1st Semester is Done...

Wow. It's over. Tomorrow I can sleep in.
You know, before I start working on getting a clerkship for the summer. Oh, and I have a little over three weeks to get myself ready to do this again. But still. It's done. And I'm still sane, which is a nice bonus.
Feeling good.

Contracts, an ordeal

Today was the day of my contracts final. This was the final I was most worried about, because my professor has the reputation of writing up a vicious exam. It's multiple choice, but with choices that are generally a through f, (some actually went to i) and you're looking for the most correct answer. So, you have to really pay attention to nuance and detail. And some of the questions have more than one correct answer, but they can be completely inconsistent depending on which rules you apply to the situation. In short, it sucks. Hard.
But, the ordeal that was this test stated much earlier. On Friday I had my Civ Pro final, which gave me Saturday and Sunday to study for Contracts, which felt like it would be enough time. I had already finished my outline, so I just needed to plug the gaps in my understanding, get some sleep and try to stay in a good mindset. It all seemed very possible.
But, then, this weekend, St. Paul got somewhere between 15 and 20 inches of snow. It started slowly on Saturday morning. The contracts professor had scheduled a Q & A session Saturday morning, which I knew I really wanted to attend. There were probably only 5 inches on the ground by the time I set out, but the wind was squeeling quickly by me, whipping the snow around like a wet towel. As I entered the building I had a fear that it'd just be me and the professor, but I saw 6 other people. The Q & A went well, questions were asked, answers were given and I felt better about some things I hadn't quite understood. I had planned on spending the day at Mitchell studying, but the snow was coming down hard, so I headed home. I was content that I would have to work on a couple things, but that I was in good shape. This test was going to be hard, but I could do it, I thought.
And then I took her practice tests. I had planned to take these to get familiar with the format of her exams. I had heard the rumors about her exams, but I figured they were a little over-blown. I was wrong. Her exams are evil. EVIL. They're set up so you have to look up every little thing about every possible answer. Yes, there are some possibilities that are clearly wrong, but some of them are meant to look clearly wrong when they are not.
So, I ended up spending most of Saturday afternoon trying to talk myself into not failing out of law school. And, of course watching the snow pile up around our house. And pile up it did. Like I said, over two feet of snow. I watched as one of our neighbors tried to get her car into her parking space a couple spots over from ours, before she just gave up and left it half-way out. There was just nothing she could do, I guess.
Sunday was better. The snow had stopped. And I decided that I had to just go with it on the contracts final. I used the tests from yesterday to pinpoint a couple problems and spent a good chunk of the day re-reading a couple chapters (1 and 4), as well as checking over my briefs on a couple cases. And I decided I was just going to have to be meticulous and methodical and just concentrate, concentrate, concentrate.
I also spent some time shoveling out our car so that Dinah could go to work on Monday. We shoveled a lot, eventually clearing a path from our spot to the alley. It was a pretty decent acheivement, and I can say whole-heartedly that between changing my phone to a local number and shoveling out my car on a day when temps maxed out at 7, I am a Minnesotan.
And the shovelling was good. It tired me out, so that by the time I headed to bed, around 9, I went to sleep immediately.
I was awoken by the sound of a snowblower between our building and the one next to ours. After the last snow, our landlord had the walks cleared at aroudn 5 am, so when I awoke, I assumed it was around 5. I picked up my phone and was shocked to learn it was 1:30 am. 1:30 AM! I was pretty livid. The guy was out there for about an hour, working his way most of the way around the building, which forced me to switch rooms looking for a quiet spot so I could sleep. I tried to keep calm, but it was hard to let go of the fact that I was taking a nasty test in the morning and I needed a good night's sleep. After switching to the guest bedroom, I eventually got back to sleep without any further problems.
So, now it's Monday morning, and Dinah wakes me up. I get up and as I'm getting my cereal together, she tells me that the neighbor who had left her car half-way out of her space had moved her car sometime in the night. She had left and apparently come back and parked her car behind ours, blocking us in. Some of you living in a warm-weather climate might not know this, but this is a huge foul. If someone puts in the work to get their car out, and they don't block you in the process, then you cannot impeded them. And Dinah was angry. I guess she had noticed this last night and tried to hope this person would move her car on her own, before she needed to leave. But now, it was getting to time for Dinah to go to work and this woman had blocked her in. To make matters worth, we didn't know which building she lived in. So. Suck.
As I took a peak out the window, I noticed the parking lights were now on, and I mentioned that, and Dinah shot out. I have made my wife angry before, but this was not good. So, I did what any good husband would do. I got my cereal and went to the window to watch and see if I would need to call the police or an ambulance. Luckily, there was no real incident. The woman had left a note for Dinah to call her (which mitigates the problem, but doesn't make it okay), and Dinah was very civil about the situation.
And then I was left to get ready for my test. And really the rest of it is a blur. I did my morning ritual and suddenly I was there, sitting in the room taking the test.
I think it went well. Well, I don't know how it went, really. But I went slow and I took my time and I did the best I could. So, we'll see.
Now, it's on to Property. The last test standing. Two days of prep for this and the test Thursday afternoon. And then I get to start the new Denis Lehane book that Dinah got me for my birthday. I can't wait. It's been a good semester. Rough at times, but for the most part, I have enjoyed law school. And I think I'm getting the hang of things. Next semester is rumored to be harder, but I'm hoping it's harder in a different way. I'm hoping there will be less adjusting how I work and that any heightened challenge comes working on my skills. We'll see.

First exam done...

As I'm sure you'll gather from the title, I just finished my first exam. It was in Torts, and I think it went well. It's hard to tell for sure, especially when the curve is taken into account, but I feel good about it. And that's about all I can do, so good.
Now, tonight I celebrate turning 33 without dying. And tomorrow it's on to Civil Procedure.
Suck.

Classes are over...

A feeling of hope washed over me after my last Civ Pro class. I can survive a semester of this without making a complete ass of myself in class and without going completely insane. This is good, I tought. I can do this.
Of course that feeling was just a momentarly lapse from the anxiety I've been feeling lately. Finals.
Finals in less than a week. Torts, then Civ Pro. Then Contracts and Property. 2 weeks of studying and preparing.
Yup.

Awkward, or what did I expect going to South Da-f'n-kota?

