One-Sided

I'm sick and tired of hearing how the Israelis are killing civilians with bombs.

Israel was attacked by Hezbollah, with Hezbollah fighters crossing the border and kidnapping two Israeli soldiers.

Israel wants their soldiers back, apparently. As a result, they're blowing the hell out of southern Lebanon.

Which brings me to another point- the land Israel is attacking isn't truly Lebanon, no more so than Texas was a part of Mexico when we annexxed it in the 1840's. For lack of a better word, I call it "Hezbollah-Land." They run the show down there, and the Lebanese government has little influence on that part of the country. If you have enough of a presence to keep out the country's military, you get to rule yourself. That's commonsense. In other words, Hezbollah-land is it's own de facto country, and all the line-drawing in the sand won't change that. So it's not really Israel v. Lebanon, it's Israel v. Hezbollah-land.

Sorry, I wandered a bit there.

Anyway, Israel is killing civilians. Guess what- Hezbollah fighters are strategically placed amongst civilians. Why, you ask? To protect themselves. So Israel has two choices- let Hezbollah continue shooting missiles at their civilians, or target the ones shooting the missiles. Who just happen to be in the midst of civilians.

Kill or be killed is one of the most primitive instincts we have.

My history teacher once posed a question to those who were anti-war. He said imagine a neighboring country is attacking you. Other than fight back, what do you do? Let them kill your women and children, burn your crops? Roll over and wait to die? Or launch airstrike after airstrike, damning the consequences, until the threat has been removed and your people are safe to live again and walk outside and play.

Israel made their choice- and I can't say that I blame them.

Cousin-Love

That's the name of a street I pass by on my way to Jackson. No, I'm not making it up.

Why on Earth would someone name a street that? I understand that it's probably named after some guy whose last name was Love, and he was someone's cousin. But it still doesn't make sense.

Wouldn't that kind of name hurt your property values? I'm guessing listing "Cousin-Love" on your application for housing slashes the price by ten percent automatically.

It's not like they've run out of names, either. Most of the other streets have beautiful names, and this one sticks out like a sore thumb.

It's just odd.

Anyone else out there got any weird street names to share?

I Think I've Created A Monster (Or At Least I Hope So)

I've created a blog that with any luck, will change the face of the Internet forever.

Just kidding. However, I am hoping it turns out to be an interesting idea.

It's a community blog, in the sense that anyone can post what they want.

I've always thought that the biggest weakness of a blog is that it only shares one singular viewpoint. As a result, people have to visit several blogs to get a rounded view of a particular situation.

Also, people tend to only visit blogs that reinforce what they think- hopefully this experiment will challenge people to visit ideas they normally wouldn't consider.

The website is www.everyman-blog.blogspot.com.

The username is Yorick2006.
The password is Everyman.

Change it however you wish- however, I ask that you don't change the password, for obvious reasons. If you really want to only hear your own opinions, get your own blog. This one, in theory, belongs to everyone.

Where Did Summer Go?

Classes start back at school on Monday, August the 21st.

What?

Have two months disappeared that quickly. It seems like just a blink ago I was studying for finals. Now I hear I've got class in roughly three weeks?

(Insert heart-wrenching sound of anguish here.)

From what I gather, the first semester of your second year is supposed to be the toughest. Apparently, they manage to stuff a full year's worth of knowledge in your brain in only a semester's time. That's the idea, at least.

To be honest, though, we 1Ls at our school had it fairly easy. I know it wasn't a cakewalk, by any means, but it could have been more difficult. Most of the professors seemed to dwell on topics they could have sped past without a second thought. I don't know if that's a testament to their teaching ability or a sign of the law school's weakness, but there it is. As it stands, I think the most I ever had to read (i.e., was assigned to read) was roughly 30 pages- not exactly a Herculean task by any stretch, particularly when you were given two days to do it.

However, since it is harder, I took a safety and only registered for 15 hours. I'm sure others opted for 17 hours, but I'm not that brave. (In my defense, there's an outside chance I'll be picked up for Law Review, which would bring the total to 16.) But I'd rather do well with a small courseload than be overwhelmed by a large one.

