Author: Bill Cash

Give till it hurts

The millionaire families of Laguna Beach need help!  They can’t afford to pay their expenses from the awful landslide.  Here is a list of profiles of the families who need your money.  The city wants to give each family $3,000 a month for 30 months and $60,000 for geological studies.

Click here to donate thousands.

I like how the obviously gay couples — “Jo and Jm,” and HC and DK, the flight attendant whose Steinway piano was lost — are referred to in carefully gender-neutral ways or their sex is just left out, whereas everybody else is Mr. and Mrs. W.

It’s also amusing that they actually admit one house was “red-tagged” in a previous 1978 landslide.  Now the same set of spoiled Californians is back for more money.  I was just in Laguna Beach a month ago, telling people it was all a dream and it wouldn’t last.  I was proven right sooner than I thought I would be.  These people have no sense of perspective.  One of them actually told me, “It’s hard to believe that places like Houston and Ohio really exist.  It’s like the whole rest of the country is a big bubble.”  No, you’re in the bubble.

By the way, the city mayor doesn’t want you to think they are millionaires, but before the landslide, they used to be — especially the one family that bought its house for $280,000 eighteen years ago.

Tiptoe through the torts

When the defendant, Clifford Witter, a dance instructor, waltzed out of the employment of the plaintiff, the Arthur Murry Dance Studios of Cleveland, Inc., into the employment of the Fred Astaire Dancing Studios, the plaintiff waltzed Witter into court.  For brevity, the two studios are called ‘Arthur Murray’ and ‘Fred Astaire’.  At the time Witter took his contentious step, Arthur Murray had a string attached to him — a certain contract prohibiting Witter, after working for Arthur Murray no more, from working for a competitor.  That Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire are rivals in dispensing Terpsichorean erudition is not disputed.  Now Arthur Murray wants the court to pull that string and yank Witter out of Fred Astaire’s pedagogical pavilion.

No layman could realize the legal complication involved in Witter’s uncomplicated act.  This is not one of those questions on which the legal researcher cannot find enough to quench his thirst.  To the contrary there is so much authority it drowns him.  It is a sea — vast and vacillating, overlapping and bewildering.  One can fish out of it any kind of strange support for anything, if he lives so long.  This deep and unsettled sea pertaining to an employee’s covenant not to compete with his employer after termination of employment is really Seven Seas; and now that the court has sailed them, perhaps it should record those seas so that the next weary traveler may be saved the terrifying time it takes just to find them.

Arthur Murray Dance Studios of Cleveland v. Witter, 105 N.E.2d 685, 687 (Ohio Com. Pl. 1952).

Look out

The pain from the recent spate of court-related killings won’t be able to heal until some gun nut informs the country that if everyone could carry a firearm inside a courthouse, we wouldn’t have as many crazed defendants grabbing guns and shooting judges.  I do hope this brave truth-teller speaks out soon, because it is high time for there to be more loaded weapons around criminals.  After all, if guns were illegal, then only criminals would be able to shoot innocent court reporters in cold blood.

Odds and ends

I recently found an Illinois case where an impaired hand was worth $800,000 and a Louisiana case where an amputated foot was worth only $80,000.  I believe that Louisiana in general is much stingier than Illinois.  Maybe people over there are used to heartache.

I am still learning to romance my crock pot.  Tonight I had a recipe actually tell me, “Place whole chicken on top of vegetables.”  This is very disconcerting.  I had no idea how big a whole chicken would be.  I have a lot to learn.

Caster’s revenge

Well…  We lost the final round of the moot court competition.  It was unpleasant — after the argument concluded, I felt pretty sure we’d won.  I think we had a better-developed theory of the case, and we knew our facts better, but our opponents pulled it off.

I had the usual crazy incident; this time it was that I dumped a pitcher of water all over the table and had nothing to mop it up with except Ginsberg v. New York.  That was great.  It’s always something.  This spill did not preclude my partner from winning “Best Oralist.”

So now it’s back to being a regular law student, who just reads constantly and doesn’t have to talk about it so much.  I understand we’ll still get a nice plaque.  We learned so much and got to work really, really hard.  And the support we got from our fellow students and professors was amazing.  Overall, a good time I’d definitely do again.

Objection, your honors

The Honorable William Klatt
373 South High Street, 24th Floor
Columbus, Ohio 43215

February 13, 2005

Dear William Klatt:

I’m a 26-year-old first-year student at Capital University Law School, and I’m writing to you in your capacity as the Tenth District’s administrative judge.  I had the pleasure of participating in Capital’s first-year moot court competitions this weekend at the county court complex.  For reasons that will become clear, you’ll be interested to know that I sat on the left side of the appellee’s desk in courtroom 23-B.

Today, after having wrapped up what I thought was a pretty tough oral argument, I returned to my seat so that my co-counsel could conclude our portion of the argument.

