Busy, Busy

Dear Son,

One of the things I’m learning about blogging/journaling is that the more interesting things that happen that you want to write about, the less time you have to write about them. I wish my computer was faster and less cumbersome – I’d keep it by the bedside and reflect on the day better. (On the other hand, the clack-clacking of the keyboard would probably drive your mom insane.)

It’s actually a little frustrating because I so much LOVE to write, and really appreciate the ability to do it without having to cite sources and double check links. Plus then I feel like the record is incomplete.

One of the few downsides to E-mail is that there aren’t any physical remnants of all the day to day back and forth. My friend Pete and I write back and forth almost every day – a lot of days three of four times. It’s probably a good thing, since otherwise I’d need to pay for a storage shed to keep everything (or, in truth, I probably wouldn’t write much at all). But still, there’s something about coming across a bunch of old letters in an attic.

But that’s why I’m doing this. Skipping out on the middle man, so to speak, and trying to write directly across the generation(s). And before this is done, it will be all printed out. I really ought to do it once a month or so, because who know when Blogger will crap out.

Love, Dad

My First Bar Acceptance!

Dear Son,

Last Friday I became the newest member of the Stillaguamish Indian Tribal Bar! It's my first real legal practice qualification - I'm pretty excited about it.

Indian court is really different, especially in a tribe as small as the Stillaguamish. It’s very informal in some ways, but not lackadaisical. It doesn’t really look like a courtroom. There’s no real “bench,” just two long table put together like a big “T” with the judge sitting in the middle of the top crossbar and the two opposing sides sitting along each side of the stem. The mis-matched folding chairs in the back add to the feel.

It’s also one of the least Indian Indian tribes I’ve ever seen. The Judge is Jewish, and I think he comes up once a week to hold court. There were only two or three people I saw that morning who looked vaguely Indian. It makes sense, though – the Stillaguamish tribe as it exists today is essentially the descendants of a single woman.

(By the way, I call them “Indians” on purpose, because that’s what they call themselves. I hate the term “Native American.” It’s less descriptive and less accurate than “Indian,” and exists solely to make soft headed white liberals feel smug for using it and to keep activists who profit from propagating racial politics employed.)

Regular state law doesn’t apply there, either. In this small area of a few dozen acres, there is an entirely separate tribal code of laws that I had to read before I could be admitted to their bar. Federal law applies in some ways, but it’s (in theory, at least) a separate sovereign nation. There are no rules of evidence, for example – basically anything the judge wants to hear goes.

But the people were all very nice and helpful, especially as I showed up early ad was wandering around not really looking like I knew what was going on. Thanks to them, I was able to get the updated code read and get sworn in that day as an Indian Advocate (which is what they’ll call me until I actually become a real lawyer, even though there’s no actual difference in what I can do there).

That morning I got called in to the judges chambers on one of the cases. One of the partners at the firm I work for came up (she’s not admitted to the Stillaguamish bar) just to observe, and make sure I was doing OK. She tried to follow me into the chambers, and the court marshal kicked her out! When she explained that I was her intern, he just told her, “well, this is our court, and he’s a member of our bar – he’s good to go.” Knowing that particular partner, who’s loud and tough and doesn’t take crap from anyone, that was just damn funny.

I had two cases and they both went well. I didn’t get everything we wanted, but that’s the way it goes in family court anywhere – you don’t “win” or “lose” in most cases. But I was able to hold my own, and protect my client from shenanigans coming from the other side, and so I felt good that I’ll be able to no-kidding do this some day for a living.

Love, Dad

Starting to Practice

Dear Son,

Today I got my Rule 9 Card, which means I have enough credits as a law student to, in a limited way, actually practice law. I have to be supervised (and I couldn't have better supervisors), but that doesn't mean there isn't some things I can't do alone.

Today was also my first day of full time work, which was fun. I pretty much just observed at Juvenile Court, which I've done before, but it was a little different knowing I'll actually have responsibility in a few weeks at the most.

Your mom actually worked there when she was in law school, and I'm looking forward to experiencing for myself the stories she used to tell me.

Juvie's a sad place in a lot of ways. It's a very nice facility, and I don't know that I've met anyone there yet who didn't want to help kids succeed. It's bizarrely chaotic - you always think of a courtroom as so formal, solemn, staid, deliberate, and ponderous. But it's a whirlwind of activity, with a hearing going one at the same time as 10 side conversations, shuffled paperwork, and orders being signed. Most people who work there have developed thick skin and darkly cynical (but hilarious) senses of humor. The kids and their parents are liars, manipulators, victims, and abusers. Some of them are stupid, but a surprising number of them are actually quite smart and even charming. Of course, those are always the ones who are in for the worst transgressions - I think the dumb ones get caught before they can do real damage. But intelligence, boredom, and lack of direction breed supervillians!

It will be a fantastic training ground to learn my profession. If I can keep up there, I can keep up anywhere.

Juvie sucks, though, and most of the kids there are simply doomed. They've already made the decision to fail in life, and no amount of social work and lawyering and judicial admonishment can save them from their Ultimately, it comes down to crappy parents and a culture which treats them too much as victims and in some ways isn't hard enough on the offenders. But considering where the kids come from, I think there is real hope there, too. Hopefully I can help some of them this summer. And hopefully I'll be a better parent for what I learn there.

Love, Dad.

3L

Dear Son,

WHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One more year in the bag. It feels so damn good. I always feel like school is so much effort for nothing. I know that's not true, but writing fake memos for fake clients for fake issues just gets old. Law school really ought to be two years with a third year "residency" of some kind.

It's always so nice in the summer, because I have a real job again (with a real paycheck), and I have my weekends back. Mmmmm, weekends. No having to spend Sunday reading case after case. No guilty feeling for falling behind (although I've been good about that this year). I can play golf, sleep in, screw around, blog (I've become so addicted), watch hours upon hours of the History Channel... Awesome.

It's going to be even better when your mom gets done studying for the Nevada bar exam. Right now she works all day and studies all night. Ugh. I don't think I'm going to feel like this summer has really started. But I love her for working so hard so we can move to Nevada with one less huge thing to have to juggle.

Love, Dad

Too Many Channels

Dear Son,

So here I am, watching TV, and I just saw an advertisement for a Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament on A&E. Wow. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have sworn it was a parody.

What are they going to do in your day when there's 8,000 channels?

Love, Dad.

Kryptonite Papers

Dear Son,

I'm so bored. I'm writing a paper that isn't hard, but is for some reason painful beyond measure. It's like kryptonite to my writing skills. It's draining even to look at it. And that's odd, because I actually really enjoy the writing.

I think it's because it's kind of an academic paper, as opposed to a more litigation-y one. So dry. So over detailed. So non-impactful.

Oh, well. Nothing to do but keep slogging through. It'll all be over soon. Maybe I'll go ruin myself with an energy drink again. Hmmm...

For some reason this finals week has been particularly motivation-free. I don't know why, but there it is. I think I'm starting to get a it of senior-itis. School feels like such a waste of time and an unnecessary delay in what I want to do. Sigh.