When it comes to my degree, I'm not in any big hurry. I'll skip summer classes, take the required courses, and graduate in the Spring of 2008.

But I still wish summer wouldn't fly by so fast.

Perfect Drive

What a difference an address makes.

Before, I found myself hurtling down Interstate 55 at breakneck speeds for too many miles to count on my way to school- even longer when headed to work. I was lucky if I could make the trip in forty-five minutes.

Now, however, I find myself cruising through twisting country roads in a pleasant 20-minute drive through outstanding scenery.

Starting out from home, I wind my way down toward the Pearl River. As a result, I see images that remind me (as ridiculous as this sounds) of Virginia. Mississippi is generally a very flat place, but here, as the ground gives way to a river channel, everything heaves and sighs in the face of irretractable power. As a result, there are impressive ridges and vistas everywhere.

My trek truly begins, however, by going over two old one-lane wooden pony truss bridges. One crosses over the Pearl River, a nice sized river flowing through the middle of (and partly the reason for its present location) the capital of Jackson. However, at twenty miles below the city, all is peace and quiet as my old Camry ramps up the bridge and rattles over the wooden running boards that serve as support. One almost expects to see them filming an episode of Little House on the Prairie.

The next bridge is smaller, as it crosses a tributary of the Pearl. The view is still impressive, however. Being more diminutive, this bridge actually goes straight across, like modern bridges. The larger bridge's span resembles the top three sides of a stop sign, only slightly less exaggerated. (For the curious, you can see a picture of the actual bridge here- it's the sixth picture down.)

From there, I roll into a small town and pass through an old railroad bridge tunnel before crossing over the Interstate- my sole brush with civilization on my daily sojourn. I quickly retreat back into the wilderness, passing down ten miles of random country roads until reaching my destination at a small country town.

Never once do I see a stop light- only the occasional stop sign. It's surprising if I encounter more than ten cars during the entire trip, and most of those are near the small city I pass through. It truly is a perfect drive.

Whew!

My boss had been preparing for a HUGE federal case this last week, which was scheduled to begin this week.

He was the local attorney on the case- if you're not licensed to practice in a certain state (and you have the financial resources to keep the case) you hire a local guy to come in a be a legal ombudsman, so to speak. Then you attach yourself to his certification and everything is kosher. At least, that's how I think it works.

On Wednesday we receive some federal subpoenas through the fax machine that he wanted me to serve. That the guys in Big Firm wanted delivered before the trial on Monday- as a result, I run all over town on Thursday morning handing subpoenas to various people. (On the upside, I was reimbursed $25 for each subpoena I served, so that was good.)

However, we forgot to attach checks to the subpoenas, so the other side raised a motion to quash them on Friday afternoon. So, in a frantic frenzy, we remade the subpoenas and I was given the horrible task of trying to find medical experts on the weekend, with no home addresses to go on. A google search barely helped, and I was largely unsuccessful in my quest.

Ergo, I walk into work today thinking that I completely screwed everything up, and our side is going to lose a LARGE amount of money due to my lack of subpoena-serving abilities. Large, as in I'm-pretty-I-couldn't-have-paid-it-back-in-my-lifetime large. That kind of money.

However, the trial was settled today and everything turned out alright after all. But it was certainly a harrowing experience.

Anniversary

Today is the date I celebrate four wonderful years of marriage to my beloved wife.

For some reason or another, we've always had bad scheduling luck on our anniversary- something always came up that forced us to postpone the celebration. This year is no different, as the combination of the move and her GRE test make for little time.

Even our honeymoon was cut short, due to the fact that we had to begin pre-planning as teachers.

However, this Sunday we hope to go to the Neshoba County Fair, as that's the place I took her on one of our first "official" dates, roughly seven years ago.

Here's hoping our lives can cease just enough to let us live, if only for a moment.

