Category Archives: meta

Sausage Egg McMuffins and Quar­ter Pounders with Cheese are nice for break­fast and rush-hour din­ner every once in a while.  Not every day.  Ugh.  Espe­cially inter­spersed with Cour­t­house Food, which is Uni­ver­sally Awful.

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Never let a civil lit­i­ga­tor tell you that they love lit­i­ga­tion because they have a pas­sion for jus­tice.  They really do it because they have a pas­sion for Being Right, and more impor­tantly, Mak­ing the Other Guy Look Like the Ass­hole S/He is.

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I-84 from Stur­bridge to Hart­ford is BORING.

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The “Great Courses of the World” Bud­dhism course?  More bor­ing than the road from Stur­bridge to Hartford.

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Even if you are a foot shorter, 50 + pounds lighter, and wear­ing three inch heels, unlike your male part­ner with whom you are sec­ond seat­ing the trial?  You still get to lug the extra bag with all the evi­dence, the post-its, extra high­lighters, legal pads, red pens, the rule book, and the med­ical dic­tio­nary.  If you look up “Junior Asso­ciate” in a legal dic­tio­nary, you will find the fol­low­ing: “see Sherpa.”

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The Junior Asso­ciate always enter­tains the Claims Rep­re­sen­ta­tive.  Which is fine, because you oth­er­wise don’t get to take them out to lunch that much.

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The burn­ing fire in your gut fuels thoughts all the way back home, and your mind whirs in crys­tal clar­ity, so elu­sive at other times.  (Why can’t you feel this clear when bal­anc­ing your check­book?)  Your dic­ta­phone is full of ideas to be lis­tened to when you get home, ready to make notes on pre-existing out­lines, or call your col­league, to be fleshed out when the par­ties take up arms again the next day.

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“Awe­some” means so much more when it comes from some­one who has at least nom­i­nal power over your next pay raise.

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When you’re “On” for trial, it’s hard to focus on any­thing else.  Your mind with­draws its abil­ity to attend– mak­ing din­ner, other cases, any con­ver­sa­tion that doesn’t involve a rehash of the day just past, or a end­less spec­u­la­tion about the day to come.

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No mat­ter the juris­dic­tion, no mat­ter the ameni­ties at the cour­t­house, self-deprecating jokes about lawyers’ hot air will always con­vince the clerk’s office to make you one more set of free copies.

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Some­times, your spouse nudges you in your sleep to make you stop argu­ing the next day’s motion, or pre­sent­ing the next day’s cross, so he can get to sleep.

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And then you look for­ward to cook­ing din­ner, and fin­ish­ing your next free­lance piece (Roast Beef Sand­wich Heav­ens in Boston), and to wind­ing down before wind­ing up all over again in a month, or two, or six.  Eyes on the hori­zon, but not so intently that the goals in the mid­dle ground are for­got­ten.  For now.

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You’re glad you’ve all that Ice Cream left over from The Social, because you’re damned if you remem­bered to buy any food while you were draft­ing jury instruc­tions.  Straw­berry sauce counts as a fruit/vegetable, right?