In the extensive list of activities in which I've engaged in the past eight months, which includes sublime diversions such as floating upon a river in an inner tube (accompanied by beer and other persons similarly floating, of course), returning to my alma mater for revelry and celebration (accompanied by beer and other persons similarly reveling, of course), and contributing to the incarceration of some rather anti-social denizens of Manhattan Island (tragically, continued parenthetical parallelism was defeated by positively antiquated court rules involving the consumption of alcohol at trial and tag-team prosecutions)... among all of these distinguished pursuits, I failed entirely to write anything in this blog of mine. Its (metaphoric) pages have remained empty - or at least unchanged - for more than half a year whilst I found myself constantly diverted. However, you may rest assured that this diversion in no way precluded me from wasting copious amounts of time doing nothing. Still, I feel I've somehow been remiss, having found time for so many investments of my time, and for so many alternatives to productive uses of that time, but not for the blog. And honestly, this blog cannot even function as a testament to laziness and procrastination if I don't update it with enough frequency to get anyone to read it. So, I return!
...Crap, what do I do now?
It's weird... I've developed such a backlog of information that likely ought to receive mention here that I don't precisely know where to start. In fact, even beginning to relate the
anecdotes, experiences, and oftentimes-idiotic decisions of the months since my last posting seems a rather daunting prospect. Intimidating. As discouraging as the prospect of ever trying to become one of those people who send out Christmas Cards, in fact (seriously, how do you sit down one year and say "Hey, I should drive myself crazy for the next month by attempting to write a somewhat lengthy personalized message to every single person I've ever met and don't actively dislike!"? Continuing the pattern once you've started I understand, since then you've foolishly allowed your friends, loved ones and poorly-remembered acquaintances to develop expectations of you. But starting? No comprehension whatsoever. That shit is scary). Thus, like the bold Kratville I am, inspired by a history of workarounds, delays, and outright refusals to tackle any imposing challenges I chance to encounter, I'm procrastinating like its my job (and being a law student, where it matters not at all when you do your work so long as you're prepared for the final, there is a very real sense in which procrastination IS my job). I'm sure at some point I'll begin to pick away at that mountain, if only out of a lack of anything else to write about. But that point is not today. Nor is it tomorrow, seeing as I'm obviously not making two blog posts in as many days. But I'm happy to claim that it's somewhere in the hazy mists of the future, where I can blissfully ignore schedules and the like and simply tell people that "I'll get it done soon." Just as I've been saying about this blog for several months now. And since I finally DID return to blogging, you're bound to believe that I'll get around to the other thing, too! Ha!
Monday, November 5, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Definitions Time!
Let me preface this post with the comment that, yes, it involves politics. It is not an attempt at persuasion or anything like that, mind you; rather, it's a complaint about idiots who attach terms to themselves that they totally fail to understand. Still, the terms are political in nature, so if you're someone whose body shuts down at the very mention of the word "conservatism," you might want to go grab the epipen now. Also, when you get a chance, you should probably get that condition looked at by a medical professional, since it may be inconvenient to suffer anaphylactic shock every time you see a campaign ad next year.
So, our term for today is "fiscal conservative." Who knows what this word means? Here's a hint: if you chance to lack the most basic understanding of economics, you're probably NOT a fiscal conservative, even if you think the phrase sounds like a good way to get that chick in the bar to go home with you (as an aside, if you actually KNOW a bar like this, please let me know about it post haste). Unfortunately, I'm rather convinced that MOST people who describe themselves as "fiscal conservatives" labor under a rather fundamental failure in their understanding, so let me be very clear (despite knowing that none of those people are actually reading this post): the major concern of fiscal conservatism is government expenditures, NOT tax revenue.
Does anybody even remember the Contract with America? Anybody? Bueller? What was one of the first things Congress tried to institute after the 1994 elections? That's right! A balanced budget! (Also a line-item veto, but that's tragically another story.) And what was the immediate goal of a balanced budget? Tax cuts? No... Implementation of the theory of Supply Side Economics? No... A computer in every home, a meal on every table, and a bigger TV for every Kratville? No, although that's an intriguing idea that merits serious consideration in our nation's capital... Oh! Of course! It was to cut government spending! Yes! Because before this quest for a balanced budget, expenditures outstripped tax revenue!