Boy Walks Outside, Climbs Tree

Rochester, New York-- In a story that practically defies belief, photojournalist Bob Winderstump has produced for authentication what he believes to be the first tree climber ever captured on film, perhaps the first one in the country.

After confirmation by Kodak photo specialists, the hunt was on.

"We knew we had something special," said an unnamed source. "How often do you hear of a boy in a tree?"

Both National Geographic and 60 Minutes, among others, have sent out crews and discovered the identity of the unabashed Emersonian tyke, now identified as Josh Winthrop, a 7-year old boy from a small suburb just outside the Rochester area. Upon learning of the news, his mother fainted. Josh, however, glady told his tale.

"Well, Mom's Lexus was in the shop, so I was forced to ride the bus, right? Well, to make matters worse, the batteries on my iPod were running down. There' just no way that Don't Fear the Reaper is supposed to get a man that kinda down, know what I mean? Anyway, the thing cuts off during a sweet acoustic version of Stairway to Heaven and I'm left standing next to the street with six minutes to kill before the bus arrives."

"Six minutes- how'd you do it?"

"It was tough, real tough. I almost headed back in when I saw this thing out of the corner of my eye. A tree, they call it. I'd seen one, of course, but I'd never touched one."

"And why is that?"

"What good reason do I have to touch it? It doesn't light up, sent text messages, or fill the void in my soul."

"So why did you climb the tree?"

"Well, I was standing there, and I saw a branch sticking out. Almost as if it was instinct, my hand reached up and closed around it. Before I knew it, I was halfway up the thing. All the worries of life just melted away. I was able to be a kid again, damnit! That said, it really isn't that big of a deal."

Of course, the townspeople saw things differently. Within a few minutes a sizable crowd had gathered, and were staring in awe at the boy in the tree. At times, his feet were as high as five feet off the ground.

"My grandfather had told us that people did that, but I never believed it," said Martha Kurr, an amateur geneaologist. "I guess I could have been wrong. It's still hard to believe, however- next they're going to try and convince me that people once lived without the Internet!"

The city is planning to memorialize the event by placing a bronzed statue of the child in the tree- and toy makers like Hasbro and Mattel are releasing toy trees later this month.

As for the would-be Edmund Hillary, well, he's got other plans.

"I'm thinking of building a small platform up there, where I could hang out and stuff. Any maybe include a rope ladder or something. I do know one thing- I'm gonna need some pretty decent Wi-Fi in order to get online gaming going down from the middle of a tree. I'm all about some Everquest."

Century Mark

Worked over the weekend finishing the fence. It was 99 degrees on Saturday and 100 degrees on Sunday here- not the best times to work outdoors. But, with the calendar being what it is (we have to be out of our old place by the end of the month), we can't afford to sit by and idly curse the weather.

It's all slowly coming together, however, and we hope to be moved soon.

Until then, I'll only be able to manage a frantically-inspired and hectic schedule of blogging.

Stay tuned.

Highway Shoulders Underfunded, Underappreciated

It's been called a silent epidemic. Each year, millions of motorists pass by them, unaware of their importance. Yet, time and time again, they are there when wee need them most- to change a tire, or make an illegal U-turn.

Tragically, however, the government Highway Shoulder Rejuvenation program has been obsolete since 1998, when Bill Clinton drastically reduced funding. As a result, our nation's extensive system of highway shoulders is beginning to fall apart.

"We just need more money," says local road repairman Jake Alters. "This dirt and gravel won't take care of itself. Sometime in the next two hundred years, there's going to be a problem."

Highlighted by the recent collection of photos Almost Bearing the Heavy Load, Congress is considering legislation to save our nation's shoulders. The most famous photo shows a single black-eyed Susie among a patch of clover. It begs the question of what horrors could occur if a wary motorist happened to collide with it at highway speed.

"Surely the carnage would be unimaginable to the vehicle," said renowned crash expert Sven Drigglesome. "We need some money to clear these shoulders. In places, the grass is over seven inches high. Seven." Asked about the cost, Sven said, "I imagine it could be accomplished with about three hundred dollars."

