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.