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May 28, 2004:Post-Art Deco Building Meets Seth’s Barn Birthday Cake

We’ve completed the move to our new law office. I don’t have pictures of the building, but to borrow the words of Jeff Spicoli, “It’s totally awesome!” The facade is post-art deco, and the inside is contemporary with free-flowing spaces and all that Feng Shui jazz. I don’t have any pictures of it, but I’m sure that the person who does has posted them somewhere on the internet.

The building’s renovation isn’t complete. The contractors must finish the sidewalk, the first-floor parking garage, and add the decorative tiles to the second floor entrance. I should have a headache after my eardrums endured the insults of jackhammers outside our windows over the last week. These sounds combined with the thousands of tons of rubble outside the building offered a reminder of the war military action in Iraq.

It took a few days to adjust my new surroundings. None of the lawyers’ offices have doors on them. I like it. I kept the door open in my old office because a closed door isolates me. I never enjoy having to shut a door, but on a couple of occasions the client requested it. I guess there’s a fine line between privacy and isolation, right?

The drive to my new office takes about five minutes longer than my old drive. Although the new office isn’t a much greater distance away, traffic lights account for the extra drive time.

My office isn’t located near the mall or downtown either. It is, however, located down the street from a Kroger’s, which I now call my “giant vending machine.” I enjoy buying my morning snackies there. Today, my wife called to remind me to buy another box of fruit roll-ups to make Seth’s cake. It’s a barn design. We spent this evening making it.

I won’t bore you with the details of how we made the cake. Like the construction of my new office building, it required trial and error. And it took time. Lots of time. And love. Lots of love. The fruit roll-ups are the sides, and Crispix™ composes the barn’s “shingles.” Somewhere under all of this is the pound cake. I hope Seth enjoys it as much as Melanie and I enjoyed making it.

May 27, 2004: Heavy Rotation

We filmed Seth playing with his John Deere™ tractor yesterday. He finds amusement in pushing its buttons. Like a real John Deere tractor, this toy tractor features loud noises and sounds, and does not include any hearing protection for its users. It also has a radio button, which when pressed will always activate the same song just like the dial on your car’s radio does:

If you’ve got a job, just gimme a call,

I’ll start ‘er up and I’m ready to haul,

There’s lots to do, so I’ll catch you later,

Time to get to work on my John Deere™ Gator

Although the song’s lyrics lack creativity, the melody is infectious, and combined with the inspired delivery of the male John Deere™ vocalist, it has all of us dancing to the tune. Each time Seth presses the radio button, he jumps up and down to the jingle. After two days, the anthem’s embedded in my brain. The John Deere™ Gator theme is an appealing jingle of self-promotion that rivals Wang Chung’s shameless, self-promotion classic “Everybody Have Fun (Everybody Wang Chung) Tonight.”

My toys didn’t proclaim their greatness. They lacked the computer chips. They also lacked the marketing departments with employees who used terms such as “proactive,” “synergistic,” “cross-marketing,” and “downsizing.” I understand selling toys is a business, but does any child (or parent) really need to hear a toy tout itself after its purchase?

The Fisher-Price™ farm Seth has, for example, includes a video of the “Little People” learning about animals. The first story features “Little People” from Seth’s farm set. The remaining stories, however, depict adventures of “Little People” from different Fisher-Price™ toys. The idea is that your child will learn about animals, and beg you to buy the sets with the animals he doesn’t have.

Fisher-Price (I’m leaving the trademark off, k?) doesn’t need to market videotapes. Although I’m a fan of the original “skinny” “Little People,” I admit I have learned to love the “chunky” “Little People.” This is because Fisher-Price still manufactures quality toys. The designs of its sets have changed over the last couple decades, but the creativity still remains. Fisher-Price makes good toys. And the logo it retains on every toy it makes is sufficient to advertise itself.

With or without advertising, we’ll buy more Fisher-Price toys for Seth. I hope that the Fisher-Price promotional department doesn’t devise a song for their toys, though. I’ve been singing the John Deere theme song all day.

May 24, 2004: Happy First Birthday, Seth!

One Fisher-Price™ Farm with Farmer Joe, Pig, Sheep, Chicken, Horse, Cow, merry-go-round, and battery-powered moos, clucks, baas and neighs.

Four or five new outfits.

One giant, red and blue Little Tyke™ slide that took four adults thirty minutes to assemble--contrary to the directions that depicted one adult male assembling the slide in a few simple steps.

One Leapfrog™ activity center.

One John Deere™ battery-powered “Gator” tractor with radio that plays song about how cool it is to drive your John Deere™ “Gator” tractor.

One antique rocking chair made by your great-grandfather.

One giant sheet cake for your baby fingers to grab before mom serves it to everyone.

One baby’s face smeared with icing and cake requiring a bath before 2 p.m.

Several books about caterpillars and an Elmo cloth book.

Lasagna for lunch on your baby face.

Lots of love from your grandparents who gave you the slide, tractor, activity center, clothes and lasagna.

Your personal photo session with The Picture People (a division of Hallmark) at the mall.

Handsome photographs of you in an airplane, beside Winnie the Pooh and on that blue, beanbag chair.

Dinner in the food court with your grandparents.

Playing with the large, rubber ducks in the photo store.

Birthday wishes from your dad’s mother and sister.

One exhausted and happy little Seth.

May 23, 2004: Seth’s Year In Review

As Melanie’s morning sickness continues in force this week, we celebrate Seth’s first year. His official birthday is tomorrow, but I’m kicking off Seth’s birthday week today. Here are a few memories of the remarkable year since Seth’s birth:

May 15, 2003: Our plan had us celebrating my thirty-sixth birthday with dinner and a movie (“The Matrix Reloaded”). The doctor’s plan had my wife in the hospital for a couple days, and my wife and I played Scrabble®. Seth would not arrive until nine days later.

May 22, 2003: My mom, my sister, my wife and I dined at Outback. Also, the last time Melanie and I ate out without having to worry about who would babysit.

May 23, 2003: The doctor admits my wife to the hospital again. He doesn’t know if he’ll have to deliver the baby the next morning or not. My wife spends the night in the hospital, and her mom spends the night at our house. I cannot sleep.

May 24, 2003: My wife calls our house after 7 a.m. and tells me she’s having the baby this morning. I rush to the hospital. My mom, my sister and Melanie’s family wait. I wear scrubs and watch the delivery. At 11:16 a.m., Seth arrives. Fifteen minutes later, Melanie and I hold Seth. (Contrary to what you see on “A Baby Story,” you do not always get to hold the baby immediately following his entrance into the world.)

May 26, 2003: On Monday evening, the doctor releases my wife from the hospital. We arrive home around ten p.m. Within the hour, Seth pitches the worst fit ever. He’s not very good at eating outside the womb. And he’s very hungry. My wife cracks open the Enfamil twenty minutes later. That’s how long Seth screamed. It was one scream, too.

May 27, 2003: I don’t remember what happened. I think Seth screamed some more, and I think Melanie slept.

May 28, 2003- June 5, 2003. Still hazy. Melanie’s mom stayed with us and helped with the chores. I rented the breast pump for my wife. I also watched every single episode of CSI, the first season on dvd. Seth slept a lot.

June 6, 2003 - December 25, 2003: I learned how to operate the video recorder. I recorded over ten hours of Seth eating, sleeping and cuting [sic].

December 25, 2003: We receive a digital camera for Christmas. I take the first of thousands of pictures of Seth. Seth loves his rocking horse.

January 18, 2004: I begin this weblog in an effort to remember everything I cannot record or photograph.

March 25, 2004: My wife’s pregnant with our second child. We dust off the travel Scrabble™ set for the hospital visits.