Congressman Jack Albert (South Dakota- R) takes a more practical approach.

"Without shoulders, what's the head to rest on? Come on America, help me support our heads. We don't want to be the guy at the party whose head lolls around, do we? Do we?"

Hopefully, help is on the way. Until then, however, shoulders will be forced to just sit there and do nothing.

Toyota Sequoia Fined for Excessive Vowel Usage

The National Highway and Transportation Board has recently approved a $10 million fine against Toyota Motors, Inc. It is the largest fine levied against a major automotive maker since the Board was authorized to do so under the Conspicuous Consumption Act of 1974.

Announcing the fine at an afternoon press conference, a spokesperson for the Board said, "Numerous complaints from rival automakers and drivers on the road brought to our attention the fact that Toyota had used all five vowels in the word "Sequoia," currently the name of one of their most popular SUVs. This action will not be tolerated. For too long vowels have been wasted by these industrialist juggernauts- let today be the day this waste stops."

Shares of "U" plummeted at the news at the New York Stock Exchange, as savvy traders guessed it would be the vowel to lose out.

"Everyone knows the vowel "U" sucks," said one trader, "No way is Toyota going to cut any of the big boys. Hell, the vowels "O" and "A" are in their name, aren't they?"

Toyota responded with aggressiveness to the charges: "Our attorneys have conferred on this matter and vowed to fight this ruling. The law is ambiguous at best on this point, and we feel we have a strong case. As a show of good faith, however, we have stopped test development on the new Toyota HAAZZLLLEEEBOOOKEEIIVUUUS- even we know our limits. Thank you."

Citizens around the country are united, but for various reasons.

"I's got nothing against Toyota," said a local mechanic from Whethersville, North Carolina. "I can accept the fact that they waste more oil than a retreatin' Iraqi during Desert Storm. That's our God-given American right to waste oil, and if a foreign corporation with factories in America want to get in on it, God bless 'em. I can even take the little spoiler on the back, even though I reckon it don't serve no purpose. But the sheer hubris of using all five vowels," he says, spitting out a wad of tobacco on the ground, "is simply beyond comprehension. And I have it on good authority that "Y" can be a vowel, too. Why should they get to use so many?"

Statistics bear out the mechanic's ominous warning. Data released just yesterday by the Census Bureau shows a dangerous explosion of vowel usage.


Others take a different approach.

Pat Sajak, host of the ever-popular Wheel of Fortune, said in a press release, "It's common knowledge that one must buy vowels in a free society. Toyota uses more than enough- I think $10 million is a good start to the price tag they've run up. If you ask me, the category is Things that are Evil."

In related stories, others are worried that the potential vowel excessiveness will overshadow the consonant genocide occurring in Ohio.

"Damn," said one man, who asked to remain unidentified, "They only got one left."

Interesting, to Say the Least

Today, just before Bobby Glenn Wilcher walked into the execution chamber, the Supreme Court granted a surprise delay of execution order. In other words, everything stopped. Instantly.

Here are, as far as I can tell, the facts. Bobby Glenn Wilcher was convicted of murder over two decades ago- he apparently stabbed both women over twenty times and left them for dead on a dirt road. Even more surprising, he confessed to the crimes at trial.

The Mississippi Supreme Court refused the grant a stay, the Federal District Judge (whom I saw today in person) refused to grant a stay, the Court of Appeals refused to grant a stay, and the governor refused to offer clemency. Last chance- the Supreme Court of the United States.

It is extremely rare for the Supreme Court of the United States to intervene in this type of matter. Curiously enough, since Wilcher admitted to the murders, there is really no evidientary issue to dispute. Thus, their reason for granting the stay could only be for one reason, right?

They're considering ruling that capital punishment is cruel and unusual, and thus unconstitutional. That's the only logical conclusion, right? That makes sense? I'm not crazy, am I? Is there something I'm missing? (Notice the use of questions to show utter confusion on my part.)

Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Alito and Justice Scalia voted to continue with the execution. Which means six didn't. Hmmm....