Well, I'll feel better once I start working this summer. Soon I'll have my Rule 9 card, which means I can do limited and supervised legal practice. My boss is pretty excited to throw me into the arena for the combat, and I'm pretty excited to go. I think it'll pump me back up about law school and what I'm doing (and will do) again, kind of like the mock trial in Trial Advocacy did.

Alright. Back at it. Must... Write... Paper...........

Thanks for the break, son.

Love, Dad

Brokeback Mountain

Dear Son,

To understand this movie, you have to understand the cultural background in which it was released. And then, if you ever see it, you will realize the depth of its banality.

First of all, the image of the Gay Cowboy Movie as the ultimate in ridiculousness in independent film was firmly implanted in popular culture in 1998 by an episode of South Park. You know you've experienced brilliant satire when the target of the zing didn't even exist yet.

But fast forward. During the Bush Administration, Hollywood has become increasingly hostile to all things conservative. One of the big culture war issues was gay marriage, which a number of states soundly rejected in the 2004 election. But Hollywood was out to convince all of us that gay people are perfectly normal and perfectly healthy, and to do it, they needed a vehicle. And what better than a rousing and moving love story to show that gay relationships are just like any other relationship.

Of course, that's problem number one. Any time you're trying to "teach society a lesson" from a movie, the quality of the movie is going to take a hit. Who wants to be beaten over the head, after all?

The irony is that every time there's a show out there that purports to mainstream and normalize gay relationships, they show it in such a way that reinforces the stereotype that all gays are highly dysfunctional, promiscuous, have terrible relationships with their fathers, etc. The big TV "outing" was a show called Will & Grace, which finally ends this season. It was a good show (before it jumped the shark), but it didn't exactly do wonders for the dignity of gay America. Brokeback works in almost exactly the same way.

Knowing that this was the likely outcome, I had no desire to see it in the theaters. I read a lot about it, though, and it was nominated for Best Picture for 2005. There was a bunch of controversy surrounding allegations that despite its brilliance as a movie, voting members of the Academy weren't watching it because they were all closet homophobes. (Yes. The hordes of closet homophobes in Hollywood. Yawn.) Despite all this, it was favored to win that year, but was upset by another preachy although much better movie called Crash (which at that point was the only one of the contenders I'd actually seen). Then there was much harrumphing about how Brokeback got robbed.

Your mom wanted to see it, and I must confess that I wanted to see it just so I could ridicule it in good faith. So we Netflixed it.

First of all, I have to get out there that the visuals were fantastic. The composition of the images on the screen were artfully done, and achieved the emotional expression that they meant to capture. The landscape was able to capture simple beauty along with a sense of isolation and loneliness that was perfect for what the movie was trying to do. Unfortunately, that's where the quality of the movie ends.

One of the first rules of literature is that you have to have characters people care about. That doesn't mean necessarily that you have to like them, but you have to give a damn what happens to them. This movie broke this rule.

These two guys were pathetic. They cheated on each other, cheated on their wives, made no attempt to get better jobs, were distant and even downright mean to their spouses (yes, they were married, too), and whined a whole hell of a lot. I mean a LOT. And they kept doing it to themselves. Jack (Gyllenhall) visited male prostitutes with abandon in Mexico. They never once learned a lesson. And that equals a flat character arc that makes them uninteresting.

The other problem is that they just weren't believable. When they had their first sex scene - a pretty graphic one - Heath Ledger's character Ennis supposedly was new to the whole gay sex thing. But he didn't look new at it. He went at it like a guy that knew what he was doing - improvised lube and all. And worse, up until then their relationship hadn't gotten to that point. There just wasn't that much sexual tension. Or any tension. If two heterosexual characters had the same kind of interactions, it wouldn't have made any sense either. (Of course, that was the only time the action went too fast - the rest of the time it was slow and incredibly boring.)

But it was more than that. Jake Gyllenhall's hick accent was over the top and contrived. Their interactions with people made no sense. They were supposedly gay (which we're told is immutable), but neither of them had any problem being with women and fathering children. Ennis' wife knew he had a boyfriend, and did nothing for years. Jack is apparently killed at the end for being gay, but by then his character is so selfish, repulsive, disloyal, and slimy, that there's no sense of loss, no emotional impact.

At the end of the day, the tragedy was supposed to be that, "If only society were more accepting, then maybe they could have been happy." But these guys were so incredibly stupid and self destructive that, society's blessing or not, they would have somehow made sure to make themselves miserable.

I'm pretty ambivalent about homosexuality. What grown adults want to do and how they want to conduct themselves is up to them. I think gays should be allowed to get married, but I don't think it's a Constitutional requirement, and I think society should be able to make that decision at the ballot box. I don't think it's a sin, but I don't think it's normal or healthy behavior. I don't think it's a healthy environment in which to raise kids. Whatever you may learn in school, gays are hardly oppressed in our society today - they earn more on average than other people, hold political office, and are completely unafraid to speak out about it without shame or humility. The thought of laws against gay people sitting in the front of a boss or sitting at a lunchcounter is so utterly ridiculous that it defies all logic when they try to paint their "struggle" as no different than the 60's civil rights struggles. I'm glad for this, but I don't know if they are - being a victim can be very gratifying to people with an agenda.

When I was in college, there was a great night club called the Gay '90s. It was so good that straight women who didn't want to be harassed by guys started going there. Then guys who had gotten over any homophobia they might have had realized that the club was not only fun, but that there was a lot of hot girls there with their guards down. The result was that it was completely mainstreamed without losing any of the gay theme. A core group of the local gay community actually wrote editorials being angry because they had achieved what they had demanded all along, and no one really cared about their "struggle" any more. That's when I learned that their real motivation was to get people to feel sorry for them. How sad and pathetic. Once again, the stereotypes were on full display, and any sympathy I might have once had for their "plight" evaporated pretty much forever.

Someday maybe I'll change my mind about all of this. But if I had never considered the issue before, and Brokeback Mountain was my first exposure to what it meant to be gay, it certainly wouldn't engender any sympathy or desire to see it accepted as healthy behavior. And that's the ultimate irony of this already bad movie. It had two objectives, to be a good movie and to teach us knuckle-draggers all a lesson about how we should accept gay lifestyles. But it fails to be a good movie, and teaches shows gay lifestyles as destructive. Tragedy indeed.

It will be interesting to know if you'll even have heard of this movie by the time you read this. And how with 20 years or so of hindsight, what you will think of it, and the issue with which it grapples.

Love, Dad

The Wider Audience

Dear Son,

The other day I was talking to someone who'd happened across this blog while looking for the Federalist Society one. She told me she enjoyed it, and that it was well written, and even that she had pointed someone else to it who thought all conservatives were terrible human beings with no soul. (That made me laugh, honestly - nothing like the tolerant, non-judgmental, and understanding liberals who value diversity and respect for all...)

It was an odd kind of sense of exposure, and kind of unexpected, weirdly enough. I'd heard it a couple times before, and every time it was always with that odd kind of jolt. This, however, was thus far the most distant person I knew who'd read it (even though she's still a good friend).

