Tibet Protest

In case you haven't seen it a billion times on the news. Subsequently arrested by the Chinese Gov and interrogated w/o food or water for 24 hours, still got the vid out. Very cool.

I only just realized...

my Rothko is hanging upside down.

Virginia Tech: This is Not Mental Illness

Since the Virginia Tech shooting the media and numerous politicians have speculated that we should ban mentally ill persons from purchasing guns or require States to engage in a higher level of reporting of the medical records of mentally ill persons.

I find this hypothesis incredibly ignorant and offensive. Further, before you vote on legislation imposing a per se restriction on the rights of the mentally ill, even the 2d amendment right to bare arms, I suggest you take a good hard look at the legislation and ask yourself whether the legislation is based in science or pure political opportunism.

The reality is that mentally ill persons are no more violent towards others than the general population: violence towards others occurs at approximately equal rates among the mentally ill and non-mentally ill population. In fact, persons with schizophrenia, perhaps the most feared and misunderstood serious mental illness, are about 2,000 times more likely to harm themselves than others. Yet, a year-long study of media portrayals of persons with mental illness found that persons with mental illness were depicted as violent -usually homicidal - 90% of the time. No wonder the general population has such a grossly inaccurate perception of persons with mental illness: stories about a schizophrenic mother killing all her children sell, stories about life time survivors of bipolar or schizophrenia attending college and graduate school, working and leading perfectly ordinary, if not unusually challenging and expensive, lives do not.

We do need more Mental Health legislation. But if the concern is Mental Illness, let’s look at the statistics. The truth is, a person with severe mental illness is ridiculously more likely to blow their own head off than anyone else’s. Why not legislation protecting the real victims of Mental Illness, persons with mental illness and their families? Health Care Parity. Legislation requiring colleges who accept federal funding to provide adequate mental health care to students during the age when the first episodes of serious mental illness are most likely to occur? Legislation making it easier for families and law enforcement to commit persons with mental illness who are unable to care for themselves, often homeless or self-medicating with alcohol and drugs, but don’t legally pose a danger to themselves or others? You know, legislation that might have kept Cho in a hospital or working towards a diagnosis and medication rather than just barred from buying a gun rather than making a bomb?

Legislation restricting the rights of all mentally ill persons is terribly overbroad. There is a critical distinction between a person – with or without mental illness - who has been determined to be a threat to others and a person who simply has a mental illness or has been hospitalized because they pose a danger to themselves. I have no problem with governmental regulation in the name of safety in the former category: when people threaten public safety, public safety outweighs certain individual rights (especially rights that might abet threatening behavior). But without any legitimate threat the government has no business eroding the rights of an entire class of Americans who are no more violent than the general population.

Congrats!

To everyone attending their last day of law school (or enjoying the first day of many days they'll never step foot in a law school class again).
I started with most of you but will finish next fall, so, if you need a sucker to try to unload all your BarBri materials on after July get in touch!
As for finals, remember, sixth time's the charm, right?

Sun?

Yes? Please! I can't wait for...
Rose Parade, Rides on the Waterfront, Saturday Market, the Rose Garden, Baseball, Outdoor movies, Street Fairs, Drinking al fresco, Fourth of July, Soap Box Derby,
sun. Sun. SUN.

to the hospital

Up to the hospital on the hill today to meet doctor number three who referred me to doctors numbered four and five. The second the needle pierces the vein I feel the burn and know the bitch will leave me with a little trace, the junkie mark, on my forearm. I used to watch to prove my toughness. Now I don’t care how tough I look. I just wonder, how much tissue do we all leave in hospital labs in the course of our lives? How many ounces of blood, piss, shit, tissue does the average human sacrifice in the name of health? I think of my old dog, Stella, what they called a fatal white. Some breeders, they kill albino puppies: too many health problems. Not any single, costly blow. Just a series of chronic annoyances. I think of "Gattica". I think of the number of pills I take a day, how long I’ll have to take them, the number of procedures I’ve had this year, the probable course of treatment and how much money I can save the collective insurance pool and family if I kill myself with cigarettes sooner than later. But, knowing me, I’ll wind up with chronic emphysema. Which I will fight like a pit-bull until age 80. I pretend that the day they tell me I am actually dying I will laugh and say, “no shit.” We are all dying. Every fucking day. That’s the trick. I pretend I know this trick. Not scared. No, not me. This is part of the cost-benefit analysis. Back to Jimmy Carter’s deceased child-prophet-poet co-author on peace: those who self-actualize die. If that’s the trick I don’t want to figure it out for a long time.

Happy 28th

See, I still remember.

New Rule

If you assign me more than 50 pages of reading for your class I will stop reading at the 50 page mark, especially if said reading is needlessly cumulative. I might be inclined to think I am only fucking myself by adhering to this rule. But, no. You're fucking us all, yourself included, because, face it, no professor ever gets through 50 pages of reading, never mind over 100, in one class. Besides, we all know that that one person who would fuck you for your job will do all the reading and talk for us all class anyway.