I smell the distinct possibility of the court writing an opinion that will leave the makers of Constitutional Law textbooks scrambling to reprint before early August. Just a hunch, however- I could be wrong. In fact, I usually am.

But I just can't see six justices deciding to stay the execution of what is clearly a guilty man for any other reason. Nor can I see them toying with his life, like a bored cat.

(Notice how I avoided permeating this post with my personal opinion- I just really want to get across what a possibly historic moment this might be. In the same way that Roe v. Wade was, regardless of how one felt about abortion personally.)

Fed Court

Headed to federal court for the first time in about thirty minutes...

I've been to (counting on fingers) six different state and county courts, but never a federal court.

I hope it's as imposing as I imagine it to be.

Work Product

Today I just put the finishing touches on four complaints. For the non-legal reader, a complaint is a request for a court to grant you relief. Here's an example:

1. My name is Bob.
2. The other guy's name is Jethro.
2. Jurisdiction (power of court to hear claim) is proper.
3. Venue (place of court to hear claim) is proper.
4. Jethro maliciously stole my prize heifer.
5. Such harm is irreparable.
6. Premises considered, I ask for $2000 or whatever relief the court deems just and equitable.

Oddly enough, one could type that up and file it, and it just might fly in federal court, once the complaint is served with the summons. All that's basically required is notice.

Of course, the four I worked on were a bit longer- running on average 4-5 pages each. That's because one of the points of a complaint is to get the other guy to think long and hard about possibly settling the case. That's also where exhibits come in- you want the other guy to know what you have (because he'd see it anyway in discovery- the part where you basically swap stuff) so he can see what he's dealing with. If you truly have a good case, it'll be obvious.

One of them had six different exhibits to attach.

Another invoked Section 1331 of the United States Code- federal question jurisdiction. It'll be filed soon, after I print out the summons. It's funny- you hear about Section 1331 all the time in Civil Procedure class- now I'm actually invoking it. Big difference, there.

I've learned that the system weeds out most frivolous claims before they're even filed- good lawyers tend to act like mini-judges; that is, they don't file claims that don't appear to have a very good chance of winning. It's just a giant waste of time.

(My boss/lawyer calls me the "Small Claims Division," but right now I'm getting ready to file a complaint for enough money to easily meet the amount-in-controversy requirement of federal court. My law school peers will know what that means.)

Now, onto Requests for Admissions and Counterclaims...

Terry Mercantile Company

This Saturday my Dad, father-in-law and I built a fence. To be more specific, half a fence. But the hard part- digging eight holes and setting the posts in concrete- is over. Next week I'll buy some wire mesh and hopefully, I'll have a fence for my dogs.

We underestimated the amount of concrete we would need by a few bags, so I had to run to the Terry Mercantile Company halfway through the job in order to finish.

I had never been in the actual store, but I had passed it several times. Terry is a tiny town, but this store takes up what could be the best piece of real estate in the area- in other words, to pass through the town is to go past this store.

I pulled in next to the concrete ($2.98 for a 60-pound bag) and walked in.

I might as well have walked into a different century.

I was in a general store- not a Wal-mart, not a Kroger, not a Walgreens. A real, God's-honest-truth general store. Feed and seed. Preserves and jellies on a shelf against the wall. Fishing poles near the counter. At any moment I expected Andy Griffith to walk in and start whistling before singing "Amazing Grace."

The floors were wood- real wood. As in when they built the place they went and cut down some trees, milled them, and selected the inner pieces (the heart, so to speak) for the floor. They shone like honeyed blood. The ceiling appeared quite tall- maybe fifteen feet. The place felt old and timeless, all at the same time. (I attempted in vain to find a picture online of the place- there are none, according to Google Image Search. I fear that any attempt to take a picture of the place that isn't in sepia tone will result in instant death. Must investigate.)

"How may I help you?" a man asked behind the counter.

Baffled at the personal service, my circuits momentarily backfired. Human connection the instant one walks into a store? I cannot compute.

