Christmas spirit is back!

My Christmas ended up being fantastic-it really is a day for family. I spent the day with my parents, siblings, and nephews/neices. It was warm and familiar- kind of like a favorite San Marcos salsa. Everyone knew me in ways that only a few friends do- they remember the different stages of me- the goofy kid, goofy college student, and goofy lawyering- all the degrees of goofiness- from the kid playing chess to the high schooler that was a dungeon master to the college kid that thought he was the next Kennedy to the lawyer that....well, you know.

It was a great time.

Oh, and Noche Buena is the best beer ever! (though it's a little heavy- I only made it through a beer and a half).

Hope your xmas was as wonderful.

I ran over the little drummer boy!

Sometimes I just don't feel the Christmas spirit. I know that everyone, who isn't particularly close to me, expects a warm smile and good humor from me. "I just can't picture you mad," is something that I hear too often. And, usually, I don't mind being the person that cheers people up. It gives me pleasure to be the happy guy, usually...

But today I feel more like being the Bah Humbug guy. I know this guy who has an incendiary blog- he hates the government, people who like apple pie, and probably even his readers. He respects nothing and, I think, few people expect much of anything from him. This leaves him free to act any way that he wants.

Sometimes I think it'd be nice to be the no expectations guy.

What do you do when you got no shoes?

I feel closer to the president elect already. I know what it's like to wear shoes with holes in the soles. You see, I am the type of guy who is loyal to his shoes. I wear my favorite pair of shoes- a black pair of Allen Edmonds- Monday through Friday and occasionally even on weekends. The shoes still look sharp after all this time- I polish them often and occasionally take them to a professional for a buffing. But, the soles are in the end stages of wearing out. It started with a little hole in the left shoe. Now I have big holes in the bottom of both soles. This drives my wife crazy.

"A lawyer doesn't wear shoes with holes in them." Well, not a normal lawyer, I guess.

"You have a closet full of the same shoes," she continues to point out. "About 10 pairs of black dress shoes. All Allen Edmonds!"

But they weren't the same- although all of my dress shoes are of the same brand and may look identical, there's a certain difference in feel between different pairs of shoes. My favorite shoes just feel more solid...holes aside.

"I'm going to throw them away," she says for about the tenth time. I shrug my shoulders, but realize that this isn't an empty threat. Not long ago- maybe 7 years- she threw away my old favorite pair of shoes...

"Okay, Maria." I finally say as I often do. "Next week I'll take them to get repaired." Of course, I am just buying time, but eventually I start feeling too many pebbles beneath my feet.

Finally, I decided to fix the shoes. I dropped them off at a reputable cobbler (is there any other kind of cobbler?).

Now, I am going through withdrawal. My feet just don't feel right!

Crazy, huh?

Don Quixote, Esquire

I have a statuette of Don Quixote on my desk- it reminds me that the job of an attorney is often like the quest of good ol Don Quixote. Sometimes you try to slay dragons, but find that you are just fighting with windmills.
I believe the California dependency system makes a lot of parents feel like Don Quixote. It is a frustrating and insular system that tends to give short shrift to both parents and children in the name of efficiency. The system has a tendency to follow whatever the social workers recommend. It tends to reward compromise and is populated by lawyers that primarily only do dependency cases. I like compromise as much as the next lawyer, but I'm also willing to fight the system to get what is right for my clients. Sometimes this entails fighting with as many as three other lawyers in a proceeding.
I have two clients trapped in this system- one is a grandmother trying to get custody of her grandchildren and the other is a father trying to look for his son. Both clients are very deserving, but only one is getting the attention that he deserves. I'm winning father's case, but Grandmother is fighting an uphill battle. Before I came on the case, she was fighting with windmills- trying frantically to be approved by a system that didn't want to approve her. Now that I'm on the case, the windmills are mine to fight with.
I often feel like Don Quixote, even in victory. Sometimes you win a case for a client and find that the client goes out and commits another action that puts him in worse trouble. Someone once told me to only worry about what I can do and to not carry more weight than that. Yet, I think it's only human to wish that these windmills in all of our lives would stop spinning for long enough to let us pass and get on with the lives that we deserve. Don Quixote will forever be fighting windmills, but the rest of us deserve a break from time to time.

