San Diego

With my first semester of law school done, I had a few days to catch up on what I had missed over the past four months: visiting with my family, painting doors for pay at their house, Guitar Hero and Halo 2 at my friend’s place, oil changes for the cars, balancing the checkbook, buying Amanda a Christmas present, dinner at the infamous Dills and a few other niceties. And then I embarked on a long road trip: 1.5 hours from Baton Rouge to Slidell for a day with the family; the next day a 7 hour trip from Slidell to Houston; and then several hours later at 4:00 a.m., a 24-hour trip by car (with Dad Mautz driving) from Houston to San Diego.

That car ride was a dream. The first few hours were literally spent in dreams. Amidst my Bible, Andrew Murray’s Absolute Surrender, Dante Aligheri’s Inferno, a Making of New Surrender Anberlin DVD, chess with Amanda on my laptop, Cinderella and Madagascar on David’s laptop, many snacks, various catnaps, 800 miles / 13 hours of Texas, various views of breathtaking desert and mountain ranges, passing through El Paso, New Mexico and Arizona, poking Amanda and aggravating her more like a brother than a husband, and trying to shift my buttocks regularly out of discomfort and boredom, I made the trek while W.A.M., my daring father-in-law, drove the 24 hour drive, with occasional help from my mother-in-law.

Arrival that early morning in California started a chain of events that has been simply wonderful. When I first met Amanda’s extended family a couple years ago, I had those heebie-jeebie jitters of wanting to make a good impression and being scared of saber-toothed in-laws with 20 Questions ready to pounce. By last Christmas, though, I had felt like part of the family. This Christmas, I really have begun to experience the sheer joy of being part of a new family. Honestly, when I think of all the jokes that my superiors have made over hating visiting in-laws during holidays, I am enraged. My experience has been that visiting in-laws is a pleasure. I guess, I should realize that I am blessed with great in-laws who are loving, caring and welcoming.

Aunt Michelle and Uncle Jeff, who graciously welcomed me into their home, along with their adorable children Ryan and Kayla, have been a portrait of warmth and hospitality. Grandpa and Grandma Cheryl have really become like a new set of grandparents to me. Raising my voice to make myself heard to Grandpa reminds me of that special way I communicate with my other grandpapas, and feel like a little boy just begging Grandma Cheryl to tell another story in her eager and jovial manner. Amanda’s little cousins are adorable. They’re about the same ages as my two youngest siblings. Seeing little Kayla dance around just like my little sister Jessica dances around in pretty dresses. I definitely hope Amanda and I have a little girl.

The first night we drove into California, I knew I was going to love it there. The lights beckoned from terraces that seemed to ascend the landscape in steps. The morning did not fail to deliver. I fell in love with San Diego as soon as I walked outside. The clean, dry air. The rolling landscape with lush vegetation and various rock formations, cacti, palm trees and beautiful flowers. The neighborhoods with curious rock gardens and terraced levels of ascent. The Pacific Ocean…

Pacific Ocean, ah. The water was freezing. I couldn’t help but avail myself of the opportunity to show my new family that I aspire to the Polar Bear Club. I have now swum in 3 of the 4 oceans. In 2005 I swam in the Indian Ocean off the coast of South Africa. In 2007 I swam in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of New Jersey. And now, like Balboa discovering the Pacific Ocean, I body surfed in those waters in what may be America’s greatest city, San Diego. Wait, did I just imply that Balboa body surfed when he laid eyes on that blessed sea? C’mon. You know he did; this is not revisionist history.

And the Zoo…where do I begin? 12 meercats posing, 11 koalas munching, 10 flamingos fighting, 9 relatives gazing, 8 giraffes necking, 7 bears roaming, 6 big cats sleeping, 5—hours—of fun, 4 orangutans, 3 elephants, 2 polar bears, and a partridge in a…nope, that last one is not certifiable. Know that I am very happily attached to our Audubon Zoo in N’awlins, Louisiana, so when I say that the San Diego Zoo is superior I aim to say that I was highly impressed.