May 23, 2004: Melanie and I plan Seth’s birthday party. It’s a farm theme. We’ll make a cake resembling a barn. We’ve bought him the Fisher-Price™ barn, too. It will complement Beeps, the School Bus.

May 22, 2004: DVD Releases I’d Like To See, Part II

“Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care”: I know this title would sell more copies than “Saved By The Bell.” A dvd version of Dr. Spock’s book caters not only to folks who buy the “Complete Idiot’s Guide™” series, but also satisfies those of us who need to see accurate depictions and illustrations of hives. Do you know how difficult it is to locate the picture of hives on a baby in the Mayo Clinic’s “Complete Book of Pregnancy & Baby’s First Year”? First, you have to lift the book--which weighs almost as much as “The Complete Far Side”--and if you’re pregnant like my wife, you’ll need assistance. (Remember, bend with your knees and lift slowly.) Then you must determine where appendix A8 is in the tome. That will also require two people and will still require several minutes of search. When you discover the picture, it doesn’t display the crisp, sharp picture you’ll need to confirm the diagnosis. You’ll have to waste more time to find a picture online. And that’s all before you call the doctor who will tell you to wait and see what happens over the next few days.

A dvd of Dr. Spock solves this dilemma. We could have confirmed Seth’s case of hives and bought his Benadryl in the time it took us to find appendix A8.

“Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs”: Yes, I know Disney has released the platinum, two-disc, special edition of this film. I bought it two days ago. My copy freezes when the dwarfs sing their yodel song. That’s if I’m lucky to get the disc to play. I threw my receipt away for the dvd, which Disney doesn’t manufacture now. Do you know how difficult it is to report a manufacturing flaw to Disneydvd.com? You have to look on the back of the disc and find a set of numbers, type them in the form, find the make of your dvd player, then determine the model of your television set, provide the region number of the disc, write a description of the problem you’re having with the disc, and then wait two business days for someone to contact you. I bet that they’ll tell me they can’t give me another copy because I don’t have my receipt.

I also purchased the “Complete Donald Duck, Volume I,” an anthology of cartoons released by Disney a few weeks ago. Disney makes a limited edition of these cartoons so only a few of the millions of Disney fans can buy them. If you missed your opportunity to buy “The Complete Mickey Mouse in Living Color, Volume I,” like I did, you need not fret. Someone registered with Amazon.com or Ebay will sell you a copy (without the collector tin) for sixty bucks--or twice the original retail price.

I don’t know why Disney limits production of its classic cartoons. Does it have a financial interest in Ebay or the secondary market? Disney stands to make millions of more dollars if it manufactures sets of its cartoons for everyone. I really resent that it limits people’s access to its cartoon library.

I also resent Disney’s decision to allow Leonard Maltin to introduce these cartoons. Leonard Maltin is an excellent critic, but do we really need him to educate us that Disney animators employed crude sterotypes in the early cartoons. I don’t need a history lesson from Leonard Maltin about our society’s prejudice against Native Americans, African-Americans, Asians and Jews. I want to watch Donald Duck!

P.S. After I posted yesterday’s entry, I learned that Paramount pictures will release “Happy Days” in August. I hope the dvd I buy functions, and that Henry Winkler doesn’t engage in revisionist critical theory in any commentary.

May 21, 2004: DVD Releases I’d Like To See, Part I

I never purchased many movies or video collections on video cassettes. I’ve had a video cassette player for many years. In 2000, my wife gave me a dvd player for Christmaskkah. Since then, we’ve (or I should say “I’ve”) amassed a collection of many movies and series on dvd. The reason I buy movies now is because dvd provides an efficient and quality video format over vhs. And like many others, I enjoy the “extras” packaged with the dvd.

I understand why I love collecting films and television shows on dvd. What I don’t comprehend is the determination of which movies and shows merit release on dvd. I’m not suggesting that “Saved By The Bell” lacks a sufficient audience to warrant the recent release of its third and fourth seasons (with commentary) on dvd. I’ve watched “Saved By The Bell,” and I know you have too. The only difference is that you don’t write about it in a weblog. But there are still several excellent shows that haven’t found release on dvd. Some of these sets will sell well; others won’t. All of them are my favorites. In no particular order, here they are:

“James At 15”: Poor Lance Kerwin. In the late 1970s, nobody wanted to watch a teenage boy experience suburban angst. That would have to wait until the early 1990s. But “James At 15” was my generation’s “Dawson’s Creek,” and Lance Kerwin was the James Van Der Beek of his time.

James had sex, attended parties with alcohol and lost his virginity to a Swedish exchange student. NBC thought old James was too radical, and after he lost his virginity, they changed the title of the series to “James at 16.” By today’s standards, James’ exploits are tame. If you stuck him in the “O.C.,” he would die from a lack of attention.

My sister and I loved watching James. Several years ago, I think A&E aired some episodes. There weren’t many, and they could release the entire set. I’m sure Lance Kerwin would like to provide the commentary tracks. He could certainly use the work.

“Happy Days”: The inspiration for “jump the shark,” “Happy Days” still isn’t available on dvd. If “Saved By The Bell” has an audience that justifies release, so does “Happy Days.” I’d bet “Happy Days” has an even larger audience, too.

I remember watching the first season of “Happy Days” when I was about six years old. My parents loved it. I emulated the Fonz, but you knew that. Most people familiar with the series wonder what happened to Richie’s older brother, Chuck. But I want to know what happened to “Bag.” I’ve asked others about this, and nobody I’ve asked remembers him. “Bag” wore a white jacket, and was in a gang. He was like the Fonz without the cool. When they release “Happy Days” on dvd, and I know they will, I want somebody to answer my question on the commentary. I’m buying season one. I suggest that they not release any episodes post-Fonzie’s shark jump, however.

“Seinfeld”: I’m not the first to suggest this one. It will happen.

May 18, 2004: Negotiation

Now that we’ve learned why the “loser pays” system is a ludicrous remedy for the illusory problem of “frivolous litigation,” let’s explore another area of the legal system today: Negotiation.

As we all know from “Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary,” “negotiation” is “the action or process of negotiating or being negotiated.” Judges love negotiation because when a negotiation succeeds they don’t have to conduct that trial. If the lawyers can resolve their clients’ differences without a trial, some judges also experience relief because they will not have to try an employment discrimination case that they could not possibly understand--even if they read the parties’ briefs and memoranda.

Negotiation occurs after the parties have developed their evidence. This may take a year, two years, or five years or more if the case is complex. You might think that a corporate defendant would propose negotiation before it expended several thousands of dollars in attorney fees and costs over several years’ litigation. WRONG. That would be a logical, unemotional response to litigation. And when someone’s been served with a complaint demanding thousands or millions of dollars, there’s no place for a logical, unemotional response in our adversarial system. Defense lawyers are glad, I’m sure. If most corporations acted on logic and not the emotion of their misguided C.E.O.’s, many cases might settle earlier, resulting in fewer expenses--including those for defense lawyers who charge $250 or more per hour.

Here’s how negotiation works. On the day before trial, after each side has spent thousands of dollars conducting discovery, the lawyers for the parties meet in a corridor outside a courtroom. The defense lawyer asks plaintiff’s counsel to make a demand. The plaintiff’s counsel replies that he’s made a demand for his client. In this example, let’s pretend it’s a small case involving a breach of contract for defendant’s failure to deliver a baby crib with moving sides. The plaintiff’s counsel tells defense counsel his client’s asked for $2,000 (the cost of the crib), and that defendant’s previous counteroffer of $800 is too low. “Your client needs to pay at least $1,500, or this case goes to trial,” retorts the plaintiff’s counsel. The defense counsel replies, “No, it’s your client’s move. You need to make another offer.”

