Peep Show

You think Peeps can make it on Easter sales alone? No way, Jose. This is what they have to do to make ends meet for the rest of the year.

Wombat Rape: Blame the Victim

This is the most magnificent news story I've read in... well, in a very long time indeed. Pictured at left, to allow you to imagine the following story more vividly, is a common wombat.

A New Zealand man who claimed he was raped by a wombat and that the experience left him speaking with an Australian accent has been found guilty of wasting police time.

Arthur Cradock, 48, from the South Island town of Motueka, called police last month to tell them he was being raped by the marsupial at his home and needed urgent assistance.

Cradock, an orchard worker, later called back to reassure the police operator that he was all right. "I’ll retract the rape complaint from the wombat, because he’s pulled out. Apart from speaking Australian now, I’m pretty all right you know. I didn’t hurt my bum at all."

He pleaded guilty in Nelson District Court to using a phone for a fictitious purpose and was sentenced to 75 hours’ community work. Police prosecutor Sergeant Chris Stringer told the court that alcohol played a large role in Cradock’s life. Judge Richard Russell said he was not sure what had motivated Cradock to make the extraordinary claim. In sentencing Cradock, he warned him not to do it again.

Wombats are native to Australia and are not found in New Zealand. Although powerfully built and about the size of a small pig, they are very rarely dangerous. There are three species: the widely distributed common wombat and the much rarer southern and northern hairy-nosed wombats.

I am not making this story up. It's from the Daily Telegraph (U.K.). Here's the link.

Mozart of the Courtroom

Today in the courtroom, I witnessed a master at work. Closing arguments, our last chance to talk to the jury... the courtroom packed with curiosity seekers and the media... and this lawyer, whom I can't name, this lawyer gave a closing statement that made spectators cry. I couldn't tell if any jurors had tears in their eyes--I was thirty or forty feet away--but I do recall half a dozen of them laughing out loud at the cracks this lawyer made about the government's misconduct in this case, and eight or nine of them turning to glare at prosecutors when he pointed out an especially egregious thing they'd done.

And he made people cry.

This guy--let's call him Nameless Genius, Esquire--is to the courtroom what Mozart is to music, Tiger Woods to the golf course, Sarah Hughes to ice (here's her Olympic Gold-winning performance, as a point of reference: a sixteen-year-old girl landing jumps that usually only men can land, with the supreme grace that most women can only wish they had). I'm describing other people because I can't say in detail what this guy did--it's highly unwise to blog about your job.

So a fuller description will have to wait until I put it, slightly disguised, in a novel. Look for it. And note--I'm talking about the same lawyer I was talking about in my last post. We think he has seventeen personalities. Most of them are good; today, I must say, he was making the right people cry.

Dark Night

It's March 11, 3AM. I am still at work. Thus far this month, I've worked more than 115 hours, billing all but five of those. I didn't mind it--in fact I liked it--until today. It was motivating; we're trying to prevent a gross miscarriage of justice fueled by blatant prosecutorial misconduct. I wish I could say more about this case, but obviously I can't.

Here's the review I wish I could give to a certain partner: When you're in a good mood, you're great. Smart, funny, slightly eccentric, highly principled, down to earth, charmingly old school. But when you're not in a good mood, you're the reason associates flee law firms. Suggestion: Try not venting your frustration with that malevolent judge on your underlings. Try not yelling at people for doing work that you yourself describe as "brilliant." Try not making associates cry. That would be a good start.