As I sat down, I noticed that I was listing strangely portside, oddly close to the wonderful view you have there in 23-B.  I remember thinking, The judges must have been even rougher on me than I realized if they can induce vertigo. I tried to sit up straight and found myself lurching in the other direction.  The reason for my precarious imbalance soon became clear: one of the casters in my very comfortable chair had come out, putting me in grave physical (and legal) danger.  As exhibit A, I placed the errant caster on our desk.

Co-counsel, valiantly trying to ignore the lurching and scraping noises behind him, continued giving his part of our argument as I righted myself and located a spare chair that had been conveniently placed near our table.

I am certain that your honors did not requisition this “ejector seat” function, but you might want to consider it for certain members of the bar.  I am currently studying products liability, and have a few theories under which you might justify the utility of such furniture.

We won the case, and I believe the judges did compliment us on our “poise.”

I look forward to practicing before the Tenth District Court of Appeals very soon, but perhaps in a more steady position.

Sincerely,
Bill Cash III

And if you need help getting back to your car…

So we had two more rounds of moot court today.  I don’t know how but we have advanced to the Final Four, baby!!!  Life is good so far.  We go back for the semi-finals tomorrow and I don’t even want to speculate on who’ll be in the finals.

The opponents are definitely getting harder, but I like to think we are, too.  We’ve dropped a lot of our prepared stuff and we sort of freestyle it now.  Yeah, in front of that bench, we’re just two bad-ass government attorneys.  A lot of times during these things I put my feet up on the desk when it’s not my turn to talk.  The judge, he all right.

A seriously amusing eventuality occurred today on the way into the courthouse.  (The second round was at our state appellate court in the county complex.)  We all pile out of our cars and head for the elevator.  This kind of clean-cut-looking guy follows us.  He is carrying a PeopleSoft bag and he has glasses, so I figure he is some kind of computer nerd just there to check on stuff over the weekend.

We all take the elevator up to 9 together.  I give my mom the instructions: “Look.  You can go in with us, but I don’t really want the judges to know who you are or what side you’re on.  Don’t make a big scene here, OK?”  She promises to be good.

On the 9th floor, we all take the skyway out of the garage and across High Street.  When we get to the courthouse, the door into the courthouse is locked.  There’s nothing to do except turn around and go all the way back down to the street.  And we don’t want to be late!  I’m a little incredulous, so I kind of punch the guy on the arm or something and say, “How come you didn’t know it would be locked?”  “Well, I’m never in here on the weekend.”  “Yeah, all right…”  We get back in the elevator.  Somebody asks him, “Oh, so why are you here?”

He says, “Well, I’m here for moot court.”  Oh shit. I say, “You’re not one of our judges, are you?”  “Well, I don’t know.”

Needless to say, the guy did turn out to be one of our two judges.  There was nothing I could do except lean right in during my intro and say, “Good afternoon, your honors…” and try not to smirk.

Well, we won, so I guess it didn’t cause too much injury.  My mom was pretty amused though.  Let’s let this be a good lesson about being decorous outside the courtroom as well as in.  :)

Lenin watches over me

When I go to the law library, I like to sit under the shelf that holds the 1987 Yearbook on Socialist Legal Systems.  Somehow it is comforting.

Wasting postage

My mom has this skill where she picks up an envelope and can just tell whether it’s one ounce or two.  I am so jealous.

Buzzings from the hive

I’ve been spending time in Plaza One, whereas I usually work in Plaza Three. Although they are only a couple of hundred feet away, it is another world over there. There are a lot more suits and a lot fewer Indians. I like to think that I’ve time-traveled into the seventies when I go over there. All the executives have pompous nameplates with their title and last name only — “Mr. Slevenly.” They sit in these little rooms with glass front doors and a secretary guarding them. Sometimes the secretary’s nameplate will only have her first name on it. It’s so weird.

Elevator ettiquette is odd. It is all about chivalry over there, to the point where a man in the front of the elevator will usually manuever so that a woman in the back of the elevator can get off first. I have seen men, in an attempt not to exit first, actually block the woman’s path and make it harder for her to squeeze by. The other odd part of chivalry, which is like reverse-age-chivalry, is that I get those kindly smiles from older women all the time — you know, the kind that say, What a nice young man you are. (The cattle here in Plaza Three don’t do that, probably because I shove past them on my way out of the elevator.)

Also, because they are so much stodgier, Plaza One people make the corniest of elevator jokes. If you carry food on the elevator, you are bound to get someone looking over at you with exaggerated eyes saying, “Mmmmmm! That looks gooooood! Hey, Bob, don’t you think this guy should give us some of his rutabaga?” or “What a nice guy! Turnips are my favorite! Thank you!!!”  You could walk onto the elevator carrying a steaming bag of horse shit and they would say, “You bring enough for everyone???”