Thanksgiving was odd.
I've been sitting here working on my contracts outline* for a bit, but I can't seem to stop my mind from wandering to the Thanksgiving that just past.
As you probably know, I went to my Dad's for Thanksgiving this year, which I guess is the second Thanksgiving meal in a row I've spent with him. Last year went fine, this year, not so much. Nothing went wrong, per se. But it all felt wrong.
Let's start towards the beginning. We got into South Dakota Wednesday night and from the beginning it was weird. We were sitting in the car in front of my Dad's for a second, just getting our heads together and taking one last moment to collect ourselves, when the garage door slowly started to crawl up and the light started leaking from the inside into the frigid night. And we were on our way.
Wednesday wasn't so bad. We chatted for a bit before going to bed. Nothing too much came up, except Dad's passion lately has been doing the family tree. From what I can tell it seems like this is a thing a lot of people become interested in later in life. Kind of an exploration into where we come from and that sort of thing. Should be harmless, but he really takes it seriously. And more than trying to find out stories of people, or just getting the dates of their birth and death, Dad's trying to figure out where they are all buried. And then visit them. When we left, he gave us directions and maps to all the people's graves he's found so far. I don't know, maybe this is normal, but it was really macabre.
Thursday is when the weird ratched up a bit. I got up and my sister was already in and we all sat down for breakfast. Mostly harmless chit chat, except my sister brought up my mother. Which shouldn't be a big deal, but there we were talking quickly about Christmas gift ideas for her, in my father's home, infront of him and his woman-friend. I didn't even realize I'd been speaking in hushed tones until the subject changed and I started talking to my dad. They've been divorced for something like 5 years now, but I'm still not used to it. I mean, I'm used to it in that I know I'm not going to see one when I see the other. And I know they're never getting back together, that's not the issue. It's just that my brain does not split them apart the way that divorce has. When I see my Dad, I think of my mother. But when I'm with him now, I know I shouldn't think of my mother, so I feel strange. And I don't know how to deal with that, so I deal with it rather awkwardly.
But everyone seems comfortable ingnoring the awkwardness. So, that's what we do. It's what we've always done.
The day picked up a little when we went to pick up my Grandmother from the retirement home she lives in. I hadn't seen her in four years or so. She's 94 now and her health has been steadily declining. She's now confined to a wheelchair and has a hard time talking and hearing. It's really hard to get her in and out of the car, because she has so much trouble moving. Which is hard to see. She used to be so full of energy, but she's still very sweet. And we had a nice little talk. I think she really liked meeting Dinah.
And I think by the time we got back, people started arriving, which was great. My dad's family (and I guess my family) is full of some really nice, fun people. And the Thanksgiving meal itself was pretty good. The food was solid. The conversation was nice. It was very pleasant. I caught up with some cousins and an aunt and uncle. Yeah. Good times.
After dinner, my dad asked if I would help him take Grandma back to the home, which I was a little nervous about. It meant time alone with my father. I have not been alone with my father since the divorce. But, I agreed. If our relationship is going to get any better, I'm going to have to not be afraid to see my dad without the protection of a crowd. This theory works fine, in theory.
It was a quiet ride out to the home. Short little chit chat, as we were both probably feeling out the situation. But, on the ride back to his place, I decided to try to open up a bit. He asked a little about law school and grades and such. I bitched a little about the lack of feedback of law school and how I want to do well, but don't know that I will. I told him how I would like to get into criminal defense or somewhere in public interest law. Maybe I'd even open my own firm someday.
And he was just quiet. He said I would not necessarily need the best grades for those goals and that I set goals for myself that are really high. I sat there trying to decide if he was really telling me I shouldn't set high goals, and I shouldn't feel the need to push. Was he really telling me I should settle for less than I feel I can accomplish? And it was awkward. I guess I was comfortable ignoring the awkwardness, because that's what I did.
I tried to talk a little more about it, but it kind of became clear he had no real interest in it, and the topic was dropped. I don't know. He had to have known it was awkward. He had to feel my dissappointment. But something about this conversation had made him uncomfortable. And the Ambrosons deal with discomfort by seeking quiet, and by turning inward. Or maybe he didn't realize this was me opening up. I can't be sure. But either way, this was the point where I decided I didn't need to hide myself in order to make him comfortable.
When we got home and most everyone had left, we started talking about baseball. It's an innocuous enough topic, except when there is tension. My father and I are both St. Louis Cardinal fans who were disappointed with the way the past season turned out. But we both take a different look at baseball--me being more in tune with the moneyball, statistical analysis and him being more old school. So, when we talked about the Cardinals letting David Eckstein** go and the new baseball statistics, it's no surprise that we disagreed. What was a little surprising was how entrenched he seemed to be in his position. We used to give a little ground and leave room for the other's position, but not so much this time. When we were talking about WAR***, he scoffed saying, "well, it's easy to see that Albert Pujols is more valuable than Chris Duncan." Which is a true enough statement, but seems to intentionally miss the point I was making.
And for the rest of the visit, this is how it was. He'd make some know-it-all statement**** and I'd just nod to myself and let it go, because it was awkward, and I guess I'm just more comfortable letting it go than arguing about it.
And breakfast the next day was just painful. Throughout the visit, I got to see my father and his woman-friend be playful with each other. Which is, you know, good. For them. I try not to think too much about it, but it bothers me watching them be playful. It's probably not just for show, but the play fighting and cute in-jokes come off really fake to me. And it could be that I'm just biased about this. It could be that right now, wherever they are, they're doing the same stuff, but man. I can't deal with it. It just feels like it's all being done to show me how happy they are. And I don't doubt they're happy. They've been together for 5 or 6 years, and they've both sacrificed a lot to make their relationship happen and work. So, I hope they're happy.
But it's awkward. It's really awkward. And it's really going to be better if we do not ignore it.
I know the problems we're dealing with are large and come from more than just his actions around his divorce from my mom. We're talking about tensions that come from my not unconditionally accepting his new relationship, from his insecurity around me possibly being more successful than he is, from my desire to please my father and how angry it makes me that this is my default position, and so much more. So, I don't know that this is ever going to be something we can fix. I don't know if it's worth it for me to even try. And I really don't know if he notices, or cares, or would be willing to put in the work that would be needed. But, I have got to figure out what it is I need from him, and what it is I am willing to settle for. Maybe this is as good as it is going to get.
Either way, I'm happy I'm back in St. Paul, working on getting my life where I want it to be.



*Note 1. Contracts = argh.
**Note 2. Eckstein was a good Cardinal, but I am of the belief that he was continually overrated, usually by people who love to call him "scrappy". He was solid, but not amazing.
***Note 3. Win Above Replacement. A really helpful statistic that helps value a player compared to a statistically average player.
****Note 4. My two favorites? When we were going by Interstate 229, his woman-friend asked what we called these types of roads, he responded, "Well, it's not technically an interstate or a freeway, so I guess it's just a highway." Huh? And the second, "The piano is a percussion instrument."

Ridiculous. And kind of cool.

How emotionally stunted and needy are law school students at this time of year, with finals on the horizon and mid-terms just being returned to us? It's a good question. But it brings an ugliness you might not be ready for.
So, on Wednesday we got back a writing exam. One day after getting back a paper we'd turned in. This means about 50% of us scored under the average and were depressed, because maybe this means we're not going to be good attorneys. 5% of us scored right around the average and we're depressed because this means we'll be average attorneys, which translates into being unemployed in our minds. 40% of us scored over the average and were depressed because we don't have any idea what our score means and there's every chance we're not going to be good attorneys. 4.9% scored at the top and are not depressed, but they're not content either. And there's one person who scored the top score and is depressed because of everything they had to sacrifice to get the top score. But that's all normal.
What wasn't normal was what happened after. We have this class on Mondays and Fridays, but the exams got into the student services office on Wednesday, which means we didn't have a chance to hear how he thought we did, or for him to say anything about anything. All we knew was that he got mad at our class because someone was clearly surfing the internet in class, which is beyond taboo in law school. Honestly, he just told the whole class not to look at the internet. He didn't call out the person; he didn't throw anyone out of class. And I am quite sure most the other professors here would have at least yelled. But he was cool about it. But between that and the test dropping midweek, it became clear to many in our section that our professor hated us. He hated us for not doing better on the test.
It's true he was a little bit sheepish if you'd run into him in the halls (and I ran into him twice between Wednesday and Friday). He'd nod at you as if taking your temprature to see how disapointed you were with your score, or your choice in going to law school, or with him for giving you a grade you didn't want or you thought you didn't deserve. Or maybe he was nodding because he was just so seriously disappointed in us. And that dissapointment had transformed into hatred. Sheer, burning, angry hatred. No other reasonable explanation.
Yes. That's exactly how emotionally stunted and needy we are right now. If you know someone who lives with or near someone in law school or who's significant other is in law school right now, remember they need your support now more than ever.
****
So, Wednesday night, Mitchell hosted oral arguments held infront of the Supreme Court of Minnesota. Which was awesome. What was even more awesome, you ask? I got to be a greeter for the justices. Which means, I got to chit-chat with them and shake hands with them. I'm sure I made no lasting impression on any of them and that it will not help me much going forward. Except in one way. I comported myself pretty well.
The only really dumb moment for me was when running out to meet Justice Page with an umbrella, I said, "Good morning Justice Page." It being 5:30 pm, it was dark in St. Paul. But the Justice is a nice man, and I was holding an umbrella, sheilding him from the rain, so he said kindly, "It's night." To which I replied, "I'm sorry. I get here and it's dark and I leave and it's dark." And he laughed. So. Yeah. I'm gaining confidence.
Which is all the more amazing considering all the professors here who hate me.

The average.

So far in law school all of the grades I've been given have just been numbers. And then I'm given a number that represents the average. And that's it. I've been left to draw my own conclusions about what my number means in comparison to the average number. Will this put me in the top 25%, or the bottom 25%? What grade does this translate into? Does this mean I know the law, or not? Will I be able to get a job if this is the kind of law student or attorney I am? It's not really a statement on how well I understand the law, although it does invite me to draw my own conclusions.
And really, I find it kind of frustrating. I don't know from one assignment to the next whether I'm improving. I only know where I am in that particular moment in relation to everyone else. And I guess that's nice, but it's not what I feel like I need to know. I feel like I need to know that I'm understanding on an absolute plain, not in relation to everyone else. I don't know if I'll ever get to know that really. I mean, honestly, grades probably don't really ever tell you that. So, I don't know.
I guess I'm hoping I can find a place where there is solid ground. Where I know where I stand and how I'm doing. I mean, it would be even better if I knew I was doing really well, but that's a lot to ask. I know that's probably a lot to ask being that I just started school this past summer and I haven't even really done a full semester. But. Man. It would be really refreshing right now.

