Tag Archives: moving

Being “Brain” Tired

Ever think so long and hard about something that your brain literally “hurt?”

I have.

I have successfully made it through the first week of classes… and am enough ahead on homework that today can be a day of rest. I have plenty to do tomorrow… but it can be done just then; tomorrow.

Something I am still scratching my head on is the fact that one of my fellow students drives a Fiat. I don’t know why that strikes me as odd… but good golly it sure does.

The law school Fiat. Fiat stands for "Fix it again, Tony*" *Not a factual statement.

We had some decent storms on Thursday. They knocked out power and also knocked a huge limb out of a tree on our street. They had to close the road for the better part of a day to get the work done. They restored power quickly but it was obvious that we are going to have a few interruptions as they permanently fix the power lines.

Power company.

Tree in my road.

 

The classes are going well despite the storms going on outside. I really enjoy my professors for the most part. They make things seem a lot easier than they probably really are. This may bode poorly in the future… but I’m not really going to think about that.

My brain was exhausted after this first week of classes. I skipped the library Friday afternoon and opted for a nap. That nap turned into a 3 hour snooze fest. Last night, people went out to the bars and invited me along but I decided to stay in. I had a drink and lounged in my leather recliner by myself and I can’t think of a better way to unwind.

I woke up early and hit up the farmer’s market this morning. Homemade salsa, homemade blackberry jam and hot banana peppers were the things that caught my eye. 15 dollars later and I had a full sack.

After unpacking my haul, the roomy and I found a barbershop and we got the ears lowered. The people here barely know how to cut hair. I have a part in my hair… but that does NOT  mean that I have a “southern swoop.” No matter what the old money of the south may think… it is not a good look… on anyone. It just looks way too unkempt for me. However, the lady gave me a proper haircut after I explained what I wanted. This not only makes me cooler (temperature… well and “swag” wise as well) but makes me feel good too. The price of the hair cut did not have me smiling however.

People are going out tonight. I think the roomy and I will walk down to Fenian’s sometime this evening to visit with people. Since “everyone” went out last night, it is likely that tonight will be more dead. Those are my kind of establishments. I love a party… but I hate to feel crowded.

(On a side note – A doctor of the local hospital just walked in with his stethoscope still around his neck. Hmmm… how come every profession doesn’t do that? Plumbers don’t carry their wrenches into Starbucks. Judges don’t carry their gavels. I’m betting drug dealers even leave their stash in the car… why does the doctor bring his work implements in with him?  Did he just forget that it was there? He drove in the car with it around his neck the whole time… is he just one of those pompous assholes that wants everyone to call him “doctor” when he is out and about? Seeing as the guy looks just like “Dr. Phil,” I’m going to use illogical reasoning and say that it is probably because he is and ass. I’m sure the guy has friends who probably find him very interesting… makes me think of “Thank You For Smoking” when Senator Ortolan Finistirre (William H. Macy) says to his aide, Ron Goode (Todd Louiso) -”So, when Ron Goode acts like a complete asshole on the Joan Lunden Show, I am being an asshole on the Joan Lunden Show.” If you haven’t seen this movie… watch it now.)

For all my teacher friends… Good Luck with the new year!

Teachers... less alcoholics per capita than lawyers. How, I don't know.

I’m off to take a well deserved nap. I may pop in “Thank You For Smoking” just for kicks.

~YJ_SL

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Despite My Mood, I’m Ready For Class

We have a writing workshop Monday and Tuesday before the start of classes on Wednesday.

I have finished the 7,000,000,000,000,000 things that needed to be done before it starts tomorrow and have even finished my homework for Wednesday and Thursday.

My desk is starting to look like an actual workstation.

Skills, son. I have them.

Even though I have spent most of my weekend reading, high-lighting and making sure I have briefed thoroughly, I did manage to have a bit of fun.

Last night we went to a street festival one block from my house. It was an annual dealio so it was a very large event with street vendors and four stages with live bands. Despite the stifling heat and horrible humidity, I had a fine time. The saddest part of my evening is that we came home about 8:30 and instead of flipping on the Playstation, I went in and read over some legal writing homework. This was the moment I realized that I am really ready for class.

Many of my peers were saying last night that they hadn’t started on anything and that Today would be their day to buckle down and get everything done. This is absolutely foolish. I know how long it took me to do the homework and make sure that I was registered for everything online… and while they may get their work done, I doubt it is of the quality it needs to be. I have already pegged some people that make me think to myself, “How in the hell did you make it this far in life? Who held your hand and got you here?” However, they ain’t my problemo.