Christmas Day. Wow, how wonderful! It began at the crack of dawn. From 7:00 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. the presents flowed like water that Jehovah caused to flow from the rock at Rephidim. Amanda’s parents, her grandparents, and her aunt and uncle lavished us. I got running shoes, a new sweater, tool kit… My sweetie got me a new pocket knife. After rocking out a little “Raining Blood” on GH3 before I knew it, Christmas dinner was ready. After ham and such, we all opened our little secret gift boxes next to our plates and read all the nice and crazy things we had written to each other. Uncle Jeff confirmed that I am fairly attractive via checking the box next to “yes” rather than “no” or “maybe” on my note, though he wrote to Amanda that we were like Beauty and the Beast, with myself being the latter, I’m afraid. After a little Apples to Apples with Uncle Jeff lobbying for his choices…and winning…a little Dark Knight finished the night in style. Of course, I couldn’t get off that easy. Several people had to take a turn asking me a “law” question since I’m a budding law student and obviously know the answer to all of your legal questions, from Assault and Battery to Yodeling and Zebras. To quote Prof. Traditions, “Zebra Law.” Wha?!

El veintiseis de deciembre. I was somehow not surprised to learn that Shamu the x-teenth is still alive and well at Sea World. As cold weather with frosty winds unusual for San Diegans continued, we spent the day watching dolphins do backflips, sea lions give people in wetsuits high fives with their flippers, killer whales push their trainers two stories into the air, and the many other shows that Sea World is famous for. The Shamu show was curiously titled “Believe,” and with music throughout and philosophical musings woven into the trainers’ sporadic oral communication, the experience felt like some sort of religious service with whale riders. I quote, “All things are possible if you believe.” With the spiritual foundation laid in my life, I could not help but recall Jesus’ words, that with God all things are possible. Regardless of the eccentric angle from which these fishy preachers were approaching the subject, I could not help but silently glorify God thinking of the magnificence of intelligence that was displayed before me in these stunningly beautiful creatures. Creatures that somehow were graceful and cunning enough that someone long ago hypothecated whales with intelligence sufficient to be trained to interact with human beings as though they belong to us, or us to them. Though I know man alone is created in the image of God, the fact that there is some sort of bridge of communication that can link a whale brain with a human mind has sent me into a bit of an inquisitive reverie. Notwithstanding, the highlight of the day was seeing a sea otter walk on two feet and carry a Pepsi Cola can to a thirsty trainer. Nor had I ever before seen the gloriously spotless white Beluga whale before. Nor had I grasped the jaws of a sting ray before. Nor had I witnessed the graces of the lettuce-eating (and endangered) Manatee in underwater flight. Spontaneous joys such as these proved ultimately more rewarding than other niceties like the lackluster sight of sharks lazily floating around and the “Journey to Atlantis” rollercoaster ride. Though seeing my wife giggle and scream as we were soaked on the coaster was worth it all.

One day we played our own version of The Amazing Race. There were two teams. The Silver Bullets: Aunt Michelle, Grandpa, Amanda, Ryan, Mom and me. The Wall-Es: Uncle Jeff, Grandma Cheryl, David, Valerie, Kayla, and Dad. We had roughly 15 clues that led us around San Diego, some requiring that we perform certain tasks along the way. One clue led us to a beach full of seals. Another led us to the highest points in San Diego, including Mt. Soledad and the hill with the lighthouse. Other sites included the world-famous Coronado hotel and Belmont Park, where we had to get out and ride the rollercoaster. The race ended when we had to take a trolley across town and jump into Aunt Michelle’s vehicle. We called it a tie in the end, as the Bullets pulled into the finish line only seconds before the Wall-Es. Aunt Michelle and Uncle Jeff put a ton of work into creating all the clues for the game.

But it all came to a halt too quickly. As one of Amanda’s tender cousins held back tears, we all said goodbyes and piled back into the Suburban of Love, Peace, Equity, Unity and other Axiological Wonders. We are still in that blessed place of package and person-crammed bliss as I speak, or rather, type. I will at last end this blog post because the glare of my laptop screen is preventing the Burban’s inhabitants from viewing the stars. And what a view. Much better than the pornographic and dust-filled Sodom and Gomorrah known as Las Vegas. As we slipped back into the majestic and looming mountain passes, this time in the surprisingly beautiful Utah, my thoughts once again return to the degree to which mankind has effaced what is good and right in the world through erecting idolatrous edifices in the middle of the desert (i.e. Vegas). By the time the sun rises, we’ll be over the Rocky Mountains, spending our last few days of holiday in Denver, Colorado.

Divine Judgment

In the latest of the the unfolding saga that is the American economy being brought to its knees, state governments are now imposing a tax iPods.

