Saturday, June 30, 2007

Saturday Morning Sigh

Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and you taste so sweet
Oh, I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you, darling
And still be on my feet
And still be on my feet

Posted by Portia

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Race to the Bottom

Hello America. Senator John McCain* here.

Citizens, it's come to my attention that the dang-blasted foolhardy traitorous bias of the eastern liberal media has decided that my ability to raise campaign funds to steer the country into a new dimension has been hampered by the appearance of that plain-speaking down home good ol' boy, Fred Thompson. What's wrong with you? Don't y'all remember what happen the last time you elected an actor? Oh, you do? Well, just don't hold the fish on that line longer than it takes for the worm to wriggle out, if you know what I mean.

You've probably guessed that I can talk just like folks, better'n Fred, too, and do it with a mouthful of marbles. Here's the plain truth: Fred hasn't yet decided to run for President. Golly, he might decide to run for dogcatcher, or even Justice of the Peace. Heck, Fred might even be able to marry your daughter on Tuesday nights...after five! In an Elvis costume!

Do you really want to give your money to a man who wears an Elvis costume to your daughter's wedding? 'course not.

Now you just pay no attention to all that heehaw jabbering in them danged eastern newspapers. All I can say is that this here John Deere's not about to break down in the final rows of harvest. No sir-ree. I'll betcha that. So them Harvard Yard diddlin' wordsmiths come out with yet another story that says this cowboy is a-droppin' outta the race....well, I'll tell you true: They're just plain smoking wacky weed.

Sure, I got some sores from the Supreme Court knocking the guts out the election reforms me and my 'pard Feingold pushed through Congress like a herd of longhorns across the Red River. And yep, my stance on that dang-blabbed Immigration Reform Bill isn't going to win me any friends down in the holler. But, neighbors, I was absolutely forced to vote with Obama and Hillary to allow illegal immigration to continue unabated, otherwise them good peoples in Fargo wouldn't be able to order a "cervaza frio" just like we do down here in Tucson and Washington, D.C., without being misunderstood. That's what I call progress for America.

Others might say that I'm out of touch with America. Goldangy, no, neighbors.

America is out of touch with me.

Out of touch with me.

An' you can bet the farm on it.

*John McCain is a true hero worthy of our respect and admiration for his service to this nation and for his courage under the harshest of conditions as a prisoner of war. I do not mean, in any way, to diminish the Senator's contributions to the United States of America through this careless bit of snark commentary. While Mr. McCain has plainly met his duty, ten times over, it reamins that he and I have parted company on many a burning issue. I make no apology that I do not find him to be a viable candidate for the office of Chief Executive, and I expect that he would think far less of me should I do so. Fortunately, for Senator McCain, the number of people that read this site is approximately the same as the number of Supreme Court Justices that voted to quash McCain- Feingold's bill's ban of "issue ads."

Irrepective of our political differences, and they are vast, should I ever have the opportunity to meet the man in person I shall immediately snap to attention and crisply salute him. He is ours.

Go Navy.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Pants On Head

You have no doubt heard by now of the suit brought by an Administrative Law Judge in Washington, D.C., to recover $54 million dollars from a Korean dry cleaner for losing the judge's pants.

Not surprisingly, the ALJ who brought this outrage into court has lost the case, and is, thus far, liable for court costs. A motion for attoneys fees running in the many thosusands of dollars has been made by the small businessman, and will be entertained by the court at a future date.

In the meantime, I thought it important that I put to rest any lingering doubts as to whether the fellow who so fouled the system of justice, the court, and his neighbor, is anything other than an abusive bully unworthy of being a lawyer, much less a judge. He isn't.

He has brought such disrpute unpon his office that the D.C. Office of Administrative hearings has taken him off of cases since May, and removed his biography from its website.

Not enough. This person has shown himself to be so vindicative and irrational that he should be barred from practicing the law. He set out to ruin another human being, putting forth such outlandish theories as to bring into serious question, not only his character and fitness to practice the law, but also his sanity. He has made a mockery of himself and my profession. He must go.

Color me pissed.

Friday, June 08, 2007

"With All Due R-E-S-P-E-C-T"

I know that I'm late to this story, but I've been busy trying to save my giggles for the world's other biggest joke. Nevertheless, it's worthwhile to briefly touch on the subject of humor in the courtroom.

Don't. Go. There.