I regain my composure and I tell him I need five bags of concrete. From out of nowhere another man appears and says, "Five bags? Are you parked near the concrete?"

I nod, at this point sure I'm in a strange dream, and the man is gone before I finish.

Another man appears, this one looking at the fishing poles. He seems way too happy. He asks where "just the poles" are, and I realize my head is about to explode. Here I am blogging away about how Emerson's philosophy has been cast aside, and this man just ten feet away is living it. Away with the reels and bait, he seems to say. Just a cane pole, a string, and a hook and I'll be fine.

I look up and the man behind the counter (I assume from his countenance that he owns the place) is writing up a receipt. Let me repeat that- writing up a receipt. Computers? Hogwash! Why do with machine what can just as easily be done by pen? He didn't say that, but I wouldn't have been surprised to have heard it come out of his mouth.

I ask him when this building was built, and he pauses from his arithmetic briefly and cocks his head in thought. "Oh," he says, and pauses for dramatic emphasis, "Around the 1890s, I believe." He says it with a mystical tone that hints that somehow, he was around to build it. The mercantile owner, the man who never grows old and watches the town go by around him.

For a moment, I believed that iPods and laptops and the Internet and power windows and gasoline engines and electricity had melted away. I am fully convinced that if a guy had walked in with an MP3 player, either he or the building would have promptly vanished, never to be seen again. I wouldn't bet against that store.

I gave him a twenty and received my change just as the other man reappeared. I thanked him, still in a daze.

And then I left- walked out the doors, climbed in the truck, and headed back out into the cruel, linoleum covered world with low ceilings and store owners who could care less, as long as you hand over your money.

Capital Game #2

For those new to the site, here's how the game is played:

Hidden in the passage below are the names of state capitals- I haven't decided on how many yet.

The capitals can be separated by spaces or punctuation marks but not letters that would distort the spelling of the word.

Example: "Jack's on drugs."

Answer: Jackson- Mississippi

(I couldn't have put "Jack is on drugs" because "Jackison" is not a state capital.

Have fun, and you can look at the list here if you need some help.


Jack checked the silencer on his Beretta and hid amongst the shadows. The gentle waves of the ocean slapped against the shore in a comforting rhythmn. Jack barely heard it. His eyes were trained on a silhouette against the last pier, resplendently outlined against the rising yet waning moon.

The target.

He had been told the man would be here, but he hadn't known if his source was to be trusted. That damn Santiago will never let me live this down. Still, he kept his guard up- he had been tricked one too many times. Once he had been saved by the slimmest shard of providence- an itch on his shoulder had caused a bullet to graze harmlessly by. As a result, he was loathe to take chances, and worked with the methodical calculation of a madman.

Within him, the old killing fires began to burn. The swirling haze of his subconscious formed a nascent plan. Singe. That's a better word. Yes- singe, that carries a better connotation. He almost smiled to himself- a quiet reflection of the fact that he was debating diction immediately before shooting a man. I'm not quite right, am I? The killer smiled again.

The air was cool and surprisingly pleasant. A few more seconds- let the moon rise a bit more before making your move. Patience is a virtue. He failed to heed his own advice, and silently crept closer and closer to his intended prey.

Twenty feet away, and he raised his gun to fire. Suddenly the figure spoke.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The assassin waited out of idle curiosity, his finger still pressed softly against the trigger.

"I came here to die. They've done away with me. And I knew you would come. Your friend Santiago set up this meeting." The plan was falling into place at last.

"He told me you would be upset- but he was paid well and you'd be smart to forgive him. Information is a valuable commodity in your field. He could very well initiate a total ban, you know."

The figure turned.

"Well, go ahead and kill me. I just stopped you earlier because I wanted to collect my thoughts and let you know that you're not the assassin you think you are. Hell, Santiago could be your bos-"

Tonight the world would be one man poorer and one man richer.

And somewhere in Russia, a top-secret laboratory would discover a missing cache of experimental drugs- drugs which caused psychosis and depression. Looks like Santiago is to be trusted after all.