The Jellied Gasoline Monologue

Jesus, your grace. My, do I have some blogfessions to make. I'm taking a great risk here. But I have to document the truth so I can read my blog years later and remember my initial thoughts upon leaving my first semester of law school finals.

I cannot remember the last time I felt at ease. I feel somewhat at ease now, but just like falling in love, it feels like the first time. It's really only been two to three weeks total that I've been in the 'Nam...I mean, the exam, eh, study mode. But I found that a couple short weeks of daily rigor can change a life...with a surprising degree of permanence.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not scarred for life. However, my once lazy behind now knows the meaning of a hard day's work. And pleasure is that much sweeter tonight because it almost feels earned.

I have to thank my professors. For every time in the past couple weeks that I lay down and could not sleep. The elements of various crimes and tort recovery theories, the various lists of memorized policy factors, the many Latin interpretative methodology nomenclatures, and various minimum contacts standards espoused in personal jurisdiction cases. I dreamed about them. I told my wife about them. Thank you for helping me reach a state of concentration that heretofore had been only an ephemeral possibility.

When I sat down to write my first four-hour exam, my hand was tremulous. I couldn't believe that I was about to be subjectively evaluated on the past 4 months of work. It didn't matter that I studied the law 50-60 hours per week, faithfully without fail. The professor would make the determination of whether this was adequate, based upon the 4 hours that lay ahead of me. One hour per month was all I had. Every hour that passed was a lost chance at explaining a month's worth of material. That exam was Legal Traditions and Systems. I was tested on Roman legal history, Louisiana Civil Code juridical relations, interpretative methodology and a host of other random subjects compressed into one course. I left feeling exhausted but surprisingly positive.

During my next exam, Civil Procedure, I felt myself a little more miserable, but used to it. I left the exam in shambles. I went through a brief period of convincing myself I'd flunked. The more I thought about it, I realized that it was out of my control. It's in Prof. CivPro's hands. And he's in God's hands.

Having vowed at the end of the Civ Pro exam to attack contracts with a vengeance, by the time the third exam started, I had revised my study strategy and like a mad man, taken to not only memorization of theories but also memorization of intended answer structures. I decided to let it all hang out. I left feeling that I punched a hole in the exam.

At the start of my torts exam, seating myself with my Exam4 software open and my emergency power bar on the desk, I felt like I was through. After two weeks of monastic seclusion and emotional drought, I cared more than ever about the result. Three hours later I didn't know what I had done. I had written so much that the software told me I had reached the maximum word limit and needed to open a new file. What ensued was something in between the zenith of pandemonium and childish hilarity as I ran around trying to desperately locate an IT guy to help me start a new exam file. The techie told me that in his years at the law center, he had only had one or two other students write that much. I felt like something between a freak and the kid from The Sword and the Stone.

Entering my criminal law exam, I felt so tired. I almost felt apathetic. But once I read the exam, I came alive and wrote. And wrote and wrote. And actually felt I was having fun. I felt myself running out of issues and enjoyed it so much I dredged the bottom of my mind's ocean, closed my eyes and perused my mental outline again for more information. Leaving the law center this evening, it couldn't have been more anti-climactic. With a slight cough at the thought of having finished, I emptied my locker and drove home.

I hardly know what to do with my time. I'm so happy...I think. I keep trying to imagine tomorrow. A tomorrow in the sunshine. A tomorrow outside of the library? Unthinkable. I try and imagine this brave new world outside of academia and theory. Hopefully I won't be like Dustin Hoffman at the end of Papillon. No, I am better than that. There is a return to the land of the living.

Describe "law school finals" in one word? Marathon.

I don't know if it's possible to ever love law school again, if law school ever was lovable. But the reason I know I'm on the right track is that "standing atop a stack of smoldering finals and papers" (S. Berry), I love the law. It's a beautiful thing. I think it's because I love principles so much. Its harmony. Its internal unity.

And one other thing. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. Smells like...victory.

Rule #11

If you've got the will power, do not talk to students after an exam. Leave. Don't look back.

Of course, to discover that this is a rule, I first had to violate it. And I found out all the supposed things I "missed" during the exam. I felt myself working up a little sweat and went and sat down a bit and thought about it. Upon reflection, I don't even know that what those other students said is correct. The professor is the grader, not the students, in any case.

2 down, 3 to go. I'm in the process of dusting myself off from this one. Contracts, I'm coming for you...with a vengeance!