All Things Profane and Sacred

So, I recently received a note from Multnomah County to the effect that I never paid my 2004 county tax. I can't remember either filing or not filing. What I do know is that by simply looking at the form, I owe them no tax. I was in Multnomah County for about 4 months in 2004. During all of 2004, my income did not exceed $5000. Subtract the personal allowance, do some math with the number of months I was in the county and do a little tap dance and voila, no tax due. Well, of course, my word isn't good enough for the county, so I need to call my work places and have them go back through records, get my W2s (lost somewhere in the move), send them out to me, find my lease from West Linn (also lost somewhere) and a copy of my lease from when I moved to Multnomah County and send all of these in with the tax form. There someone will look them over, and probably harass me some more in the hopes of squeezing some cash from this turnip. Good fucking luck.

You would think they wouldn't waste their time going after someone who is unemployed and was underemployed throughout 2004. I can't imagine how much taxpayer money this is wasting. Good luck, Portland schools. You're gonna need it.

Have I mentioned how much I like to see the pervs of the world who have visited me through the wonders of google? My stat tracker has all sorts of lovely places like Cairo, the Philippines, Mauritius, New South Wales, Hessen, and Thailand. Mostly they've come to read about curly pubes, naughty landladies, dreams of pooping, and hot naked action. Unfortunately for the pervs, this blog is pretty non-sexy. The man (J) is keeping me down on that front. So sorry all you international perverts. No hot action for you. Please don't stop visiting.

I can't tell you how much it means when you've been down and out and feeling stupid and blue to get this back from a former employer "You're very talented, I'm happy to help anytime."

Thanksgiving was at our house this year-it was a total scam. We provided turkey (since we had Thanksgiving on Sunday, we got a fresh one on sale for super cheap) and everyone else left us food. We have enough baby carrots cooked in orange juice to last through the winter. Piles of pies, yams, salads and sides. And holy turkey batman.

The best part was that since it was at our house, we put in a lot of time fixing up the house-doing the complete clean and scrub and other chores that have been put off. We also got a second space heater which keeps the downstairs nice and toasty (fridgid bathroom excluded). Now I feel like I'm ready to face the winter. Why does rent come due so friggen often?

Ah. Fundamentalists are so fun. I ran a quick google search for a little project I'm working on, and up popped this newspaper article. Some of my favorite quotes:

• Even if the First Amendment required the separation of government and religion (it doesn’t) . . .
• Since at least 9 out of 10 taxpayers are Christians, they foot the bill for a public education system on a search-and-destroy mission against even the mildest expressions of their holidays
• America was founded by Christians and based on Judeo-Christian values. (Note: The founding fathers were Deists (for the most part). They believed God set the Universe in motion and then stepped out. While this is arguably a "Christian" sect-and how I hate people who say 'Christian' like it means a single religion-it is a far cry from the fundies who are usually yelling loudest about how this is a Christian nation.)
• Now, if I had my way, every public school administrator who banned Christmas carols, Christmas decorations, etc., would be boiled with their own anti-Christmas directives and buried with a rolled up copy of the latest ACLU newsletter through their hearts.

So, this old house comes with some equally old appliances in the kitchen. There's an electric stove circa 1950 squatting in the kitchen and an outdoorsy refrigerator leaning nearby. When we first moved in, the oven wasn't working. The landlord pulled most of it apart before he called a repair shop that told him one of the many dials on the oven needed to be set a certain way (I have no idea what this dial does, except that if it's moved, the oven doesn't work).

Well, since we've had a variety of house related mishaps, we weren't surprized when the refrigerator started making bad noises and had condensation on the outside. Our landlord fixed the bad noises, but neither of us could figure out what the deal was with the condensation. So, the appliance repair people were called out to deal with our recalcitrant. The man came yesterday, opened the fridge and flipped a switch prominently placed in the fridge that said "flip this switch if you have condensation on the outside of your fridge" right next to the freaking switch. Some days you just can't feel smart.