Alright, so 13 years later, with the government again spending FAR more than it takes in, what should fiscal conservatives be trumpeting? That's right! Tax cuts! Yeah! ...Oh, wait. No. No, that's not right at all, is it? Because then we're spending even further beyond our means, which leads to more borrowing, which leads to ever increasing interest payments on the debt (currently at $406 billion per annum, if you're playing at home). Look, I know that sharing was greatly encouraged by kindergarten teachers everywhere, and it's nice to get to borrow things from other people on occasion, but a big part of that whole "sharing" thing was giving it back at the end. As much as I tried to use the concept of "sharing" to hoard everyone's blocks in my own little corner of the room so I could build a life-size statue of Alexander Hamilton, I was always thwarted by the teacher's insistence on that "give it back" idea (also by the fact that that punk Bobby always knocked my statue over before I could get past the knee, which was probably convenient as I almost certainly would have struggled to accurately reproduce Hamilton's visage, since all I know at the time was that he wore a funny wig). Similarly, all these people from whom we continue to borrow have a pesky knack for asking that we return their money to them eventually, and with interest, no less. Tax cuts DO NOT RECTIFY THIS PROBLEM. So please, either stop calling yourself a "fiscal conservative," or recognize that the important point is restrained spending, not restrained taxation (at least not until AFTER we've achieved restrained spending).
Look, I'm not saying that there is nothing to recommend a good tax cut now and then. It's certainly plausible that they can help the economy recover from a recession; I don't happen to buy into that theory altogether too much, but I also don't have a PhD in Economics, so I'll defer that argument to people who do. But please, understand what "fiscal conservative" means, folks! It's not hard, I promise. Once we master that, we can move on to understanding why the word "liberal" has 5000 different meanings, thereby ensuring a complete collapse of cogent communication as soon as the word is raised in conversation.
So, our term for today is "fiscal conservative." Who knows what this word means? Here's a hint: if you chance to lack the most basic understanding of economics, you're probably NOT a fiscal conservative, even if you think the phrase sounds like a good way to get that chick in the bar to go home with you (as an aside, if you actually KNOW a bar like this, please let me know about it post haste). Unfortunately, I'm rather convinced that MOST people who describe themselves as "fiscal conservatives" labor under a rather fundamental failure in their understanding, so let me be very clear (despite knowing that none of those people are actually reading this post): the major concern of fiscal conservatism is government expenditures, NOT tax revenue.
Does anybody even remember the Contract with America? Anybody? Bueller? What was one of the first things Congress tried to institute after the 1994 elections? That's right! A balanced budget! (Also a line-item veto, but that's tragically another story.) And what was the immediate goal of a balanced budget? Tax cuts? No... Implementation of the theory of Supply Side Economics? No... A computer in every home, a meal on every table, and a bigger TV for every Kratville? No, although that's an intriguing idea that merits serious consideration in our nation's capital... Oh! Of course! It was to cut government spending! Yes! Because before this quest for a balanced budget, expenditures outstripped tax revenue!
Alright, so 13 years later, with the government again spending FAR more than it takes in, what should fiscal conservatives be trumpeting? That's right! Tax cuts! Yeah! ...Oh, wait. No. No, that's not right at all, is it? Because then we're spending even further beyond our means, which leads to more borrowing, which leads to ever increasing interest payments on the debt (currently at $406 billion per annum, if you're playing at home). Look, I know that sharing was greatly encouraged by kindergarten teachers everywhere, and it's nice to get to borrow things from other people on occasion, but a big part of that whole "sharing" thing was giving it back at the end. As much as I tried to use the concept of "sharing" to hoard everyone's blocks in my own little corner of the room so I could build a life-size statue of Alexander Hamilton, I was always thwarted by the teacher's insistence on that "give it back" idea (also by the fact that that punk Bobby always knocked my statue over before I could get past the knee, which was probably convenient as I almost certainly would have struggled to accurately reproduce Hamilton's visage, since all I know at the time was that he wore a funny wig). Similarly, all these people from whom we continue to borrow have a pesky knack for asking that we return their money to them eventually, and with interest, no less. Tax cuts DO NOT RECTIFY THIS PROBLEM. So please, either stop calling yourself a "fiscal conservative," or recognize that the important point is restrained spending, not restrained taxation (at least not until AFTER we've achieved restrained spending).