Not that I mind, mind you. If I did, I wouldn't have (a) made it easy to find, (b) used my real name, (c) let it show up on my profile on the FedSoc page, etc. If part of me didn't want people to read it, it wouldn't be on a blog.

The first time I had that feeling was when I worked up the courage to tell your mom about it. The funny thing is that she'd already read it, but didn't want to tell me about it because she didn't know if I wanted her to know about it. The truth was, I didn't think it was good enough for her to see yet, or maybe that I hadn't said enough nice things about her (not that years of blog entries would be enough for that). But I was glad that she had seen it, and that she'd enjoyed it.

After I knew she knew about it, I even linked it on my MySpace page. I figured after that, I didn't really care who read it.

I imagine other people will read it eventually. One of these days I'll get around to putting a hit counter on the thing. I don't know if I'll be scared at how many people are looking over our shoulders, in a way, or disappointed that it isn't more of them. I suspect it'll be a little of both.

So there it is. For whatever it's worth, you won't be the first person to have read this. But honestly, I still think almost exclusively of you as my audience when I'm writing this - the other readers are a background I'm only faintly conscious of as I type. (Your mom is the only exception to this - she's the better writer, and I fear her disappointment with every grammatical error that I let seep through - and, after all, I want her to think I'll be a good Dad!) And at the end of the day, you will be the only reader I really care about impressing, and the only blog audience that really matters.

Love, Dad.

Arguing in the Special Olympics

Dear Son,

Last Thursday I had a Law & Economics class where someone really got to me. We share the class with the University of Washington's Evans School of Public Policy, which sounds impressive and important, but is, in fact, a bunch of people for whom either four years of political science wasn't enough, or who want to legitimize their empty-headed political ideas by getting a degree in them. But I digress.

Anyway, one of the Evans School dudes was really needling me. He was sooooo smug, and nothing sets me off like smug. Arrogance, jerkiness, rudeness - all those things I can deal with, but smugness, especially from someone who has no right to be smug, really gets my goat.

I had stayed home that morning to work on a paper, and drank a whole pot of coffee. Then on my way in, some promoters were giving out free Monster Energy Drinks on the Ave. (I'm pretty much assuming those types of drinks will be illegal in your time.) I was FLYING in class, and particularly strident. And the dude was needling, eye rolling, interjecting bumper sticker wisdom... And partly because of the lack of sleep the night before and the over caffeination, I left madder than hell.

I don't think it's that the smug dude was extraordinary, especially by Seattle standards. In fact, I think it was that he is completely typical for this place. I think the fact that he was the norm all around me was what got me.

The next day, it came out that the National Security Administration had been collecting telephone data for years, and had been using it to construct calling patterns to locate terrorists. This isn't the first time such a secret program has been outed by reporters with misplaced priorities, but the wailing and gnashing of teeth was audible all over the city. Perusing the local fishwrap (is it still fishwrap if it's on line, even if that's still all it's good for?), I came across a forum full of smug and self righteous fools who were convinced the Great Orwellian Nightmare was finally upon us.

Now, I know that arguing on the internet is pretty much useless - ESPECIALLY when you do it anonymously. But I pretty much wanted to vent. So I went on, raged about hippies, and explained to them how dumb they all were. Which they were. I even threw in some facts, which were ignored haughtily by the elitists. So I raged some more, got one of them to rage back about how rich and successful he was in between his complaints about "The Corporations", had another explain I was covering up the 9/11 conspiracies, and had yet others take a break from calling all Republicans fascists and Nazis to explain how I was unpersuasive because I threw the word "hippy" around a lot. I kept going back, because for some reason I really, really needed to expend the rage and energy. It's frustrating to be a conservative in this town and in a huge university, where common sense is an uncommon virtue. So basically I was just taking the opportunity to shout at every stupid thing I'd ever heard or seen since I moved here, with the Prince of Smug from class foremost in my mind. And for awhile it felt really good. I'm not gonna lie.

But, of course, that kind of emotion takes a lot of energy to sustain. I let it run its course, and while I didn't change any minds (although one guy offered to vote for me), it felt good for me, until it tuckered me out. Now I just think it's funny.

There's a couple of lessons in this. First, anonymous debate on the internet rarely has anything to do with debate. Mostly it's just repeating platitudes and shouting at each other, ignoring things that don't fit into your point of view already, and looking for the dumbest things your opponents say so you can feel smarter than them. This is true even if you actually ARE smarter than them. Which is why it's also true that arguing on the internet is like running in the Special Olympics...

(Hopefully, you will be horrified that I would ever have thought that was funny. But it's just too apt.)

That's not always bad, sometimes it's cathartic. But it's not a process by which you inspect and attack ideas to test their veracity. It's just chest thumping.

It's also hate-feeding. Fortunately, I just got exhausted with it. But I can see how scholars turn personally bitter over scientific disagreements, and why people can't let go of it. Self-righteous indignation - ESPECIALLY when you're actually both right and justifiably indignant - feels so, so good. It also feels good when you're wrong, though, leading to a false sense of being right. And chasing that feeling is really what those message boards are all about.

It's funny, as I sit here and type this, how this makes me feel just the opposite as I did when furiously pounding away on my keyboard spewing unfettered and well deserved bile at hippies everywhere, past, present, and future. I could almost feel my soul twist when I was doing that. But this? This makes me happy - I'm calmer, feel full of joy, and have regained the sense that things are actually pretty much right in the universe. So thanks for that. It's a benefit of writing this blog to you that I didn't anticipate. So I guess the other thing is that it's a good reminder how poisonous argument (instead of debate) can really be, and to know when to do what. And why debate is best done with your real name attached, so you still feel like a human being who can be held accountable later - which is why I do it that way on the Federalist Society blog.

So as I was about to type this rambling story, I saw a good capper for it. Senator John McCain, whom you will have either never heard of or will be President when you are born, gave a graduation speech at a notoriously fundamentalist Christian university. The founder of the University is a man named Jerry Falwell, who is pretty much a complete jackass, and has said some things that make most Christians just shake their heads. McCain himself called him an "agent of intolerance" a few years back, and so everyone was wondering how and if that was going to come up - especially now that McCain is running for President and has to reach out to the Christian conservatives.

What he said was brilliant, and so apt to what was on my mind, that I just had to share it. Here's Byron York's telling of it:

When McCain rose to speak, he did not return the tribute. In fact, he mentioned Falwell's name exactly once, when he said, "Thank you, Dr. Falwell." Then McCain began what seemed to be a boilerplate graduation-address introduction, talking about what a know-it-all he had been when he was young and how he became much less certain of his rightness as he grew older. But he was in fact laying the premise for everything to come. He loved to argue back then, McCain said, and arguing is still a good thing. In fact, we owe it to ourselves to argue. "We have our disagreements, we Americans," McCain told the students. "It is more than appropriate, it is necessary that even in times of crisis, especially in times of crisis, we fight among ourselves for the things we believe in."

