Highschool all over again.

There is only one real man in the class, a wonderfully clever and mature aboriginal guy. He's pushing 40 with a great sense of humour and deserves a better job. There are several dorky blowhards who keep their noses far up the trainer's arse, and bombard the group with their wit and knowledge, interrupting any sincere question with convoluted and largely inaccurate answers, while the trainer takes it all in and thanks them for their input. I can assume these assholes will shortly be promoted to supervisors or quality control. God help us all.

On the positive side, I like getting a paycheck. It's less than half of what my husband makes, but it's enough to cover the rent and hopefully we can sock some away in a mortgage RRSP. I enjoy getting up at 4 a.m. and getting out of the house. I really like the SecureID, and would love to wear it on my badge (pretentious nerd that I am), but of course the management considers us far too stupid and irresponsible to be allowed to have possession of them. If you lose one, there would be a three week waiting period to obtain a new one. We'll have to be good little worker bees and stand in line at the OP station and wait for them to be handed out pre-shift.

I also enjoy the actual work. I have always liked efficient and personable tech support people, and think I'll probably do okay with it. It's a shame I can't talk about it publicly, but the company I'll be contracted to doesn't want their US clientele or employees knowing that they've outsourced to a Canadian company while simultaneously causing massive layoffs in the US.

Hear that? That's the sound of a soul sucking. Far and wee.

"Good ________ , Thank you for calling Monster Conglomerate Technical Support. My name is Allison, how may I help you today?"

"I can help you that. First, may I have your first and last name, telephone number, correct mailing address and email?"

~verify everything, ad nauseum, while frantically searching database for the correct tech info~

~run customer through 1 to 3.14159265 various possible answers to problem, while repeatedly using their preferred name to foster the impression of caring, personalized service and taking copiously detailed and depersonalized notes for reference in the Borg Collective database~

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Thank you for calling Monster Conglomerate Technical Support, have a great day!"

News from the front

I'm now a legal Canadian Landed Immigrant! It only took us 4 years, 3 to scrape the various fees and documents together, and 1 long year waiting for them to process the application. I don't recommend doing it unless you are either very much in love, very wealthy, or a refugee from a war-torn land. Even then.. think twice.

More news:

Because I'm now legal to work, I started job-hunting online and discovered that I wouldn't qualify for positions I held previously in the US. In my field, bilingualism is mandatory. There is a customer-service outsourcing company in the area, and I sent my resume in. Got a phone call from HR literally within 4 minutes after sending. That was a bit creepy. Went in for pre-interview testing and passed everything with high marks, interview 2 days later and got the job. Not so impressive, considering the reputation of the company and the extremely high turnover rate. It seems to be populated by either very young people or women like me, who've had a few kids and are looking to get any type of work that pays above the minimum wage.

Yes, I'm another sold-out corporate monkey. My inner hippie is weeping.

Hubby says if I don't like it, walk. So that's the plan. I don't anticipate any skills-related problems, it's customer service and tech support for digital technology in a field I have some experience with. If I can keep my nose to the terminal and stay out of office politics and never mention the naughty word (union) I should get by fine. I plan to stay long enough to get some good Canadian work history behind me, maybe longer. I'm still planning on finishing my degree after we get ahead and put a down on a house.

Kids are back in school, and they seem pretty satisfied. Son says high school isn't nearly as demanding as Grade 8. The kids on the bus roll doobs and smoke up at transfer points. Daughter already loves her teacher and is doing well.

Don't know how often I'll be able to post, but I will stay in touch. Thanks to all who left the thoughtful comments. I was without a pc for a while and checked in when possible at the library. Made me smile.

I'll be sitting in a cubicle soon, saying "Aum" frequently and thinking of you all.

Ode to Bubbles and Little Runt

*note: Bubbles was my pet Araucana chicken, and Little Runt was my sister's pet pig.

"Grace To Be Said at the Supermarket"

This God of ours, the Great Geometer,
Does something for us here, where He hath put
(if you want to put it that way) things in shape,
Compressing the little lambs into orderly cubes,
Making the roast a decent cylinder,
Fairing the tin ellipsoid of a ham,
Getting the luncheon meat anonymous
In squares and oblongs with all the edges bevelled
Or rounded (streamlined, maybe, for greater speed).
Praise Him, He hath conferred aesthetic distance
Upon our appetites, and on the bloody
Mess of our birthright, our unseemly need.
Imposed significant form. Through Him the brutes
Enter the pure Euclidean kingdom of number,
Free of their bulging and blood-swollen lives
They come to us holy, in cellophane
Transparencies, in the mystical body.
That we may look unflinchingly on death
As the greatest good, like a philosopher should.

author: Howard Nemerov

twisted: i bought some atkins protein-shake stuff, has no sugars, laxatives
twisted: but holy shit does it ever taste nasty
female sibling : atkins is a bad diet
twisted: i agree, but I figure the shake is harmless
female sibling : my doctor forbade me from doing anything fad diet related
twisted: I could never do an atkins diet with no gallbladder and a turtle-ish metabolism
female sibling : that diet blew me away when it started getting all popular, all my coworkers would down all this fried meat
twisted: yeah I know, logic and common sense went out the window on that one
female sibling : i know
twisted: I can't believe mom and dad were doing it
female siblingv : lol... i know
twisted: good thing I was too broke to buy all that meat.
female sibling : heehee... you saying you would have jumped on the bandwagon?
twisted: no, it would have made me sick
twisted: I can't eat much meat at all
female sibling : when I eat it, I get the guilts for eating animals
twisted: me too
female sibling : i think about Litte Runt and Bubbles (childhood pets, pig and chicken, respectively)
twisted: I would like to go all-vegetarian
twisted: but T is such a carnivore
female sibling : i don't have any issues cooking it and serving it to people... lol weird huh
twisted: no, I'm the same way
twisted: but I can't eat it without thinking 'this is wrong'
female sibling : i know
twisted: not just because I know I can survive without it, but I don't like buying meat that is mass-produced
female sibling : i just think of how cute they are
twisted: I don't think about that, I have no problem with killing and cleaning my own chickens and rabbits
female sibling : oh man.. i couldn't do that
female sibling : i can't look an animal in the eye and then think about killing it