Look, I'm not saying that there is nothing to recommend a good tax cut now and then. It's certainly plausible that they can help the economy recover from a recession; I don't happen to buy into that theory altogether too much, but I also don't have a PhD in Economics, so I'll defer that argument to people who do. But please, understand what "fiscal conservative" means, folks! It's not hard, I promise. Once we master that, we can move on to understanding why the word "liberal" has 5000 different meanings, thereby ensuring a complete collapse of cogent communication as soon as the word is raised in conversation.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Part the Second
Apologies once again for my failure to complete this anecdote in a single sitting. I fear that I might have thereby brought into being expectations which I shall entirely fail to fulfill with its conclusion, much like the horror that was the third Godfather movie (okay, so approximating a disaster of such proportions is probably beyond my ken, but you know what I mean). Forgive me, please, should you not find the end of the story worth your time in limbo.
That said, we find our hero (I've always wanted to write that) enrolled in a course on the "Theory of Law." Said course had been disappointing for several reasons, not least of which was the fact that the simple phrase "If everyone could take their seats" took as much time for the esteemed professor to enunciate as the entire Gettysburg Address required of Lincoln. Nevertheless, in spite of the variegated reasons for distress, I decided to persevere. To be perfectly honest, I've never dropped a class which I've already bothered to attend at least once; somehow that always felt like far greater a waste than, say, napping through lectures for the entirety of a semester. Don't ask me to explain; I'd just start to ramble about the inestimable value of my time during which I am actually attentive, when in truth I just don't like going through the trouble of trying to catch up in a different course after missing the first few classes (because it's REALLY important to hear the professor go through his "This is the syllabus, this is how to read dates, I'm wasting everyone's time because I didn't want to write a lecture for today" speech).
So Monday of the second week of classes rolls around. Add/drop period had ended, so I was locked into Professor Unger's plodding orations for the full 3 1/2 months. However, while in my first class of the day and searching the Internet for information on the weather in New York in June (average high of 79, average low of 64, 3.51" rainfall), I noticed that I had received an e-mail from the registrar. For reasons totally passing understanding, it seems that Harvard Law continues to run wait-lists after the end of add/drop period, and the e-mail informed me I had been accepted into Local Government Law, and I had until 5:30pm that day to accept. I gave the idea a brief moment of thought, but was quickly distracted by the prospect of looking up the average January temperature in Arkangelsk (I think I also learned something about the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act in there somewhere).
At last, after enduring most of the vicissitudes of yet another Monday, I found myself again in Professor Unger's class. I was already displeased, as the reading assignment for the day was Stephen Breyer's book Active Liberty, and I enjoy 175-page reading assignments about as much as I enjoy long walks on the beach... in February... wearing only a swimsuit... on beaches wholly comprised of tiny shards of glass. So yeah, I was unhappy. My irascibility was only worsened when I learned that we weren't actually going to discuss the book I had spent the previous three hours racing through, but instead would be devoting this lecture to yet more explanation of "The Problem of the Vanishing Light," which is Professor Unger's personal off-the-deep-end theory of the law. No one else is actually on board with this theory but Professor Unger; in fact, my old Evidence professor had shown up for each of the first two classes with the apparent sole intention of seeing how many ridiculous positions he could make Professor Unger defend before Unger would simply throw up his hands and run screaming from the room and straight into the nearest mental sanatorium (this number is seemingly quite high, as despite my Evidence prof's best efforts, Professor Unger was still clinging to sanity last I saw him). So, as I stewed in my less-than-ebullient mood, I took a brief moment to speak to someone on AIM. When I looked back up, I realized that, once again, Professor Unger had gone off onto one of his tangents, and his extensive use of indefinite pronouns meant that I was totally unable to determine whether he was talking about a law or a joke he heard last week in a bar.
