Source: agentbedhead.com
While I do realize that perhaps I should be blogging about Hurricane Katrina, I don’t know what to write that hasn’t already been written. All that anyone can do at this point is watch…
That said, when most people worry, I tend to ramble into distraction mode or work on graphic design crap. Do take note that “crap” is a relative term, and enjoy this post from a year ago, which I do believe that Eric might remember:
“Once a word has been allowed to escape, it cannot be recalled.”
- Horace
Generally speaking, my big mouth and I get along pretty well. We have many adventures and are generally well-received, both in the bedroom and out. Most of the times, my mouth aids me to perform well in debates, or it creates *ahem* virtual rollercoasters, and it serves the cause of comic relief. At any rate, it gets noticed far more than I do, as my personality and looks are often attributed to something concerning it… I’ll never forget the very first perverted remark that my mouth inspired. Eleventh-grade art class. Justin the preppy fellow with an inner dark streak… yeah think Justin Timberlake… that is close, as much as I shudder to admit it. One day I noticed him staring at me, which wasn’t highly unusual, since unfortunately puberty earned my tits the nicknames “pamela” and “sue.” Charming. Anyhoo, Justin wasn’t looking at my tits that day, he was looking at my lips. Odd.
Of course, I thought… what does he want… and oh gawd he’s walking over here… Pretending not to notice, I instead focused upon my palette knife, which is still my art instrument of choice. (What can I say… when something serves me well, I tend to keep it around.) Justin was such a cutie back in those days, and he casually struck one of those Rebel Without A Cause poses against the wall as he said, “Those lips could suck the chrome off a bicycle.” Wha huh?” Later betweeen classes, he pulled me close in the stairwell and laid one on me. Several actually. Good times.
Justin and I never officially were an item, but the whole kissing thing became a routine of sorts, although I must assure you it went no further than that. Needless to say, I learned that kudos could be earned in other oral manners… such as with words, not just kisses. As such, the college years found me usually with my nose in a book absorbing any verbosity possible, which I would utilize that evening with fellow students. They would drink, and I would amuse them with quips and puns. As such, manipulating words became a way for me to control the outcome of situations. Rudyard Kipling once said that words are “the most powerful drug used by mankind.”
Indeed, no wonder why so many people dislike the profession most known for its wordsmiths - attorneys. Two sides exist for every story in the courtroom, and most often both are fairly even as far as the odds for winning the case goes. Yet one side ends up going home with a nice set of compensatory and quite possibly punitive damages, while the other side goes home muttering like a l-o-s-e-r and weighing his options for a legal malpractice suit. Most people don’t realize that quite often the evidence on both sides of a case are relatively equal. This is how cases get to court in the first place, because the skirmishes where one side clearly will come out ahead in the quality and amount of evidence - these cases settle and never make it to court. In fact, a commonly known among frightened, twitching, and budding barristers is that only 1% of all civil cases actually make it to trial. These cases are overwhelmingly won and lost via the presentation of the case - that is, the manipulation of language.
The summer before this past one, I worked for a wonderful judge who mentored me and still remains available for me to call upon for little snippets of advice. Quite often in the earlier hours of the morning, he and I would sit in his chambers and discuss the previous day’s happenings. Perhaps from him, more knowledge was absorbed into the noggin than via any classroom professor. Both counsel were dissected, plaintiff and defendant, and very soon the judge’s rationale for deciding cases formed a picture of sorts. Quite interesting really - in civil cases, at least the ones I worked on, which involved $10,000 or less in alleged damages, the judge often goes into the case knowing very little of the discovery work that has taken place prior to that date. He then listens to both parties’ versions of what amounts to essentially the same story. Then the trier of fact, whether it is judge or jury, renders a verdict. This is quite the simplification, but all things being equal, most times the walls of the courtroom can be likened to a canvas, and who the winner is turns on who painted the more alluring picture on the canvas. Painting of course, occurs not in the form of oils or watercolors, but with words.
This brings me to a really spontaneous set of emails I exchanged yesterday afternoon with one who occasionally comments on this blog. In an indirect way, he is a fellow that I have semi-professional ties with. As such, and also because I forgot to ask his permission, the author of these words won’t be revealed. Instead, I will merely quote his email, and no doubt he is sitting at his desk reading this and trying very hard not to shake his head whilst blushing:
[W]hat you probably don’t realize dear Lady is that it brings audible laughter within the quiet confines of this writer’s garrison at times when inspiration otherwise is sorely lacking. Must admit, many times I can’t relate to the subject matter, but I love to read your views on it anyway.
This made me wonder, what exactly he does and does not relate to as far as the subject matter goes. It all varies so much, as some days are quasi-intellectual, some days are utter crap, and many days are both. One of my gifts includes the ability to speak about bookish things and blowjobs all in the same breath. Or maybe that isn’t a gifted talent - perhaps it is just an absence of tact. I was just telling Mr. Derringher a bit ago that yesterday I had almost blogged about teabags, but then I thought “Nahhhh. Thongs.” Methinks he thought I was jesting. Bygones.