That led McCain to the most disagreed-upon issue in American politics today, the war in Iraq. He supported the decision to go to war, he said, and he still does. But he respects those who disagree and believes Americans "should argue about this war." "If an American feels the decision was unwise, then they should state their opposition, and argue for another course," McCain said. "It is your right and your obligation. I respect you for it." And then, with a Lincolnesque touch, he added, "But I ask that you consider the possibility that I, too, am trying to meet my responsibilities, to follow my conscience, to do my duty as best as I can, as God has given me light to see that duty."

With that, McCain moved on to that third way of dealing with his clashes with Falwell, and, by extension, with millions of Christian conservatives who might not necessarily follow Falwell but who were put off by McCain's attacks in 2000. "Let us argue with each other then," he said:

By all means, let us argue. Our differences are not petty, they often involve cherished beliefs, and represent our best judgment about what is right for our country and humanity. Let us defend those beliefs. But let us remember, we are not enemies. We are compatriots defending ourselves from a real enemy. We have nothing to fear from each other. We are arguing over the means to better secure our freedom, promote the general welfare and defend our ideals. It should remain an argument among friends; each of us struggling to hear our conscience, and heed its demands; each of us, despite our differences, united in our great cause, and respectful of the goodness in each other. I have not always heeded this injunction myself, and I regret it very much.

Brilliant. It wasn't the standard drivel about how we should all get along, or about how at the end of the day, our differences don't matter. Because they do matter. But giving people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to their motives and intentions will make you a batter person, more able to communicate with people and to move them your way.

I hope he winds up being a guy you've heard of.

Love, Dad.

Stupid Homework

Dear Son,

There's nothing better than sitting around, drinking a beer, and generally winding down, and then remembering that you completely forgot to do an assignment that's due on line in two hours. Sigh. Oh, well. At least I remembered, and got it in. It would have sucked more had I remembered tomorrow morning.

Stuff like this is why you won't get to read this blog until at least you're out of high school.

Off to bed. Tomorrow I argue fake Motions for a fake trial, and then I get to shoot very real guns. Sweet. The really cool thing is that I'll still be in my suit, so I'll feel like a total gangster.

This is going to be a busy week. But after this week, it's all down hill.

Love, Dad.

The Sound of Music

Dear Son,

I hadn't seen this movie for a really long time - in fact, I'm not 100% sure I'd ever seen the whole thing all the way through. It's a classic Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, with all kinds of catchy tunes I knew by heart as a kid before I even knew there was any such thing as "The Sound of Music."

We saw it at our friends' house, and the occasion was that one of them hadn't seen it before. Of course, his wife had to tell him it was a war movie, but then there you go. I think he secretly enjoyed it anyway.

You know you're about to watch a good movie when you're already humming along with the prelude. The songs are truly timeless. And they're so easy, too. You can play "Do-Re-Mi" on one of those children's xylophones.

When I was in junior high, I went through my musical hating stage. Like any good thirteen year old, I was pretty snotty about the whole genre. "Please. Like anyone just bursts out in song like that. And like everyone would automatically know all the words. They're so unrealistic and stupid." I imagine you'll go through something similar, although I hope not. We'll just have to raise you on them from the beginning. Mine wasn't really cured until I was in a community theatre production of The King and I, which was just too much fun.

What I didn't realize is that they're meant to be enjoyed as they are, not as realistic portrayals, but as almost a caricature of life. It's the same reason we enjoy animation. (Funny that I had no such snobbiness about Homer Simpson surviving falls from cliffs, but there you go. If you're rational as a thirteen year old, you'll be the first one I've ever met.) And besides, wouldn't that be a fun world to live in if we all sang all the time, and could instantly know lyrics, dance choreography, and harmonies along with everyone else in town? I can think of worse things.

But The Sound of Music has much more than just catchy tunes. It's the story that makes it compelling, as is always the case with movies that are still watched and loved by millions of people 40 years after they're made.

It's a simple story - woman can't hack the convent life, tries out a nanny gig, falls in love with the children and the widower father, and then they all live happily ever after, leisurely waltzing away from the Nazis as they stroll over the ridges of the Alps into Switzerland. It's (VEEERRRY loosely based on a true story.)

In all seriousness, though, it's a story about family. There is a rigid father who loves his children very much, and wants them to grow up to be successful. Of course, his entire concept of success comes from the Navy, which means he controls them with marching orders, military discipline, and an intricate system of bo'sun's pipe signals. It's a fantastic illustration of the unfortunate inadequacies of a single parent, and how there needs to be a softer perspective on the whole parenting thing than just pure manliness (although they show strong men as necessary, too, which is also refreshing. Most movies now show fathers as bumbling fools who must be constantly rescued and trained by their wives and children, a disrespectful and dishonest view of what a healthy family should be.)

The interesting thing is that both Captain von Trapp and Maria wind up completing, and in the process, saving and strengthening each other and the children. They fit perfectly as a new family. That may be less realistic than the singing, although I don't really think so. Some of the transitions in acceptance and bonding in the relationships in the movie are a bit abrupt, but there's a large span of time that's tough to accurately portray, especially in this genre, that makes it make more sense. As the kids' governess, Maria would truly have become a mother to them. And while it's tragic the mother had died, they at least didn't have the baggage of having a bitter ex-wife piling some more poison into the relationship, which is how an awful lot of people of my generation instinctively view step families.

The movie changes in the third act, and turns dark. The Nazis take power in Austria, and the new family is feeling the heat from the fascists. The Captain is proudly Austrian, and wants none of the Third Reich. After bravely singing Edelweiss, a song which symbolizes Austria itself, at a public festival (in a scene which reminded me of the Die Wacht am Rhein/La Marseilles duel in Casablanca), the family escapes to Maria's old convent where the nuns help them escape (another thing missing in movies these days is religion as a force for good). The last scene is kind of unintentionally funny - I just don't think escaping from the Nazis in 1938 by hiking over the Alps with only the clothes on your back would so resemble a pleasant walk in the park.

Although, since they won in that festival in 1936, two years before the Anschluss, and actually took a train to Italy and then openly emigrated to America in 1939...

Eh, but who cares. The movie has no problem exaggerating or altering the reality of the von Trapp story, but then we again come back to the whole point of the thing and the reason it's so powerful. It's a simple story with simple characters who either represent or become the best of what we all can be. The themes are immutable and universal: Good overcomes evil. Love overcomes the tragedy of a lost mother. Music soothes the savage beast. Nazis are the best movie bad guys ever.

Ultimately, son, this musical will be as beloved and popular to your generation as it is today because of these things. And I expect you'll know some of the songs before you ever see it, and that they'll come to represent family and happy memories for you, just as they do for me. Well, that and my elementary school music teacher. And those toy xylophones. But either way, you'll love it.

Love, Dad.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Dear Son,

Today we went to a Mariners game. They got shut out by the Detroit Tigers, which was kind of a bummer - I can't remember the last time I went to a game and they actually WON. But Matt was happy, since he's from Michigan and was the reason we went to the game in the first place.

Baseball is one of those sports that's more fun to watch live. It's just too slow for the TV. But at the ball park you can fallow the action more easily, and it becomes a kind of whole experience. Complete with the peanuts. And Safeco Field is a fantastic stadium. There's hardly a bad seat in the house, and it just feels like... baseball.