Terribly depressed today. Another week of no work. Another week of calls and letters that won't be answered and emails that are probably sent directly to the recipient's trash can. Another week of going out to my volunteer work, anxiously checking email and phone, picking up groceries on my overextended credit card and sitting at home with the boys, a housewife without a purpose. Another week of trying to look and sound upbeat when asked how I'm doing. Another week of regrets for getting an advanced degree and feeling like a loser because while I may have made it through law school with a decent record and passed the bar, I failed at the most important test-making it on my own.

According to my student loan people, my government loans will be paid off in 2035. I guess that's not too bad-it is only 30 years. Of course, I haven't consolidated my private loans yet. We'll see how bad things get when we get there.

I bought a copy of Dan Brown's Angels and Demons from Goodwill the other day (I think I'm the only one left in America that hasn't read the Da Vinci Code). It was a pretty good story, but was poorly written. I won't do an ending spoiler, but the TWIST! TWIST! TWIST! was pretty overwritten and desparate. Still, I'm looking forward to reading Da Vinci Code-I do love a good story. I also picked up a book of essays on Bernini, the Catholic church and conspiracy theories, which would be better if they just said "This is the historical reality blah blah" rather than saying "Everything in Dan Brown's books is historically inaccurate." I mean, Duh, works of fiction are not generally your best place to learn history. Mech.

I've felt super lazy lately, funny enough as I don't have a whole lot that I need to do. I think a lot of it is just not having much to look forward to at this point. I have nothing of any real value on my calandar. I have no work, no leads on work and a few weeks before I can do another round of "Hey, I still need works" to the few pitiful prospects I do have. I have bills to be paid, but need to look at my account balance before doing so, something I am increasingly reluctant to do. I could clear out my office and update my pro bono file, but that just reminds me of how much time I spend here doing not much of anything. Blarg, unhappy, mumble, mumble.

I had a weird zombie dream last night. There was this rain that disolved and disfigured people and turned them into zombies. Portland was flooding with all this rain, so I was huddled on the second floor of my house with J and a few other people (the downstairs was flooding) and we had to figure out a way to get some food. The online dream dictionary says zombies "represent a group of related fears which are bombarding you" and says of rain: " A violent rainstorm may symbolize extreme inner emotional turbulence or unexpressed tears." Food is "A symbol of well-being, abundance or prosperity." So, sorry to those of you who were melted into a group of fears last night due to my emotional turbulence or unexpressed tears, making me seek well-being, abundance or prosperity.

Oh my god. The beautiful weather is melting my ice castle. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Back to porch sitting. Must take day off.

I've been avoiding the bathroom lately because it is freaking ass cold. I should get some sort of fuzzy toilet seat to avoid the bowl hovering one has to do to avoid flash freezing the buttocks. There's nothing like going outside and realizing the night air is a good 5 degrees warmer than your own bathroom. Maybe I should get an outhouse.

I walked up to clinic last night with J and then walked home afterwards. It was a beautiful night-crisp, but not too cold. Luckily, the clinic is just a short walk from my house, so I can sort of unwind on the way home. I'm starting to think there is no such thing as an easy family law matter. There is always someone doing something weird-ass that makes the whole process more complicated. Anyway, I didn't burn anything down my first night, so I guess that's sucess.

So, I've just found out about Buck Angel, via Dan Savage. Go read his/her Blog if'n you like (not worksafe). It's sort of funny, but some posts sound very masculine, and other very feminine. Interesting.

Arggg. You know, I swear that there is a huge disconnect somewhere. Maybe it's my brain from reality, or maybe it's everyone else. I've been meeting and greeting and info gathering and trying to glean wisdom, but everyone is so darn contradictory. What is the one true path? What do I do now? What the fuck?

One mystery has been half solved:

Shortly after we moved into this house, I lost my ATM card. Now this wasn't a garden variety "Where the fuck did I leave that bitch" type of deal-I knew I left it on the arm of a chair in the library. I know this because I set it there and thought, "You know, I should really put this away before it gets lost. I'll just grab it after I check my email." Well, of course I go check my email and it slips my mind and next time I think about it, the damn thing is nowhere to be found. So, I spend the next few weeks looking for it-I mean, the library is a pretty small area, and I knew it must be somewhere in there. Nothing. I scan bookshelves, dump drawers out, turn over chairs and feel out cushions. Still nothing. So, finally I break down and ask for a new ATM card and move on with my life.