Law School is harsh...but good

Well. It has been a while since I updated, and I'm sorry about that. I probably don't have to say this, but law school has made me a very busy person. So, yeah. Can't promise I'm going to be better in the future. At least until after Dec. 16, which is the date of my last final. But, I'll try. Today, I'm gonna be serving up an update in the mega-update mold.
****
Things are going well in law school. I think. I'm not behind in my readings. I'm not behind in my outlines. And I think I'm getting a pretty good understanding of the material we've been covering. And I haven't made too big a fool of myself in class. These are the kind of comforts I've been able to find so far. That I'm not behind, and I don't look foolish. Not a high bar.
It's a little lonely heading to the library day after day and that has been grating. Class time is very challenging, what with making sure I'm understanding everything and that I'm engaged and prepared. And I can't say that if I were able to choose my classes, I would have chosen all of these classes. But, on the whole, I am liking this. I really am. And the odd thing is I don't know why. Perhaps I'm a sadist.
More likely is I'm starting to see the possibilities. Even if I can't quite see them in focus yet, I'm at least able to see the direction I'm heading. After having spent so much time feeling like I wasn't going anywhere and I wasn't doing anything, this is a big comfort. Huge.
It's been a really long time since I felt like I have the ability to make things happen. It's so good to feel it again. I'm trying not to focus too much on my grades and assignments and how that all impacts my future, because honestly it's hard to say how any of that will impact things. I'm mostly just trying to enjoy dreaming again.
****
Of course, this has been stressful. And nothing will make everyone around me here freak out as much as one word: finals. We've got two full weeks of classes followed by two 3-day weeks (because of Thanksgiving and a couple class make-up days), before we hit finals. My first final will be on my birthday, which is just precious.
****
This Thanksgiving, I'll be heading to my dad's. The way Dinah and I work holidays is to alternate between her family and mine. One gets Thanksgiving, one gets Christmas. Up until this year, that meant her parents got one and my mom got the other. Since I hadn't been talking to my father, going to his place for a holiday wasn't really a concern. Now, however, we are communicating. So. Yeah.
We sort of lucked out this year, because Dinah's folks originally had Thanksgiving, but they decided to make other plans. So, we were open when my dad asked us to his place. And since her parents are coming up here for a couple weeks around Christmas, we'll still get a chance to see them after we head to Des Moines to see my mom.
So. Yeah. It works out this year. Next year, I don't really know how that's going to work. And honestly, I am starting to feel like I am at the point where I just want to have holidays with my wife. I don't want to have to travel and I really, really don't want ot have to deal with all the juggling of interests and hurt feelings when I am trying to figure out how to spend my holidays. I don't want to have to consider anyone's emotions when I'm planning out what I'm going to do with my time off.
I know. It's not going to happen without hurt feelings. But I'm gonna dream.
****
Speaking of dreams. Law school will crush your dreams. I'd like to direct everyone to this video. It's from a Pepsi commercial that was made when I was a kid. And it led to one of the cases I had to read for my Contracts class, Leonard v. Pepsico, Inc., 88 F.Supp.2d 116 (S.D.N.Y. 1999). (Proper citation!)
Basically in this case, we have a boy who sued Pepsi because he wanted to get the harrier jet that's "advertised" at the end of the commercial. The boy got together the points he needed to buy the jet, but Pepsi said the jet wasn't really offered. It was just a joke. And the court agreed with them, saying that a reasonable person would understand it was a joke.
But. That kind of sucks. I mean, maybe I was a dumb kid, but I took the offer seriously when Pepsi made it. I thought, well, Pepsi's a big company and if anyone could offer such an obviously awesome prize, it was a big company like that. What I'm saying is, I think the court used the wrong standard. Pepsi was advertising to kids, so maybe a reasonable kid should be the standard. (Note that I am not arguing that I was a reasonable kid.) I doubt it changes the case at all, because the kid had his lawyer send in his order with the required payment. So, it's not like he was acting like a reasonable kid in responding to the ad.
But still. I remember watching that commercial and thinking how awesome it would be to drive a jet to school. I mean, I didn't live very far from my middle school, but still. Awesome. I knew I'd never drink enough Pepsi to make it happen, but it still seemed so possible. Sucks to know it was all nothing.
Oh well.
****
I gotta say. I know law school students have a reputation for being cut throat and hard to deal with, but I am really enjoying meeting everyone. Here at Mitchell, it's not cut throat at all. I mean, we're all striving to do our best and in that way it's competive. But mostly, everyone is very nice about things and willing to help if you ask questions. Or willing to chat. It's pretty cool here.

Finally: A post not about law school...

That beautiful thing you see right there is a juicy nookie, which is a type of juicy lucy, which is the greatest revolution in hamburgers, maybe ever. Since the first couple weeks I've been here, I've heard about the juicy lucy. Which, for those of you who don't know is hamburger with melted cheese in the middle. Gorgeous.

And I had my first one last night at a place called the Nook--a local bar and grill that's gotta be a legend. Apparently there are a couple different places around the Twin Cities that do some sort of variation of this, but word is the Nook is the original. I don't know if that's true, but whatever. The Nook is a awesome. It's not a secret, so we had to wait for almost an hour before we got in on a Friday night, but it was worth it. It's a nice little place. Cozy and nice inside--great atmosphere. It's got a great local feel. I just really liked it.

Anyway, I tried the "Paul Molitor", which has pepper jack instead of the normal american cheese. I'm sure either is great, but I can say for sure, the Paul Molitor is pretty goddamned amazing. As you bite into it, you get a great taste of meat--just like any other burger. But in a second, you get a shot of cheese. Warm and awesome.

I can't do it full justice. I just can't.

I'm just saying, next time you're in St. Paul, the Nook.

Now I'm ready to grow young again...

I don't know if I'm strange or not, but I can't tell if I'm happy.

I think I am. I certainly think I should be. But, I'm just not sure if I am actually and truly happy. There's certainly a lot of plusses right now. Great wife. Really liking being in Minnesota. I'm even losing weight now, thanks to the routine I've settled in. So, yeah, things are good in a lot of ways.

But, and I'm sure this is completely expected, law school is something of an enigma. I mean, some days I come out of class feeling like I'm getting it. Like I can participate in class and really add something to the discussion. That's a great feeling. But then the next day, I will feel completely bewildered and like I'm barely keeping my head above water. And a lot of the time, I just feel really isolated. I spend so much time in the library reading, that just getting out to see and be around people is such a treat. I didn't quite expect that.

I like my classes for the most part. I am having trouble putting it together in Civil Procedure, but I think that's getting better. See, and there's something that really plays on my insecurities. I think it's getting better. I don't know. Not for sure, anyway. One of the ways everyone seems to measure whether you know what is going on is class participation. But that's hit and miss, because sometimes the professor will push you, just to see if you can make an argument back. That hasn't happened too much yet, but it's starting to now, so knowing if what you say is "right" or is just stupid drivell is not as easy as one would expect. I am putting in the time reading and I've decided I need to put more time into reviewing and start outlining, but it's all guess work. There's no way of knowing for sure if that's gonna work. You really don't know until the final exams.

And working on school six days a week for 9-10 hours a day is really tiring.

And yet. I pretty much pop out of bed in the morning at 6.20 and that feeling of dread and disappointment in where I had ended up--that's gone. Not completely, because there is still my worry that I'm gonna mess this all up somehow. But it's mostly in the back of my mind as opposed to the pit of my stomach. And that's a big difference. Huge.

And I think maybe that means I'm happy. Because I think it means there's nowhere else I'd rather be and nothing else I'd rather be doing. Well, except maybe taking something other than Civil Procedure, but really it's all small quibbles.

**************

I get my first shift at the self-help clinic tomorrow, and I'm so looking forward to it. I know I have to learn all this material to pass law school and actually be an attorney, but I'm hoping the clinic helps me remember why I want to do all that stuff.

Law School Freak Out #1...or how I learned to stop worrying and start working toward what I want

In one of the open houses I attended at Mitchell, one of the presenters, a long time professor at the college told us to think about one moment that crystalized why we want to be a lawyer. He told us his was the dramatic turn and look at a witness on the stand. He was going to point his finger...but he didn't know what he would say. But that was his moment and he thought about it when things seemed like they were rough. And so, he gave us he advice to have a moment of our own to keep in mind through the strikes and gutters of our time at Mitchell.
Well, week three is drawing to a close. And it's starting to get a little rough. In fact, last Tuesday was rougher than I was expecting it to get this early. Tuesday is one of the big reading days on my reading schedule. I only have one class in the afternoon, so I get up early and bust out my reading for both my Wednesday classes and anything else I can get to. But it's a lot of work. A lot. Not that I didn't expect it to be hard. It's just different when you're in the middle of a long day of reading, following a long week of reading and you get something back that says you're not good enough.
Which isn't exactly what happened to me, but it's how it felt. One problem I'm having with law school is that, in school, I'm used to getting a lot of feedback. And usually it's positive feedback. Law school is not like that. From what I can tell, it's mostly reading and holding yourself accountable for knowing what you're reading. Sure, you have to present cases and be ready to be questioned on those cases. That's motivating. But when class is over, no one explains to you what everything is about. No one says that your comments were really smart or that you seem to have a handle on things. You just pack up your stuff and try to get ready for the next class.
So, Tuesday. After a long day of reading my Civil Procedure (which I had spent 5 hours on Saturday, but still wasn't getting) and going to my one class. I decided I would take a grammar test. It's a requirement of our legal writing component that we pass with 90% proficiency. We were instructed not to talk to anyone else or use anything to help us, so I didn't. But, I did not pass with 90% proficiency**. Argh. So I will have to take it again and perhaps go to writing lab*. It's not a big deal, right?
But at the end of the day, after spending most the day reading alone in a quiet, still, lonely library, and without having any confirmation that I'm getting it, I freaked out. Not big-time. I didn't head right for Pizza Hutt and start flagelating myself with breadsticks. But I freaked out. Dinah did a good job calming me down, which couldn't have been easy, but honestly, it was still with me when I was going through classes yesterday. I was listening to the Civ Pro professor at 9 am, the whole time telling myself, "you have to get this. You have to. If you don't understand motions to dismiss, then you'll never be a lawyer. You'll never do anything. You'll work yourself right back into the rut." That fucking rut. I don't know if I can explain how much I don't want to get back into unthinking, easy, unrewarding work. I can't. Not that being an attorney as all good times and happiness, but it's better for me.
By the end of my last class at 3:50, I was so tired. There was a meeting at 4 for a volunteer group here that I was thinking of going to, and after some internal debate, I decided I should probably go. And, you know doubt see where this is going. I am really glad I did. The meeting was for a volunteer group on campus that specializes in getting law students to volunteer at non-profit or government agencies that need some help.
And wow. This group seems really energized and happy. And it was a great meeting, the upshot being that on Saturdays I'm going to be able to volunteer for a couple hours at the self-help clinic here in St. Paul. There's a limit on how many 1L's they let do this, so I'm pretty happy I volunteered quickly.
I don't know. These first three weeks, I've spent so much time in the library. Which is good. I'm getting through stuff. I'm understanding stuff. The library is where I need to be. But, it will be really nice to see what I'm working towards, even if I don't have the picture in my head of exactly what I'm gonna be doing.