Rainy Day

Rain again today and somehow the day just ran into six'o'something'clock. The sort of day if, later, someone asks me, “so, what did you do today?” I will get that vacant expression on my face and answer honestly, “I don’t know.” Because somehow what should have filled an hour – poorly pecking out Rach 32 no 8 then finding a recording and wondering what happened between age 17 and now, watching my neighbor’s toddler dwarfed by a yellow rain suit stare at the puddle in front of my house, outlining a few classes of notes annoyed I’ve learned more about Word formatting than the law, pondering whether "Anne of the Thousand Days" is an awesomely bad or just terrible movie and whether I find Richard Burton attractive in anything – filled an entire day.

Babel

I liked it. Yes, it was no "des tours de babel." But face it, any one bright enough to divine a title like Babel evokes more than a tower in the Bible will find this one all too didactic or simple for their highly evolved intellect. And that's fine, they can go pretend to understand and enjoy "π". I will stick to the purdy ones, thank you very much. Plus Brad Pitt actually has wrinkles in this one, good god!

Sensory overload

Blissful sensory overload. Overgrown nails clicking stretched chords on faux-ivory. Warm sun and cool dirt planting a new poppy in the afternoon light. Tahiti in the form of manoi and little soaps. A glass of slippery sweet acai mixing with the neighbor’s grass cuttings at dusk. The salty steam of noodles and simmer of Puttanesca. A slight scent of dryer burn on freshly laundered sheets. Think I’ll just keep my eyes closed today.

How Disturbing Is This?

Two emails from Lewis and Clark this morning:

Email #1:URGENT MESSAGE TO THE LEWIS AND CLARK COMMUNITY
Members of the Lewis & Clark community,

At about 9:15 this morning, a white male wearing an ammunition belt was
seen by a staff member headed to the academic area on the Fir Acres
campus. Description: White male, 20-22 years old, 5'10", thin build,
medium brown hair just over the ears, wearing a light and dark colored
stocking cap, loose-fitting clothing, possibly sagging dark-colored
pants. The belt appears to hold approximately 50 rounds of live
ammunition. May also be carrying a small book bag. If you see this
person, immediately contact Campus Safety at 7777 and report the
location Do not confront this individual. Portland police have been
notified.

Please stay in your current location until further notified via this
listserv. Thank you.

Email #2: EMERGENCY UPDATE. SITUATION RESOLVED. PLEASE GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS
Members of the Lewis & Clark community,

The Lewis & Clark student carrying an ammunition belt has been
apprehended and the belt and ammunition confiscated by Campus Safety.
The student is with Campus Safety officers at this time.

Please go about your business. Thank you for your cooperation.

What the fuck?!

4/19 UPDATE:

it was just a freakin' belt?!

My Favorite Tort

loss of consortium
n. the inability of one's spouse to have normal marital relations, which is a euphemism for sexual intercourse. Such loss arises as a claim for damages when a spouse has been injured and cannot participate in sexual relations for a period of time or permanently due to the injury, or suffers from mental distress, due to a defendant's wrongdoing, which interferes with usual sexual activity. Thus, the uninjured spouse can join in the injured mate's lawsuit on a claim of loss of consortium, the value of which is speculative, but can be awarded if the jury (or judge sitting as trier of fact) is sufficiently impressed by the deprivation.

Names of Places

Ever think about names of places? You know, like Oregon? Kind of sounds like "Or a gun." Or, Portland; now, how original is that? "We will name this city Port-Land." As in, the land with ports where boats can come. Or, Sellwood, the neighborhood where people will, presumably, sell wood.
I have come to the conclusion that there was a decided lack of originality when they generated names for this region.
My mom, for example, lives in a town called Steilacoom. That, my friends, is the name of a town. That is a name you don't fuck around with, much less spell or pronounce. A good town name should separate outsiders from locals, producing embarrassing gaffs by national newscasters like "a 10 year old child was raped by an escaped inmate today in the small western town of Still-I-Cum."
Even California knew to mask any lack of ingenuity with the names of Saints or the heritage of the people they stole the land from. San Francisco, Sacramento, Los Gatos; those are names that pay homage to the land.
But Oregon? We've got one town named Boring and another called Weed. I think that says it all.

Why you should never ask to borrow my notes

My notes, word for word, from a class last tuesday when I was in a particularly pissy mood:

"DECISION MAKING

Core disability issue. Core “American” issue. “The Values of Being an American.” Jesus fucking Christ kill me now. Can think about whether it’s a “pro-choice” movement and who gets to decide: this is all about who gets to decide. For people with disabilities this is no small issue.
Next week. Civil Commitment. Great. Let’s have me talk. Yee-haw. I can’t sit through this shit anymore. How criminal law effects mental illness. Cause none of you understand mental illness. No-siree. Not me.

Slide 1: Decisions: the 4 catogories are slightly arbitrary…
Validity: question of whether their actions will be held valid
Ability: many questions about the capacity of certain people to practice certain professions, oh, like law?
Assignment: like a power of attorney
Substitution: person has never had capacity and third person substitutes judgment (I presume)..."

