Thursday, December 10, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Reading Break
UCI Law had a reading break this week. Originally the students thought spring break came early this year, but the incredible amount of time that would be demanded by our memo research and course outlines quickly came into focus. I think I actually spent more time in the library this week than I have any other week so far. Finals should be fun.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Sassy Judges
My Statutory Analysis class (also known as Criminal Law) read a case called Keeler v. Superior Court (CA 1976), wherein one Keeler, in the midst of divorce proceedings with his wife, found out she was pregnant by another man. Keeler went to find his wife, saw her obvious pregnancy, and said "I'm going to stomp it out of you," which he proceeded to do. He was charged with first degree murder according to California's statute at the time, which read something like "Murder is the unlawful killing of a human being, with malice aforethought."
The case made its way to the California Supreme Court because Keeler kept arguing that killing a fetus wouldn't fall under California's definition of murder. The Supreme Court considered this, and in their opinion quoted three of England's most influential legal thinkers, Coke, Blackstone, and Hale. These three guys, writing in the 1600's had a lot to say about fetuses and "quickening," and most of what they said pointed to killing a fetus being "a great misprison," or misdemeanor. So the Supreme Court decided there is no way Keeler should have known killing a fetus would be considered murder, and he was convicted of assault.
Chief Justice Burke, in his dissent, delivered the funniest line I have ever heard from a Judge not named Judy, when he said "Aside from the absurdity of the underlying premise that defendant consulted Coke, Blackstone or Hale before kicking Baby Girl Vogt to death..." I love sassy judges.
The case made its way to the California Supreme Court because Keeler kept arguing that killing a fetus wouldn't fall under California's definition of murder. The Supreme Court considered this, and in their opinion quoted three of England's most influential legal thinkers, Coke, Blackstone, and Hale. These three guys, writing in the 1600's had a lot to say about fetuses and "quickening," and most of what they said pointed to killing a fetus being "a great misprison," or misdemeanor. So the Supreme Court decided there is no way Keeler should have known killing a fetus would be considered murder, and he was convicted of assault.
Chief Justice Burke, in his dissent, delivered the funniest line I have ever heard from a Judge not named Judy, when he said "Aside from the absurdity of the underlying premise that defendant consulted Coke, Blackstone or Hale before kicking Baby Girl Vogt to death..." I love sassy judges.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The OC
So I live in Orange County now. I didn't fully realize, before coming to Irvine, that Irvine is not only located in Orange County, but is often considered the heart of Orange. It hasn't been entirely unenjoyable.
Aside from the obvious benefits of the Irvine Company's largesse (read: free tuition,) Irvine's planned nature has turned out to be kind of nice. There are two strip malls right next to campus, with a brewery, Trader Joe's, Albertson's if you're nasty, and an In N' Out.
I live in graduate student housing, which is massively subsidized, so I'm paying 500 a month for my own room. I shared a room this size with 2 other people for 300 a month at UCSB.
The grad student housing community is spacious and liberally sprinkled with bunnies. I don't know where they came from, but I would still categorize them as cute, with great potential to become annoying.
Aside from the obvious benefits of the Irvine Company's largesse (read: free tuition,) Irvine's planned nature has turned out to be kind of nice. There are two strip malls right next to campus, with a brewery, Trader Joe's, Albertson's if you're nasty, and an In N' Out.
I live in graduate student housing, which is massively subsidized, so I'm paying 500 a month for my own room. I shared a room this size with 2 other people for 300 a month at UCSB.
The grad student housing community is spacious and liberally sprinkled with bunnies. I don't know where they came from, but I would still categorize them as cute, with great potential to become annoying.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Marxist Medicine
Let people take what shots they will at Obama and his plan to enroll infants into public service and millionaires into substandard state-sponsored healthcare, because I'm gonna say I LOVE NOT PAYING FOR STUFF.
I don't want to hear any hubu jubu about higher taxes or efficiencies inherent to free markets. Look, I am in a town called Vigo. You don't know where it is? Neither do I. Somewhere in Spain. I hit my head REALLY hard on one of Vigo´s particularly hard concrete sidewalks and woke up screaming about how "they" got me while my brother tried unsucessfuly to stuff the blood back into my skull. Eventually a Vigo cop showed up, said "joder" a few times, and found a Vigo paramedic, who also said "joder", wrapped my head in gauze, and drove me to a hospital. At this hospital I waited for 2 hours, surrounded by enough chronically pained old people to make me say "joder" until some doctors violently shaved the back of my head and poured hydrogen peroxide in my eyes. At least, that is what it felt like.
I waited another 2 hours for the results of a blood test, after which I was mugged for my urine, the testing of which required another 2 hours, until finally an extremely cute Vigo doctor told me I was free to go, but to come back to her if I felt nauseous or dizzy. I asked her if lonely counted. She said no. :(
Anyway. This cost me zero dollars. Zero euros. Not a single commie cent. It was beautiful! It almost made me feel bad about cheating on the metro all those times.