Larger than life

Sometimes, I think being a good lawyer, much like being a good writer, depends on a slight bit of insanity...or weirdness in how we view the world. The job can be so depressing that you have to find humor where ever you can.

I was standing in line for court the other day and saw the reflection of everyone waiting in the windows of the court. I noticed that I was much taller than everyone else and thought- "Watch out wee people, the giant is out to get you!"

Then I went into Court and got hammered down to size by a tiny judge with a big gavel!

I couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

Sometimes it's just one of those days.

A little bit of pressure

There are some days when it doesn't pay to be a lawyer. At least, it doesn't pay to be a lawyer who lives for the contest of the courtroom.

I'm sitting at my desk, tie loosened, feet up on the desk top, and keyboard on my lap. I have my fountain running with relaxing sounds behind me. Soft music flows from my expensive computer speakers. But, I'm feeling anything but mellow. In less than an hour, I have to mediate another intractable family law problem. I need to settle if possible, to save my client's family the costs of further litigating.

I have to swallow the arguments that I will make if this goes before a judge and look for common ground.

I practice a smile, turn off the water fountain, switch the music to the sound of Smashing Pumpkins and take a rare shot of tequila from the globe bar.

Now that's relaxing...

Medical Issues

I spent Wednesday and Saturday at my doctor's office. It was an uncomfortable experience, but necessary.

I'm going to the doctor because of a mysterious tiredness that has been plaguing me for the last few months. I probably should have gone earlier, but..

I've never liked needles. They seem to have a disproportionate amount of ability to cause me injury. I especially dislike needles that are attached to vials for drawing blood. I have small hidden veins that resist attempts to draw blood from them and my arm often looks like a pin cushion after a visit to the doctor's lab.

The laboratory took five vials of blood from my arm. It felt strange seeing the blood leaving my body. My head felt light and my stomach was uncomfortablely quesy. As a cancer survivor, I'm told that I'm disqualified from donating blood. In truth, I don't know if I could take watching several pints leave my body.

I'm usually not such a wimp- I've known the inside of a boxing ring, have killed rattlesnakes and survived an armed robbery. However, the doctor's office always gets to me.

And don't get me started on dentists...

A time to write?

I've been, like many people, inspired by my country's selection of Obama as president. I think it says wonderful things about how far we have come in a relatively short period of time. Racism is not dead, but is clearly greatly diminished.

In light of this inspiration, I've sought to put a little extra effort into my life. I'd like to live a fuller life- to laugh a little bit more, to relish my family and friends more, and perhaps to create art in my writing.

I have often flirted with the idea of becoming a writer. For as long as I can remember, I've written fragments of stories or poems.

Recently, I began to write steadily and to work towards finishing my first novel. I signed up for writing classes and became friendly with people whose writing I admired. Yet, I always felt a little bit out of place. I never felt that my pains were deep enough to write anything personally profound- though I am a survivor of cancer, I made my way through it with more daring and humor than self reflection. And culturally, I felt a little out of touch with the writers that I admired. I have the salesman's outward ease with people, but inwardly I'm more conservative than the Brady bunch. I can converse with people who are, shall we say, "chemically altered" into an artistic frame, but I've never been comfortable around drugs. As a kid, I was so straight laced that I ended up fighting with someone who offered me a cigarette. In many ways, that conservative kid is still with me.

And, yet, I've always felt that I had something to say. That there was something inside begging for artistic expression. I will write this weekend and give my inner artist a few hours to live in the light of this new day of hope. Yes, we can.

Voting!

I took my wife to vote today. It was her first time voting, though she's been a citizen for over a decade. She just never believed that her vote mattered before. She saw corruption in the system and thought that one politician was just as untrustworthy as another politician. Then she listened to Hilary Clinton and, later, to Obama. Now she, though she wouldn't admit it out loud, feels hope for the first time. She feels that maybe things can be better.