The plaintiff and her counsel will confer about the new demand. This takes a couple minutes. They might agree to lower the demand to $1,800. Then they might spend fifteen minutes discussing investments, and conclude that America’s most valuable enterprises involve either coffee (Starbucks), donuts (Krispy Kreme), or virtual flea markets (Ebay). After eighteen minutes, plaintiff’s counsel will approach the defense counsel (whose insurance adjuster would probably sit next to him on the court’s mahoghany bench) and will tell him the new offer.

The plaintiff and her counsel will then wait for the defendant’s counsel to return with another counteroffer. This might require five more minutes of waiting. During this time, plaintiff and her lawyer might discuss the astronomical price of gasoline. The defense counsel will then beckon the plaintiff’s counsel into the hallway again, and probably tell him the offer is now $1,200. Plaintiff’s counsel will then return to advise the client.

This time the discussion might last a couple minutes. The plaintiff will lower her demand to $1,700. Her counsel will tell the defense counsel. He will tell plaintiff’s counsel to wait a few minutes. Plaintiff’s counsel will wait a couple minutes. The defense counsel will respond with $1,300. Plaintiff’s counsel will tell his client.

Plaintiff will instruct her lawyer to make the demand for $1,600. “Guess what the demand is now?” plaintiff’s counsel will tell the defense counsel and the adjuster when he approaches them sitting on the same mahoghany bench. “I have no idea,” the defense counsel will reply. “1,600,” the plaintiff’s lawyer will say. “1,400,” the defense lawyer will utter without arising from his bench.

Plaintiff and her lawyer will engage in quick discussion, and her counsel will return to the defense lawyer and his adjuster sitting on the bench. “Can we do this for $1,500,” he will say. “Sure,” the defense lawyer will reply.

Don’t hate the playa. Hate the game.

May 17, 2004: A Couple Of Things That Are Pissing Me Off

It’s 4:30 p.m. I’m home. My case set for trial tomorrow settled. I should be happy, right? WRONG. The child my wife supervises today has pitched a fit for the last two hours. We suspect he has a cold. Seth also caught his current illness from this child. If you factor in the costs associated with his treatment (including parking for the pediatrician’s office), we’re losing money from my wife’s baby sitting. But that’s not what bothers me today.

What bothers me arises from matters occurring over my birthday weekend. The first is the new crib we bought for Seth on Saturday. The second is a conversation I had on Sunday about litigation. Neither matter involves the other, but as any major in English and Comparative Literature understands, you can connect disparate concepts in a few minutes when your course demands it. Please bear with me for a few more paragraphs, and I promise it will make more sense than the recent voting results on “American Idol.”

The crib we selected at “Baby Rip-offs¹” included a “kickbar” to roll down the crib’s side. Seth’s current crib employs clips at each end for lowering the side. As I noted yesterday, Seth caught his finger on one of the clips and earned him his first blood blister on his right hand finger. (Now here’s a children’s title I’d like to see: “My Very First Blood Blister Book,” by Dr. Seuss. “I pinched my finger with the clip. I pinched it fast when the clip slipped. I pinched it good, it made me cry. What kind of used, clip crib did my parents buy?” But I digress. The saleslady told us she stocked a cheaper model of the kickbar crib by the same designer (Angel Line). Taking her words as the gospel truth, we bought the crib.

My three dear and faithful readers from California will then recall how our car stalled in the “Baby Rip-Offs” parking lot after we bought the crib. But I didn’t mention that after we returned home and installed the crib, that the crib lacked the “kickbar” feature. In fact, the crib’s sides did not move, much like the two Zax in the Dr. Seuss tale of the same name. We called the store. The saleslady told my wife that we could have twenty dollars off the kickbar model we wanted, or take twenty dollars off the immobile version. We decided to take the immobile version because we did not consider the consequences--or consult with our parents, which may be redundant.

Our parents all told us to return the crib. That would have been easy if our car were not experiencing battery problems, and we didn’t have any risk of our car stalling. Today, however, now that we have the ability to return the crib, Melanie called the store. They told her she couldn’t return the crib. “You can’t be serious,” queried my wife in her John McEnroe impression. “Oh, I’m serious,” replied the nasty manager, who further asked “Would you want your child to sleep in a crib that another baby had slept in?” “Uh, yes,” we both thought. Seth’s slept in a used crib, and in a perfect world, we could afford the used crib of a celebrity baby, such as the crib Madonna’s children used. I bet that crib would sell for tons of cash on Ebay. But Seth isn’t famous, and nobody wants to sleep in his crib--not even the baby Melanie baby sits. (On further thought, I bet Eminem’s actual baby crib would sell better on Ebay than Eminem’s former non-baby “crib.”)

My wife wanted to cancel payment on the crib. She told “Baby Rip-Offs” we wouldn’t shop there anymore. But the reality is it doesn’t matter. That store rakes in the cash. And our dissatisfaction with the store won’t change that. Did this store use a form of “bait-and-switch” with us? Perhaps. I find it difficult to accept it was a “mistake.” If it were a mistake, then I would expect the store to make more of an effort to maintain our satisfaction. That’s because the first rule in any business is “the customer is always right,” except when the customer is incredibly intoxicated and wielding a running chainsaw before you, in which case “the customer is only right until the police arrive.”

It would also be ridiculous to file a lawsuit over a $122 crib. One hundred and twenty-two dollars is not inexpensive. But it’s not a lot of money in the court system. In the court system, a case has to involve at least $20,000 or more to merit filing. It’s not practical to litigate small cases. That brings me to the second matter that pisses me off today.

Someone I met at the Temple on Sunday suggested we should adopt the “loser pays” (or British) litigation system. Anyone who loses a case must pay the winner’s litigation fees. Then those fools who litigate all those “frivolous” cases would stop, and we’ll all have more money to buy cool stuff at our local Wal*Mart, right? Apologies to Jim Cramer, but that’s WRONG. The “loser pays” system is not the way to fix our tort system. I’ve explored this matter, but allow me to elaborate on why the “loser pays” system is an inane solution to an imaginary problem.

The “loser pays” model does not consider the loser’s transactional costs of litigation. These costs provide a disincentive for frivolous litigation--such as filing a case over the crib against your local “Baby Rip-offs” because it won’t let you return the crib after you were honest and admitted your baby slept in it a few times.

In my jurisdiction, a plaintiff must pay $100 to file legal action in circuit court. If the action is against more than one party, add costs for each additional party. Then there’s service of the “complaint” on each party, which costs at least fifty dollars or more. Before anything has occurred in the lawsuit, a plaintiff--or I should say her lawyer--has spent a few hundred dollars.

After the defense responds with its “answer,” it will usually request the plaintiff to verify several sets of interrogatories and requests for production. Over the course of litigation, you’ll have copying costs for all the documents you’ll need. At a minimum, this will cost about $100. In a complex case, it can cost thousands.

I haven’t mentioned depositions yet. You’ll need to take a few of these. You don’t have to take them. But it’s the effective way to get testimony from witnesses in your case. Depositions are expensive. Taking a couple will cost about a thousand dollars.

Don’t forget the expert. If your client requires medical treatment, you’ll need to pay the treating physician for his or her testimony. Think your doctor charges too much for that mole he removed from your back? You haven’t seen his bill for two day’s preparation of his testimony. Ouch!

Then there are the random costs that arise. Preparing poster board exhibits. Research. And, of course, the investment of the lawyer’s time in his case. A simple case may take me thirty or forty hours of my time. I can’t charge for this, of course, because I don’t bill by the hour. I’m not on retainer, remember?

If you take your case to trial, you’ll need to subpoena your witnesses. They don’t testify for free, either. You might have additional costs if you use a “mock jury,” too. A pizza party will cost you at least fifty bucks!

On a frugal budget, assuming you take two or three depositions, and don’t employ an expert, you will incur about $2,000 on your case. That doesn’t guarantee you’ll win. If you take your case to trial and lose it, you’ll usually have to pay for the costs of trial, which will total a couple thousand.