So far, I really like this stuff. I found myself enthralled in my reading last night. Is that a good thing?

Even though I said I wouldn’t mention the lack of internet, I will say that it is a very weird time to be at the Starbucks. I am sitting in a corner that is partly secluded and I can sort of watch the door. Three women just walked in. One is very obviously drunk/horribly hungover. Their is one that is taking care of the other two. The final woman is somewhere in the middle of the first two. They are talking loudly about the kinds of things no one esle in their right mind wants to hear. When I get drunk I head to the Starbucks and air dirty laundry at high volume levels. Class, class, class.

No Internet... ugh.

I’d love to write more, but I don’t have time to sit at this Starbucks – and home has no internet. AAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!

~YJ_SL

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Ghetto Libraries

Do I have a ghetto library?

Maybe.

After a small twitter exchange between 1lawreview and sjblawgs, I apparently have a a more ghetto library than most. See photos for my exhibit A and B. I don’t feel like I need more exhibits but more evidence is available on request.

~YJ_SL

Library van in the parking lot.

This is a sign on the bathroom door. A friend proposed to me that bathrooms are where everone shaves and bathes. So that would be what a restroom is intended for right?

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Baseball Game And An Irish Pub

Friday night was a very good night.

The roomy and I got a ride to the baseball game from another 1L who lives about a block away from us. She was super nice and the three of us sat at the game and chit-chatted. It was scalding hot outside and because we were situated in the first row on the third base side, we got no breeze or any reprieve from the heat. Game-time temps were in the mid 90s. The paper fan on a stick that they handed out before the game made the weather slightly more comfortable but not much.

We were expecting to meet up with about five other people but we had a miscommunication and didn’t meet up until after the game was over.

The other group asked if we wanted to go to the Irish bar in our neighborhood. I knew the bar was on the corner and it was one that had a great reputation as being a law school student hang-out so we all agreed to go.

The whole group was seven men and two women. Obviously one girl had driven the roomy and myself, the other guys rode together and the other girl had driven herself. I hopped into the car with the lone girl to give her directions to the place which was situated at the end of our block. We talked the whole way and she was a lot of fun. I wish she was in my section, we got along great. I probably didn’t make a great impression looks wise being a sweaty, hot mess, but she didn’t seem to mind much. We strolled up to the place and it was packed. The band was playing hard and heavy and the beer flowed quickly. A little expensive, but all in all it was a good choice.

We all started talking and comparing backgrounds. The usual, “You had how many at your school?” and “You were greek, too? What chapter?” was shouted over the music. One of the guys we met was from Connecticut and he was relieved to find a fellow “northerner.” we spoke at length about how different things were down here than from up north. He was pleasant.

I found myself talking with the cute, pleasant girl from the car ride to the bar late into the night. She stopped after her nursed amaretto sour and complained that it was getting “So late!” a few times. The conversation kept her at the bar until two and I walked her to her car so she could drive to her apartment in the suburbs.

The girl who drove us to the game lives by herself a block behind the bar, so I walked her home after I paid my bar tab. The guy she had been talking to left and she was about to walk home by herself. I wasn’t having any of that. She seemed to have a great night herself and she thought we should all get together again soon. I don’t blame her. We all had a blast!

The roomy left early so he could get up early this morning to hit up the farmer’s market here in town. He came back with a plethora of tomatoes, hot peppers, cucumber and eggs. I hit up the grocery today for a few essentials. Milk, bread and strawberry yogurt were on my list, but a quick traipse through the meat department had me also buying a pair of butterfly pork chops that were on sale for $3.50 instead of the marked $7.87 cents. Bargain! I’ll pair that with some green peppers, onion and rice. Should be a good Saturday night meal with enough for left overs for lunch.

The G-MA, sent a letter that included the alumni magazine for my high school and a couple of newspaper clippings she thought I would enjoy. The magazine had a small blurb on me in the class notes. There was also a card saying she missed me. The woman is a saint. No doubt about it.

Hopefully the rest of the weekend goes swimmingly. We don’t get internet at the house until Aug. 14th so I’m still writing these at the library or Starbucks at least for another week.

NO #VAGABONDVERN sightings in almost a week now. I honestly think something has happened to him. My homeless hombre never deviated from his schedule… so to not see him at all is just tragic in a sense. Hopefully he will show up soon.

~YJ_SL

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Desk Bought And Moved In

Here is my desk, halfway through unpacking the stuff that goes on and in it. You can even see my AP Stylebook slightly.