Copper Steeples

Some days feel like funerals for memories. Ordinary things become drenched in heartbreaking poignancy; the way copper steeples oxidize leaving the most perfect turquoise patina, how the wind flutters a line of flags lining your neighborhood streets like rippling jib sails, two trees on opposite sides of a street so large their branches merge connecting my old sidewalk to the one I used to look out onto.
I try to go back but everything’s changed. Things change. But the change offends the ache and makes me angry. Even the landscape of my memory changes; entire urban neighborhoods erected upon vacant lots and flirtatious construction boys dancing to my music. Even the most immutable elements of my memories change; buying new t-shirts, growing up, how dare they?
They say the more things change the more they stay the same. Sometimes it just feels like the longer you stay the more they change.

RICO

Revelations from this week's study of Racketeering:
(1) There is no racquet in racketeering. Damnit. There could, actually, be a case of racketeering that involved a racquet. I would like to read that case. Must consistently teach self to spell r-a-c-k-e-teer-ing.
(2) All expectations of titillatling reading on Racketeering terribly misplaced. What's the deal? You go into law classes on shit like murder, rape and racketeering thinking you're going to get all the gory details. Instead you get case after case explaining the meaning of stuff like "malignant heart malice" and "enterprise."
(3) Yet, you then inwardly laugh at the people who ask questions about whether the government could bring a racketeering charge against Carmela. And then realize you're a hypocrite when the professor says, "I don't find shows about the mafia entertaining."

More Saudade

Sometimes I feel so stained by the past I think nothing new will ever occur again. I speak of the romance of saudade but lately wonder if saudade, really, is a fate worse than nostalgia. Nostalgia’s intoxicating spell carries you firmly to the past yet saudade cruelly promises the return of yesterday. Worse, the older I grow the more the people around me and I seem to view each other through the lens of our memories. I wonder if we can ever see each other as anything other than persons relative to our past.
Sometimes I want to leave this city, this coast, this Pacific, specific feeling all tied up with the mountains, the beaches, my mother’s family and 'five generations of caring'. I think perhaps I’ll find my father’s family and switch; live the rest of my life with my other family. I’ll go from the West Coast to the East Coast, from WASP to working class Irish-American, three aunts and uncles to six, Protestant to Catholic, Helens to Patricks. But then I realize it would all still be relative. Relative to the West. Relative to my Mother. Relative to Helens and country clubs and 'five generations of caring'.
And so I stay. And I return to saudade. Hoping, at least, what I miss may someday return.

The Sound of Music

Such a great movie. If you haven't seen it since you were a kid, you should! I always remember watching this at my friend Alita's house, singing "Do-re-mi" and wanting to be "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" like Liesl.

Then I watched it again, heard,

"Perhaps I had a wicked childhood
Perhaps I had a miserable youth
But somwhere in my wicked, miserable past
There must have been a moment of truth
For here you are, standing there, loving me
Whether or not you should
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good"

and realized the movie has really wonderful adult content as well. A 'G'-rated musical about a fallen nun and a conscientious objector? Pretty cool. And it will make you want to go to Austria.

Sun!

Isn't it nice?
The most wonderful snapshot out my window as I write this. I'm wondering if I could sneak a picture but don't feel quite brave enough.
The neighbor kitty-corner to my house swings in a rainbow knit hammock strung up between two still barren fruit trees. A ring of red tulips circles the tree holding up the right side and a ring of royal purplish-blue irises the tree holding up the left. There's a stop sign in the foreground mirroring the tulips and the red stripe of the hammock. Western sun splashes his face and the yellow house in the background.
Sun!

No one belongs here more than you.

Fans of Miranda July (ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW) should check out the adorable web site she made for her new book of stories NO ONE BELONGS HERE MORE THAN YOU. It's not just a website, or a book announcement, but of course, a little piece of art and quite delightful!

Oh, and I'm a day older

Beef medallions in fig and port wine glaze, recipes of stuff I liked when I was younger, vacation soap, a new dress, an elmo at the beach sheet cake, barn bird-feeder, Washington-ness, roses are red violets are blue Thompson poem, flowers and perennial seeds, photo-exchange package and - my favorite food in the world (excepting the pâté, which reminds me of Fancy Feast) - a damn good charcuterie and cheese plate.

Thanks to every one who said nice stuff to me yesterday and made me feel ridiculously spoiled this week.

Oh shit. I have to go, there's a Jeffrey Dahmer special on! Sweet! It's like my birthday all over again!

Pictures I meant to take this week

Welcome to Washington sign, Uncle Sam billboard in Centralia, Mormon Tabernacle spirals, Jesus Saves billboard in black and white old english, Fort Steilacoom, We the People drive through attorney services, Olympics, beef medallions in fig and port wine glaze, Elmo goes to the beach sheet cake, glass museum esplanade, the ferry leaving for Vashon Island, Ruston Way crashing into the Cascades, tulip trees, a soldier’s funeral last Thursday, my piano, black and white pictures of my grandparents, my old cat Olivier, Portland bridges leaving town, the welcome to Oregon sign, dirty bright ceramic planters, a neighborhood cycling parade, a perfect vintage mint colored truck, other people’s travel pictures on my bedroom wall, a friend’s favorite t.v. show, bird houses and hummingbirds.