That was it. It was 5:15 on a Monday evening, this class was terrible, and I still had 15 minutes to save myself. So, while Professor Unger was still mid-sentence (granted, you can waste upwards of five minutes waiting for Professor Unger to NOT be mid-sentence), I got up from my seat -- I had cleverly parked myself directly in the center of the classroom -- gathered my things together, and walked out the door, assiduously not looking at anything anywhere near the still-lecturing professor. Admittedly, with someone possessing Professor Unger's enunciatory cadence, it's difficult to break his rhythm, since there's nothing even remotely resembling a rhythm to begin with. Still, I can't help but think that his sentences managed to grow choppier still during my exit. Anyways, after escaping Professor Unger's forbidding lair of over-enunciation, I raced to the registrar, arrived with eight minutes to spare, and rid myself of "Theory of Law" forever. My relief was akin to that felt by cheese-lovers everywhere when they learned that, lo, the Velveeta substance that had been tarnishing their beloved dairy product's name was not, in fact, cheese at all, but rather some yellow-orange substance concocted from a string of chemicals with names like "sodium alginate." Freedom was nice.
Local Government Law has since turned out to be a delightful course with a thoroughly interesting professor who experiences no difficulty whatsoever in getting through sentences without pausing for breaths every five seconds. Needless to say, I haven't yet found myself pining for Ungerian discourse thus far.
Alright, apologies again for the delay in getting this post out, in addition to the post's considerable length. I promise, it probably may not happen again for an indeterminate length of time.
That said, we find our hero (I've always wanted to write that) enrolled in a course on the "Theory of Law." Said course had been disappointing for several reasons, not least of which was the fact that the simple phrase "If everyone could take their seats" took as much time for the esteemed professor to enunciate as the entire Gettysburg Address required of Lincoln. Nevertheless, in spite of the variegated reasons for distress, I decided to persevere. To be perfectly honest, I've never dropped a class which I've already bothered to attend at least once; somehow that always felt like far greater a waste than, say, napping through lectures for the entirety of a semester. Don't ask me to explain; I'd just start to ramble about the inestimable value of my time during which I am actually attentive, when in truth I just don't like going through the trouble of trying to catch up in a different course after missing the first few classes (because it's REALLY important to hear the professor go through his "This is the syllabus, this is how to read dates, I'm wasting everyone's time because I didn't want to write a lecture for today" speech).
So Monday of the second week of classes rolls around. Add/drop period had ended, so I was locked into Professor Unger's plodding orations for the full 3 1/2 months. However, while in my first class of the day and searching the Internet for information on the weather in New York in June (average high of 79, average low of 64, 3.51" rainfall), I noticed that I had received an e-mail from the registrar. For reasons totally passing understanding, it seems that Harvard Law continues to run wait-lists after the end of add/drop period, and the e-mail informed me I had been accepted into Local Government Law, and I had until 5:30pm that day to accept. I gave the idea a brief moment of thought, but was quickly distracted by the prospect of looking up the average January temperature in Arkangelsk (I think I also learned something about the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act in there somewhere).
At last, after enduring most of the vicissitudes of yet another Monday, I found myself again in Professor Unger's class. I was already displeased, as the reading assignment for the day was Stephen Breyer's book Active Liberty, and I enjoy 175-page reading assignments about as much as I enjoy long walks on the beach... in February... wearing only a swimsuit... on beaches wholly comprised of tiny shards of glass. So yeah, I was unhappy. My irascibility was only worsened when I learned that we weren't actually going to discuss the book I had spent the previous three hours racing through, but instead would be devoting this lecture to yet more explanation of "The Problem of the Vanishing Light," which is Professor Unger's personal off-the-deep-end theory of the law. No one else is actually on board with this theory but Professor Unger; in fact, my old Evidence professor had shown up for each of the first two classes with the apparent sole intention of seeing how many ridiculous positions he could make Professor Unger defend before Unger would simply throw up his hands and run screaming from the room and straight into the nearest mental sanatorium (this number is seemingly quite high, as despite my Evidence prof's best efforts, Professor Unger was still clinging to sanity last I saw him). So, as I stewed in my less-than-ebullient mood, I took a brief moment to speak to someone on AIM. When I looked back up, I realized that, once again, Professor Unger had gone off onto one of his tangents, and his extensive use of indefinite pronouns meant that I was totally unable to determine whether he was talking about a law or a joke he heard last week in a bar.