I finally have a desk.

I am already letting my AP Stylebook hold glasses as it has turned from functioning as a book to its permanent home functioning as a large coaster.

I cannot stress enough how much having a desk means to me. I love it! I have been hating using my computer from my bed or the dining room table. When I use my bed, I’m half tempted to fall asleep. I am still putting things in their place and am working on getting everything organized. I figure if that is all ready to go then I will be on track for success.

Heading to a baseball game tonight with a bunch of people from the incoming 1L class. Hopefully it isn’t too hot and the beers are cold and plentiful. Should be a nice time.

~YJ_SL

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Orientation Packet Picked Up

What a 24 hour whirl-wind!

Construction on my house: Finished.

Room mate moved in: Complete.

Found and bought a desk: Done.

Went to school and picked up orientation packet: Case Closed.

Got my schedule: Duh.

Orientation packet included a copy of “1L Of a Ride” which I specifically did not buy because I knew we would receive a copy. I am already 40 pages deep and I will say that the book is refreshing in some ways. The writer is Andrew J. McClurg and he is a journalist-turned-law student who went on to become a professor. Can you say, “That sounds familiar?” He has already reassured me that journalism (or any other major for that matter) doesn’t mean anything in law school. That’s a relief.

Orientation packet pick-up also included a small tour if we wanted it. The roomy and I opted for it and were taken from building to building getting tid-bits along the way. Our tour guide was perfect. He didn’t bore us with stories of what he did in this room or that. He gave us a tour that told me the questions I probably would have had the first day and would have been itching to ask someone but would have been too embarrassed.

“This is the best bathroom to drop a deuce. Why? The stall is a single that is so big you can take a few books in with you and study no problem.”

Uh, yeah. You’re probably thinking that is odd, but any 1l guy is saying to himself, “Righteous. Preach brother, preach!”

“And this is where you can get free food after the day-time meetings get done. The secretaries put it out. You could probably eat lunch for free every day if you tried hard enough.”

This is guys is becoming more of a prophet, less of a tour guide.

All in all, it was a good tour.

The room mate and myself seem to get along fine. We need to give him a name, readers. Anyone who wants to “name the roomy” can try by commenting names below. I will caution you however, I won’t be writing about him much. I find that personal relationships of this nature where that person doesn’t know he or she is being written about, shouldn’t be. It’s unethical. Most of the time, I’ll just mention that {XXX} and I went somewhere or did something together. So let’s hear those names!

I got my schedule… This will be listed as it’s own post after I get done with this one.

Found a desk. I told the lady I could be back tomorrow with the money. She seemed a bit hesitant. She wanted it out of her garage today. I think I just missed a call from her… I hope someone else didn’t steal it our from under me.

The man came and fixed all of the ceiling issues we had in the kitchen. It is nice to finally feel like I can cook again without breathing asbestos or some other cancer causing agent. So what did I do as soon as I got back full control of my kitchen? I went out and had fast food. First real fast food in a while. I had Waffle House a few days ago as some will remember… and that had been the first time since moving down here that I had eaten out. Moreover, tonight I had Taco Bell, and I hadn’t had that glorious-ness in over a month. I don’t care if it wasn’t good for me. It’s nice to eat poorly once in a while.

No #VagabondVern sightings. I think something has happened to him. It is not like him to go more than a day without seeing him. Sorry folks, we may have seen the last of the posts about him. If I see him, I’ll make sure I let you know.

I’ll post that schedule now. I know a couple of people are dying to see it.

~YJ_SL

 

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Anonymity Sucks ~ Let’s Get Personal, Personal.

How in the hell did I end up here?

I shouldn’t be going to law school. Should I?

I am the son of a retired cop and a college VP’s secretary. My mother had an associates degree and my father was a high school drop-out who got his GED before joining the police force. I didn’t come from some affluent family with old money. I have cousins who have graduated from law school and passed the bar in the last couple of years, but we aren’t much of a real big family in the schooling sector. That is quickly changing.

My mother and father divorced when I was five. I don’t remember much about it, I just knew my mother wanted me in Catholic school. That’s where I headed. On a secretary’s salary, my mother sent me to private school. Not just any school, a Blue-Ribbon School of Excellence. Both my elementary and high school were recipients of this high honor; my high school was honored three separate times. These schools were the best that my mother’s money could ever afford and she sacrificed like none other to put me through school. She worked at a college and I could get free tuition if she worked for a certain period of time. I got to go to college tuition-free based on her work.