Now, let’s go back to thing number one that pisses me off today. We paid $122 for a crib we can’t use. It’s not practical to litigate this. In fact, if the crib cost $2,000, it wouldn’t be practical to litigate it either because of the transactional costs associated with litigation. When does it become practical to litigate a case then?

I don’t have any “rule,” but my experience is that when the value of the case is less than $20,000, it’s difficult to proceed. Taking a $20,000 case to trial costs at least $5,000, and that still doesn’t guarantee a victory. If you win, of course, you’ll recover your costs, and so will the client. But if the jury returns a verdict for $20,000 or less, the client will not receive the full amount after the litigation costs and lawyer’s fees. In this example, the costs reduce the client’s recovery to $15,000. The lawyer’s fee will reduce that amount further. A “plaintiff’s verdict” of $20,000 is a pyrhhic victory, indeed. (By the way, I have no urge to see “Troy,” with Brad Pitt. It looks stupid, and Homer’s Iliad is a better read.)

The “loser pays” system also has a disparate impact on the poor and/or those who seek remedies for small claims. Small claims courts here don’t address disputes over $5,000. Maybe they should. I don’t know many attorneys who bring suits for matters under $20,000. The reason is their acknowledgment that these matters are not cost-effective to litigate. That’s great news for stores and businesses that use “bait-and-switch” techniques to squeeze a few more bucks out of poor people or folks who need to save money. It’s not worth the time or effort to fight over a few hundred--or even thousand--bucks anymore.

Under the “loser pays” system, the loser loses twice. She (or her attorney) first absorbs the costs of litigation. Then she (or her attorney) pays the winner’s costs.

Anyone who suggests that the “loser pays” system provides a disincentive to litigation has not considered the costs of litigation. Or else he’s a loser.

¹That’s what I’m calling this store.

May 16, 2004: My Birthday Weekend

The planned move is--surprise, surprise--delayed again. We won’t be in our office on Monday, and I have a trial on Tuesday. I also mentioned that the violent events overseas have bothered me. I won’t dwell on this because I’ve devoted a couple columns to it this week. But beginning Friday afternoon, my week improved, and I had a wonderful birthday weekend.

In a welcome surprise, my wife planned a date for us Friday night. She invited her mother over to baby sit Seth. As my present, Melanie treated me to dinner at my selected restaurant, which we followed with a selection of any movie I wanted to see. Considering how seldom we share a dinner and a movie these days, this was an awesome present. Perhaps I should add that Melanie also made me a chocolate cake, and bought me a copy of the eighth edition of “The Complete Directory to Primetime Network and Cable TV Shows” and a copy of “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.” Those of you who know me understand how cool those gifts were. (My mom and sister presented me with copies of the second and third seasons of “South Park” on dvd, and “The Complete Peanuts: 1950-1952,” respectively.)

We ate at “Outback Steakhouse.” I ordered a shrimp dish. We ordered “curb side” takeout from Outback last week, and I had recently eaten a steak. My rule is never order an item from a restaurant that is not a speciality there. But Outback has good shrimp (and everything else), and I enjoyed it. We also ate an order of cheese fries. Melanie liked her chicken salad.

Among some of the choices for films this week were the Olsen twins in “New York Minute,” Jack Black and Ben Stiller in “Envy,” Denzel Washington in “Man on Fire,” and “Van Helsing.” After viewing “School of Rock” a couple weeks ago, we vowed never to watch a Jack Black film again. If “School of Rock” had focused more on the kids, and less on Jack Black, the film would have entertained us. But, of course, Jack Black is a self-indulgent comic, and unless you’re Robin Williams or Jim Carrey, self-indulgent comedy doesn’t succeed with me. “Man on Fire” resembled the last couple films Denzel has made, and I avoided that one. Melanie and I were hoping that “Shrek II” was in release, but that is next week. So “Van Helsing” it was.

Melanie had low expectations for the film. I didn’t expect a great film either. But “Van Helsing,” as the moneygrubbers on Wall Street say, “outperformed” expectations. It rocked. I liked the computer-animated vampires. We both enjoyed the post-ironic humor, too.

Saturday began on an ominous note. We had planned a picnic at the park, but I decided we should look for another crib for the baby. Seth pinched his finger on his, and we’ll need a new one for our second child soon. We decided to shop at a local baby furniture emporium. The service was friendly, and after fifteen minutes the crib was in the back seat of our car. It took thirty minutes, however, to start Melanie’s car. For reasons unknown, it wouldn’t start, and I had to call my mom. This is the second time in the last four months that one of our cars has had a breakdown. It is also the second time in four months that a gentleman has allowed me to use his cell phone, and helped me remedy a vehicle problem. After he started our car with jumper cables, we decided to go home, and not risk ruining my birthday, which officially began on Saturday.

On Saturday evening, we had a nice spaghetti dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant. My mom treated us. Seth loves spaghetti. I enjoy watching him make a mess when he eats it. At the end of dinner, the waitress presented me with some spumoni. That was nice, but I don’t like spumoni. So I gave the remainder to my wife.

Today, we attended a welcome party for new members of the Temple. That went well, but I will dwell on this in a separate piece later. I’ve had a relaxing weekend. I needed it.

If anyone wants to give me a cheap, late birthday present, you can wish me some luck in my trial in federal court.

May 14, 2004: Life Gets The NC-17 Rating

The video of the beheading of Nicholas Berg troubles me. It’s bothered me all week. One reason is the atrocity itself. The other reason is I’ve read at least one comment from somebody who didn’t find the images in the video as disturbing as those in movies such as “The Passion of The Christ” or “Scarface.” That anyone would utter such an idiotic thought troubles me almost as much as the murder itself.

First Amendment advocate that I am, I believe someone can share her thoughts on anything. I also agree with Kurt Vonnegut that the First Amendment is the most tragic amendment of our Bill of Rights. Mr. Vonnegut, by the way, wrote an excellent piece the other day on the madness occurring in our world, which I recommend you read. He’s eighty-one, and I suspect that he has more experience with idiots and madness than I do. Reading Vonnegut’s essay has inspired me to devote a few thoughts about the depiction of Berg’s murder.

Several months ago, I had a conversation with someone about our nation’s values, especially as the media depicts them. We both predicted it would be only a short time before the major networks air somebody’s live execution. Sex sells. So does violence. The more popular reality shows involve sex (“Joe Millionaire,” “The Bachelor,” “Average Joe,” and “The Swan,”), or violence (“Cops,” “Caught On Tape,” and “Monday Night Football”). The juggernaut “Survivor,” of course, presents both--with alpha males knocking each other around on the challenges and the females parading around in skimpy bikinis and disrobing for a spoonful of peanut butter.

The networks will claim that they will never televise a live execution. The reality is they don’t need to because the internet beat them to it.

Public executions existed long before the invention of the modem and DSL. Check your local library archives and you’ll find many pictures of hangings. (Remember the convicted conspirators against President Lincoln?) Before television, in fact, watching an execution was great entertainment for many people. Although I wasn’t there, I’ve read that during the French Revolution, crowds would flock the square where the revolutionaries beheaded people. And during the Civil War, ladies and gentlemen perched on hills and watched young men spill their blood.

We don’t let people televise hangings anymore. When a riot occurs in South Central LA, nobody sticks around to watch either. But the proliferation of technology still permits anyone access to view the atrocity of his or her choice from the convenience of the selected computer chair.

I’m not suggesting that our government censor our access to disturbing materials. Life is disturbing. Nothing we do is going to prevent that. But I also want to believe that our society’s behavior will evolve as its technology does. Or at least that our behavior will evolve a little. The trouble, however, is that it hasn’t. If anything, it looks like the proliferation of our technology has not enabled our morality to evolve--it has instead enabled our inhumanity to each other.