That was it. It was 5:15 on a Monday evening, this class was terrible, and I still had 15 minutes to save myself. So, while Professor Unger was still mid-sentence (granted, you can waste upwards of five minutes waiting for Professor Unger to NOT be mid-sentence), I got up from my seat -- I had cleverly parked myself directly in the center of the classroom -- gathered my things together, and walked out the door, assiduously not looking at anything anywhere near the still-lecturing professor. Admittedly, with someone possessing Professor Unger's enunciatory cadence, it's difficult to break his rhythm, since there's nothing even remotely resembling a rhythm to begin with. Still, I can't help but think that his sentences managed to grow choppier still during my exit. Anyways, after escaping Professor Unger's forbidding lair of over-enunciation, I raced to the registrar, arrived with eight minutes to spare, and rid myself of "Theory of Law" forever. My relief was akin to that felt by cheese-lovers everywhere when they learned that, lo, the Velveeta substance that had been tarnishing their beloved dairy product's name was not, in fact, cheese at all, but rather some yellow-orange substance concocted from a string of chemicals with names like "sodium alginate." Freedom was nice.
Local Government Law has since turned out to be a delightful course with a thoroughly interesting professor who experiences no difficulty whatsoever in getting through sentences without pausing for breaths every five seconds. Needless to say, I haven't yet found myself pining for Ungerian discourse thus far.
Alright, apologies again for the delay in getting this post out, in addition to the post's considerable length. I promise, it probably may not happen again for an indeterminate length of time.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Need for Escape
I will admit up front, the events I am about to relate in fact transpired several days ago. However, I have suffered considerable distractions since then, prohibiting me from relating them in a more timely fashion. That, and I really AM quite lazy, and posting with greater frequency might have threatened the carefully crafted aura of total apathy that I have so far managed to cultivate. Thus, you may read about said events now, or not at all.
Anyways.
I began this semester in a course entitled "Theory of Law." It was only a couple of hours on Monday afternoon, and I figured I'd enjoy finishing off a day full of learning doctrine (Foreign Relations Law, Constitutional Law) by shifting back into undergraduate mode (read: Japanese and something akin to political theory) for a while. I mean, undergraduate life was pretty awesome, right? "This should work out great," I thought.
Well, I hate to parrot the many, many people who have reached this conclusion before me, but... that thought should always throw up red flags. Always. Things often DO work out great, make no mistake, but in my experience, that subset of things has very little overlap with the subset of things that SEEM like they'll work out great. Maybe my prognosticative powers are simply on par with those of people who predicted a Carolina/Miami Super Bowl this year, or maybe it's just that my understanding of my own preferences is actually as bad my understanding of people who enjoy watching Deal or No Deal (It's random, people! It's all random! You're essentially watching a very, very slow keno machine with a theme song!). Whatever the cause, I'm just not good at calling these things. At all. Ever.
So wonder of wonders, Theory of Law didn't work out as I'd hoped. First of all, it runs 4:30-6:30pm on Monday, a day of class which starts for me at approximately 8:45am. As it turns out, at that point in the afternoon, I could be listening to Peter Gammons talk about the Astros and still be about as likely to stay awake as a narcoleptic after Thanksgiving dinner. Needless to say, this course didn't stand a chance. On top of that, there's the professor, the illustrious Roberto Unger. Not only does Prof. Unger have some unusual ideas on the proper reaction of his students to lecture (apparently stark confusion is not just an unfortunate byproduct, but one of his primary goals); I'm convinced he learned rhetoric from audio tapes played on a machine that was running out of batteries. I must say, the dramatic pause becomes substantially less dramatic when employed after every third word.
Anyways, there's more to this story, and I, at least, found the conclusion rather amusing, but I don't feel like I've got the energy to finish it today. Of course, since none of this happened yesterday regardless, I have few qualms about completing it later. Check back.
(And no, I'm not doing this to create suspense or anything silly like that. I've just run a bit long already, and I don't want to simply end the story in three lines. That would be remarkably out of character.)
Anyways.
I began this semester in a course entitled "Theory of Law." It was only a couple of hours on Monday afternoon, and I figured I'd enjoy finishing off a day full of learning doctrine (Foreign Relations Law, Constitutional Law) by shifting back into undergraduate mode (read: Japanese and something akin to political theory) for a while. I mean, undergraduate life was pretty awesome, right? "This should work out great," I thought.
