Meat Grinder Days...

Lemme tell yeah...

Jury selection- the thing they don't teach you in law school because it's impossible.

+

A full afternoon calendar with a bunch of clients who didn't bother to come to their appointments to talk about their case and somehow expected miracles from their beleaguered court-appointed advocate

+

An impending ridiculous motion being heard tomorrow. (Hint: I'm asking the court to conduct a photo lineup. Something that can be done. With PEOPLE, not PURSES.)

=



This song on loop, while I laugh over a burning evidence code book.

Name the charge...

Colleagues in the DA's office... help a brother out- Is this a 415 (disturbing the peace (certainly disturbing her pieces.... zing!), simple battery, sexual battery (?), or what?



My guess is California Penal Code section 647(x)- Being an over-the-top wedding DJ.

The Skagen Effect

Most that have encountered yours truly would use the following adjectives to describe me (or at least that's how my delusional mind sees it):
agreeable
friendly
silly
hairy

I don't think the following apply:
gruff
irritable
angry

Still, it has been brought to my attention at work that if any of the latter qualities are present, they are present to a noticeable degree; When I'm in a malaise, any involved parties are more than aware.

So I pondered. I kept asking myself, "what the hell is up with my mojo, my chutzpah, my joie de vivre (which I've been informed doesn't have an English analog)?"

Well, I pin-pointed the problem. On days where I have court, and I don't have my watch, I visibly have a funk. Otherwise, I'm the Mary Poppins of the Public Defender. Except for the magic. And the banging dudes for coke. (She did that, right?)

The reason is threefold.

1. The gift-giver of said watch is awesome, and wearing said item reflects said awesomeness.

2. It looks nice and makes me confident.

3. And this is the stupidest reason: About a week in of going to court, I realized that you don't have to subject your watch to the metal detector if you raise your hand as you walk through. And for whatever reason, this act- walking through a metal detector with my arm raised- makes me feel like FUCKING ROYALTY. I don't know what it is, but the next time you see me, ask to demonstrate my regal strut. I'm relatively certain it's on par with me skipping, me waiving, or me skipping whilst waving (the famed combo).

Needless to say, I've since implemented a morning checklist to ensure it's attachment to my left wrist, or on days where I want to confuse people, my right.