Word to the wise - right now the best booze deal in the place is the sushi stand where they serve cups of sake for $6.50. For the cost of a beer, you get twice the alcohol, and it's warm to boot - and let me tell you, on nights like tonight, that's pretty nice. It was cold when that wind came up over the Sound.

I didn't go to a major league baseball game until I moved out here to Seattle. It was a pretty exciting way to be broken in. It was the year the Mariners tied the record for the most wins in a season, and that day I watched them beat the Diamondbacks from great seats on the first base line. The Diamondbacks won it all that year, too, if I remember correctly.

I hope we can take you to a game earlier than that. It's a lot of fun, and a part of the American experience I think is important to have under your belt. The real question is who we'll go watch and root for down there in Reno...

Love, Orrin

Slackin'

Dear Son,

I've been pretty delinquent about writing lately. I kind of have a lot to report, too - some interesting movies, a baseball game, a fun Easter visit with an old friend and her daughter, a moot court tournament that didn't go as well as I'd hoped...

It's funny how the urge to write comes late at night. If I was ever a novelist, I would drive you and your mom crazy. I'd get some idea in the middle of the night, and I'd get up and write until the sun came up. I'd probably do it now with this blog if my computer started up faster.

Anyway, I'm still here. And thinking about you. More to come - your mom officially started studying for the Nevada bar exam today. She'll be at it pretty hard for the next few months, and I'll have down time to do this sort of thing.

Love, Dad

Iraqi Liberation Day

Dear Son,

Three years ago today the famous statue of Saddam Hussein fell. I lived in Everett, WA at the time, which apparently has the largest Iraqi population in this state. When it happened, I remember people rushed into the streets, spontaneously cheering and celebrating, waving American and Iraqi flags. I felt very proud to be even peripherally involved, and to have supported it. I remember that, at the time, the media was already throwing the "Q" word around because a sand storm delayed operations for a few days. As I write this, I still feel that pride I felt that day.

When I was a kid learning about past wars, especially Vietnam, I was lied to about how people felt about it at the time, and what the facts about that conflict actually were. I hope by the time you're in school, we will have not lost our nerve in this important fight for freedom, as your grandparents' generation did in Southeast Asia. When they did that, they caused the deaths of millions of people, while patting themselves on the back for their dedication to peace.

They didn't learn that evil ignored is evil unleashed. If we give up now, then you will simply have to pick up the pieces in the Middle East.

Now, three years after that statue fell, the Iraqi people voted in ever increasing numbers, under threat of death. (Too many of us wouldn't vote if it meant we'd have to fight too much traffic, or if we couldn't have the ballots mailed to our front door. I bet by the time you read this we'll all vote on line!) Political opponents are no longer tossed into wood chippers. The people have regained their sovereignty, and are forming a government. We learned the Saddam indeed was a threat to us, if not as soon as we thought, then surely in the future. Hundreds of free Iraqi newspaper presses are running all over the country. There is a long, hard road ahead, but there is hope for a better future in Iraq.

And what's more, the soldiers now fighting in Iraq are reenlisting and reporting success. And when given the chance to vote for President Bush they rejected the defeatists and voted for him overwhelmingly.

Since high school, I've always been fascinated with the mechanisms and structure of government. It's been fascinating and inspiring to see a people create the foundations of a new and free government in real time, and to see how they solve problems and overcome deadly obstacles. Too often, when an unjust government is overthrown, what takes its place is no better, or indeed worse - as the Cubans know all too well. (Perhaps Cubans will be free by the time you read this, too.) But the Iraqis have rejected that fate with their continued willingness to vote, and through their continued willingness to put their lives on the line by running for office, publishing newspapers, and enlisting in the national police force. They've embraced due process Saddam denied them, and are conducting a remarkable trial despite the best efforts of the defense "attorneys" for whom winning is more important than maintaining the integrity of a fair trial system.

The critics now predict civil war and failure. But those predictions have far more to do with their hatred of President Bush and their unflinching willingness to ignore any evidence which doesn't conform with a view they cemented 4 years ago than their deductive reasoning skills. They are the same people that solemnly predicted we would fare worse than the Soviets in Afghanistan, that it would take years to take Baghdad, that refugees would cripple the region, that sandstorm = quagmire, that the Iraqis could not successfully vote, that they could not agree on a constitution, and that the Kurds would instantly break away. Every prediction they make has been wrong. Why anyone still listens to them, I'll never know. I hope we've stopped listening to them by the time you read this, but I won't hold my breath.

This effort can still fail. We have prominent American politicians give seditious and false speeches in enemy territory - giving the enemy hope. We have an enemy determined to scare us away so they can once again oppress their enemies and slaughter political enemies without thinking twice. It's no wonder they ensure their bombs go off in front of TV cameras. I am terrified that we will give in, put our heads in an isolationist sand, and make the world less safe for you.

If the story you know about Iraq is one of failure, know that it only happened because we let them fail by abandoning the effort. It was completely up to us. The leftist defeatists who care more about saying "I told you so" than making the world a safer place want us to leave now, leaving millions of Iraqis to their doom. (Don't think they merely "care about the troops and want to bring them home safe" - it isn't any more true now than when they spit on the troops coming home from Vietnam. They sneer at the military reflexively and surround themselves with people who love to denigrate America.)

I'm proud to stand with the Iraqis, and proud to support a mission that if successful, will make the world safer for you. I promise that I will do my part by continuing to vote for American politicians who understand that peace in not just the absence of war, but the presence of freedom and justice - things which require brave men and women to fight for. I won't let you forget the people who voted in the face of those who would kill them for their purple fingers, and because they reject returning to the bad old days of tyranny.

Son, this is the face of freedom and courage:

Remember it all your life, and let it inspire you to do the right thing, even when it is hard and dangerous. Let it remind you that evil flourishes when good men stand by and do nothing. Let it remind you to not take your right and duty to vote for granted. Let it remind you that war is terrible but far better than slavery or oppression. And let it remind you of the thousands of men and women who have fought and died (and even who are suffering boring, dangerous, and family-punishing deployments) to incubate freedom around the world.

Love, Dad

How To Apologize

Dear Son,

Today a Congresswoman from Georgia who had assaulted a police officer at the US Capitol and then blamed the officer for it claiming he was a racist was forced to appologize. The poor character she showed through her imperiousness was bad enough. But her appology really showed her true colors. I wrote about it here, detailing the insincerity of her remarks.

(I wonder how long these links will last? Will you still be able to read my FedSoc musings 30 years from now? That's a little mind blowing...)

Remember this, though. There's no such thing as an apology with the word "but" in it. The "but" is easy. It takes the sting out. It lets you feel good about yourself. But like all butts, it stinks.

When you make mistakes, and even do bad things (and you will - we all have a case of the stupids sometimes), your character is tested. You will show that you have it when you look the person you've wronged in the eye and simply say, "I'm sorry. I was wrong to have done that. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again." And then follow through with that promise to learn from your error.