I think a lot of us are feeling a great deal of hope today. We have a candidate that by all of the old rules of politics should lose. He's african american. His middle name is Hussein. He's been labeled as the most liberal Senator in the United States. He's running against a Republican that was hugely popular with many democrats. He has been hit with non-stop negative campaigning- including all the resources that Fox news can bring to bear.

And, yet, Obama is winning because he's been able to focus Americans on the issues in a way that more experienced candidates like Kerry and Gore couldn't. He's remained steady through all of the distortions of his record.

He gives us hope that Americans will focus on the issues that matter- the economy, Iraq- and not be distracted by the politics that Republicans have too often used to divide us.

TIRED...

I think i'm going to see the doctor for this one- i've been really tired for a while now- falling asleep at my laptop tired... with unusually low productivity. I've been in a rut- only feeling really good during court appearances when the adrenaline kicks in.

Maybe I should have had a v8?

My friend the alleged murder- update.

This Sunday, I went with my friend Jose to visit another friend, lets call him Ed, who is being held on charges of having murdered the mother of his child. It felt surreal to be visiting a friend behind bars. Ed wasn't my closest friend, but he was a part of the group of friends that used to hang out frequently before I went to work as a lawyer. We called the group: "the zoo crew." He used to get together frequently for carne asadas, expeditions to Baja and sometimes just for a beer or two. Sometimes we would all laugh so much that our stomachs hurt too much to eat.

Now one of us was incarcerated, perhaps for life, and would probably never hang out with the guys again.

Ed was always the type of friend that was extremely easy going. The first time that I met him was when I was an undergrad back home on vacation. Ed had joined a group of us on a day trip to TJ. On our way back home, we decided to stop off to eat, but Ed offered to cook lasagna for all of us. He claimed to have a recipe for microwave lasagna that would take 10 minutes. It turned out to be disastrous, but E's response was just to laugh and laugh.

I wondered how often E would laugh in jail.

The visit took most of a day of waiting to see Ed for a half hour. when we got in to see him, he looked truly happy to see us. We took turns talking to him on a phone and he seemed in good spirits, everything considered. He asked me to tell him some jokes and I obliged- (why did the blonde get fired from the M & M factory? She kept throwing away the W's...).

We almost forgot that we were talking in a jail.

I wanted to ask him about the alleged crime, but I didn't want him to say anything incriminating. The conversations in jail are monitored and since I was there with a friend- there was no attorney client privilege.

So, I just asked how he was doing. His eyes turned sad and he asked me if I could defend him- but I knew that I couldn't. As part of a partenership- it wouldn't be fair to my law partner to have me take on a pro-bono murder defense. Instead, I offered him advice on how to best work with his public defender.

But I felt awful about it.

My favorite tequila- The Finer Things Part II

Let's say that you have fifty bucks and want to purchase a bottle of alcohol. The average person might buy a bottle of vodka- say Grey Goose. But, why be like everyone else?


You can't go wrong with a bottle of Don Julio tequila. It's smooth with a nice amount of complexity. You can almost taste the air in Jalisco, where the tequila was produced.

There is nothing finer for sharing with a small group of friends- you can drink it straight in shots or can mix it with just about anything. One drink that i would recomend is tequila with Squirt and a squeeze of lemon or lime.

Of course, you should drink it in moderation. The finer things become coarse if you indulge too much!

The joy of tea!

As those of you that are friends of me probably know, I am a fan of the finer things in life. I enjoy a good tequila (Herradura or Don Julio, anejo), a good porterhouse and very occasionally a good cigar. While I am equally comfortable with a burger and a coke for lunch, there is definitely something to be said for enjoying the finer pleasures.

What relatively few people know is that I take my tea very seriously. I think that tea is the best thing that you can drink. Think about it- both Chinese emperors and British conquerors would take their tea breaks. It used to be that tea was beyond the ability of commoners like you and I to drink. Now, we got tea!

But most of us wouldn't know a good cup of tea if it was poured over our heads. Repeat after me. Herbal tea is not tea! It's nothing any self respecting man would drink, either. Good tea has to come from a tea leaf- not from something that looks like potpourri. Good tea doesn't come in a tea bag, either.