*Note 1. Goddamn you affect/effect. Goddamn you.
**Note 2. I am making it my policy not to talk about grades. I debated about whether to mention this at all, but I decided it's okay to say whether I passed something or not. But, I will not talk about my grades on the blog. I'm also planning on not talking about them generally. I heard a horror story about someont in the last couple years here who facebooked their grades and I just think that's not going to work out well for me. So. Yeah. I will allow myself to say things like "I passed" or "I didn't pass" or "I wanted to do better". I think it's just gonna be better this way.

Week one down...

Well. The first small week of law school is over and the first full week lies ahead. So far, most everything has gone pretty well. I've been prepared for class. I've felt like I understand what has been talked about. I like my professors. Taking notes on a computer is actually easy and kind of awesome.
There are only two things that seem to be bothering me now. The first is that I am feeling more than a little out of place among the young kids who make up the most of my section. I sort of expected it, but at the same time it is a little bothersome. I have always been a quiet person and it's not always been easy for me to open up and make friends and being older makes it a little harder. Not having the same references. Not being at the same place in life. There's a number of different things that make it a little harder to get to know people. On Thursday I went to Billy's, the local bar that William Mitchell kids seem to frequent. I went as part of an event that was being thrown for a law fraternity that I am planning on joining. I was the oldest person there. Which wouldn't have been bad, I guess. But, I just couldn't get my feet underneath me in any conversation and I felt horribly out of place. It was more than a little depressing. I do think that ultimately, law school will be the more important thing and ultimatley I'll get to know people. But it's still something I worry about.
The second thing I worry about is how much I worry about things. Friday, after my last class of the day, I couldn't get my brain to stop thinking about law school. Not the subject matters as much as my reading schedule and when I'm going to get everything done. I know my worry is a function of how much I want to do well, but it's hardly a comfort. I just have to get better at relaxing and trusting the schedule I set up will get me at least most of the way to getting things done. And realize that I need the time off as much as I need the time on.
Mostly though, things are going well. And that's the important thing.

Chrome heart shining

I'm about 10 minutes from getting up from the library desk and heading up to the third floor for my first law school class. Don't worry, I will not be posting like this for every class. But I thought, this is big. Really big. Like, I'm not sure if I'm gonna throw up big.
Getting out of the rut I'd gotten myself into career-wise has been a very scary thing. Fear of failure and thoughts about what that would mean for me, for my family and for my mental well-being seem to pop out of every thought I have. Which is obviously nerve-wracking. But. It's also good. It points out why I'm doing it and why I've got to just sit my ass down and do the work.
And, I think I can do it. After a week of reading through things and reviewing and re-reviewing things, I think I've got a system that will work for me. I mean, I don't know that yet, because I haven't stepped into a classroom. But at least I have this moment of confidence, even if it's temporary and does not feel like all that much to hold onto right now.
As I was getting dressed after my shower, I turned on some music and on came Neil Young. Long May You Run. I almost started crying. Although these changes have come with your chrome heart shining in the sun, long may you run.
Perfect song for the day.

Bears did not kill me...

I emerged from the woods earlier than expected, but intact. As I mentioned in my last post, I had a bit of a cold. Unfortunately, it got worse on our trip. We spent Thursday night in a hotel in Duluth (which was planned), and it started to get better. Duluth was awesome by the way. It was cooler and so pretty. We hung out down town for a bit and drove around the city Friday night. Friday morning we went to Glensheer, which is the family estate of the Congdon family--an uber-rich family that made a ton of money in the mining industry. It was a good time.
But Friday evening and night was not kind to me. There was a dubious start to our camping trip when, on the drive into the park, I saw a baby bear (cub) on the side of the road. But, we went in, undeterred. However, it might have been the rain, which started almost immediately after we got our tent up, and dripped through the tent a bit. It might have been the smoke from the fire, which took us a lot longer to figure out how to get going than we thought it would. Or it might be the fact that the converter that would've allowed us to fill our air mattress broke. So, we "slept" on the hard ground.
Actually, I'm sure it was the "sleep". I could tough out the other things, but not sleeping just made me so sick and miserable. So, Saturday, we stuck around and spent the day in nature and left after supper.
It was for the best. I needed the sleep. I did not want to consider starting law school sick.
Which brings us to today. Classes officially start on Thursday, but today was the first day of official orientation, which is almost as scary to me. Today is the first time to meet the people in my section. And honestly, the social aspect of law school is probably just as scary to me as the studying and work aspect.
But, I have to say. So far so good. I met a couple people who seemed really nice and who are in my section. And I think it's gonna be okay.
So, yeah. I'm calmer tonight. Which is nice.

Law School Affirmation #3

I'm a little sick today. Nothing major, just a summer cold and a raw throat. Hopefully something I can get over quickly.

But it was because of this sickness I slept in this morning. So, when I finally awoke and looked at my clock, I freaked out. Noon. Holy crap. You see, any other day this summer this would not have been a big deal. I wasn't really working on anything. I was getting ready for law school, but that didn't involve getting up at any particular time. (Though I do want to say, I was usually up by 8 this summer.) Today though. I had decided today would be the day I tore the cellophane off the new books and started working on my assignments.

Ugh.

First off, I should say my brother-in-law (who is an attorney and went to law school not all that long ago) was a little weirded out when he heard I'd been given some of my law school assignments this early. He thought it was a little cruel to make us more anxious by giving us so much time to get our first assignments done. I see his point, but I think I was going to be anxious anyway, and I'm not sure knowing what needed to be done by the first day was going to make me more so.

But, he has a point. Because when I looked at the clock today, I felt my chest tighten and my heart start to race. I would say I started to sweat, but with this humidity, I was already sweating, so I can't say for sure that this had any effect on that. My plan was to start some reading before lunch, head home, eat and then finish anything else up in the afternoon. But now it was already the afternoon. So, of course, having a panic attack was the best way to go.

So I calmed myself down, fixed some lunch, took a shower and got my books together. I was at William Mitchell in by 1:30. And I've read my first assignment for Contracts on Thursday. And...I freaked out for nothing. It's not that the material is easy, but it's not some super abstract, crazy-hard to understand contract or anything. It's a text book. And it's the first chapter, so it's not like they throw you into the deep end and watch you cry.

See, here's the thing. I am somewhat prepared for some of this material. I went to paralegal school, not that long ago and was introduced to some of this stuff. Clearly not with the depth or clarity I'll need for law school, but it is helpful to have some exposure.

So, yeah, after reading through the chapter, taking notes and reviewing it, I can say, okay, this is going to be challenging, but I can do this. It reminded me of my first tour of Grinnell. The tour guide took us to Yonker Pitt where a friend of his was working on a paper for one of his seminars. The tour guide asked him how it was going and the guy said something about 15 more pages to write. I was already frightened just hearing the guy say the word seminar, but 15 pages? I had the feeling that I was not ready to do a 'seminar' and writing 15 pages seemed completely insane. Of course, we all see where that's going. I took 3 seminars at Grinnell. I wrote papers over 15 pages. And I graduated. Yay me.

But while this would lead others to look at new challenges in a different light, I felt myself having a similar reaction as the one I had when I was 18 and looking to live in a dorm room for the first time. Namely, "what the hell am I getting myself into?" and "I don't know if I can do this."

It hasn't helped that everyone talks about law school in the same way. 'You'll be really busy.' 'You won't have time to spend with your wife.' 'It's just a crazy busy time.' Clearly, I will be busy. Clearly, it will be challenging. But, I'm a smart guy. I want to be here. I want to work hard and accomplish a lot. And other people have been able to do it, so it's not like this is mission impossible. I don't know why I keep forgetting this. I don't know why I'm more comfortable doubting myself than taking a deep breath and just getting to my business.

I can do this. If I don't get killed by bears this weekend.

Bears...

After what will be a long, hot, sticky week in the Twin Cities, I will actually get to start going to law school. Holy-goddamned-shit.

I don't really have much else to add to that, I guess. I am as ready for this as I expect I ever will be, so, yeah. I'm just gonna try to enjoy myself and start working on some of the assignments that have trickled out. I'm not freaked out right now. I'm just a little uncomfortable.

******************

One thing that might keep me from going to law school is camping. Yeah, for some reason, Dinah and I decided this would be a good weekend to be outside. Well, "some reason" was really, "I think if I'm here over the weekend I might freak out." But. Yeah the reality of spending time outside is hitting me.

Quick fact: mid-northern Minnesota is known for having bears, among other things. And not just the cute ones like the one pictured (from International Falls, MN). Which is fine, right? Bears are cool. They leave you alone if you leave them alone. Well, I'm not quite so sure now. In doing some planning, we checked to see if it would be okay to keep our cooler in the car, because, bears can't smell through cars, right? Oh. Bears can smell food through cars. They sure can. And if they smell food, they might not leave you alone. Which is awesome. So, of course, we check to see what we should do if we see a bear.