It's even more effective when there really is a legitimate "but." Even if the person you wronged wronged you as well, you will come out the better man by admitting your wrongs without expecting (or caring) that he do the same. In some ways, the apology is more about doing the right thing for yourself, and becoming a better person. Because if you did something wrong, it doesn't matter if someone else also did something wrong. Take the case of this Congresswoman. She originally tried to justify her actions by claiming that all cops were racist at heart. What if that were true? What if the cop had used a racial slur? It wouldn't have mattered. She still would have been wrong to hit him. If she really believed there was racism in the system, she could have more effectively fought that without being drug into a brawl. It's about restraint, and not giving in to temptation. And those are the traits great people and great leaders have.

And aside from the character building exercise of it all, it will benefit you! If you're getting yelled at for making a mistake at work, admit you were wrong. The boss can hardly yell at you afterwards, and he or she will trust you far more after that. You can turn a mistake, or even an out and out bad act, into something that will make people think better of you. Most people can't do this - only the very strong, the very brave, and the very self-assured. Because they know it, they will admire that you did a hard thing. And you may even inspire them to do the right thing, too.

It works on relationships, too. Nothing defuses a fight faster than saying, "Sweetie, I was wrong. I'm sorry. Let me make you some dinner." That terrible "but" is the cause of a hell of a lot of breakups and divorces. It's about loving your partner (or even your friends) more than your ego.

Likewise, if you don't do this, people will remember. The worst part about Rep. McKinney's story isn't that she got frustrated and punched a cop (although that's bad). The worst part was how she refused to admit she was wrong, and then blamed her victim. That's just cowardly. No one likes a person who always has an excuse for whatever they do.

Don't take any of this to mean you shouldn't stick up for yourself. Don't be a wuss or a doormat (and it's not always easy to find that line). But when you're wrong, admit it, and move on. Your life will be so much richer and your spirit so much clamer for it.

Love, Dad

Holes In Your Face

Dear Son,

I hope to God that by the time you get to Junior High, the facial piercing fad will be over. It's so gross. I just don't get it. How is it that people who want to be taken seriously jam a bolt through their eyebrow?

The really funny thing is that they mutilate themselves, and then whine that people are judging them on "how they look." bizarre. It's not like anyone put a gun to their head. They weren't born that way, unfairly persecuted through no fault of their own. Nope. One day, they woke up and said, "hey, I have a GREAT idea. I'll irrevocably make holes in my face, holes which will ruin any credibility I may have in a serious job interview. It won't make me look any better. In fact, it'll be purposefully repulsive, and I'll be able to claim moral high ground over the Loser Conformists. It will hurt, but it'll be worth it, because then all those other idiots with holes in their face will know how unique I am. Why, I'll be as unique as they are!"

I understand peer pressure. But it takes a special kind of idiot to think this is a good idea.

Facial piercings are bad enough on a fast food clerk (who no doubt blames "The Man" for keeping them down). But when I see it on people in law school, I'm just baffled. Do they NOT want a job? Do they really think that it's somehow "discrimination" to not hire them? Do they not want to be taken seriously in court? I guess pissing off Daddy is more important than having a good job. Morons.

Love, Dad.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

Dear Son,

I'd never read the complete C.S. Lewis Chronicles of Narnia. I've never even read the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, although I'd read excerpts from it in school. I vaguely knew the premise, but not the story. (I intend to fix that this summer - if I can read 6 Harry Potter books in a month...) And I knew that it was intended to be a Christian allegory for the passion of Christ.

It was wonderful. I was lucky to catch it on the big screen, thanks to the $3 theater across the street from our condo. A big special effects movie should always be seen that way if it can be!

The characters weren't necessarily deep. Scratch that - they WERE deep, but they weren't complex. They didn't need to be. They each had a role to play that was important. Each one of the four children represented a part of ourselves - the noble but self-doubting future leader, the one with all the brains but unsure and indecisive when forced to put those smarts to the situation at hand, the selfish, opportunistic one made miserable by his selfishness and opportunism, and the innocent conscience who insists on doing the right thing because it is right.

And then, of course, is the self sacrificing King, by whose execution the children's debts are paid, and by whose resurrection the world is saved. You don't have to be a Christian to appreciate the inspiration of that message.

These are archetypes in literature. They were ancient when the Bible was written, because they are so fundamentally a part of who we all are, and who we all WANT to be. (And the Bible has survived for 3,000 + years because of it.) We tell stories not just to describe, but to guide us. And when the archetypes are true and believable to the environment in which they've been placed, then we can see ourselves in them. When the heroes on the screen do heroic things, we know that we, too, are capable of being heroes. And there's nothing better than leaving a movie with that feeling. That's really ultimately why we go.

Technically, the movie was fantastic. You may laugh at the special effects in it by the time you read this, but the animal effects were some of the best I've ever seen. It's hard to get fur and muscle movement just right, not to mention integration between the CGI and the location of the shoot. It was apparent that they used some real animals where they could, and paid attention to how they behave and move. It was easy to believe in.

My only real complaint was that the movie was too short. The young actors were superb, but the scope of the plot was a little too big for any of the characters' subtleties to really come out. It just seemed a little rushed. But they had clearly done their homework, because even if WE didn't get to see the full panorama of their characters, the complexities were there, and prevented them from being the caricatures that true archetypes are often confused with.

Ultimately, the themes really spoke to me. Self sacrifice, redemption, risking your life against oppression, fighting for something greater than yourself - awesome. Those themes will always cause elitist art-house snobs to decry such movies, because to them if it's not dark and "honest" about how miserable we all are, it's not art. Bah. This movie will stand the test of time, and you'll grow up watching it. This year's Oscar winner for Best Picture will be nothing more than a Trivial Pursuit question when you read this.

This is one of those I'm really looking forward to sharing with you.

Love, Dad

What?!?

George Mason? Are you kidding me? In the Final Four?

Well, good for those guys. I'll root for them as underdogs, since I didn't get a single team to the Final Four this year. Just sad.

Oh, well. By the time you read this, son, we'll both laugh that I cared about it at all.

Love, Dad

Basketball Sucks

Dear Son,

This has been a disapointing week of basketball. Your mom's Zags lost to UCLA in the most heartbreaking way. But through her grief came this most fantastic piece of writing:

Since 1999, I have been a dedicated Gonzaga basketball fan. While attending GU, I witnessed the team rise from the state of "Gon-zog-a" and "Gonzag who?" to a national force, even for a mid-major from a weak conference. They have heart, they have skill, they have a great coach who brings out the best in players. By the end of each season, I feel like I know the players--I yell at them through the television screen, I know their strengths and weaknesses, and I have special place in my heart for each of them. I never miss a game.

And then there always comes the bitter, bitter disappointment. Every year I think they've got what it takes, that they will prove the critics wrong, but every year my hopes are dashed. The losses to Nevada and Texas Tech were particularly painful. But nothing will top last night. They had UCLA, they did...until the final minute when nothing seemed to go right.

Gonzaga is my ex-boyfriend who, just when I'm about to be over him (about November), woos me back, whispers in my ear that things will be different this time, and then come March, breaks my heart again.

Gonzaga, I wish I could quit you...