She passed away during football season of my senior year of high school.

This is the letter my father sent. Yes, I have some mean Photoshop skills. A degree in journalism and a photography hobby will get you those.

My father is a real gem. As the son of a cop, life can be different anyway. He grew up on a farm in the county I lived in. His father was a drunk. His mother was a homemaker. His mother died when he was 18; his father when he was 22. He was pretty much on his own from the age of 14 on. He has many brothers and sisters, all of whom live close by except for Larry who lives in California. There is a reunion every year at the shelter house in the city park on the first weekend of August. I won’t be attending this year.

My father’s side of the family spells our last name in two variations. One has one “l” the other has two “ls” (ll.) This confuses people and in super annoying to deal with at home at times. Speaking of spelling, my father misspelled the state I live in on a card he sent me. Sure, it would be understandable if I lived in a state like Massachusetts. That is a somewhat hard word to spell. See for yourself how he spelled mine.

He has made his own move from North to South. He lives in Florida and works as an ambulance driver; moving patients from rehab centers to hospitals or moving dialysis patients. It is the perfect job for him. He still gets to drive all around town on someone else’ gas and gets to talk to a variety of people. I think he really enjoys it.

My father has been married 5 times. My mother was #3. He has a few kids. I am very close to his oldest son, my half-brother, who is an awesome person. My current step-mother is a great person as well. She is so nice.

My half-brother is in his mid-30s and is married with 3 kids. The kids are great kids who are elementary aged. The oldest plays football, baseball and basketball. The middle child is the only girl. The youngest is a chunk who is going to be a stud in sports. I could see him as a hell of a linebacker. My half-brother coaches a pee-wee football team. I helped out one year and really enjoyed my time with that. It is not much fun to think that living down here, I won’t get to do that or see the games. We look so much alike, that people think we had to have the same mother. It is weird to see us together. We have the same wit and sense of humor so things are usually pretty fun.

My other two siblings are a half-brother and a step-brother. The other half-brother has cerebral palsy and lives in a group home up North. The step-brother lives with my father and step-mother. He is about a year older than me and is a security guard at a bar in Florida. I talk to him rarely, but when I visit we always have a good time.

After my mother died, I lived with my mother’s mother. My “Nana” is the greatest person I know really. I have written about her before, but she is truly a peach.

I went to college at a small liberal arts school. It was the same size as my high school so there was no real difference there. I stayed close to home and could easily visit anytime I wanted to have laundry done or get a home cooked meal. Not anymore.

College was a pretty great time. I was very active on campus in student government and the radio station. My fraternity, other clubs and organizations all took up the rest of my time and the studying was sometimes put on the back burner. Until my senior year in college, studying wasn’t that important to me. I was going to be a journalist. What is there to study once you know the basics? You have to learn new technology as it comes, and the stories don’t give out tips before they happen.

Without the LSAT to help even my resume out I probably wouldn’t be in law school. That, and of course my great resume of internships and experiences that had almost nothing to do with law school. No law school cares that I wrote for a national magazine that had a publication of 72,000. They only care if you spent a summer pushing coffee at a law firm with a good name. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to go out and actually meet some people. My mother spent some time working in our county prosecutors office. If I had wanted a summer job using those connections, I probably could have had one. But, I didn’t. And I feel like that made all the difference in the way I ended up here.

I’m glad I’m here. But I’m going to have to work harder than everyone around me to feel like a success. Give me my books, give me the assignment and get out of the way.

~YJ_SL

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New Drivers License After Extended Stay

I have been to the license place three times in the past week.

On Friday, I was told that I had gotten to the location too late. I showed up on Friday afternoon at 4pm knowing that they stop running out-of-state license exchanges at 4:30pm. I finally had my number called at 4:29pm and walked to the front to be told that the machiene was already down for the day and that I needed to come back Monday. I said I still had a minute by the clock behind the desk. I had all of the paper work filled out in advance. All that was needed was for her to call my old state and fill in her section of the paperwork. She impolitely told me to come back Monday. Her fake “I’m so sorry you had to wait. We can take care of you on Monday” dealio did not make me pleased. I left in a humph.

I came back this morning after my run-in with #VagabondVern. I walked in about 10:15am and took my number. I was number 31. They were on number 74. I would have to wait nearly 60 numbers for mine to be called. There were no seats open so I shimmied into a spot between a looker of a mother and an older gentleman.

At some point in the hour and a half that I was there before my number was called I moved towards the back of the room closer to the fan. I wasn’t going to have a seat, because there were quite a few older people as well as women who were in the room and I was always taught to give up your seat to either group. Besides, I can stand just fine.