Apparently, we're supposed to be really loud and to throw rocks at it. Which makes sense. Whenever I see something that is stronger, faster and that has big sharp claws, as well as no sense of reason, my first instinct is to throw shit at it. Because, even though an angry bear is more dangerous than one just strolling by looking for a pic-a-nic basket, I at least want people at my funeral to say, "Joe put on his big-boy pants that day. Too bad that bear was bigger, stronger and faster than Joe." "Yeah, it would've been nice to have an open casket, but at least Joe hit that bear with a rock. My boy's a hero!"

I swear to God, when my brother was in boy scouts* he was told you were supposed to be quiet. Lay down and play dead. I mean, maybe the scoutmaster didn't like my brother very much. Considering the scoutmaster was my mom, this is entirely possible. Or it could be that bear technology has come a long way and now we know that bears aren't as stupid as we thought they were. I don't know. But it bothers me that now they haven't just modified the lay down and be quiet thing. It's not like they're telling us to lie down and throw your voice, so the bear thinks the tree is talking to him. That's a concession. It says, okay we weren't totally wrong about bears. The lying down part gets in their head, but you need some noise.

No, instead, they've reversed field and told us to give a frontal assault on the bear. It's only been 15 years since then. How could we have been so wrong?

So, yes, it is with an utter lack of confidence that I will trek into the woods this weekend. At least it should be cooler.

*Note 1. I never joined boy scouts. I don't really remember why, except I think when it came up I was going through my individualistic phase and joining this group of do-gooders didn't seem like it was for me. Mostly, I think this was for the best, but sometimes I wish I could tie those cool knots.

Gumshoe Epilogue to Case #1

Yeah, I wasn't sure I was done with case 1 either. I mean, I wrapped up most of the actual case, but there were some issues I wanted to deal with and some things I wanted to set in motion. So. Here is an epilogue. Hope you enjoy.
It had been a week since Andrew Grassley had been aprehended in a cemetary on the outskirts of Des Moines, Iowa. I had gone back to the boring insurance claims work that I'd been working on before an actor named James Troop walked into my office pretending to be someone named Simon Fletterling, and basically careened my life way off it's normal, boring course.
I hadn't seen Trooop since that night. I also hadn't seen Detective Edna Muldoon, who was my former partner and the investigator who officially arrested Andrew Grassley for the murders of Jane Hernandez, Selma Fletterling and Chance Greer. He'd killed them, apparently, because years ago another killer, Aaron Masters, had taken a woman named Edna Portis away from him. Portis wanted to be Grassley's mother and was in the process of adopting him when she was killed. From what I could gather, Grassley blames the loss of his would-be mother on me, because I didn't catch Masters before he could kill her. It's convoluted logic, I tell myself as I sip from my bottle of Millstream Iowa Ale. But I know Grassley has a point. I was supposed to stop Masters and I didn't. Instead I ran away to Chicago and joined a cult. It doesn't speak well for my mental toughness or my professionalism, not to mention the fact that people died while I was trying to get my head together.
A couple times during the past week, I thought about calling Edna or James, but I hadn't really any idea why. I guess I could consider Edna a friend, even with all that had passed between us. It would be awkward to interact with her outside of a case now, but it could happen. James, though. I'd known him for only a couple days. And during those days, we were either fighting for our lives or ducking for cover. It can be a bonding experience, for sure, but part of me felt like it would be odd to try and turn that into a friendship. I tell myself, Grassley would want me to feel guilty. That I should feel good, or at least okay, just to spite him, but it falls on deaf ears.
And that's why I sit alone in the dark drinking the good beer I save for celebrations.
*********************
Something tears my dream from in front of me and replaces it with reality. I blink trying to figure it out for a second, before the phone rings again. I put my hand to my head and try to remember if my phone has always been this shrill or if I have a hangover. The empty six beer sitting at my feet, give me all the evidence I need. I used to be able to put away a six pack without much trouble, but now...
I run my hand through my graying beard and try not to think about the rest of that sentence. But the damned phone shrieks at me again. I get up from my arm chair and make my way over to it and rip it from it's cradle. "What?"
"[Gumshoe]?" It's Edna.
"Yes." I say, ever so cleverly.
"Can you come down here? We're running into a problem with Grassley."
After I throw-up, shower and dress, I'm in the car and at the station. It all takes half an hour, which I find sort of impressive. It's not that rallying from a hangover should be an Olympic sport or anything, but if it were, I'd be world class. Well there's something to be proud of, I suppose.
"You like like shit." Edna says to me as I make my way to her desk.
"Genetics," I say quietly. I took some asprin, but I still feel the dull ache of my head begging for me not to drink like that again.
"So," Edna starts. Before she can continue, though, she's interrupted by a man walking from the interview room. I've never set eyes on him before, but something about him--maybe it's the glasses, or the soft, brown sweater he's wearing, the notepad, perhaps--tells me he's a psychologist. The door next to the one he's just exited opens and the psychologist is joined by another man. This man's holding a briefcase, has an expensive haircut and a suit I would describe as slick. "District Attorney." Edna tells me quietly.
"Insanity?"
"That's the rumor." I watch these two men talking. Right now they're deciding whether to try Grassley in a criminal court or whether to have him committed. The cop in me feels a little insulted. I was the one who followed this guy. I punched him in the crotch. I tackled his ass and brought him down. I take one look at Edna and I know she's thinking the same thing. And that's why she brought me here. We both know the District Attorney likes to have the cops on his side, so sometimes you can pressure him or her by standing there and looking angry. I'm guessing that this case, partially because of Chance's involvement, is something the DMPD brass does not want to have a public trial about. And they've probably already tried the 'look angry' trick.
"So, you have a plan?"
She stands from her desk and we both walk toward the two men. "Excuse me?" Both men look up at her. "What'd you find?"
The psychologist looks at the district attorney, as if to say it's his call. "Detectives," he says to both of us, and I feel a twinge of pride in my stomach at being addressed as a cop again. It goes away quickly, as I remember all of the things that brought me here now. "It's not like he's going to go free. He'll be committed to an institute that's not quite as bad as prison, but it's not the Hilton."
"So, you've decided to forgo a trial?" Edna says calmly.
"It'll save the tax payers a great deal of time and money." He starts to walk away, trying to signal he doesn't want to talk about this anymore.
"What if he's not crazy?" I say, thinking I see Edna's play. It's been a long time since we were partners, but there's still a residual rapport. And if nothing else, I'm stringing this conversation out a little more.
The psychologist steps forward, "I assure you. He's quite crazy. He seems unable to communicate outside of song lyrics." That catches us off guard and th epsychologist continues. "It takes quite an effort to be able to sustain that kind of neurosis if one were to fake it."
"Look, I'm sorry, but you can understand why it's better for this case to just go away." The DA looks at us sympathetically. "But like I said, he's not going somewhere nice. He'll probably still get raped, if that comforts you." Edna and I exchange glances. I guess we were supposed to laugh.
The two men stand for a second waiting for our blessing, but when niether Edna or I say anything they start to move away. "At the graveyard he wasn't doing that." I say as they're about ten feet away. They turn and look at me. The DA opens his file and starts calmly looking through it.
"He didn't give a statement," he says closing the file. "Look, I would hate to think you guys are so invested in this that you might be tempted to change stories now, but let me assure you--this is a done deal."
I look into his eyes, feeling a burning in my head that I'm sure is no longer hangover related. "Before that. You know while he still had a gun and was just like any other criminal. I was yelling at him. I said something like he'd wasted a lot of bullets on me. And was it worth it. He said, 'it only takes one.'"
The DA opens his file again and looks through it, stops and looks at me again and then turns toward the psychologist as if to ask for help. The man adjusts his sweater and starts, "Yes, well. It's quite possible--"
"He's faking it." Edna finishes it for him. "He's faking it and I think if [Gumshoe] goes in there, he can shake it out of him." So, that's the plan. I look at he and I can't tell if this was her plan since she called me or if she just thought it up. I take a step back. I don't know if I really want to look at this guy again. I'd been tempted to visit Aaron Masters through the years, but I could never bring myself to do it. He'd killed someone I'd cared about and I had wanted to look in his eyes and get a sense for what kind of man could be so dark, so cruel. But I could never bring myself to actually do it. I was always worried that after the way things had ended with Mindy James, not to mention how I'd behaved afterwards, well, I was worried I would find something familiar in his eyes.
"I don't think that would be good for the patient." The psychologist says quietly. I looked at him, suddenly filled with anger. The patient. Wouldn't be good for the patient. The words echoed in my head as no one said anything. This is a done deal. Isn't that what the attorney had said? Eventually the two men turned and began to walk away from Edna and I.
"Ten minutes," I say heading toward the door to the interview room. "You guys watch and record the whole thing."
"Detective, please," the psychologist says, sounding suddenly weary.
I turn. "What's the worst that can happen? I make him more crazy?" When no one says anything, I grab the door knob.
"[Gumshoe], give me a couple minutes to get the video recording." I see a twinkle in her eye. She really thinks I can do this. I'm not so sure. I'm also not so sure that Grassley isn't crazy.
"Detective. This is by the book, you understand? You don't touch him. You don't do anything that could even possibly be construed as a violation of his rights."
I smile and nod as they all head in. I slowly turn the knob, taking a deep breath as I do. "Sure would hate to violate his rights," I mutter as I let the air out of my lungs and enter the room. And there he sits. Andrew Grassley. He looks up as I enter the room and I see his something in his eyes flinch. I give him a big smile.
"Andy," I say as if he were a cousin I hadn't seen in a long time. "How are you?"
He's says nothing. He just folds his arms and looks away from me.
"What? Couldn't think of Lionel Ritchie? 'Hello, is it me you're looking for?'" I say with a chuckle. He stays quiet. "Isn't that what you're doing? Quoting song lyrics?" I give him a minute, but he knows I'm baiting him. But this is the guy who turned my life upsidedown. Who knows how long he planned it? Who knows how long he nursed his grudge? He wants to play with me. He wants to beat me. "Did you use up all your good songs already? It's okay, I listen to Nickelback, so I can slum a little." I take a seat across from him. "Don't want to talk?"
"Baby, we could talk all night, but that ain't getting us nowhere." And there it is. Of course it's Meatloaf. He couldn't give me some Heart? Just a little switch.
"Oooh," I say leaning in really closely and giving him a look of disbelief. "Are you trying to tell me Meatloaf did it?"
His eyes narrow and I can almost feel how much he wants to hit me. "I mean, I know Mr. Loaf had his troubles, but you can't really expect me to buy that he's into something like this. Still. I can have some guys look into this if that's your story."
After a minute of solid silence, I start again. "Jesus, man. At least tell us why you did it." His face spasms just for a second as he doesn't know what to believe. "What was it? Someone broke your iPod? Hey, that might make some of these killings justifiable. Help us help you, here." For a second, I think I've got him. But he knows I know. It won't work to keep pushing that, but it was a nice try. And he may be a bit off balanced now. We sat there in silence as he looked at me. Finally, I put my feet up on the table by his hands. "Seriously Andy. Dazzle me. Give me some Talking Heads or something." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a quarter. Holding it out to him, I said, "I'll give you this quarter if you sing a little bit of Psycho Killer."
He balled his fist up and looked away. He was biting his lower lip. I flipped the quarter and it landed on the desk in front of him. He stared down at it as if he could drill a hole through it. "Huh. It's like you don't know that many lyrics." I looked at the window. "Almost like someone really wants this case to go away to save someone some face. I don't know Andy. That what you're thinking now?"
More silence.
"That's okay Andy, I don't expect you to have an opinion on office politics. In fact, it was rude of me to bring you into that." I pull me feet down and lean over the desk, putting my hand on his and looking him in the eye. "I'm sorry for that," my voice is full of sympathy and understanding.
He sits there for a second trying to make sense of what's going on, but quickly pulls his hand back. "Oh baby, I'm a hunter in the dark of the forest. I've been stalking you and tracking you down." He spits the lyrics at me from behind eyes filled with flames.
"And I've been dancing on the ceiling, Andy." I give a pause. "Oh, what a feeling."
He lurches over the desk at me. "I'm gonna fucking kill you you mother fucker."
I grab him by the collar of his shirt and slam him on the table and then pick him up and slam him against the wall. He stops resisting and it takes me a second to realize, I have him lifted off the ground. I set him down and let out a deep breath I didn't realize I'd been holding in. "Huh. That could've been Motorhead, I guess," I say with a smirk. The door opens and Edna looks in at us. Behind her the attorney and psychologist are looking more than a little disturbed.
"Lionel Ritchie," I say barely able to hold in my amusement. "It's alway Lionel Ritchie that sends 'em over the edge."
*******************
I stand before the door waiting for my courage. Finally, I suck it up and knock. It takes a couple moments, but soon enough, James Troop has answered the door. He stares at me for a second.
"Hey." It's a pretty reasonable starter.
"Hey," I say, because it's a pretty reasonable response. Another second passes and as I tell myself to just start. "So. I just wanted to talk to you, if I could."
"Uh. Yeah." He says, but doesn't offer to invite me in. Okay, I tell myself.
"So. Yeah. You fight pretty well. Tai Kwon Do?"
"No. Stage fighting."
"Stage fighting? You kicked me ass with fake fighting?"
"Yeah," he says with a chuckle. "I guess I did." He pauses. "Look, I don't know if you came for this, but I'm sorry I..."
"No. That's not...It's...." I run my hand through my hair. "I just was thinking. You seem to have good instincts. And you can handle yourself all right. You wouldn't want to get into Private Investigating would you?"
"I'm an actor." He says giving me a look of confusion.
"No. I know. You were in Rent. I know. I just thought if you had extra time, or could use extra cash." God, I feel like a fucking idiot. "I could use the...you know...help."
"Yeah. Well. Let me think about it."
"Cool." It's the only thing I could think to say. I nodded and turned to walk away.
"Hey," he said and I turned to face him. "You want to come in for a beer? I was gonna watch some crappy 80's movie. Footloose or--" I cut him off.
"There's nothing crappy about Footloose," I say walking to the door.
"Well, it's a little dated."
"Oh, yeah. But not crappy. If anything, that story speaks more to modern America than it did when it was made. Small town fanaticism against urban sensibilities."
"You feel passionately about this, don't you?"
"I do. I really do." I said as the door shut.