Well, I hate to parrot the many, many people who have reached this conclusion before me, but... that thought should always throw up red flags. Always. Things often DO work out great, make no mistake, but in my experience, that subset of things has very little overlap with the subset of things that SEEM like they'll work out great. Maybe my prognosticative powers are simply on par with those of people who predicted a Carolina/Miami Super Bowl this year, or maybe it's just that my understanding of my own preferences is actually as bad my understanding of people who enjoy watching Deal or No Deal (It's random, people! It's all random! You're essentially watching a very, very slow keno machine with a theme song!). Whatever the cause, I'm just not good at calling these things. At all. Ever.
So wonder of wonders, Theory of Law didn't work out as I'd hoped. First of all, it runs 4:30-6:30pm on Monday, a day of class which starts for me at approximately 8:45am. As it turns out, at that point in the afternoon, I could be listening to Peter Gammons talk about the Astros and still be about as likely to stay awake as a narcoleptic after Thanksgiving dinner. Needless to say, this course didn't stand a chance. On top of that, there's the professor, the illustrious Roberto Unger. Not only does Prof. Unger have some unusual ideas on the proper reaction of his students to lecture (apparently stark confusion is not just an unfortunate byproduct, but one of his primary goals); I'm convinced he learned rhetoric from audio tapes played on a machine that was running out of batteries. I must say, the dramatic pause becomes substantially less dramatic when employed after every third word.
Anyways, there's more to this story, and I, at least, found the conclusion rather amusing, but I don't feel like I've got the energy to finish it today. Of course, since none of this happened yesterday regardless, I have few qualms about completing it later. Check back.
(And no, I'm not doing this to create suspense or anything silly like that. I've just run a bit long already, and I don't want to simply end the story in three lines. That would be remarkably out of character.)
Thursday, February 8, 2007
35 Days and Counting
The winter of an American sports fan's discontent is upon us. It has been observed that, during this abominable season, people are often less happy. Attempts have been made to attribute this malaise to the sun's less-frequent presence, or weather that restricts denizens outside the tropics to their homes for much of the day. These attempts miss the point. The true problem with the period between (approximately) February 3 and March 15 is that one lacks the ability to relax while enjoying proper sports programming on television.
Think about it. March 15 brings March Madness, a time when a television can actually show a meaningful sporting event for 10+ hours/day, four days/week, for three weeks. To watch that much college basketball requires stamina the like of which is known only to marathoners, cricket fans, and those who have managed to endure the entirety of that damned 6-tape Pride and Prejudice miniseries (at least I presume there are people who have accomplished this last feat). Needless to say, once the blessed day of March 15 arrives, complaints about a lack of sports television grow scarcer than explanations for why Ryan Leaf deserves another shot at the pros.
And then, by the time the national championship game has been played, baseball season is already upon us (Opening Day: April 1). I cannot begin to explain why baseball is interesting in April and May, particularly since I firmly believe that the 82-game NBA regular season is too long by about 62 games. But even lacking that explanation, I nevertheless am well-pleased during those months to watch a game that will influence a team's final winning percentage by less than a point. Of course, when October rolls around, we're in that nirvana of sports, the time of both baseball playoffs AND the early football season. If February 3-March 15 is the sports equivalent of the Book of Job, October is the brief portion of Genesis when folks (well, two of them) are rapturously walking the Garden of Eden before that serpent fellow had to go and screw things up.
Eventually we lose baseball, but then football has grown all the more interesting, as the playoff chase is in full swing. Then there are the playoffs proper, leading up to that most-glorious celebration of all things sports, the Super Bowl. Yet, once that hallowed day is over... there's nothing. So here we are, with only the NBA regular season and, I suppose, some hockey, to keep us going (and no one actually GETS the NHL on TV outside of Canada, right?). Personally, I can't watch the NBA. They're simply too good. Watching NBA players on defense is like evaluating a pitcher facing a team full of Vladimir Guerreros; sure, you can make him take a bad swing, but who the hell cares, since even that beautiful slider away and in the dirt is going over the left-field wall. Gilbert Arenas just made something like 83 out of 100 three-pointers in practice... with ONE HAND. The sport is officially too easy for the guys who play it. And thus, I can't watch. Especially when so many teams make the NBA playoffs that teams actually tank MONTHS of the regular season with no obvious repercussions.
So yeah, these are difficult times for sports fans everywhere. But at least we have the Pro Bowl this weekend...