I put a great deal of thought and preparation into the tea I drink. There is something about a good cup of tea that soothes me and reinvigorates me. If there were tea bars in the US, I would frequent them. But aside from a place in La Jolla that I like- Infusions of Tea- I generally have to go home to enjoy a good cup of tea.

I think that the finest tea that you can drink is a black tea from the Darjeeling province of India. And the only way to prepare it is with good quality loose tea leaves. Those of us that use tea bags are using the tea leaves that the rest of the world throws away. I like to buy my tea from Upton Tea- it's about 30 to 40 bucks for a tin of good 2008 Darjeeling.

The preparation of a cup of tea is easy, but can't be hurried. First, you boil a pot of water. While the water is boiling, you measure out a teaspoon of tea per cup that you are drinking and place it in a seperate container. When the water starts to boil, immediately pour it over the tea leaves and let them sit for 2:30 to 3:00 minutes. Then you strain out the tea leaves from the tea, add an ice cube or two, and voila- one perfect mug of tea (which for me is two cups worth).

Drinking tea brings me back to a more civilized moment. The world may be hectic, but a good cup of tea takes a peaceful moment to sip and contemplate. It reaches into your soul and steadies it.

Really one of the finer things in life.

A wall of books in my garage!

A client was asking me the other day why I didn't have a set of law books like the lawyers that she'd seen on TV.

I replied that everything was on the internet and that lawyers that had these walls of books only had them for show. She accepted the explanation, but afterwards I felt a little bit inadequate. I wondered why I shouldn't have my own set of useless law books to fill my walls with the musty smell of lawyerly success.

So, I searched on the internet for some law books and ended up buying them the next day. My friend Paco and I took a few boxes to pickup the law books. We ended up filling the bed of the pickup entirely with books.

I have room for maybe 100 books in my office bookshelves and have some 1,000 books purchased!

Now I need a larger office!

My tocayo

Would you believe, Ray E s t o l a n o and Ray S o l a n o? One a Defense Attorney. The other in law enforcement. I'll let you guess who is who.

In case you are wondering, the beautiful beach that we are at is San Felipe. The beach is still as pretty as ever. The town has become dilapitated and strangely overdeveloped at the same time. Once upon a time, I remember loving the place. During my friend Cody's last vacation as a student before joining the work force, we went to San Felipe with a simple mission- shrimp in every meal and ice cold beer in every mug.

The beer and the shrimp are still good...

Getting back to the topic of my tocayo (which is Spanish for someone with the same name), I met him through one of my closest friends- Ruben L. Ray's agency made the decision to hire Ruben and Ray himself made the call.

"Mr. L, this is Ray S o l a n o from SDSU. I'm calling to offer you a job."

"Ray E S T O L A N O? Yeah, right. I'm Elvis Presley. Pleased to meet you."

"Excuse me?"

Somehow Ruben still got the job. Later Solano and I became friends.

It's a small, weird world, but it's comforting to have a tocayo. Even if he doesn't spell E S T O L A N O correctly...

I love you man!

The other week, I was drinking with a couple friends. It must have made an interesting sight- three fat older guys in semi-conservative suits, telling jokes and pounding back pitchers of beer in the early afternoon as if we were still college students. We were all done with court for the day and were blowing off steam. We were also escaping from the heat outside. In Imperial County, it's hot five to six months out of the year.

It's probably true that alcohol isn't the best thing to drink on a 100 plus degree day because it dehydrates you, but somehow a very cold pitcher of beer always refreshes. The waitress kept the cold pitchers of beer coming and the mostly deserted restaurant echoed with our laughter and stories of court.

Then conversation turned to friendship and one of us made a point of saying that we were the truest friends that he had. He looked at us earnestly and said "I love you guys."

There was a uncomfortable pause before my second friend seconded the notion, saying something vague enough to be manly, but yet specific enough to make the point. He said "I don't really have friends like you guys."

Then they turned to me, expectantly. I didn't quite know what to say. I've never really been one of those "I love you, man" guys. It's not that I don't care about my friends, but I've never been too expressive with words. I mean, what are words compared to actions?