Law Affirmation #2...or man, I'm losing it a little bit...

I remember the day I started kindergarten. Rain was pouring out of the sky. Big thick drops that wet my whole head when they hit me. My Dad had decided to go into work late so he could take me, so we were both walking through the torrent. It wasn't a far walk just a block away, across County Line Road. We'd made it all the way to the front walkway leading up to the main doors of the school when something happened. I don't remember what it was--thunder, lightning in the distance, or if it was something internal that no one could see and I couldn't explain. But, I ran. I let go of my father's hand and ran toward the school building. I can tell you it was not excitement. It was definitely fear.
The picture of my father, water dripping down his face, gently putting his hand on my shoulder as he caught me and asking me why I'd taken off has been running through my head a lot recently. For a lot of reasons, I know. But it botthers me that I didn't have an answer then and I really don't have one now.
********************
We're now under three weeks until I start school officially, in case you might have forgotten. Me? I have not forgotten. In fact, I cannot forget. I can't seem to think about anything else lately. We got our first assignments over the last weekend, along with a list of the books we'll need. It's all becoming real. And fast.
There's a logical, knowing part of my brain that is telling me I can do this. That I'm prepared as best I can be. That I'm smart enough and hard-working enough and that my experience has prepared me to be here. That I can live up to the high expectations I have for myself. I like this part of me.
Of course, there's the other part of me that I am not as prepared as everyone else. That the kids coming straight from college have a huge advantage over me and that I am going to be even more lonely as I spend time reading and trying to keep up with what is sure to be an onslaught of work. And my expectations are just dreams that I do not have the ability to live up to. This part of myself, I udnerstand and even appreciate the way it can keep me working hard, but man, it does not let up.
And lately, it has been dominating my thinking. Even as I hear people telling me they think I can do it, I have two reactions. First, I think they're just trying to calm me, which I appreciate, but makes me not believe them fully. Second, I think they also have high expectations of me that I will only let down. Which is all to say, I'm kind of freaking out here.
I know that I will work hard. I know I will do well. But the waiting is really starting to wear on me. My daily activities have stopped being interesting and now seem to be a concious effort to distract me from the reality that I will soon be starting school. Soon, but not yet. No. For now I go pick up my books and start my assignments and hope to draw comfort from that. Because that's the only tangible thing I can do to get me closer to the start of everything. And to the answers of whether I can do it or not.
But what's really got me worried is that I am having all this doubt. It's natural for me, I know. But this is definitely a time when I wish I were cocky and confident, but it's just not me. Well, it is and it isn't. With so much being an unknown right now and with so much on the line, it's normal for me to be a little shaken.
I just know that I am no fun right now. Not fun to be around. I mean, we went to Lake Minnetonka (yes, that Lake Minnetonka--with the purifying waters*) on Sunday and I couldn't stop thinking about my professors, and books and first assignments and what I'm gonna wear to the fist day and will I make friends and what if my section sucks or what if I'm too old to have any friends....and on and on...
Deep breath.
And another, shall we?
Better.
Let's look at this from a different perspective. Last year, I had just signed up for the LSAT. It wasn't much later than that that I took my first practice test and discovered there was no possible way for me to get into a decent law school, much less get a scholarship that would make law school affordable enough for me to get there. I remember walking home from the Kaplan test, feeling completely deflated. I would need to raise my score by 12 points to have a shot at going anywhere and getting anything.
And now, a year later, I'm sitting in William Mitchell waiting for my classes to start in 3 weeks. Wow. That looking back a year trick really works. Ahh. Perspective.
Okay. Three weeks to get everything as in order as I can.

*Note 1. From Purple Rain? Seriously, if you didn't know that, I feel sad for you right now. Like my heart aches for you.