I mentioned that at least one person thinks the video of Nicholas Berg’s murder wasn’t as disturbing as the most successful motion picture at the multi-plex this year. I wonder if this person would make the same remark if the executed person were her father. Or her brother. Or her son. Or her lover. And I wonder how she would feel if she knew millions of people had watched a video of her father, brother, son, or lover lose his life as Nicholas Berg did.

Do you think she would still remark “it wasn’t that bad.”

Shame on her and anyone else who posits such drivel.

May 12, 2004: War Is Not Healthy For Children And Other Living Things

You have people who will press every button in the elevator in a thirty-story apartment building before they exit.

You have people who will drive ten miles under the speed limit, and then increase the car’s speed as you try to pass them in the left hand lane on a two-way traffic road.

You have people who post racist remarks on internet message boards.

You have people who telephone strangers after midnight and scream into the phone before they sever the connection.

You have people who get drunk and drive their vehicles into other people.

You have people who think the rules don’t apply to them.

You have people who know the rules apply to them, but don’t care.

You have people who believe their faith entitles them to kill others who don’t share their faith.

You have people who don’t believe in anything, but believe they should kill others because their country tells them it’s their civic duty.

You have people who take pleasure in ruining someone’s career and life’s work.

You have people who enjoy watching others take pleasure in watching someone’s execution.

You have people who use phrases such as “We’re sorry,” “We share their sorrow,” and “These families have our deepest condolences,” when they seek re-election.

And you have the people that believe all these people’s words.

May 11, 2004: The Literati Patrol

Each morning before my work day begins, I usually play a few games of “literati” on Yahoo! For all intents and purposes, literati is the generic, non-trademark version of the beloved Scrabble™, which Hasbro now manufactures. Literati differs from Scrabble™ because 1) the number of each particular letter varies in each game; 2) you cannot know the letters your opponent has; and 3) the literati board is smaller than the Scrabble™ board. In all other aspects, literati’s play remains the same as Scrabble’s, and you can make “double” and “triple” letter and/or word plays. If you use all seven tiles in one play, known as a “bingo,” you score an extra 35 points--in Scrabble™ it’s 50.

My wife and I love word games, and we often play Scrabble™. On our first date, we purchased “The Official Scrabble™ Player’s Dictionary.” And before Seth’s birth, we bought a travel Scrabble™ set. It’s small, but it actually plays better than the larger, standard set, which we also own. That’s because the travel set has a plastic board for the spaces, which the miniature, plastic pieces snap into--making it easy to save your game to resume for the birth of your next child. Last Christmaskkah, my wife also gave me a hand-held, electronic Scrabble™, which I’ve played several times. (It’s a good game to play while waiting in the doctor’s office--if you don’t leave it on your kitchen counter.)

My wife and I hold competitions between us to see who plays Scrabble™ better. In the beginning, our matches were close, and I think my wife held an edge over me. So I bought the “Everything Scrabble™” book, and I learned every two-letter word and word with “q” that doesn’t take a “u” to improve my score. It worked, but it also angered my wife when I played “qat” or “xi” and racked up over forty points on a play. I also studied methods of making “bingos,” and when they worked, I don’t think my wife appreciated it.

When Melanie and I play, we will sometimes consult our official Scrabble™ dictionary, and sometimes my wife will find amazing bingos. Even with my improved play, our matches are still close and I consider my wife and myself excellent Scrabble™ players. (As for Boggle™, there is no contest: My wife crushes me at this game, and the only time I can beat her is when she’s sleepy. I know it’s time for her to get sleep after I’ve won a couple games.)

To tell today’s story, I needed to write this lengthy introduction. That’s because somebody who played me literati accused me of being a “bottom feeder,” which means someone who plays games against people below his or her skill level. In literati, as in other Yahoo! games, each player has a rating. Most players maintain ratings between 1400 and 1800. My literati rating usually stays above 2000 because I don’t often lose games, and sometimes I will have a winning streak of over two dozen games. I will play anyone who wants to play with one exception: I don’t play anyone who abuses me or anyone else with stupid remarks.

I began my game against my accuser by playing a bingo. After a few plays, the game was close. Then, in an incredible twist, the person made quick plays of words I’d never heard. The play was inconsistent with the person’s rating (below 1500). I determined the person was using a software program, known as an “anagrammer,” and I resigned the game. Although I’m competitive, I laughed about it, but the person insinuated I cheated by playing lower-ranked players.

I remained at my table, and another player entered the room. This player had a ranking above 2000, and I lost this game--but not by a wide margin. After winning, my opponent typed in a snide remark “and that was without grammer [sic].” It looked like someone was goofing on me. And as it turns out, it was the same person who had accused me of bottom-feeding. The person simply used an alias against me.

I asked this person “Why did you use the anagrammer against me?” The opponent responded, “I thought you were a bottom feeder, but I was wrong.” Literati ratings are serious business. You have to earn your rating, or suffer the wrath of the literati patrol. It sounds crazy, but some folks play games using cheat programs to drive the ratings of other players lower. Talk about compulsive. I love Scrabble™, but I would never lower myself to becoming a literati vigilante to protect the competitive balance of literati play in Yahoo! rooms.

I told the person I didn’t appreciate the ruse. The person offered me an apology, and after playing most of a game, resigned and told me I was a good guy.

I’m sticking to playing my wife Scrabble™. The only risk when we play is I might throw the board when I lose.

May 10, 2004: Movin’ On

Our law firm has a new office building. We’re moving into it on Friday. The original plan had us in the renovated quarters at the end of January. The second plan stated our occupation would begin at the end of March. And then someone amended that plan and told us we could expect to move at the end of April. Last week, after the announcement that we would move by this Friday, I still couldn’t believe it. When I saw several hundred boxes of cases and tagged furniture, however, I accepted it. And I spent most of today placing my papers, cases and books in boxes.

My family moved twice during my childhood. The first time, I was four years old, and my age provided a wonderful excuse to avoid the preparations for moving. Our family used a moving van, and I recall the blue tags placed on the furniture, including our refrigerator, which, of course, the movers banged, scraped, and broke when they dropped it onto the floor. My mom can confirm the details better than I can. But I’m confident that our family prevailed in magistrate court.

The next major move for me was college. This time, at the age of eighteen, I had no excuse, and I had to help pack the items my mom thought I needed. If it had been my decision, I would have packed only the essentials: a dozen pairs of underwear, five shirts, two pairs of jeans, some socks, toothpaste, toothbrush, glasses, contact lenses and contact solution, a dictionary, notebook, my twenty-key electronic keyboard, some paper, and, of course, several condoms. But mom decided I needed five times as many clothes, and she also required me to take several blankets, a typewriter, sheets, pillows, pillow cases, a coat, a jacket, another heavy coat, a couple hats, a laundry bag, some laundry detergent, and a lamp. I’m probably forgetting something, but it doesn’t matter now. That’s because all I remember about my freshman moving day is that the evening before our drive into New York City, my dad parked our car in a garage that closed and we had to get up early the next morning to retrieve our vehicle. By the time we reached the campus, several hundred freshmen and their families, most of whom resided in the New York/New Jersey/Connecticut area, had secured places in line ahead of us. And did I mention my frosh room was on the tenth floor?

Over the next three years, I would box my books and papers to send home from college at the end of the school year in May. I would then take an airplane with a suitcase containing my clothes. Boxing my books at the end of the year was a chore. The boxes weighed at least thirty or more pounds, and the nearest post office was several hundred feet from the nearest dormitory. The post office didn’t allow dolleys inside the building. That meant I usually carried the boxes by hand down the street to the post office. It’s a good thing video cameras weren’t prolific then. Watching me push and pull a large, cardboard box down Amsterdam Avenue must have been amusing. I don’t remember if anyone laughed, however, because I was sweaty and tired. (If you’re wondering why nobody helped me with the move, please remember this was New York City in the late 1980s and most of my friends were not on campus after exams ended.)