"I'd appreciate you guys more if you'd shut up and let me drink my beer," I said.

I've wondered since if my reaction was wrong. Should I have been more like the "I love you man" guy? Are we better off if we express our emotions plainly or does it cheapen those emotions? At every party with alcohol, there is at least one "I love you guy." Sometimes what he is says is true, most times it isn't. My wife met an "I love you girl" who proclaimed that my wife, who she had just met hours earlier, was her "soul sister."

I think it's not necessary to be overly expressive when your actions make the point for you.

Neither my brother nor my father said "I love you", when they drove 200 miles at midnight during my senior year to pick me up in Los Angeles, where I'd driven my car to the point of breaking down. Neither of them had to say it- it was enough that my butt was being driven home.

But, given the realities of perceptions and such, let me just say to all of my friends out there:

I love you man!

Palin panic! Are the people really this dumb??

God save America! Can it really be true that this woman could be a heartbeat away from the presidency? A so-called Reformer that used her office to try to fire her sister's ex-husband? A proponent of family values, whose teenage daughter becomes pregnant? A former member of an Alaska seccessionist group? Someone who believes that abortion should not be allowable even when there is incest or rape?

It really distresses me to see the state of the country. As a lifetime democrat, I hope Obama saves us from the possibility of a president Palin, but I fear that he will bring a pretty speech to a knife fight.

Listening to her speak, I hear shades of Reagan and fear that people won't really understand that behind that persona of hers lies a very conservative worldview. She has a laser sharp sense of humor and it's scary to think of how Biden will do against her in a debate- not on substance, but in flash.

Death by a million paper cuts!

Do you ever feel like it's the little things that get you? I definitely do. I'm fresh off a large victory in criminal court- my client should have spent 6 months in jail, but instead got probation and a few hours of community service. It was one of those times when I should come back to my office feeling like the conquering hero, but instead I am mired in paperwork for other cases.

At times like this, I often retire to a nearby coffee shop with my lap top, a stiff cup of coffee and my mind numbing pile of work. Law, especially family law, has a good level of drudgery. You have to fill out numerous forms, draft declarations and prepare motions that are essential to representing your client well. As a lawyer, I live for the moments when I argue in front of a judge or a jury, but each of these moments has to be carefully prepared for with a large level of minutae.

A good friend and I once did an analysis of our profession over cigars and cuba libres and we calculated that maybe only 5% of the time that we spent as lawyers was spent in dramatic hearings or trials. For most lawyers, the percentage is even smaller. Most attorneys will never in their careers address a jury. They spend their critical time typing on a laptop, drafting agreements or other legal documents. They talk on the phone and work out deals.

I couldn't live life comfortably without at least a few high adrenaline moments in my work week. It makes the papercuts worthwhile!

619-CALL-RAY

I got a new phone number for my practice- it's personalized and an improvement, I think, on my firm's number, which is 619-422-7722. That's easy to remember, right?

The new number will hopefully be even easier to remember. I can see it in billboard ads, late night television spots and...maybe....even on the side of my pickup! 619-CALL-RAY.

I've wanted a personalized number even since a friend of mine had THE-KING as a number. We'd go to a bar and he'd say ladies, just call "The King".

The ladies would usually just end up laughing and I don't think he got many calls, but I always wished that I had my own personalized number.

Dreams come true, man! So, now, when I'm chasing ambulances (a joke), I can yell out- 619-Call-Ray!

No?

Not a geek, unfortunately!

It's sad to see how time changes us. In our hearts we remain who we were as kids, but we often become very different people as adults.

This was brought home to me when I went to Comic Con over the weekend. Comic Con is the greatest convention for geeks and nerds the world over- many comic book movies wait to premiere at this annual event.