I don't want to hear any hubu jubu about higher taxes or efficiencies inherent to free markets. Look, I am in a town called Vigo. You don't know where it is? Neither do I. Somewhere in Spain. I hit my head REALLY hard on one of Vigo´s particularly hard concrete sidewalks and woke up screaming about how "they" got me while my brother tried unsucessfuly to stuff the blood back into my skull. Eventually a Vigo cop showed up, said "joder" a few times, and found a Vigo paramedic, who also said "joder", wrapped my head in gauze, and drove me to a hospital. At this hospital I waited for 2 hours, surrounded by enough chronically pained old people to make me say "joder" until some doctors violently shaved the back of my head and poured hydrogen peroxide in my eyes. At least, that is what it felt like.
I waited another 2 hours for the results of a blood test, after which I was mugged for my urine, the testing of which required another 2 hours, until finally an extremely cute Vigo doctor told me I was free to go, but to come back to her if I felt nauseous or dizzy. I asked her if lonely counted. She said no. :(
Anyway. This cost me zero dollars. Zero euros. Not a single commie cent. It was beautiful! It almost made me feel bad about cheating on the metro all those times.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Lisbians
I'm not sure how you are supposed to refer to residents of Lisboa, but I like to imagine that the correct term is Lisbians.
Anyway, before going to Lisboa, I had heard a lot of rumor and speculation. If Spain was Europe's Mexico, people said, then Portugal was Spain's Mexico. I was a little scared, and getting off a bus from Seville at 5 in the morning, in a bus station surrounded by vacant lots and grafitti, I started to question what kind of twisted place Mexico's Mexico would look like. But I survived the first couple predawn shankings, and made it to the metro, which Ross and I used to get to the harbor, trying to catch a sunrise on the water. It was close to seven in the morning, still mostly dark, and not one cafe was open. I cursed the laziness of the Portuguese, and all Latin people, and walked to the waterfront, keeping eyes peeled for the last of the graveyard shift shankers.
The waterfront was beautiful, although the buildings around it were in terrible shape, the reputed splendor of Lisbon's monied past hidden by neglect. Ross and I watched the sunrise through a chainlink fence, until a Portuguese guy in a oddly cocked fedora edged towards us and slurred "Where are you guys from?" He continued talking to us, in a bad Portuguese accent made worse by his stupefying drunkenness, saying that he had lived in a cave in Granada for 2 years until being forced back to Lisbon due to a sick relative, which induced a boredom in him which could apparently only be cured by drinking until 7 in the morning and making techno samples from the sounds of ships mooring and unmooring, which is apparently why he was at the waterfront.
Aside from him however, I have found Lisbians to be extremely friendly, and eerily proficient in English. I had heard that Romance speaking countries, like Italy, Spain, and France are supposed to be among the worst in Europe, but people in Lisbon seem to have excellent English in the most unexpected, and embarassing places, like when Ross and I were in a grocery store debating whether or not to spend 56 euro cents on mustard for our cheese sandwiches, and a clerk burst out in laughter and head shaking, shaming me into assenting to the mustard.
Anyway, before going to Lisboa, I had heard a lot of rumor and speculation. If Spain was Europe's Mexico, people said, then Portugal was Spain's Mexico. I was a little scared, and getting off a bus from Seville at 5 in the morning, in a bus station surrounded by vacant lots and grafitti, I started to question what kind of twisted place Mexico's Mexico would look like. But I survived the first couple predawn shankings, and made it to the metro, which Ross and I used to get to the harbor, trying to catch a sunrise on the water. It was close to seven in the morning, still mostly dark, and not one cafe was open. I cursed the laziness of the Portuguese, and all Latin people, and walked to the waterfront, keeping eyes peeled for the last of the graveyard shift shankers.
The waterfront was beautiful, although the buildings around it were in terrible shape, the reputed splendor of Lisbon's monied past hidden by neglect. Ross and I watched the sunrise through a chainlink fence, until a Portuguese guy in a oddly cocked fedora edged towards us and slurred "Where are you guys from?" He continued talking to us, in a bad Portuguese accent made worse by his stupefying drunkenness, saying that he had lived in a cave in Granada for 2 years until being forced back to Lisbon due to a sick relative, which induced a boredom in him which could apparently only be cured by drinking until 7 in the morning and making techno samples from the sounds of ships mooring and unmooring, which is apparently why he was at the waterfront.
Aside from him however, I have found Lisbians to be extremely friendly, and eerily proficient in English. I had heard that Romance speaking countries, like Italy, Spain, and France are supposed to be among the worst in Europe, but people in Lisbon seem to have excellent English in the most unexpected, and embarassing places, like when Ross and I were in a grocery store debating whether or not to spend 56 euro cents on mustard for our cheese sandwiches, and a clerk burst out in laughter and head shaking, shaming me into assenting to the mustard.
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