Our move to the new law office will occur in ninety-degree heat. I’ll have help this time, and if anyone breaks my stuff, I can represent myself in magistrate court, too.

May 9, 2004: Melanie’s First Mother’s Day

Five seconds later, Seth bumped his head on this door.

Seth looks cute, and our front yard looks nice for once.

When he looks at us this way, we give him license to destroy.

Eleven months, 50 weeks. . . and his eyes are still blue.

I prefer the black and white “Photoshop” version of this one. I planned on using it to caption “Windows.”

May 7, 2004: “24”: The Home Version

Amazing as it was that Seth took his first baby steps yesterday, the circumstances under which he did it are more astonishing. Seth had a fever of 102.9 degrees last night, and Dr. “Wanda” confirmed today that Seth has a right ear infection. It’s been an incredible twenty-four hours since my last post.

After seven p.m., we gave Seth some baby Tylenol to bring his fever down, which it did--but only by three-tenths of a degree. We decided to put Seth to bed and agreed to check his temperature sometime after 10:00 p.m.

Between 8 p.m. and 10 p.m., my wife and I watched “Survivor” and “CSI” on CBS and “Seth” on our Baby Monitor Network (BMN). I liked “Survivor” and admit I did not predict the tribe to oust Big Tom. I thought Jenna was a goner, but, fortunately, my information from the internet was incorrect. This is good because I like Jenna better than Big Tom, and the vote ensures at least one person in the final three I will like. I can’t stand Boston Rob or Amber and, I hope I’m wrong that one of them will win the million bucks.

“CSI” also aired a good episode. It was the standard CSI-type story: “Six people ride a roller coaster and get killed when the roller coaster flies off the tracks because a disgruntled park employee loosened the coaster’s screws because he was jealous of a park employee who was having an affair with a park employee dressed as Cleopatra.” There was also a storyline about a murdered daughter of a single mom, but I don’t want to spoil it for you if you were planning to watch it.

After “CSI” ended, we checked on Seth, and in the time that the tribe had ousted Big Tom and my wife and I learned that some people may actually have sex on a roller coaster after the park closes, Seth’s temperature had risen. We called the pedriatrician’s answering service, and, after the receptionist called me the obligatory “ma’am,” the doctor on call told us to give Seth a sponge bath.

We didn’t have any sponges, and, believe it or not, we had to read our second copy of “What To Expect The First Year” to determine how to give a sponge bath. You will do things like this when you have not parented a child, believe me. There is a right way and a wrong way to give a sponge bath.

Seth didn’t enjoy the sponge bath because he had planned to wake us at 6:00 a.m. as he usually does. Our preemption of his usual slumber upset him. We were upset too because we couldn’t figure out what caused his fever.

We put Seth to sleep at around 11:00 p.m. and planned to take his temperature at midnight. Melanie and I worried about Seth, and then I also played literati online while Melanie slept on the floor in front of the monitor.

At midnight, Melanie awoke and we entered Seth’s room. Seth was sound asleep. He was sleeping so soundly, in fact, that Melanie was able to remove his diaper and take his temperature rectally, and Seth didn’t even stir. My wife and I decided then that people who claim to have been administered alien anal probes are not liars, especially because the aliens don’t need to tiptoe to enter a person’s room and can just use their magic light rays to beam people into their anal probe chambers. But I digress.

Seth’s temperature had fallen to 100.6 degrees, and Melanie and I went to sleep.

At four a.m., I awoke, and Melanie and I checked the baby’s temperature. We figured he had had enough of the thermometer and used the reliable “hand on baby’s forehead” method. The baby’s forehead was as cool as the other side of the pillow, and we went back to sleep.

Three hours later, Seth awoke, and this time I think he knew the “probe” was coming. It confirmed he still had a temperature. When Melanie administered the Tylenol, however, there was not enough for a full dose.

Melanie prepared Seth’s breakfast, and I showered (but didn’t shave) for work. I needed to clean my office because we’re moving next week.

I arrived at work about ten minutes after 8 a.m. The next hour passed quickly, and, at 9:15 a.m., Melanie calls to tell me that she couldn’t pay for the bottle of Tylenol, the Diet Dr. Pepper and the ice cream at Kroger because, surprise, surprise, she could not locate her credit card. Did I have her credit card? She also noted that late last night her grandma fell and was now in the hospital. And, oh yeah, Seth still had a fever and had an appointment at 2:30 p.m.

I didn’t have the credit card, and twenty minutes into the official work day I’m now driving back home with two bacon, egg and cheese biscuits procured from the nearby Hardees. When I picked up the biscuits, which are now number one on the MFPFC, I noticed several one dollar bills on the floor near the passenger seat. The mess of papers on my car’s passenger floor is worse than the mess in my office. But I knew immediately without use of any global positioning device that was where Melanie’s missing credit card was.

When I returned home with the biscuits in tow, I suggested my wife take a gander at the floor of my car while I watched the baby. My wife returned with a smile on her face and her credit card in her hand. We gobbled our biscuits, and at 10:00 a.m. I’m driving back to the office for the meeting about the Big Move next week.

The meeting lasted about twenty minutes. I spent the hour before lunch cleaning and boxing papers and cases in my office. Then shortly after noon, I stopped at the local grocery and bought a dozen roses for Melanie, a diet Dr. Pepper and a carton of vanilla ice cream.

Melanie loved the flowers, and, as it turns out, she had also bought me a regular Dr. Pepper and Hershey’s chocolate fudge sauce for the ice cream she bought me. By this time, we decided the nutritional value of our lunch was not the priority of the day, and we both ate ice cream--I had chocolate fudge sauce on mine. I’m not pregnant, of course, but I’m taking advantage of the pregnancy and eating as much junk food as Melanie craves. It’s my duty as an expectant father.

We all piled into the car at 1:45 p.m. and arrived at the doctor’s within fifteen minutes. We were the only family in the waiting room, and it took Dr. Wanda five minutes to diagnose Seth’s right ear infection. Seth cried, but I think he was secretly happy that nobody placed a thermometer in his anus.

At 2:50 p.m., we arrived at a different Kroger, and Melanie placed an order for Seth’s medicine. It would take thirty minutes to fill his prescription. That was ample time for us to drive to the Wendy’s down the road, order our Biggie fries and Frosties™ and consume them with time to spare. This day was getting better.

Melanie received the medicine at 3:30 p.m., and we drove home. We were back home at 4:00 p.m. Sometime in the next hour, we played with Seth, and, once again, he demonstrated the amazing ability to take a few wobbly steps. (This kid walks like a drunken sailor, but we forgive him because he has an ear infection.)

After five, I fed Seth and then after dinner played with him some more. He laughed uncontrollably when I thumped my hands on the floor. Melanie made rhubarb crisp.

At ten to seven, Seth’s back to his chipper self and has a nice, dirty diaper for us to change.

And Grandma will be fine, but she wants somebody to bring her a salt shaker.

Note: I omitted several car chases and explosions in this essay because they did not advance the plot and, more important, they never occurred.

May 6, 2004: Seth Takes His First Steps

It’s about four minutes after 7:00 p.m. and Melanie’s on the phone with her mom. She’s telling her Seth’s taken his first few steps about ten minutes ago.

Seth’s close to walking by himself now. For the last couple months, he’s cruised holding onto our green couch and the coffee table in our parlor. He prefers taking my or Melanie’s hands to guide him across the room. He needs some confidence, I think, to go the distance himself.