Saying a bankruptcy judge was "a few french fries short of a Happy Meal" may cost an out-of-state lawyer the ability to practice in U.S. Bankruptcy Court for the Southern District of Florida.
The comment already has cost Chicago-based McDermott Will & Emery partner William P. Smith his client -- Miami Beach's Mount Sinai Medical Center & Miami Heart Institute.

When I first heard the story, it seemed absurd. The idea that a federal judge should go completely ballistic over such a commonly uttered idiom seemed a bit childish. I simply can't imagine that a seasoned attorney, such as counselor Smith, actually meant to infer that Judge Isicoff was dumb. It was merely a slip of the tongue. Hadn't the judge herself ever said something she immediately wished she hadn't? Why didn't she just hold up her hand and say "Excuse me?" and allow the poor bastard to apologize profusely and beg the Court's forgiveness? Why publicly humiliate the guy and his firm? Why cause such a fuss over such a minor gaffe? It just didn't make sense.

Now it does. Judge Isicoff was evidently sick and tired of big city lawyers coming down to Miami (which is just a sleeply little town on the coast of Cuba) and dissin' her district like a banana republic.

"People come to the Miami and Fort Lauderdale courts, and they think that it's a second-class court system when they come from New York or Chicago or places like that," said Charles M. Tatelbaum, national chairman of the bankruptcy litigation and secured transaction practice at Adorno & Yoss in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. "I am pleased because it would have been a lot easier for her to simply ignore it and do nothing, and this is the kind of person she is because she is going to say, 'I am not going to stand for that.'"

Tatelbaum said the bankruptcy bar backed Isicoff's appointment to the bench and described her as a "no-nonsense person" and a "super lawyer" with a "very good sense of humor."

Prominent bankruptcy attorney Paul S. Singerman, co-chief executive officer of Berger Singerman in Miami, said Isicoff is an "even-tempered, polite and patient" judge.

"Sometimes I observe lawyers that come from larger cities than Miami and who perceive that their home city is a more sophisticated commercial center do bring with them, sometimes unintentionally, an air of superiority or arrogance," Singerman said.

Put aside for the moment that whatever the above-quoted attorneys actually think of Judge Isicoff, they wouldn't be caught dead saying anything other than that she's the best danged judge on the planet and has a funny bone that just won't quit. They'd be a few fries short of a happy meal to say otherwise, donchathink?

No, the real story here is about turf. It's my courtroom, in my district, in my state, and no fancy-pants Yankee lawyer's going to come down here and disrespect it. That warning has now been served - in spades.

Let me tell you, Judge Isicoff isn't alone in her stance. I witnessed a very senior trial attorney from a large New York firm get his head handed to him by a 4th Circuit Federal District Court judge (who, of course, is the greatest judge on the planet and has a terrific sense of humor!). The poor fellow thought that His Honor would be interested in knowing how the courts in the 2nd Circuit handled certain matters. In a voice that froze the hearts of all in attendance, the kindly jurist informed the attorney that he didn't give a "darn" about how they did it up north, that isn't the way they did it in Virginia. He then invited the fellow to sit down, which he did, and from whom not a word was heard again during the course of the trial.

Which reminds me of a story...

Back in 1992, two attorneys were were engaged in a vehement argument over a motion in the courtroom of Providence, R.I., Superior Court Judge Patricia Hurst. Finally she had enough and threatened to shoot both of the attorneys...with a water pistol.

"I told them I have a good way of dealing with prolonged motions," Judge Hurst later said.
Not everyone agreed, however, and Judge Hurst received a one month suspension for brandishing her water weapon in court.

Said the Judge after she had surrendered the weapon to her attorney, "I'm probably guilty of having a bad sense of humor."

Don't. Go. There.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Full woman, fleshly apple

Full woman, fleshly apple, hot moon,
thick smell of seaweed, crushed mud and light,
what obscure brilliance opens between your columns?
What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?

Loving is a journey with water and with stars,
with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour:
loving is a clash of lightning-bolts
and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.

Kiss by kiss I move across your small infinity,
your borders, your rivers, your tiny villages,
and the genital fire transformed into delight

runs through the narrow pathways of the blood
until it plunges down, like a dark carnation,
until it is and is no more than a flash in the night.

by Pablo Neruda

(Posted by Portia)

Friday, June 01, 2007