It seemed like an event that I would really like- so I jumped at the opportunity to go with my friend Howard. I had always thought of myself as someone with rock solid "Geek" credentials. In high school I collected comics, played Dungeon's and Dragons and was the most feared player in my chess club. I played sports some (ask me some day about a jv tennis match I played in my jeans) and was in drama, but for the most part I looked like the guys above. I was very skinny with acne, braces and a wardrobe constructed mostly around superman shirts and sweats. More to the point, I was into everything often considered nerdy- computers, Star Trek, comics, and games that involved twenty sided dice.

Things changed for me in college and beyond. The saying goes that the finer things in life are women, wine and song. Well, I was never much of a singer and I still don't drink much alcohol, but women were the revelation of my college life. As I started dating more I found less time for comics and such. Before I knew it, Fridays nights no longer involved slaying a dragon with a good role of the dice. My friends were no longer the guys who automatically knew what the movie adaptions had gotten "wrong" about our comic heroes. Instead, I was finding myself seeing Meg Ryan movies with female friends and going to things called "dinner parties" where I was introduced to polite conversation.

Even my non-dating life changed, as I became more interested in sports and politics. My friends were different than they had been in high school. I had "gym" friends and friends that I knew from my community activism.

Few in my "gaming guild" would have recognized the amateur boxer or, later, the budding community activist. I was so popular in Berkeley that I was recruited to run for public office and actually took part in a public access televised debate. I learned a bit about fund raisers and eventually updated the superman wardrobe to dress shirts and slacks.

I still found time occasionally to satisfy the inner geek with a sci-fi novel or a Spiderman movie, but as time marched on I grew more and more out of touch. My self-image, though, remained the same. I became a successful trial attorney with italian designed suits, but I still saw myself as the kid who was at home in sweats and a superman shirt.

A decade and a half after high school, I went to Comic Con and found that I didn't speak the language anymore. I couldn't recognize most of the comic book characters. I didn't know who the hot artists were. And I didn't have the slightest idea what the best game platform was. I wandered around the booths, completely bored and wondered what I was doing. I complained when a friend wanted to stand in line for an hour to hear about the latest development in the DC comic book universe.

I met "celebrities" that I didn't recognize, for the life of me.

And I found myself wishing that I had gone to the Padre game instead, which was a rare thought for this season.

If I hadn't been with my friend Howard, I probably would have left early.

But, as I spent more time at the Comic con, things became a little more familiar. I found some "old school" booths that specialized in comics from my age. I went to a presentation by Robert Heinlein. I met Elvira, mistress of the night. I managed to, if not have a great time, keep from being totally miserable.

On my way out, I saw a group of young kids with braces and acne that were laughing and chattering about the new season of Terminator. They looked completely at home in the convention. They could have been me at thirteen.

I saw a bounce in their steps and felt a little tinge of jealousy. I may have the beautiful wife and exciting job, but sometimes I still think it would be nice to return to the days of being a "Geek." Who is to say that I wasn't just as happy then?

I think I'll break out that box of comics and spend a day reading and remembering.

Criminal Defense in my personal life!

On Saturday, I threw a surprise party for my wife. There were two planned surprises- first the party itself and then a band that she really loved. It was the band that created trouble later.

I know the safe rule of thumb for parties- invite your neighbors and there's no one left to complain. The only problem to this is that I have a real strong anti-social streak. In my day job, I'm required to be on my most friendly behavior (except when I'm fighting, of course), so when I get home I often only want to socialize with people that I know. My average friend has been my friend for 5, 10, sometimes 15 years.

In short, I really didn't want to invite any of the neighbors. Somehow it didn't seem like a party with the religious bible study leader or the family with the pit bull taking up part of my small backyard. To me a party is mostly about hanging out with the people whose company that you enjoy- with a few new people sprinkled in. I guess I can be somewhat grumpy at home.

So, I didn't invite any neighbors- just checked my municipal noise ordinances and made sure there was enough tequilla.

The party was fun and filled with good spirits. Many of the spirits were in the myriad of margaritas that I prepared- from your typical blended green margarita, to a mango margarita, to a wildberry and strawberry concoction. The real men drank Poor Man's Island- which is a long island, without some of the ingrediants, but with a 50/50 coke to hard alcohol mix.

The band was fantastic and the dancing was constant.