As I watched him stand between Melanie and me and move his feet toward me I felt an awe and happiness of being a parent. It’s the same awe and happiness I felt when I saw Melanie’s ultrasound today and watched our baby’s heart beat and then saw the baby move.

Several people wonder why we would want to parent another child who is close in age to Seth. Why does it make a difference? If you love your children, it shouldn’t matter if they’re one, two or ten years apart. I can understand waiting to have children because of a financial situation. But since we’ve had Seth, I’ve never understood how anyone can moan and groan about the pains of parenting.

Maybe they forgot how awesome it is to watch a child learn and discover his world.

May 5, 2004: Because. . .

. . . stadiums don’t boil them in water or use a microwave to cook them. The stadiums have those special “carousel” cookers to seal in that delicious, ballpark hot dog taste. MMMmmm....

. . . that attorney hired her based on her ability to deflect incoming calls from me (and other persistent attorneys) and she also thinks she sounds sincere when she conceals the truth that her boss is busy reading the swimsuit issue of “Sports Illustrated.”

. . . the “Sports Illustrated Swimsuit” issue is more important to him than my client’s case and I can’t accept this reality.

. . . my wife says so.

. . . it nicely accents the hundreds of roofing shingles and broken flower pots he’s also deposited there.

. . . somebody has more spare time than I do and an entirely different set of values.

. . . since the passage of the Gulf of Tonkin resolution in August, 1964, the President has basically had the implied power to determine military action and declare “war” despite the exclusive vesting of that power in Congress under Article I, Section 8, Clause 11 of the United States Constitution.

. . . he’s a fool who judged Maddux based on his losing his first few games and his ERA over 6.00 this season instead of judging Maddux based on his first 289 wins and ERA below 3.00 during his entire career. (In his last two starts, Maddux pitched two gems and got the wins.)

. . . baby, the peeps love shopping at that big, mean, merchandising MA-CHINE!

. . . he has the power and I don’t.

. . . they don’t have the “embarrassment gene,” which is dominant in 95% of the population.

. . . though the technology is available, three out of four folks prefer extreme makeovers, such as facelifts and boob jobs, to having a memory chip with every game show implanted in their brains.

. . . for the next three years I basically have free web space and I enjoy writing about things. Except for sexual escapades, of course.

May 4, 2004: Why. . .

. . . do hot dogs always taste better at the baseball stadium?

. . . does that receptionist tell me the attorney is in his office when I call and after she places me on hold return and tell me he’s on the “other” line and can she have him call me later?

. . . does the aforementioned attorney not return my call the same day and why do I repeat this charade of leaving messages with the receptionist several more times that week?

. . . is Paula Abdul a nasty funkazoid?

. . . does my neighbor dump the broken, free-standing basketball hoop in the vacant lot next to our house?

. . . does someone have time to visit the seventy-eight links to other personal web pages she’s listed on her web page?

. . . does our government continue military action in Iraq when our country hasn’t formally declared war under the United States Constitution?

. . . did someone in my Yahoo! fantasy baseball league drop Greg Maddux two weeks into the season?

. . . does the Wal*Mart have long lines at 7:50 a.m. on Tuesday?

. . . is it right for the judge to arrive twenty minutes late for the pre-trial conference and wrong for me to arrive one minute late when the judge sits on the bench?

. . . do some people have no reluctance to share their sexual escapades online?

. . . can’t someone invent a chip containing the complete seasons of every game show ever aired to implant in our brains?

. . . do I spend time writing this?

May 3, 2004: Androgenetic Alopecia

In the summer of 1987, I worked at the West Virginia Department of Highways in its payroll department. There were ten or so of us and most of us were in college. Our employment required us to coordinate the payroll records of every seasonal employee in the department, which meant our job really required us to alphabetize records. But we spent over ninety percent of the time chatting and flirting and listening to the radio.

One day, when we were even more bored than usual, our group began comparing hairlines. Leigh Ann started this game, I believe, because she had long, thick locks of blonde hair. Everyone around the table pulled their front hair back and revealed their hair lines. I’ll never forget Leigh Ann’s remark what when I lifted my bangs:

OH, MY, LOOK AT THAT FINE BABY HAIR. . .YOUR HAIRLINE’S RECEDING!

I was twenty. I had never noticed my receding hairline until now. But above my forehead, my rich, thick, wavy hair was now brittle, fine and soft. I suppose I would have noticed my hair loss eventually. But losing your hair is a gradual process. It creeps up on you. Or perhaps I should say it creeps away from you.

Over the next two years, I lost gobs of hair. I knew the situation was bad when I overheard my mom talking about it with my dad and she didn’t think I could hear her downstairs:

“Fred,” she said, “His hair’s falling out!”

“Come on, Sylvia,” dad barked, which then prompted an even louder whisper from Sylvia:

“He’s losing his hair! I’m pulling clumps of it out of his tub!”

And then the conversation grew softer and I couldn’t discern the whispers my parents exchanged. Had I been able to hear the remaining talk, I wouldn’t have accepted it. “Just because my dad’s bald as a billiard on the top of his head,” I thought, “doesn’t mean I’m really losing my hair.”

It was about this time that I began wearing my hair longer based on the universal logic of bald guys everywhere: “If you have long hair, you can comb it over your bald spot(s).” Nerd that I was, however, I never stooped to the dreaded “comb-over” style. I preferred the ponytail look for almost a year until a New York cabbie suggested his theory about my sexual orientation and, by that time, I needed to find a job after graduation.

I had several interviews. I wore a nice suit, was polite and relaxed and had my long hair tucked back behind my collar. It didn’t work. A few days before my interview with TVT Records, the firm famous for the “Television’s Greatest Hits” series, I told the barber hair stylist to cut my hair short. How short, you ask? It was a regulation United States Army buzz cut.

Later that week, I took the subway downtown to the interview at TVT records. As I waited in the foyer, a couple of guys carrying guitars entered. My interview was with Steve Gottlieb, the president of the company. I had never met Mr. Gottlieb but I knew the president of a record company, especially one that sells millions of discs with the “Beverly Hillbillies” theme song, expected his job candidates to look professional.

The secretary took me into meet Mr. Gottlieb. And he had lots of hair. Long hair. Really, really, long, black, stringy hair like somebody who plays in a rock band. Game over.

I wanted to tell Steverino I’d kept my hair long for almost seven months. I wanted to tell him I relented and had a haircut that week because I couldn’t land any job. I wanted to tell him how cool it would be to have long hair that wouldn’t fall out in large clumps and be referred to in loud, concerned whispers by Sylvia. But all I could tell him was that the last compact disc I purchased was “Get Yer Ya-Yas Out” by the Rolling Stones.

Years later, after most of my hair vanished into the sewer systems of New York, New Orleans and the greater Kanawha Valley, I accepted my hair loss.

I also learned from my mother how she did, in fact, conceal from me her weekly ritual of using Drano to clean the drain of my tub. And also how she concealed and removed all that hair on pillowcase.

In the same breath she tells me her secret, she also tells me I’m not losing much hair. But I know the truth.

We’ve been using Drano at our house for years.

May 2, 2004: Remembrances Of Bar Exams Past

If, on May 2, 1994, someone had told me that I would spend a beautiful Sunday morning at Coonskin Park with my pregnant wife and eleven-month old son exactly ten years later, I wouldn’t have believed him. But there we were and each of us held a hand of Seth’s as he chased after the ducks and geese on the grass near the pond.

We spent an hour at the park and Seth enjoyed it. He slept in his baby seat on the fifteen-minute ride home.

May 2, 2004 marks ten years since my admission to the West Virginia State Bar. So much has happened. The other day, I heard from an old, high school pal of mine whom I hadn’t seen in six years. He had so many questions about what happened since 1998. It’s amazing how quickly those last several years passed and I can’t imagine how my essays over the next few years will read if I continue this exercise here.