Gumshoe #15

Edna Portis was the one piece of information we were missing. The one key piece that made all the others fall into line. It didn't take long to put an address to Edna Portis and the family that survived her brutal murder. It took a little longer to see how she connected to Andrew Grassley, though. We were driving to the address we were given on the outskirts of Des Moines before we found out how the two knew each other. According to one of the detectives Edna had at her disposal, Andrew Grassley was living with Ms. Portis at the time of her death. Apparently he was a foster child who had just been placed with Portis and her two kids. Portis was a teacher in her late thirties who had not married, so that when she died, the child placed with her was sent back into the system. Portis's sister moved in and took care of her children. The family still lived there. So us and a patrol car were on the way there to secure the house and question the family. Because this night had not been all the fun I had wanted.
"That's all well and good," Edna said after she shut her cell phone. "We know how he's connected to the original killings. If he's not at that house, then none of this shit matters."
"If he's not there, then he has been. There's no way he goes through all this and doesn't visit the house or talk to someone there." I said quietly. "This is a lead. A solid lead."
We'd taken the county road back toward the city and just before we hit Southridge Mall and it's ever-dimming lights, we swung right onto Indianola Ave. Out here there's a lot of space between houses, which makes for a lot of privacy. Which can be really bad in situations like this, so we took it slow. It felt like it took five minutes for us to get to the house and it was only the fifth or sixth one in.
Pulling up to the house, everything looked normal. It was a nice home. One of those white two-story numbers you picture when you think of living in the country. Nice sized porch and big windows in the front to let in all the light that isn't being blocked out by the mamoth apartment buildings that aren't just across the street. Big yard with the kind of grass you can picture kids running and falling and rolling around in, even if it was underneath a light coat of snow. This place even had a big shade tree with a tire swing, I kid you not. How could anything bad ever happen here? I could feel this place lulling me into a pleasant sleepy haze. Which is I suppose why people move out here.
We were just getting out of the car when we saw the patrol car pull in behind us and I prayed it was no one who'd seen me spouting off earlier that night. And then I took a deep breath--that was just hours ago. Before the officers even got out of their car, Edna started giving orders. "Troop, you stay with him," she said pointing to the one of the officers. "You," pointing at the other, "you're with us." She quickly turned back toward the house and it was all business.
"You want me to watch the back?" the young officer asked.
"No. We stick together. [Gumshoe], I do the talking, okay?"
I gave her a nod. She found the doorbell with her finger and gave it a polite, but urgent ring. And we sat. "No one's home?" The young officer said after a couple minutes.
"It's late. They might be heavy sleepers." I said as I pushed the button for a good minute. Maybe a minute and a half. It was late and I was really starting to feel cranky.
"Alright, already," Edna said slapping my finger off the button. "We want them happy and talkative."
Looking at my watch, I yawned and turned away from the door. "No one's happy and talkative this late at night." I looked out at the country night. We weren't so far from the city, hell there's a gas station at the end of the block, but it felt like night was heavier out here. Thicker somehow. Denser, maybe. Like it would take a stronger light to shine on the activities out here. Or maybe I was just tired.
It was then I noticed James and the otehr officer. James was pointing at something across the street. I followed his finger into the Elm Grove Cemetary. I walked off the porch and over to them. "What's up?"
James spoke up. "I saw someone moving run into the grave yard."
"Was it him?" I said feeling the adrenaline hit me again.
"I--" He wasn't sure. I could see it in the contortions of his face. He wanted to be sure, but he wasn't.
"Could it have been him?" I said not waiting for him to get his answer together.
"I think so."
By this time Edna and the other cop was there with us. "What?" Edna said with that edge in her voice.
"James saw someone run into the graveyard. Could've been Grassley." I said.
"Of course. He would run into a fucking graveyard." She pulled her gun and her flashlight. "You two stay here and call it in. You two," meaning myself and the officer who had been on the porch, "we're going to have a peak."
As we crossed over Indianola Ave and into the graveyard, I felt some relief to see that this was a small cemetary and with the fresh snow on the ground, we could see the tracks of anyone who came in. It only took a second for us to see that someone had jumped the fence and had made their way up the hill. I pulled my gun and lit my flashlight as I felt the dim streetlights already fading as I pulled myself over the fence.
We followed the tracks slowly and spread out. There was no way to see what was coming as we made our way around the tombstones and up the incline. We were crouched and ready, fuling understanding that Grassley could be waiting there for us at any moment. I took a deep breath trying to keep myself calm and collected.
I saw the movement ahead before I saw the gun blast. A great flash of light lit up the night for a second and then the deafening erruption. I told myself to dive, but not quickly enough. Luckily the shot hit the tombstone infront of me. Unluckily, it sprayed rock up at me, cutting my cheek and neck as I finally dove. I could feel the blood beginning to seep from my wounds. I pulled a dirty kleenex from my pocket and pressed it over what felt like the biggest. I sat there for what may have been an enternity before I realized I was not dying right then.
"Still time." I whispered to myself trying to get myself to focus. The shot had come from ahead on the right. The officer and Edna had been closer to him. So either he didn't see them, or he really wanted me dead. Which didn't make me feel really good, but that's how it looked.
I took a deep breath, not sure what I was doing this for, but I yelled, "You missed me Andrew." He was quiet. I took another breath hoping he wasn't too patient. "What's that? 8 bullets you've missed me with tonight?"
I could hear foot steps moving through the snow, but I couldn't make out exactly where they were coming from. I pressed my back against the tombstone and made sure the safety was off on my gun. "Bullets are expensive, Andrew? You sure I'm worth it?"
"It only takes one." It came out as a hiss, but it was enough. He'd circled counter clockwise heading away from the others and toward me. Couldn't be more than a row ahead. I pushed my feet underneath me and turned, charging to my left. Into my third step, I saw him stand and raise his gun at me. The dramatic thing would've been to jump in the air. Hurtle my body at him, maybe yelling, 'nooo', like you see in all those movies. Of course he probably would have shot the holy living shit out of me.
So, as I saw his gun raise toward my head, something from little league flicked on and I was suddenly sliding. His first shot went over my head and as he was adjusting to me, I kicked my right leg and popped up just enough to punch him right in the crotch. Hard.
He doubled over and sucked in the cold night air and dropped his gun. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed him by the arm, bending it behind him and using my other arm to hold him to me in a half-nelson. He wriggled and kicked and grunted, but I had him.
The others were to us in a less than a second and in another second, Andrew Grassley was in handcuffs. It was over and I caught the guy. Wow. Didn't I feel so much better?
***********
In the downtown station, I sat with Edna as she was typing up her report. I'd finished giving my statement. It had taken a long time to recount the whole night again. She stopped and looked up at me.
"Yes?" I said hoarsley.
"So?" She said. I shrugged at her. "You punched him in the crotch."
I smiled a big smile. First smile I'd had in a long time. "I did."
"That's not really sporting is it?"
"I'm all for a fair fight, but....you know..." God, I wish I could be glib.
She smiled and chuckled. "Still quick on your feet, I see."
"I got it where it counts," I said.
"You need a ride home?"
"Nah. I called Clarence a while ago. He's sending someone." There was a silence. "Do you think we ever stop paying?"
"For then?"
I nodded with a weariness that came from more than the night's troubles and the all of the things I'd seen on this case. I felt the weariness of years suddenly sitting on my shoulders.
"No." She said quietly. "Not when there's someone who is still hurt."
I nodded at her and we sat quietly. It was a comforting quiet. The kind that exists like a third person in the room. Calming and easy. I took a deep breath and let it out, enjoying the fact that someone wanted me dead, but I still drew breath.
"Where did you go anyway?"
"Then?"
"Yeah. When you left the force back then?" Her voice was quiet, but firm. It was full of curiousity and concern.
"Chicago."
"What's in Chicago?"
"Not much when I went." I sat up in my chair, suddenly realizing I should tell this right. "It was just gonna be a weekend. I was gonna clear my head and come back. But there I was, sitting in downtown Chicago and I realized I had nothing to go back to Des Moines for."
"Me?" She paused. "Not like that, but partners. You know, that meant a lot to me."
"Yeah. But I'd shot that to shit. I should've done it all differently."
"Yeah." We sat for a while longer.
"So, why'd you stay?"
Well, that's another story...

So that's the end of the first case. I hope everyone enjoyed it. I'm hopeful I will be able to keep some of this up for a bit here, but once law school starts, all bets are off.

I Write Like...and Dennis Lehane

I'm assuming everyone else has already seen this site, but today I came across it for the first time. I Write Like is a website that purports to tell you what famous author you write like. I know, it's probably dubious, but it's the kind of thing that I am always curious about. So...I cut and pasted all the sections of the Gumshoe that I've published so far and the name that came up most often was Raymond Chandler.

Which is awesome.
I mean, clearly, Raymond Chandler is, along with Dashiell Hammett the apex for noire writing and any idea that I may resemble his writing, no matter how superficially is a signal that I'm at least partially getting done what I want with Gumshoe. Also clearly, I don't mean to invite any real direct comparisons to Chandler. He draws a much better picture. His use of language is more engaging and interesting. In short, I know he is better writer than I. Still, I take this as a signal that I'm at least playing in the same big sandbox as one of the greats. Even if he's made grand castles and I'm just digging a moat.

*******************

Speaking of writers. I just finished Dennis Lehane's latest book, The Given Day. Good book, definitely worth a read. I recommend it to anyone looking for something to read. It's 700 pages, but they went by fast.

The book is a departure from the rest of Lehane's work in a way, but it's also not. The book is less suspsense and thriller than most of his other books. Instead it is more historical novel, but I still had trouble putting this down. And what I think of as Lehane's biggest theme--the price someone pays to do the right thing--is still there. I'm going to think more about this book before I say anything too much about it.

It's been a while since I've read a book that required me to think about it like this one does. But I'm gonna try to give some thoughts on this. Forgive me if they aren't fully formed or all that interesting. So, yeah, spoilers below (you can skip to the end of this section at which point, I will spoil no more).