Edit: I'm going to leave a comment that says how many capitals there are. Much like Faust, I need to up the ante from time to time. Leaving said comment will hopefully satiate those who like to be challenged.

I'll also include a hint- but don't look until you're stumped.

Stars and Stripes

An amendment that would have made burning the U.S. flag illegal recently failed to gather enough support in Congress. Which is strange, since most politicians don't appear to be terribly deep thinkers. I'm quite sure the average person would be for the amendment, so it's curious that the politicians didn't fall on their side of the fence.

What I do know is that I'm sick and tired of people using the flag in ways never imagined. Used car and appliance dealers feel the incessant need to shower their goods in Old Glory, in the hopes that someone passing by will be struck with an incessant fever of capitalistic patriotism. It cheapens the thing that so many have been willing to die for.

(I understand the argument that it's just a piece of cloth, but I like to think that humans can collectively imbue inanimate objects with profound and symbolic meaning. The Mona Lisa, after all, is more than just paint on canvas. Tolstoy's writings are more than just ink on paper. At least, I hope everyone thinks that. By the same token, the American flag is more than just red, white, and blue cloth.)

I don't agree with people who burn flags, but I lump them in with the same group as the aforementioned shysters who drape it over anything and everything in an effort to make a dime. They have no respect for the thing, either- it's just another way to seduce the buying public.

My only beef with flag burners is that they do it so much it loses its power to shock the public. It should be a "nuclear" type protest option, one that is rarely utilized. It shouldn't be done when the Senate passes a bill you don't like, or you disagree with the President. It should only be done when one has a serious belief that the country itself is no longer holding dear to the principles on which it was founded, which is why Jefferson charged us with overthrowing the government if it ceases to meet our needs.

For example, if the government started seizing people's properties and banning religious freedom, I would probably burn a flag in protest. For at that point I would no longer believe in the country the flag represented- meaning the flag would be meaningless to me. Those that burn the flag now do so because they want a war or statute changed- not the country's democratic perspective as a whole. It's like tearing down the entire house, because you just can't agree with the bay window the new project leader had installed.

(That's not to say I wouldn't punch a flag burner in the face- it's only to say that when I did it, I'd realize I was a jackass who was trampling on the rights of others.)

Big Budget

Superman Returns cost roughly 250 million to produce (rumors are circulating that it cost much, much more).

250 million dollars.

Can you imagine- because I can't.

How does one spend 250 million dollars making a movie? One quarter of one billion dollars. Isn't the point of a movie to make money, and lots of it? Starting off that far in the red can't be that great of a business idea.

At some point it must be cheaper to just blow up real stuff than use computers to make us think it just blew up.

I'm not saying that movies should be made cheaply, only that movies should be based on plot elements. When people gather around a campfire, they want the storyteller to make them believe the house burned down, not actually watch it happen. A cheaply made movie with a well-developed plot will inevitably make more money than an expensive movie that bores the audience to tears.

By comparison, The Blair Witch Project cost about $25,000 to make, and earned over 248 million dollars for its effort. Why? Because it was different and interesting- something an overly expensive superhero movie at the turn of the century isn't.

Oh, Superman will make money, but it won't be terribly profitable. Those souls who are always drawn to Aristotelian spectacle will flock to the thing in droves. But it could have been made better with less money and more intelligence.

Polar

"A house divided against itself cannot stand..."

- Abraham Lincoln, 1858

Our nation is not exactly divided, but the cloth is frayed at the middle.

Over the last fifteen or twenty years, the vast majority of people in this country have drifted from the center and taken up ideological residence at the far extremes of political thought.

ABC News showed a special roughly a week ago that focused on a sociological study. People with a range of political viewpoints were placed in a room together and asked to come to a consensus. Instead of compromising (which would seem the safest prediction to make) the more neutral participants in the study generally caved and agreed with the more extreme viewpoints.

Apparently, this is happening on a national level.

Take any "hot-button" topic of the day- abortion, gay marriage, immigration, or the war on terror- and the best answer is probably an amalgam of the two dominant political viewpoints in the American political arena- Democrat and Republican.

