True L

(scrutinizing and picking food out of the dish I had been microwaving for myself) “See, this is a tough call, because this looks like a normal chicken color, but this is a bit questionable…” It was around this time that I revisited a frequent Liz Lemon theme in my life — the fear that I will somehow be alone and killed by my own food.

*It bears mentioning that my mother’s approach to food would lead the outside observer to believe she was constantly preparing either for nuclear winter or to feed an army. The fallout of this tendency is a need to approach everything in her fridge with a degree of skepticism, as she buys more food than 3 families could possibly eat before its expiration date. Just in case.

Finally getting around to Lessons Learned from my Awesome Summer Job. (Also filed under, Why All of a Sudden I Want to Work in Criminal Law)

The advice is often given to lay participants in the criminal justice system that they dress in their Sunday best, as if they were going to church, because if you simply tell someone to dress his or her best, he or she might mistaken “best” for “hottest club-wear.” After all, “dress up” has multiple connotations.

Even setting aside its insensitivity to the significant non-Christian populations in our community, the advice falls short again and again as is evidenced by the outfits I see walk in and out of our courtrooms each day. Therefore, I thought I’d offer a bit of a primer here. For usefulness, enjoyment, or just what it’s worth (which is, honestly, not much).

Rule 1: Wear a shirt with a collar. Without your name on it. Without any writing. And not attached to your pants.

Rule 2: Underwear is so named for a reason: it is to be worn under your other clothing. No bra straps. Pull your pants up. Wear a longer skirt. If you are a prisoner entering any proceeding except for your actual trial (where prisoners have the right to wear “street” clothes), your handcuffs are actually attached to a belt. Perhaps you can make use of your admittedly unfortunate captive situation and at least keep your boxer shorts out of my face.

Rule 3: Tuck your shirt in. This might also help in maintaining the proper height of your waistline.

Rule 4: When choosing a shirt, follow the pool ball rule: if it cannot be described as either a solid or a stripe, it’s probably not appropriate for court. And vertical stripes are preferable to horizontal stripes. (I’d say “obviously,” but evidently it’s not so obvious.)

Rule 5: Go online and pull up the sex offender registry for your neighborhood. Take a look at the pictures of your local sex offenders. If you have facial hair that looks like anyone that pops up there, shave. 

Rule 5.1: Turn on any Major League Baseball game. If you have facial hair that looks like any of the players, shave.

Rule 5.2: Really, just be on the safe side. Shave.

There is simply not enough Radiolab in existence to keep me satisfied. Much like TAL in that there is no consistent topic, the stories are great, the sound phenomenal, and the topics never disappoint. Jad and Robert, why can’t you turn these things out at super human speed? I have long commutes these days…

Things I will post about later: my new job, why I love it, sartorial offenses encountered.

Things I will do now: pass out! So tired!

catalogliving:

That mallet is for cracking the crabs.  You’re just going to have to wait until after dinner to shoot another episode of “Judge Gary.”

Love catalog living. Love this post. And love my job!!! (Today, most of my objections were sustained! Woohoo!)

I’m working in the same government office my dad left over 15 years ago, but somehow I hoped I’d fly under the radar. It tends to be a young office, so I thought maybe not that many people would remember my dad.

Sure enough, though, on the first day, in the first hour, I got called out. Because they’re still using the training manual my dad wrote when he worked here. As in, he literally wrote the book. Ever since then it’s been a litany of comments ranging from the private, whispered, “I’d recognize you anywhere! How are your parents?” to the whole group direction of “If you need to know anything, you could have asked her dad. He’s the expert.” And yet I don’t really mind it like I thought I would. First of all, it’s nice that my dad is remembered so well at this office. And second, I’m learning (in albeit less public ways) that half the people working here know someone. At least the someone I know isn’t around to torture me anymore, and is respected.

Or am I just succumbing to nepotism? Jury is still out…(sorry, bad pun!)

I feel like Amazon’s recommendations for me are always so telling. Today: 4 country songs, 1 hip hop song, women’s running socks, and a case book. My life in a nutshell.