Technically, I’ve practiced law over ten years because I passed the Louisiana bar exam in the summer of 1993. I remember everything about the experience. . . .

The Louisiana bar exam spans three days with separate exams on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It tests your knowledge of the entire “Civil Code” of Louisiana, the rules of civil procedure and evidence, constitutional law and, in my case, the ability to write several hundred paragraphs with a caloric intake of fewer than 300 calories a day. That’s because the stress of taking this exam made eating difficult for me.

By the end of the second day of exams, I was disoriented. When a friend and I entered the parking garage where I had parked my new 1992 Nissan Sentra nine hours earlier, I had no idea where the car was and I didn’t care. I was exhausted and so was my adrenaline supply. Fortunately, the parking garage had only five or six levels and the Nissan Sentra was not the most popular car among those destined to become attorneys. Had I been driving a Mercedes-Benz, I might not be writing this now.

I passed the Louisiana bar and returned to New Orleans in October 1993 for the admission ceremony. My father, who was visiting China, missed my admission, but my mom and sister attended. I was now a licensed attorney in Louisiana--and I had no job or any employment prospects.

I spent the next couple months searching for work. Although I had graduated with honors from law school, I couldn’t find a position. The amazing part of the story, however, is I knew several folks who had failed the exam who had employment! When one firm where I applied told me I “was too smart to work” there, I knew I didn’t stand a chance of landing a job in New Orleans and I returned to West Virginia.

I didn’t worry about taking the West Virginia bar exam. In 1994, West Virginia’s bar exam consisted of two hundred (200) multiple-choice questions, which you answered in the morning. In the afternoon, the exam included a few essay questions. Armed with a little logic and a little information, you can succeed on a multiple-choice test simply by using the following test-taking tip: IF TWO CHOICES ARE SIMILAR, BOTH ARE USUALLY INCORRECT. Learning this rule proved the most effective weapon in my multiple-choice test-taking arsenal. I highly recommend using this trick for anyone like me who doesn’t want to spend a thousand dollars for The Princeton Review or Kaplan courses.

Nobody, of course, teaches you the rules of multiple-choice tests in law school. That’s why we attend high school. But it’s been nineteen years since I graduated from high school and as I approach my thirty-seventh birthday, I don’t feel like recalling those days.

I’ll tell you this though: The night of my prom I was an employee working at the Coonskin Park duck pond.

May 1, 2004: Three Myths About Lawyers

Today is Law Day. Tomorrow marks the tenth anniversary of my admission to the West Virginia State Bar. These events have inspired me to offer a series of thoughts about my profession. But first, I’ll need to debunk a few myths I think people hold about lawyers.

MYTH 1: Lawyers always bill for their services.

REALITY: A lawyer’s bill depends on the arrangement with the client.

As a plaintiff’s lawyer, I often use a “contingency fee” arrangement with my clients. That means if my client doesn’t recover any proceeds from the resolution of her or his case, the client usually doesn’t owe our firm anything. Depending on the contract and type of case, I have the right to request the client to pay for the costs of the litigation. But I can’t remember any occasion when I required a client to write me a check or advance us costs for the case.

I’ll mention I practice law to people and many assume I work on a “retainer.” A retainer, of course, occurs when a client pays the lawyer for services in advance and often pays regardless of the outcome. Plaintiff’s lawyers I know rarely take personal injury cases on retainer. Defense firms who represent businesses or wealthy clients, on the other hand, often use a retainer. In many cases, a corporate client of a defense firm will also receive a bill for the individual services.

If I billed my clients for everything I did to prepare their cases, many could not afford to proceed with their legal action. It’s no secret that preparing a civil action requires money--and the lawyer’s preparation and planning. That’s why when a lawyer takes a case on a contingency fee, he or she believes the case’s potential recovery warrants his or her time and effort.

I use the analogy of recovering a buried treasure chest when I tell clients why sometimes it’s not practical for me to bring a case that, in theory, has merit. If you told somebody the location of $15,000 buried underground would cost $20,000 to retrieve, nobody’s going to spend the effort to recover the booty. The United States government might do it, of course, but by the time “60 Minutes” discovered the administrator responsible for the decision, he would be somewhere in Tahiti sipping on a mixed drink with a little umbrella in it.

Any lawyer who uses a “contingency fee” must use judgment in selecting her cases. Filing cases that cost more than their potential recovery serves neither the client, the lawyer or the legal system. Filing a case based on “the principle” of the matter is fine and I’ve taken several pro bono cases. But in order to bring these cases, you have to have the funds first. So it’s a good idea to be selective about the cases, I think.

I also have a theory that some people who have legitimate cases may not contact a lawyer because they believe the myth that all lawyers charge for their advice and work. But that’s not always “the case” (heh heh) and I often spend twenty or more minutes on a phone call giving advice to someone for free.

MYTH 2: Lawyers hurt the business of America because they’re always filing frivolous lawsuits.

REALITY: The Man™, an agent of Corporate America™, doesn’t want the people to like lawyers and has encouraged distorted reports on lawsuits to damage the credibility and respect of lawyers, most of whom are dedicated and honorable professionals.

The Man™ likes his power. He wants to keep it. And The Man™ learned long ago that the best way to keep his power is to foment dissent and hostility against lawyers--the persons who, armed with the help of the people, are best able to remove him from power. This is because The Man™ read Shakespeare’s “King Henry VI” and knows most lawyers would prevent his tyranny. The Man™ can’t suggest everyone “kill all the lawyers” because that’s too violent these days and, besides, he needs a few of his own lawyers to help him run his empire. Their efforts have successfully convinced most Americans that the rest of us lawyers are arrogant, greedy, fatuous freaks. Worse, they’ve encouraged a distorted presentation of the “hot, spilled coffee” lawsuit against McDonald’s to serve as everyone’s immediate image of a “frivolous lawsuit.”

Mention the “hot coffee” lawsuit against McDonald’s to anyone who hasn’t lived under a rock and you’ll usually hear this person rant about “frivolous lawsuits” and “money for nothing.” This is because the reports on this lawsuit focused on the millions of dollars the jury awarded the plaintiff in punitive damages. And do you know why the jury gave the plaintiff an astronomical punitive damage award? It’s because McDonald’s refused a reasonable settlement offer from the plaintiff. But, hey, I’m a lawyer, so don’t take my word for it. Check it out for yourself online, or if you’re doubtful and lazy and don’t distrust me too much, click here.

The reality is any plaintiff’s lawyer “worth his or her salt,” as they say in this profession, could not survive if s/he filed frivolous lawsuits. As I mentioned earlier, you couldn’t afford the costs. Even if you could, your reputation would suffer and you’d soon find yourself or your firm out of business. Congress, of course, doesn’t understand this, and it never will.

In my experience, any lawsuit involving a large recovery involves serious damage and/or injury to someone. It also involves an attorney’s dedication and skill. There is no such thing as a “lottery” for plaintiffs who have suffered an injury or loss. And if you think there is, then you’re probably working for The Man™.

MYTH 3: Lawyers are all greedy and rich.

REALITY: Some lawyers are greedy, and some of these lawyers are rich.

Some teachers are greedy. Some accountants are greedy. Some engineers are greedy. Some salespersons are greedy. Some actors are greedy. Some plumbers are greedy. And some tree surgeons are greedy. Some of these folks are also rich. But nobody attacks these professions because nobody associates these avocations with wealth. Who is to say that there aren’t some greedy and wealthy tree surgeons? In a parallel universe, maybe tree surgeons are getting a bum rap by The Man™.

For the sake of those few greedy and rich tree surgeons, I sure hope they have a “Tree Surgeon Day” in that parallel universe.

All written material ©2004-2007 by HEG