Yesterday I needed to block an open door, so I grabbed a side table from the library, turned it over and there, stuck to the bottom of the table under one of the leg supports was my missing ATM card. How the fuck do you suppose it got there?

Today I'm doing some computer networking and listening to the fantastic Jeffry Lewis, who always makes me feel snuggly in this horrible cold world where you are lured out of your house for what is supposed to be a waitressing job, but is really a fast food deal. And another round of letters goes out to the temp agencies.

Here's some good-ass lyrics from his "It's the Ones who've Cracked That the Light Shines Through" album that have been going through my head (it's good-really, go out and buy this album if you're like, working and stuff):

Don't let the record label take you out to lunch, you're the one who's gotta pay at the end of the day and try not to want people to like you too much, you'll just need more and more flatteries to recharge your batteries and don't let showmanship get more important than honesty, if you don't wanna be so many singers you see. You don't have to act crazy to do something amazing, you can be just like you should and still do something really good and even when you know there's nobody listening say it to yourself because its good for your health. I know nothing makes sense if you think too much, religion, a pigeon, radios and televisons. Oh it takes so much strength just not to suck and not to be a cynic looking for another gimmick but you're distraught at the thought of losing everything again then they say its not the way you play the game it's if you win, but don't let the record label take you out to lunch cuz every sip of soup has gotta get recouped and then you get a good review and then you get a bad review so don't get suckered either way cuz none of them know you so don't let the record label take you out to lunch . . .

My night at the clinic went ok. I followed around two experienced volunteers and watched what they did and listened to the information they gave. I realized something though-the volunteers seemed to have a very difficult time communicating with the people who walked in. It wasn't anything real super obvious-it was just hard for the voluteers to hear what the people were saying and answer directly in a way the people could understand. I don't know if it is just cultural differences (yes, rich and poor are cultures), or if professional distance just makes rapport difficult, or what the deal is. We'll see how I do when I'm out there mysef.

Hoo hoo. Today is a three blog day, which means there is nothing much special or exciting going on in my life. Actually, I went to my ACLU committee meeting today and volunteered to do some research into a possible case. I don't think it has a lot of merit, but I don't know that for certain, and it is at least doing something. I also start volunteering at a legal clinic tonight, and I have a job interview on Thursday. Not a real job, but one of those jobs I vowed never to do again. We'll see how that goes-if there is a bad uniform I'm totally out, but since there is potential for tips, the pay is not bad for what it is, and the hours are fairly flexible (and fucken early), I'll at least check it out and see what's shakin. I need the money so very badly right now.

Sorry to be doing a "Bar Bulletin Review", but the stuff this month is just so damn funny. There's this article called "Meet the Millennials" (by Melody Finnemore). She says us new attorneys are called "millennials" because we mostly graduated around the turn of the century (god help anyone who calls me a millennial, or worse, a 'millie'). We're thought of as weird, because we don't want to live our jobs, we want to have a work/life balance. We don't want to work 10 hours and then go 'network' for 3 more hours, but we want to go home to our loved ones and, gasp, spend time with them.

Here's a great quote, "I hear students talk about quality of life and not wanting to work a 90 hour work week, as they put it. I don't see that they are able to do that in reality, but this group wants to make that happen for themselves." I'll tell you what-I don't think wanting to work reasonable hours is such an unreasonable request. With so many out of work attorneys, there is absolutely no reason in the world for such out of control labor demands. After this charming discussion, there's a few paragraphs on erosion of employee loyalty in firms, and "oh, my gosh, what'll we do to retain associates and make them work for partnership? Why are they leaving us after paying off their debt?"

Reason number 3 why I think this is a hilarious article (probably just proving that I fit the damn hell Millie Mold): New lawyers want their pro bono work to be work! That's right-they don't want to sit on a committee, or attend useless meetings! They want to show up and do something! Have their time mean something! Accomplish! Weirdly enough, just a few paragraphs back they were characterizing us as slackers because we don't want to sit in an office 7 days a week.

Hmmm. Maybe we're just more efficient than you old farts. What with our new fangled technology and all.