...that's exciting...
Think about it. March 15 brings March Madness, a time when a television can actually show a meaningful sporting event for 10+ hours/day, four days/week, for three weeks. To watch that much college basketball requires stamina the like of which is known only to marathoners, cricket fans, and those who have managed to endure the entirety of that damned 6-tape Pride and Prejudice miniseries (at least I presume there are people who have accomplished this last feat). Needless to say, once the blessed day of March 15 arrives, complaints about a lack of sports television grow scarcer than explanations for why Ryan Leaf deserves another shot at the pros.
And then, by the time the national championship game has been played, baseball season is already upon us (Opening Day: April 1). I cannot begin to explain why baseball is interesting in April and May, particularly since I firmly believe that the 82-game NBA regular season is too long by about 62 games. But even lacking that explanation, I nevertheless am well-pleased during those months to watch a game that will influence a team's final winning percentage by less than a point. Of course, when October rolls around, we're in that nirvana of sports, the time of both baseball playoffs AND the early football season. If February 3-March 15 is the sports equivalent of the Book of Job, October is the brief portion of Genesis when folks (well, two of them) are rapturously walking the Garden of Eden before that serpent fellow had to go and screw things up.
Eventually we lose baseball, but then football has grown all the more interesting, as the playoff chase is in full swing. Then there are the playoffs proper, leading up to that most-glorious celebration of all things sports, the Super Bowl. Yet, once that hallowed day is over... there's nothing. So here we are, with only the NBA regular season and, I suppose, some hockey, to keep us going (and no one actually GETS the NHL on TV outside of Canada, right?). Personally, I can't watch the NBA. They're simply too good. Watching NBA players on defense is like evaluating a pitcher facing a team full of Vladimir Guerreros; sure, you can make him take a bad swing, but who the hell cares, since even that beautiful slider away and in the dirt is going over the left-field wall. Gilbert Arenas just made something like 83 out of 100 three-pointers in practice... with ONE HAND. The sport is officially too easy for the guys who play it. And thus, I can't watch. Especially when so many teams make the NBA playoffs that teams actually tank MONTHS of the regular season with no obvious repercussions.
So yeah, these are difficult times for sports fans everywhere. But at least we have the Pro Bowl this weekend...
...that's exciting...
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Return to Normalcy
Yes, like President Hoover himself, I am indulging in a bit of prognostication. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the planets shall now realign, the stars shall return to the heavens (whence the King of All Cosmos had taken them oh so long ago), and King Hamlet's eternal repose shall no longer be disturbed. All existence is again as it should be, for I'm going back to being lazy.
As was noted about a month ago, I've been indulging in a remarkably long foray into productivity, both during our exam period in December, and during this Trial Advocacy Workshop which took place over the three weeks just ending. I mean, I'd say I've been spending around 50-60 hours per week on academic activities recently. That's half of my waking hours! And given the fact that I had a number of morning meetings and such, I had almost as many waking hours as a normal person. Imagine for a moment my consternation when I was struck with the realization that there had been a span of more than a week during which I had failed to even toggle the power on my Wii! Those were trying times for Kratvilles everywhere, or at least for Kratvilles in Boston (presuming that other crazy branch of Kratvilles who usually reside in Nebraska and Florida hasn't found its way to the Bay State).
Yesterday, however, was my final day of Trial Advocacy. On Monday, I revert to the somnambulist in the back row of a lecture, most particularly, this time around, in Constitutional Law, which comprises half of my credit hours and apparently has a reading list containing only half a dozen cases or so which I have not read previously. Moreover, no more shall my hours in Ft. Somerville be occupied with writing and like industrious pursuits; as was true in the autumnal months, I will instead come home and waste all the hours from 3:00pm to 12:00am with Nintendo, television, and whatever strange and unusual pursuits in which I can convince Boston folk to participate. Hopefully, this will even enable me to blog with greater frequency and loquacity than December and January have managed to provide. Hell, it could happen.