The black guy next to me stared at me as I stood there with my materials. I wondered for a minute if I had taken his spot or something. I looked over and engaged in small talk.

“What number are you,” I said.

“I’m number 15. You?”

I told him I was 31 so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled up number 16. SCORE!

I grabbed it and said thanks. I asked the guy on the other side of me what number he was: “43″ and I gave him my old 31. He was overjoyed.

Finally my number was called and I got to go hand in my info and get my new license. The picture is as horrible as most license photos are. You cannot smile or anything, so that didn’t help. The lady behind the counter said I looked “intimidating” when I wasn’t smiling or talking. The older lady working didn’t look like she had ever been intimidated by anything in her life, so I guess I should take that as a compliment.

The place also had people running around in green and white striped pants and white shirts that said “Corrections” on the back. If there is one place I don’t think convicts should be working it is in the license branch. Anyone else see a small window for wrongdoing? Yeah, me too.

Rent is paid, construction is still going on outside my house and I still haven’t met my neighbor. My room mate moves in Wednesday so I need to make sure the place looks okay.

Other than that, I’m loving it here.

~YJ_SL

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#VagabondVern And The Tough Stuff

Let’s first start off with everyone’s favorite yankeejournosouthernlawyer character: #VagabondVern. I thought I heard him walk by last night screaming about a “three dollar pharmaceutical that will get you higher than any inhalant.” I was mistaken. It wasn’t him.

I saw Vern from my kitchen window while I was putting some dishes in the dishwasher. I wiped my hands and walked out to the front porch. I waved and whistled and Vern saw me from the other side of the street. He crossed at the corner and walked towards my stoop. He stood on the sidewalk and faced me as he wiped his brow. It was already hot in even this early morning hour.
“Now [Vern,] I heard somebody screaming about some drugs outside my house last night. That wouldn’t be you would it?” I asked calmly.

“Well hells no, boy. Why that musta been that damned Glen,” he replied.

“Who’s Glen?”

“Well thats a guy like me. He tall. He black. He old as hell and he be always up down this road here, boy. Why, that piece a shit be always screamin about somethin, boy.”

I believed him. I warned him to stay away from people like that or else he will get his butt arrested. He took this in stride as he stood to attention, or the best attention he could bring himself to, and saluted, “Sir, YES SIR!”

The other night sjblawgs and I were discussing (and disagreeing) on where a woman keeps her “seksi.” She said that a woman keeps most of it in her hair. With sjblawgs heading to the salon to get a new do, I figured it was partly true to a point. She claimed that Megan Fox had the sexiest (or seksi-est) hair. I’m not denying the good looks of Megan Fox, but I denied the idea that it was all hair related, and/or only Megan Fox related. She proposed we ask #VagabondVern.

I saw my chance this morning.

“[Vern] you like the girls, don’t ya?”

“I love ‘em all, boy.”

“Ok. Well, a friend and I were discussing what makes a girl sexy or not. Like if sexy-ness was a thing… where would it be?” I asked.

“That’s a rough question,” he replied. “I guess females be females because their be triflin’ snitches.”

“So, you’re saying that women are sexy because they be triflin’ snitches?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Hell No! They be triflin’ snitches cause they care about shit. Sometimes that shit don’t matter, but dey care. You know what I mean, boy?”

That is as good an answer as any I guess. Vern just likes girls that care. I honestly think anyone who cares about Vern is someone he loves but his answer made me think about what I find great in women myself. I decided to ask him who Megan Fox was. sjblawgs didn’t think he would know.

Megan Fox has been featured in Maxim Magazine and has starred in the movie Transformers.

“Is that that skinny bitch from da movie that was on da side of dat damn Burger King?”

Umm yes? I have no clue if that was her or not… maybe their kids meals were Transformers inspired or something. At this point, I’m just playing along.

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“Bitch could eat more. I aint got no home and I be eatin more than her,” he said.

With that, I thought that we had had enough questions for the day. Vern makes you think a little with almost everything he says. I didn’t ask him about it, but his shoes were missing. He did have a new pair of jeans and what looked to be fresh socks. I think if I see him tomorrow I might ask about them. I hope they didn’t get stolen or worse.

In all fairness to sjblawgs and myself, I don’t think either of us really understood the question of where a woman keeps her sexiness. In full transparency, I said it was a girl’s eyes. To me, a girl’s eyes are what set girls apart. Vern had me thinking about the real reason I liked what I liked. Sure I agree that it is important that women care, (I kinda said that to sjblawgs at some point in our conversation) but I didnt really want to go that deep. Vern not only went there, but he went there first. Interesting.