My dad warned me about these people, but I didn’t listen.

Cold urine update

Cold update: It is now 13 degrees. You people continue to scarf up like it’s the killer London great smog of 1952. Have you no shame?

Urine update: The sign has been removed, but oddly, the pen is still there. I am so close to starting a community gossip web site.

Processes of elimination

It’s, er, 9 degrees F out right now. And let me tell you — I expected to put up with a lot of crap when I moved downtown, OK? — but I ain’t never seen so much frozen urine in all my life. And unfortunately, most of it is human.

Speaking of #2, the big gossip in the etymologically orphaned ConneXtions Lofts right now is the big sign on the bulletin board that reads, “I LIVE IN 308! I HAVE A DOG! MY DOG DOES NOT SHIT OUTSIDE BY THE PARKING LOT DOOR! YOU ARE RUINING IT FOR THE OTHER DOG OWNERS!” This has a pen attached and six signatories, basically all saying, “We agree! #60x” and “Amen to that! #30x” (Me, I put up a five page info packet on the fact that a neighboring historic building may be bulldozed to build us a blank wall to look at, and I get one lonely e-mail.)

Berlin trip photos

Still continuing the monthlong extravaganza of returning from vacation. I actually think coming home and getting all those text messages and voice mails was more exciting than going on the trip! Happy new year to all y’all brothers and sisters, etc. (What song did they play at Axis at midnight???)

I finally got around to writing up descriptions for all the good photos from Berlin, which was only the first half of my trip. (I might do Amsterdam later, but let’s be honest, I wasn’t there as long and I didn’t take as many good pictures anyway. Also, I’m kind of busy all the time.) But, you’ll look at the Berlin pictures and you’ll like them!

It was such a fun time. Unfortunately, I did not get a picture of everything that happened, for example, visiting Cafe Maredo on the first day because my mother had discovered it the night before. (When I was in high school, we learned that Maredo was a kind of cheesy chain, and it was.) The hateful waiter put a bib on me solely out of spite, or else it was because Matt and I ordered the fajitas. I guess I actually do have this photo, but I’m not giving it to you. I also don’t have a picture of the little girl on the subway to whom, at the last second, my mom gave a euro because she felt sorry that the girl had to travel around with her mother and “that loser boyfriend.” (This was the unlikely Geschenk.)

In other news, if you get BBC America, I suggest you look for the ten-minute science filmstrip spoof “Look Around You.”

I wore a Buckeyes ballcap on vacation

Greetings from Amsterdam! We left Berlin after four lovely days and just got here today. It has been so good to get out of town, to relax, to perambulate among the narrow streets, and to use my German.(Unfortunately, I don’t speak any Dutch, and after only a few hours I am already feeling homesick for it.  So I withdrew 300 euros auf deutsch, and that made me feel a little better.)

There have been a lot of great stories, including one terrifying luggage tragedy where I thought our bags were lost, and a guy in Oompa-Loompa coveralls told me I would have to make a report. I thought you had to claim your luggage and then re-check it after Customs, like you do at home, when transferring to a domestic flight. (Wrong!) Many of my stories center around bossy Germans who assume I don’t speak their language. For example, on the flight from Munich to Berlin, the flight attendant didn’t like the way I’d stowed a bag, and snarled at me, “What do you think this is, a train?!” So, Germany is as I left it ten years ago, a land of bossy perfectionists who want you to know you’re wrong. (As in my other recent entry, no comments, bitte.)

The country made a much better impression on me than it did last time. Berlin seemed a comforting jumble of high classicism, banal modernity, GDR-era bomb shelters, and typical urban townhouses. It was possible to see new development cheek by jowl with scary socialist apartment blocks. But the people looked cool, the hangouts were great, and the food was good too.

I should get up to my room now and unwind, as it’s been a long day on the train and the cute conductor got off just as I’d advanced to the cafe car to make my move. Also, I was pretty ill last night, and as I memorably said today, “I’m sweating and I bear the stench of the sick.” I feel better, but do need some rest. When I have more time, I’ll tell you about Maredo, an unlikely Geschenk, the Sharon Stonewall Bar, and other fun stories.

So long and thanks for all the fish

Well, everyone, I’m off to Europe for a much-needed week of rest and relaxation. I’m going to Berlin first, then Amsterdam. Barring any more labor unrest over at US Airways, I’ll be on the plane for the big 2-0-0-5. (Did I just dial it out one digit at a time? Yes.)

We’re gonna take one laptop and, by my count, eleven bags, three cameras, and four phones. I think this is about right. I’m also carrying two dictionaries and three passports. (Don’t ask.)

I’ll be trying to post entries and maybe a photo or two for my adoring fans, so watch this space. But I can’t guarantee that I’ll answer e-mail or even write here; I’m sure you understand I’d prefer to be out enjoying myself in freezing weather than stuck in the hotel on a computer.