Sigh. That was a depressing moment at the bar, I have to say. The only upside was that our friend Peter was in the paper with some pretty good quotes. Then the rest of my bracket fell apart in the Elite Eight. As I type (procrastinating writing a brief), I'm watching UCONN trying hard to lose to George Mason, of all friggin' teams. Just sad.

Oh, well. That's why it happens every year, and that's why they call it gambling! Hell, I don't even remember who won last year. It's funny how we get so emotionally invested in things that at the end of the day just don't matter that much.

Love, Dad

Movies

Dear Son,

There'll be a lot of movie reviews in this thing. Maybe review isn't the best word for it - I guess they're more like reflections.

I love movies. They're such an American art form. They tell and re-tell us our stories, our myths, and our legends. They are not modern plays - a play is an entirely different experience that I hope you will participate in once or twice.

Movies help define our culture. (Note that I call them movies, and not films. Films are what pretentious people call movies, including, sadly, a lot of the people who make otherwise pretty good movies.) They give us frameworks around which to tell jokes, to make analogies, to inspure and tell our own stories. Most guys I know can carry on an entire conversation in movie quotes.

Like anything, there are good movies and bad ones. Sometimes the officially good ones are boring as hell, and sometimes the bad ones are SO bad that they're just plain awesome. And the arguments about what makes the good ones good and the bad ones bad and why people see them differently are some of the most fun conversations to have.

But lately I've been thinking a lot about what is it that makes a good movie good. Why do the ones that inspire us inspire us? What is it about the boring ones that make them so dull? Why do some characters speak to us, and some we just plain don't care? Why are there movies that came out when I was an infant (or long before) that I can watch over and over again, and others that make me regret that I'll never again have those two hours of my life back?

A lot of it has to do with the classical elements of all literary forms. There must be a plot with a begining, a middle, and an end. There must be characters with an arc - they must experience conflict and evolve in some way based on their travails. And their world and their reactions to it must be coherent and believable.

But to be great - to truly become a classic - movies must inspire us. That's why movies that have simple themes of good v. evil that are so snickered at in the art houses do so well. We WANT the characters to overcome adversity, because we want to see ourselves in the hero. It doesn't matter how old the story is. Take the Bible stories. Thousands of years old, those tales still inspire millions of people, and when put on screen either directly or in parallel, they speak to people.

I'm looking forward to having conversations like this with you about movies. Even if right now it's just with myself.

I collect a lot of movies, in part because I want to pass them on to you. I can't wait to see you experience Star Wars for the first time, or the Lord of the Rings movies. And who knows what other classics yet unmade that will be there for us to share?

I just hope the DVD sticks around for a while...

Love, Dad

Whew!

Dear Son,

Well, UCONN pulled it out of their tukas, which is good considering I have them winning it all. Having them lose in the first round would have been, as they say in Canada, no es bueno. Now let's just hope North Carolina plays well, and Kansas doesn't choke.

I also learned that if you make your stew too bitter by putting too much thyme in it, you can cure it and make it awesome with some honey. Sump'in' to keep in mind...

Love, Dad

I Love Spring Break

Dear Son,

Yesterday Matt and I went to a sports bar down town called Jillians. We showed up just after 9 AM, and stayed there until about 9 PM, watching the first round of the basketball tournament and drinking too-expensive cheap beer. All day. For 12 hours. In the early afternoon your mom joined us, followed by some other folks. It was momentous.

Today I'm doing much the same thing, except from home. That, and I got a few chores done, like fixing the blinds in the bedroom. It's St. Patrick's Day today, so later we're going to a party with some friends from law school. In honor of our Irish heritage (well, I suppose you'll have some for real, but mine is limited to whatever genes the Vikings passed around a thousand years ago), I'm making a Guinness stew. Slow cooked beef and potatoes. In beer. Mmmmmm....

All of that, and my bracket is more or less in tact. Unless UCONN chokes, in which case I'm screwed.

It's not the tropical MTV spring break, but after this busy quarter, nothing sounded or felt as good as doing pretty much nothing. Plus, when you're already married to an awesome babe, the allure of getting drunk at the beach and starring at beach bunnies just loses its appeal. Sometimes doing nothing is the greatest thing you can ever do.

Love, Dad

Done!

Dear Son,

Woo hoo! All finished with the finals for this quarter. It's pretty exciting. This is the easiest quarter I've ever had finals-wise, but it's been one of the most stressful in general. So much going on, and when things got busy, they all got busy at once. It doesn't rain, but it pours, I suppose.

The best part of being done with finals is that it's carnival time among the other law students. Everyone wants to go celebrate together, and the beer flows like Seattle rain. It's pretty outstanding.

Plus, the end of winter quarter means the start of Spring Break, and the start of the NCAA basketball tournament. Last year, I had finals all week, and so I missed most of the opening round games. Not this time. Tomorrow, the bar will open early, and we'll be there to watch them all, with no stress. No papers to write, no tests to study for, no classes to read for. And really, that's the best reward of all.

Love, Dad

Svava

Dear Son,

I hope you get a chance to meet Svava. She's our big, fat, obnoxious, loud, won't-shut-the-hell-up cat. But we love her anyway.

I'm posting this in part to test out the picture function on this blog.

That worked pretty well. Sweet.

Your mom and I picked up Svava and her sister Freya when we were first dating. They really were my cats - she more went with me to get them for myself, all the while insisting she was a dog person. But the kittens won her over. Kind of.

I wouldn't have gotten them had I known I was going to go on another deployment, but I didn't, and I did, so Alicia wound up taking care of them during their formative years. She never got proper credit from the cats for it, either. Ingrates.

I named them after Valkyries in tribute to our Nordic heritage. It was harder than you think. Freya was easy - she was almost pure white as a kitten, and had blue eyes, just as Freya, Queen of the Valyries is sometimes described. But most of the other names of Valkyries were either ugly or unpronouncable. Most of them were probably both. But I thought Svava was cool, and it seems to fit her. (I stuggled for a bit with their names. I think they were almost 6 months before I figured it out. I just called them Poopy 1 and Poopy 2, since that's what they did. On the rug I bought in Bahrain. Grrr.)

Freya disapeared one day - I don't know if a coyote got her, or a car, or just what. I like to think that some little girl picked her up and got her mommy to agree to take her home. But that's the danger of cats. They're not really tame, and they need to come and go as they please. It's why I respect them, as a matter of fact.

When I dig them out of my old computer, I'll put up a picture of them with your mom when they were tiny kittens. They were about the size of one of Svava's current rolls of belly fat.

I think Svava senses what I'm typing about her. Better go...

Love, Dad.

An Appology of Sorts

Dear Son,

I'm realizing that these early posts have the air of introduction, of "getting to know you". You'll probably have heard all of this stuff a million times by the time you ever read it. So if you start from the begining, you may even be a bit bored. "Gol, Dad! Nothing new here."

But right now, and take this in the spirit in which it's intended, you're a construct to me that I'm feeling out. I am getting to know you, and when you first meet someone new, the conversation starts out with some basic bio stuff. And who knows - I might change my mind about all kinds of things, in which case you'll NEED that introduction. (Probably not, though. Just sayin'.)