Then, came the first noise complaint- at about 10:15 pm. A neighbor asked some of the kids playing in my front lawn when the band would leave. By the time this message reached me it got translated into a demand to turn off the music.

I went to go talk to the neighbor and patiently explained to him about the noise ordinance, etc.. He rightly pointed out that it would have been courteous to have told him about the party ahead of time, while I pointed out that it would be more appropriate to tell me directly if he had any concerns.

I returned to the party and it went smoothly. The band stopped playing at 10:55 PM per my directions.

At 11:05, the police arrived. My wife talked to them first. I arrived as they were telling her about a $1000 fine.

Five minutes later they left, having admitted that we were in violation of nothing, but perhaps being a bad neighbor.

Maybe I am.

The lawyer kills the writer

This isn't an update on Eddie. More on him later. This is about a book that I've been writing for the better part of forever.

The book is a legal thriller/mystery that takes place mostly in the desert towns east of San Diego. My protagonist, Tony, is trying to discover who killed his wife...and who is trying to kill him. For the past few month's Tony has been stuck in transit to his friend's old law office- a victim of writer's block. I just can't think of what to write next. When I think about the criminals that inhabit Tony's world- the criminal cases in my world interfere. I think to myself that I should be refining my cross examination for my upcoming trial. I think about some inconsistency that I remember in the police officer's testimony. And I drift off my novel and into my work.

The lawyer kills the writer every time.

My friend, the alleged murderer. Part I.

As an criminal defense attorney, I've talked to many, many people through the glass at a jail or prison. It's never a comfortable experience. There's something about being incarcerated that really brings out the desperation in many people. Some people are driven to the edge of tears, others to the edge of a powerless anger.

They look to me to bring them back to where they should be. To help them find the peace and the hope in their predictaments. To find a solution. Often, I can help them. Sometimes, the evidence against them is too strong or their hopes are too high- but usually I can find a way to pull a rabbit out of a hat for a client. Over the years I've been good at helping strangers stuck in the criminal justice system.

I've found it's a lot different when the face staring back at me is a friend.

Recently, I've gone twice to visit a friend of mine in jail. The dynamic is completely different. My friend, Eddie D., is charged with murder and I can't help him. He looks at me with eyes that are despondent and I can offer him only some shades of emotional support. I find myself angry at him for getting himself in this situation- for having talked to the police before calling me. For having done what he did. For making me feel like the powerless one.

The sad truth is that Eddie's family can't afford me- even at a drastically reduced rate- and I can't afford to work a murder case for nothing- as much as I wish that I could.

The sad truth is that his defense comes down to simple economics. He's friends with a criminal defense attorney, but will be represented by the public defender.

It's taking me a lot to get my head around this.

More later.

What do I really have to say?

Picture the scene. Successful young defense attorney retires to a cafe after court. His polished black dress shoes reflect the light through the window as he rests them on a chair. His black suit contrasts with a french blue shirt with white cuffs and collar. A silk tie in a slightly difference shade of blue is held in place by a sterling silver tie clip. Everything seems perfectly in order.

But, looking closely, you would notice a few details that reveal the real story here. A certain fraying of the silk tie. A missing cuff link. The black hair is curling beyond the power of gel to contain it. The eyes are narrow and bloodshot. And the easy smile seems slightly feral.

You'd see stress below the surface, which is the story of my life nowdays.

My life is stressful simply because other people's futures depend on me. On my courtroom performances. My average client is either facing incarceration or deportation. Usually I can help them by pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Sometimes, i just can't. Yesterday, I lost a case by the thinest of margins and my client's life in this country was ended. As I consoled his crying wife, I didn't second guess myself- not exactly- I knew I'd done all that I could. But, I still felt guilty for not having been able to do more than I could. For not being able to have one of those moments of incredible clarity- where you can do no wrong in the Courtroom. Where your arguments ring through and the judge follows your reasoning- even when you're wrong.

It takes me a couple days after a loss to be able to function well. By Monday, I'll be ready to take on the next case. This time I'll win.

But, what do I have to say on this blog? I don't know yet. let me get back to you on that.