A lot of the book centers around the labor movement in Boston, a lot specifically with the Boston Police Department. And one of the things I found striking* about this novel is how much of the things I assume police officers could take for granted were things that had to be fought for.** Things like sanitary sleeping conditions. Or less than 80 hour work weeks. Or uniforms and supplies that they didn't have to pay for. Or for workers' compensation when injured in the line of duty. Or to be paid above poverty levels. I should know better than to assume that everyone appreciates what police officers do and is willing to give them what they need to live at least somewhat comfortably on it. And certainly, I know now that our priorties are all messed up and that the police get shafted many times because of it. But, wow. There were no good old days. That comes across so clearly as characters repeatedly say how the problems of worker against employer (and the problems of face agains race, father against son, brother against brother, husband against wife, society's needs against society's desires, the mob against everyone) are the same as they ever were. And that this is how they will always be. This book drives home that point especially well during the riots that occurred during the policeman's strike.

As, I said, a lot of his books discuss the price someone has to pay for doing what they think is right. In this book we see the main character lose so much--family, his body, friends--to try and get what he considers to be a fair shake. The main character isn't beset by one person in this book, as is often the case in the private detective novels. There's no serial killer with an axe to grind. Instead, the hero's antagonist seems to be the political system with all of it's players and entanglements, and to some extent, the society that allows that system to stay in place. It's not really one person who makes the hero suffer or defeats him. It's all of them in concert, though with no real mastermind.

And related to what the hero of the book loses is how and why society elevates others to hero-status. Lehane examines this most obviously through the use of Babe Ruth, who is shown as a child-like alcoholic and womanizer. He has some affinity for the working man and has his own frustrations with his working conditions. He, however, has a lot more bargaining power than most the other workers in the book. And when he makes demands, they are met, though not happily. And there are no reprecussions for this action really. I mean, yes, Ruth gets traded to the Yankees, but no one seems to think of it as punishment.

Anyway, these were some thoughts.

*********************

And speaking of Lehane....I see he's working on another detective novel featuring Gennaro and Kenzie. And it's coming out in late November. Note to Dinah. My birthday is a week after this. And Christmas not long after that. And with Christmas break coming up, I will have time to read this book that I covet, especially after reading the description. So, this would make a great gift. For me.

Why be subtle?

*Note 1. Pun!

**Note 2. I know it's generally not a great idea to hang your argument on the details of an historical novel as being more historical than novel. After looking over the books that served as reference to this novel and seeing some comments made about the book, I am willing to be made a fool of if these details turn out to be changed a bit for dramatic purposes.

Gumshoe #14

It's not that long of a drive to the Indianola watertower. From downtown Des Moines, it's maybe 45 minutes with traffic. Maybe. But time can stretch when you're sitting in the back seat of a cop car. This was an unmarked car without the cage, yes. But the principle still applies. Detective Edna Muldoon was driving and she asked for James Troop to sit in the front seat next to her. I assume this is so I am not allowed to mess with the radio, but I'm making this assumption based in part on past history and largely due to the fact that I don't want to consider what else this might signal. The fact that everyone in the car was dead silent, didn't help this car ride seem short either. The only sound was the occasional chatter from the police radio. No one said a word from the time we got in the car until we reached the outskirts of Des Moines' south side. I watched through the flurries out the back window as South Ridge Mall disappeared from view taking the bright city lights with it. As we entered the unincorporated countryside where the space between streetlights stretches wide in a dark abyss, I finally said, "This is a bad idea."

Edna shot me a look in the rearview mirror. "You don't want to go to the watertower now?"

"No, that's probably not gonna lead to much, but it's worth checking out." I took a deep breath. "Not listening to the radio is a mistake."

Edna chuckled, though I could tell she didn't want to. "Don't change much do you, [gumshoe]?"

I took another deep breath and let the car fall back into silence figuring silence was better than saying what I really wanted to say. It was a harmless comment, I knew, but something about it rankled me. Anything I said back would be insulting, I knew. So instead, I looked out the window as the snow started coming down in earnest on the dark, rolling hills of Iowa. There was enough light to see the road, but beyond them, on the land, where the fields stood waiting to be used next spring there was only darkness. The streets stood lined with the light of the living, I thought, but who knew what was beyond them? The unkown always conjures up the worst in people's imaginations. Few of us think of the unlimited possibility and see the possibility for good things to be out there. The next job. The next love. The next amazing moment. Instead we think only of the evil that must be lurking in the darkness. Beyond the reach of the light. And as much as I knew logically that Andrew Grassely would not, could not be at the watertower, I still had this sickness in my stomach that told me he would be there.

Edna pulled off the highway and shut off the car. We were maybe 200 yards from the watertower and it was dark. Edna reached into her glove box and pulled out a flashlight and handed it over the seat to me. She pulled another out for herself. "You picked up your gun, I assume?"

"Check." I said quietly. I had the gun laying on the seat next to me and I picked it up and showed it to her as I looked to make sure the safety was off.

"All right. We do this my way, everyone understand?" She waited for head nods before continuing. "All right. Troop, you're a civilian, so you stay here. [Gumshoe]--"

"No." Troop said quietly but firmly. "I'm not staying here. I've been shot at tonight and if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be around someone who can shoot back if something happens again."

"I can't take you out there if there's a possibility of--"

"Kid's got a point, Edna. And Grassley's not likely to be here anyway." I said feeling my voice quiver. "But if he is, and he gets dead while we're looking at a watertower, that's not good."

"Okay James, but you're sticking with me, okay? You're right behind me. You don't get more than 2 feet away from me and you don't ever get ahead of me. You got it?"

"Thank you." James said, now realizing that going with Edna wasn't a cake walk either.

"And you," she said turning her attention to me. "You stay right fucking next to me. You see something, you tell me. You don't shoot unless you're shot at or I tell you to shoot. You don't run in ahead and get yourself shot. Got it?"

"I do." I said as I reached for the door.

"I'm serious [Gumshoe]. No cowboy shit."

"Don't worry, I'm all out of cowboy tonight." I looked at her and I could see from her reaction she was a little surprised. She expected some sort of verbal joust from me, but I didn't have it in me. Not with the growing feeling I was getting. He was here. This man who wanted to kill me was waiting just beyond me view in the cold embrace of the night.

Everyone got out of the car, James quickly making his way behind Edna. We advanced on the water tower slowly. It didn't take too long until our eyes adjusted to the darkness. The watertower stands on the edge of Indianola, a small town not far from Des Moines whose main attractions were Simpson College, the National Hot Air Ballooning Hall of Fame and a killer A&W restaraunt. Indianola officials used to light the water tower, but apparently had stopped. My best guess was because of cost. As I stood there in the darkness, my gun raised as I looked around the tower for any sign of life, or movement, or trouble, I would've paid quite a bit of money to have the tower lit up. Our flashlights cut through the heavy darkness well enough, but I got the feeling Edna and James would've pitched in some money too.

The only sound in the darkness was the sound of our breathing, heavy not from the roughness of the terrain, but the stress of the situation. We were about 25 yards from the tower when we heard it.

A car behind us and just over a hill from where we'd park, peeled out and headed back in the direction of Des Moines. I felt the adrenaline hit me again, awaking all my senses. James hit the ground, covering his head. Edna spun and started running toward the car. "Come on!" I turned to take a quick look at the tower and let out the breath of air I didn't realize I'd been holding.

As I reached to James to give him a hand up, I yelled, "It's not him Edna."

She stopped and looked back at me quizzically. I showed my flashlight on the ground next to the tower. I saw her eyes follow the beam and she started laughing as she reached the end. James's looked over quickly and exhaled loudly taking my hand and pulling himself up.

"Two half drank beers and a box of condoms. Ahh teenage romance." I said.

"It's too cold for that shit," James said with a chuckle.

I knelt by the area to take a closer look. "They had a blanket. Maybe a sleeping bag. A couple condoms missing, so--"

"Maybe you should turn your detective skills to the relevant questions, like was Grassley here? Is there some clue as to where he might be? You know, things like this." But I didn't move. I'd come all this way in the night sure I'd find the killer, a man named Andrew Grassley, sitting here. Waiting. I was sure tonight held another shoot out for me. I never thought I'd find this. Another love interrupted.

I stood there for a second. "Seriously, [gumshoe], you're not even looking. This was your fucking--"

"What do people do when love ends?" I said. As soon as I heard it I knew I sounded like a fucking idiot.

"The fuck?" was all Edna could muster in response.

"I mean. That's it. That's how Chance met this guy. I'd bet hard money on it." I could feel myself getting excited.

"What are you talking about?"

"A support group. For people who lost someone. It's all fitting into place. Grassley lost someone. Probably Geoffrey Franks, which is why he keeps playing that murder out again and again."

"I've had people looking at Franks and Grassley for a while. We can't find any connection to Franks. But hey, once we find this guy, why don't you ask him." The frustration in her voice was palpable. "That's right. We can't find him. And you're not fucking helping." She went back to looking around.

I took a deep breath, feeling the excitement letting go of me. She was right. I mean, I was right too, I could feel it. But it didn't help us. "Fine. There's no connection to Franks," I said calmly. "So, if you're reliving or redoing the last murder over and over...and you're hunting down one of the investigating cops...one who wasn't even around for that one. Or the case before."

"It's a mystery." Edna said.

"Who was the case before?" James said quietly.

Edna stammered. "What does it matter?"

"Edna Portis." I said quietly. "Why?"

"So you weren't on that case either?"

"No. I wasn't." Something was glimmering.

"Maybe--"

"he's connected to her." We finished the sentence together.

And there it was.