However, the two groups have been overtaken by a vociferous and belligerent minority that neuters any potential chance for open and healthy discussion before it begins. Both sides are guilty of plunging their heads in the sand, as far as it concerns the other side's arguments.

The wonder of democracy is that there is a natural solution which will present itself over time, whether we like it or not. As I see it, there are two possibilities. Either a charismatic and personal candidate will arise (in the mold of Clinton or Reagan) that will help bridge the gap, or a (reputable) third-party candidate will emerge and successfully straddle the political Colossus. The second option, which is less likely, will become more feasible as the parties drift farther and farther away.

As it stands now, however, all political discourse of any merit has shut down- we are left with those on opposite ends lobbing dangerous and pointless missiles at each other- missiles that do nothing but damage to both sides and does nothing to advance the discussion.

What makes us human is our ability to communicate effectively, reach compromises, and shape the world as we see fit. Right now I hear a cornucopia of garbled static filled with catch phrases approved by pollsters, grumbles from those who refuse to yield based on arcane notions of pride and boorishness, and the silent screams of a nation that must use too much energy to remain a cohesive social fabric.

As Yeats said, "Things fall apart." It appears that maxim is applicable to political institutions as well. Let's hope the ship rights itself in time to continue its storied course.

On July 4th...

North Korea launched a handful of missiles, all of which fizzled harmlessly into the Japan Sea. Their "long-range" missile could only stay in the air for 42 seconds before breaking apart. It was so pathetic that the U.S. military didn't even bother to send out their Interceptors. Yawn.

Meanwhile, in the U.S., we sent up a space shuttle which successfully carried various human beings into outer space. We'll carry out scientific experiments and resupply a space station, I think. In other words, it hasn't landed yet.

Summary: America 1, North Korea 0.

Footnote Hell

I've been working for about two hours on my Law Review paper. Here's what I've got:

1. A fairly decent title.
2. Two extremely rough pages.
3. Elevenish footnotes.
4. No will to continue.
5. A growing knowledge of how much this process is gonna suck.

Here's to being a law student!

Holidays are Hell for Bloggers

"Now I don't know if it's right or it's wrong,
But maybe it's the only way,
To talk about our Revolution-
It's Independence Day."
- Martina McBride, "Independence Day"


It's the July 4th weekend, and the number of visitors who frequent my site has dropped precipitously. Which is normal. It happens every time a large portion of the population gets a holiday.

I suppose they're doing "normal" stuff- spending time with families, hanging out outside, just generally wasting time.

How dare they?

Doesn't everyone know by now that the point of living is to work your life away until you're dead? It has to be, because it's certainly not to establish meaningful human connections. That's heresy.

So enjoy your time and sunshine, workers, for Wednesday we'll all scurry back into our gloomy little offices and perform our dreary roles.

Until the next holiday, that is.

Talking Points

1. Gave away my living room set today using a neat website I enjoy known as freecycle.org. Basically users offer items they don't want anymore, and other users carry it off. I'm happy about it- I would have hated to throw them away.

2. I don't know how national this commercial is, but Chevy has a 3-day sale announcement running on television that ends with a father and his son touching pink ice cream cones together in celebratory conquest. It's the grossest, most vile piece of Freudian filth I've ever seen on the small screen. Either the writers were perverted, or they have no idea what imagery is, or how to use if effectively. It's that inappropriate.

3. I just realized I own over 250 pounds of pet.

4. I'll expand more on this later, but my wife and I gave our 30 day's notice a few days ago. We'll soon be moving south of Jackson. It'll be a LOT cheaper and closer to the law school and work, so that should help out a bit. This will be (counting on fingers) our fifth move in four years, if my math is correct.

5. Watching reruns of Alias makes me tired. The plot is hard enough to follow when you view the episodes sequentially; viewing them piecemeal borders on hysteria. Last time I checked, watching television was supposed to be relaxing. Instead, I feel like I'm failing a Mensa test everytime the show comes on.