As was noted about a month ago, I've been indulging in a remarkably long foray into productivity, both during our exam period in December, and during this Trial Advocacy Workshop which took place over the three weeks just ending. I mean, I'd say I've been spending around 50-60 hours per week on academic activities recently. That's half of my waking hours! And given the fact that I had a number of morning meetings and such, I had almost as many waking hours as a normal person. Imagine for a moment my consternation when I was struck with the realization that there had been a span of more than a week during which I had failed to even toggle the power on my Wii! Those were trying times for Kratvilles everywhere, or at least for Kratvilles in Boston (presuming that other crazy branch of Kratvilles who usually reside in Nebraska and Florida hasn't found its way to the Bay State).
Yesterday, however, was my final day of Trial Advocacy. On Monday, I revert to the somnambulist in the back row of a lecture, most particularly, this time around, in Constitutional Law, which comprises half of my credit hours and apparently has a reading list containing only half a dozen cases or so which I have not read previously. Moreover, no more shall my hours in Ft. Somerville be occupied with writing and like industrious pursuits; as was true in the autumnal months, I will instead come home and waste all the hours from 3:00pm to 12:00am with Nintendo, television, and whatever strange and unusual pursuits in which I can convince Boston folk to participate. Hopefully, this will even enable me to blog with greater frequency and loquacity than December and January have managed to provide. Hell, it could happen.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
NOT GUILTY!
Two words, vindicating the toil and strain I had endured for almost a fortnight. Two words, concluding my involvement with the case of Commonwealth v. Springsteen, and exonerating my client (portrayed by an actor, worry not) of drunk driving charges (well, technically, "operation [of a motor vehicle] under the influence, or o.u.i.). Two words, giving me that sweetest of all rewards... victory! La Victoire, even!
For those of you who don't already know, yesterday I performed the first of the two mock trials that are part of the curriculum for the Trial Advocacy Workshop. And, like a young Gregory Peck, my verbal acumen and folksy manner (read: my use of words to form sentences at least semi-intelligible to the factfinder) saved my entirely fictitious client from feeling the retributive hand of the law. Okay, so maybe Tom Robinson was actually convicted of rape and subsequently killed by a band of vigilantes, but honestly, was that such an important plot element of To Kill a Mockingbird? I thought not. It's my opinion that Harper Lee just included that part of the book in a fit of pique.
Regardless, though, my point is, it turns out that arguing a case... well, it's kinda fun. In fact, it's great. I get to do all the acting that I always wanted to try back in the day, but for reasons of time and lack of initiative never managed to begin. Faculty commenting on your performance focus on voice inflection, verbal technique, body posture, projection, and gesticulation to a far greater degree than the mundane and arguably unimportant matters of "asking the right question" or "knowing the law." And in addition to the performance aspects of trial advocacy, you get to mess with opposing counsel's head through timely objections. Seriously, when trying a case, you're the center of attention, you need quick recall of trivial rules, and at the end you're told whether you won or lost. By God, it's like acting, Jeopardy!, and football all rolled into one glorious amalgam of Kratville-approved goodness. So... go trial advocacy. Although I wouldn't mind a little more spare time right about now.
For those of you who don't already know, yesterday I performed the first of the two mock trials that are part of the curriculum for the Trial Advocacy Workshop. And, like a young Gregory Peck, my verbal acumen and folksy manner (read: my use of words to form sentences at least semi-intelligible to the factfinder) saved my entirely fictitious client from feeling the retributive hand of the law. Okay, so maybe Tom Robinson was actually convicted of rape and subsequently killed by a band of vigilantes, but honestly, was that such an important plot element of To Kill a Mockingbird? I thought not. It's my opinion that Harper Lee just included that part of the book in a fit of pique.
Regardless, though, my point is, it turns out that arguing a case... well, it's kinda fun. In fact, it's great. I get to do all the acting that I always wanted to try back in the day, but for reasons of time and lack of initiative never managed to begin. Faculty commenting on your performance focus on voice inflection, verbal technique, body posture, projection, and gesticulation to a far greater degree than the mundane and arguably unimportant matters of "asking the right question" or "knowing the law." And in addition to the performance aspects of trial advocacy, you get to mess with opposing counsel's head through timely objections. Seriously, when trying a case, you're the center of attention, you need quick recall of trivial rules, and at the end you're told whether you won or lost. By God, it's like acting, Jeopardy!, and football all rolled into one glorious amalgam of Kratville-approved goodness. So... go trial advocacy. Although I wouldn't mind a little more spare time right about now.
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