And of course, there ARE other people who read this. Not many. But it is a web log, after all.

All that, and this is still about me in a lot of ways. Sometimes I just want to express myself, and somehow the keyboard makes that easy for me to do. I've always been someone who thought better out loud, I think - so there will be rambling, incoherent entries. Oh yes. I'm not gonna lie. But you'll have some GREAT ammo later to tease me with.

So stand by for it. But you'll be getting to know me in a different way, too. And I'll be able to look back with you, and see myself evolve into the person who will actually BE your dad. This guy who's sitting at the dining room table in Shoreline, WA is just pretending.

I can't wait to hear your perspective on all of this. I think maybe when you graduate from college...

Love, Dad.

March Madness

Dear Son,

One of the cruel thing about the quarter system this law school is currently on is that the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament starts during finals week. This year it's not so bad, since I'm done on Tuesday, and the first round doesn't start until Thursday. But it sure adds a distraction in the run up to it.

The funny thing is that you will know me as far more of a sports fan than I ever was as a kid. Or even as a young adult, frankly. Part of it is growing up in South Dakota, where there's not really a local team to get all excited about. There's something about the home team that makes ANY sport worth watching. If I saw the University of Minnesota playing marbles on ESPN "O" (the "O" is for "Obscure"), I'd be totally into it.

(If ESPN "O" actually exists when you read this, I'll laugh my ass off.)

Maybe part of it was that I was so bored when my dad was watching sports. He can watch a game just for the sake of the game. I have to have a dog in the fight, or I just don't care. Which is why being in a tournament pool is fun, because it means you have a lot of dogs in a lot of fights. That, and the family fortune of $5 on the line!

That, and I was pretty nerdy when I was young. Actually, REALLY nerdy. I see pictures of myself, and want to shove myself in a locker. (Yes, I know. "Was?" Ha ha.) Like most annoying nerds, I convinced myself that my awkward social condition really was a result of my superiority to the other kids, most of whom were really into the whole sports thing.

Even when I was in college, it was hard to get into. I was getting into football (see "Packers" below), but our football team really, REALLY sucked. And although our basketball team went to the Final Four (a feat later purged from the records due to a cheating scandal), I just wasn't that into it. I didn't get it. But the seeds were sown, because I started becoming an anti-Packers fan, just to spite all the Wisconsin kids who went to the U of MN were so unbelievably obnoxious. I mean, out of control obnoxious. Hate. All. Cheeseheads...

When I was in the Navy, I learned that sports were a crucial part of American social and professional life. At least American sports are. (I bet when you read this, Americans still won't care much about soccer past the age of 10.) It's part of the language you're expected to know. When you introduce yourself to someone, and he asks where you went to school, and you respond to his trash talk with, "Uh, I don't really follow sports," then your image and influence will suffer. Just the way it is. It's like a weak handshake. I also was introduced to NCAA basketball pools by the Paul F. Foster's supply officer, a crazy Montanan (Montana-ite? Montaner?) named Jared.

But your mom, with her Gonzaga fanatacism, really made me a college basketball fan. (It helped that we started dating around the time I met Jared.) And it IS fun to watch. Young kids with a lot of heart and that hometown loyalty, before the NBA turns them into thugs and pimps. And so many teams with so many hometowns to love or hate.

Don't worry, son. I promise that I won't let you be as nerdy as I was, and you will never suffer in awkward silence when the people around you are talking about the big game. Plus, it'll just be fun. When I'm shouting at refs at little league games, calling other kids names in peewee soccer leagues, fighting with other dads... Kidding! Maybe we'll just play catch. Or set up a basketball hoop in the driveway and play some H-O-R-S-E. Sweet.

Well, back to studying. Two finals. B = J.D. Then I sit in a bar all day on Thursday with friends, celebrate sports, the end of finals, and smack talk our brackets. Life is good.

Love, Dad.

What Not To Name your Kids

Dear Son,

My friend sent me this today from a New York newspaper, and I thought it was just damn funny:

Man faces jail time for selling crack

A City of Poughkeepsie man faces a stint in jail for dealing crack in the city last year.

Landocalrissan Butler, 25, of Winnikee Avenue, entered a guilty plea Tuesday in Dutchess County Court to attempted criminal possession of a controlled substance, a felony. Butler told Judge Thomas J. Dolan he had five small bags of crack in his pocket Dec. 22 when police arrested him on Morgan Avenue. He said he intended to sell the drugs.

In exchange for his plea, Butler was promised a sentence of six months in jail and five years on probation. He will also be required to forfeit a cell phone and $432 police said he obtained through illegal drug sales.

Butler remains jailed pending his sentencing, scheduled for April 4.

"Landocalrissan" Classic. His parents didn't even spell "Calrissian" correctly.

Now, I'm a big Star Wars fan, as I expect you probably will be. But whatever your name is going to be, I promise it won't be "Jarjarbinks Johnson." Or even "Obiwankenobi Johnson." Although "Darthvader Johnson" would be kind of cool...

Kidding. And even if I wasn't, you're lucky enough to have a mom who wouldn't allow it.

Love, Dad.

A Little Introduction

Dear Son,

Hi. I'm the person who will become your father. By the time you read this, you'll have known me for awhile, but I'll probably be a pretty different man.

As I start this blog, you aren't born yet. In fact, I'd guess you're about 3 years even from being conceived. I have no idea if you'll actually be a "son", but your mom seems convinced that our first child will be a boy. Besides, "Son" is easier to type than "Daughter". But I decided to start now, and to start with you. I needed some theme to hang a journal around, and thought of all the people I wanted to think about while I was writing, it was you. Besides, I've always wanted to start a journal (tried on a number of occasions), but I could never seem to keep with it. I think I need to know that these words will be read.

In a way I guess that means I'm kind of using you, but I like to think of it as a trade. A contract, if you will. I get an audience of sorts and an impetus to keep this journal, and someday you get to peer into the past mind of your old man. I don't know how old you'll be when you read this - maybe college, maybe earlier. I suppose you might even find it on the computer if I last that long, although I think I'll seek to prevent that. But that's a bridge I don't have to think about for a long time.

Of course, I'm also publishing the thing on line, so anyone around the world can read my thoughts. Last night I was talking with your mom about why people feel the need to do that. Why are blogs being so prolific? Why do we risk exposure, when one could just as easily do this on a word processor and keep it locked away in their own computer? I guess we all have a desire to be heard, to explain ourselves.

There'll be more on that later. This will be fairly introspective, as I suppose most journals are. It'll also ramble, so I appologize in advance. But at this point, it's as much for me as you, so there you go. You can skip past a lot of stuff and I won't even feel bad about it. Promise.

Anyway, as I write I'm 29 years old, and a little over halfway done with my second year of law school here in Seattle at the University of Washington. I just got married to your mom last September back in Reno. I'll spare you the rest of the bio for now - you'll know it all by the time you read this anyway.

OK - enough for now. We don't need the single post to be that long after all.

Love, Dad. (Wow. That's heavy. But I like the sound of it.)