Just one more encounter with #VagabondVern, my loveable homeless friend.

~YJ_SL

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Ever-Vigilant #VagabondVern

There is a homeless man who walks past my house every day. He whistles the same tune as he walks. When I hear the lovely melody of Edison Lighthouse’s “Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes,)” I sing along in my head and have walked outside to talk to him a couple times.

If I am already outside, he always speaks with his daily dose of “news.” The first time I met him was on July 18th of this year when he told my moving buddy, “Steve” that he should, “Fuck the system. Overthrow that corrupt Governor of ours. Live life.” I wasn’t frightened of this short-statured  street-walker and his outgoing openness, even though I had never met him and did not know if he was dangerous or not. He finished his meeting with us asking “Steve” if he wanted “to go check out the underpass.” “Steve” declined.

He wears mostly the same thing: a green shirt and destroyed acid-wash jeans. He has a pair of worn trainers that are about three sizes to small. His big toe stuck out of the right shoe until Wednesday afternoon when I left him a pair of my old shoes on the front step. I wasn’t home when he came past, but he said he loved them last night and that they fit, “fine and proper.”

He always asks how I’m doing with a smile from a mouth that has three teeth or so. His wispy grey-haired balding head, shows the effects the beating sun of the south shines down on him daily. His journey usually takes him by my house around 10AM and sometime between 11 and 12PM. Twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, he walks past in the afternoon.

His views on the world are about as steadfast as the his schedule. He hates the government, hates lawyers and hates organized religion. He loves his meth, his “freedom” and the water he drinks constantly. The guy is almost always carries a water bottle. He says it is his key to life. I don’t disagree with him there.

Last night he came by about 11PM and was whistling his usual tune. I had just finished a drink and thought to myself, “I could go say hello. Why not?”

I walked outside onto my porch and said hello. He had the usual to say and I questioned his feelings on “Congress is a bunch of sissy pieces of shit. You know that, don’ cha’ boy?” I said, “Well, they are by far the weakest branch of government… wasn’t really supposed to be that way, but that’s how it ended up.”

I apparently said the right thing. The man smiled. He clapped. For a moment, I thought he might jump for joy.

“Boy, you sure gots that right. Well, I’ll be damned… maybe there is gonna be one good lawyer.”

I am glad this guy believes in me and my journey through law school. At least one other person does.

“The Supreme Court has always had the power, boy. They took it from da other branches with that big case. That uh… uh… Marbury Madison case. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout, boy?”

Yeah, I think a lot of people know what he was talking about. But how many homeless guys know case law? I mean sure, it is a landmark decision that established judicial review and it has probably been the basis of every 7th graders social studies class since WWII… but c’mon… this guy knew that? Now I was really intrigued. I played dumb.

“No, tell me about it,” I said coyly.

“Well, it gave them damn justices all the power. It told the pres’dint to take the sen’tors and respreset’tives dicks and shove ‘em up his ass,” he said.

I seriously wish my 7th grade social studies book gave me that definition. I would have understood the case so much better. I mean can you really disagree with how this man characterized the case? I can’t. It fits exactly what my college judicial process class taught. Maybe there is some more colorful language, but all in all it is the same.

I finished up my conversation with the man and I bid him a good night. I decided to tweet about the encounter since I hadn’t really told anyone that I had been talking to this guy. A frequent visitor to the blawg and twitter mate, sjblawgs, was intrigued and we decided that not only should he be a focus of a post, but that some sort of daily dose and hashtag was appropriate for the gentleman I talk with so often. We started throwing out names. #NomadNorman #VagrantVincent  and #HomelessHowie were some popular choices that were eventually decided against. sjblawgs had the perfect name. #VagabondVern – And it is a perfect fit.

So, I am announcing here that I will have a #VagabondVern installment on the blawg whenever something happens that is especially colorful or interesting. I can’t promise a ton, but I have hope that this will be a regular thing. If he keeps giving me history lessons then I am sure this will only grow. Keep an eye out on twitter for the #VagabondVern hashtag, as I am sure that will become very popular.

I want to give a special thank you and an “Alliteration-Alive Award” to sjblawgs. She is what made me actually post this and more importantly named my homeless friend.

I hope #VagabondVern keeps coming by. I hope my room mate doesn’t mind when he moves in next week, that I have befriended him.

~YJ_SL

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