Update: Yesterday I forgot to mention that this is the article that marvels: "(Millies) . . . have friends of another race-not acquaintances, but friends." I think that quote is all I have to say.

I had no idea that the OSBAR Bulletin was so contentious (although I suppose I should have expected it from a bunch of lawyers). Has anyone read these letters? There are some odd fucken practitioners in Oregon-fantastic! Check out the end of this letter to the bulletin from an attorney in Salem:

"I, for one, can only suppose that the framers of our Constitution would be shocked to learn that the federal government would someday criminalize what plants you can grow and consume on your own land. See Gonzalez v. Raich. Put that in your Constitutional pipe and smoke it, Mr. Adamson; you might yet see a penumbra."

Here's another one (on something I apparently missed out on) from a Portland practitioner:

"I must tell you that, if the bar is taking the position that soldiers should be forced to watch live gay sex shows while on duty, it's no wonder people are so upset (and it's no wonder that the soldiers are so disturbed). Perhaps the bar should reconsider this position."

Ho ho ho-it's been cold as fuck here. Our weekend project was stapling plastic over all the windows and putting a weatherstrip over the door. Now our house is marginally warmer-big turn of the century barn that it is. We knew when we rented it that the size and age of the house (which we liked) was also going to mean that heat in the winter was going to be an issue. So, it's not like this is an unexpected turn of events.

The cold has provided positive motivation, in the form of getting us the damn hell out of the house and over to see others in social situations. Because other people have normal sized houses that are cozy and warm. And sometimes they feed you too.

Pathetic pity food is way better than pity sex.

CLE yesterday, CLE today and damn hell CLE tommorrow. A CLE is a Continuing Legal Education. Lawyers need to attend a certain number of CLEs during a 3 year reporting period-or, for new lawyers, during their first year. My experience so far is that they range from bone crushingly dull wastes of time, to mildly dull but possibly useful. These are interspersed with job pimping opportunities where you call to lawyers "See my flesh! Take me! Take me!" while other jobless ones (and there are a hell of a lot of them here in Portland) mob around crying, "Look at me! I'm the great one! Listen to my charming, yet well informed, conversation!"

A lot of hungry faces (including my own) in Portland. Hungry to pay back student loans and mortgages and credit card debt. I know this is supposed to be an adventure-take your education, find where you fit in the world, and swing open the doors with the sheer force of your will and determination driving you-but most of the time I'm just scared.

Yesterday when I took the dogs for a walk in the pouring rain again, I noticed that my entire street was flooded up over the sidewalk. I waded out to the street where I thought the grate was and got my arm wet past the elbow searching for it. Needing backup, I went back home, grabbed a rake and spent a half-hour removing leaves. It was actually pretty satisfying-a couple of whirlpools formed over the grate and there was this huge "SSSSSSSSSSSSSLLLLLLLLLLLLLlAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGG!" and the lake covering my corner started to disappear into Portland's underground.

A neighbor came out and told me she usually takes care of the grate, but it was already under deep water and she was dressed for work. Since I was wearing J's sweaty pants and the flannel that was Juded when I left some treats in the pockets, my outerwear was not a big concern.

Y'all just don't do Halloween right here. So, I know it's not like back home where there's a rockin' good time on State street that ends in riots and arrests. And I know it's probably harder to slog through the rain for your candy than it is to march through the snow. But that isn't the point. The point is: Candy-why do I have so much of it left over?

I'm on a residential street in a residential neighborhood. I thought I'd be kid central yesterday, and I had enough candy to keep Gengis Khan and his men at bay.

4 kids. F O U R. What the fuck??? And of the few kids who came, two had a group waiting at the sidewalk that included kids in costume. What the hell is wrong with kids today that they won't climb up a few stairs for treaty goodness?

Hell, even when I was living in Madison's premier "bad neighborhood" I had trick or treaters. They were generally not in costume and their Moms were on a rocket to the moon, but they at least came. For the candy. Because isn't that what Halloween is all about?

Why doesn't anyone want my candy? I don't poison it or put razors in things. I don't have time for that man! And I don't have anything gross like candy corn or those horrible black and orange peanut butter puke balls. I've got some primo shit old school style.

There is no joy in finishing left over Halloween candy. Not when you have three pounds of it.