A premiere

Tonight, we went to the premiere of a film we had invested in. It was made in Hawaii, and we got tax breaks for the investment. The Judge who granted summary judgment to the other side was there with his wife. The house had filled up by that time. There were seats in the row in front of the Judge, and I took those for myself, Maia, Kristina, and her mom. I sat directly in front of him. I'm not sure why I did that. These days, when I'm in a situation that upsets me in some way, I say, "Give them (him/her) peace, John." Sometimes I say, "Give yourself peace, John." I did that tonight with this Judge who had written such an unnecessarily prejudicial opinion and who had been too full of himself to do what principle should have demanded of him, which was to recuse himself. "Give him peace, John," I said to myself. There was some period of time before the show started. The producers were there to make their thank yous to the investors, like my family and this Judge, I suppose. And to introduce people who had been in the film or who had contributed in some way. The Judge knew I was sitting in front of him. At one point, a former Governor was introduced, he was sitting behind us, and I had to turn in my seat to look at him. The Judge turned as I turned, I presume to avoid seeing me. I did not look at him. Would not have. Just before the show started, he talked about the election. About defeating Obama, electing Romney. I thought that that was intended for me. But whether it was or wasn't wasn't material to what followed. It coalesced for me this Judge's reality, and his prejudices. When the film started, I began to think about my case. I've thought about little else since August 8th, when his opinion was published. But this time, I found a resolve in those thoughts that I had lost. The Judge seemed small to me, his reality seemed small, and I just knew that I need to attack it. And so I shall. Whatever else the 14th amendment may be, it is not intended as a protection for prejudice. John, Wednesday, August 29, 2012.

My biggest case

I knew we were in trouble when I saw who had been assigned as the Judge of our case. My concern was confirmed at our first hearing, some months later. A Christian group had moved to intervene. During my oral argument opposing their motion, I was delivering comments to the Judge when I became aware that he was trying to stare me down. I got angry, the anger came out in my eyes, which glared at him, and it was he who looked away. He covered what he was doing by shuffling papers around in front of him. I knew we didn't have a chance at that point. When he issued his ruling on the cross motions for summary judgment a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't surprised that he ruled against us, though I was surprised at how deep his prejudice apparently runs. The self-righteous are my least favorite people. The oral argument, though, was good for me. It was my best moment as a lawyer. I beat the other side. Everyone thought that, and I could tell from the other lawyers that they thought that, too. The Judge didn't try to challenge me, just let me talk. Still, it's hard to lose this case. I will appeal. But I don't expect much to come from it. Seeing how much of a difference the Judge makes, and how much lawyers are willing to lie, has soured me on the profession. John, Friday, August 24, 2012

But what happens to your memories?

Maia and I are riding to the Bark Park. It's something we do pretty much everyday. "When I'm in my 80s, how old will you be?" Maia asks. We decide that I will be in my 130s. "You will be dead by then," she wants to know. "Yes," I say. "Life is short," she says. "Yours is almost over." "Yes," I say, but I'm looking for someway to say, well, not quite completely over. "It's so weird," she continues. "I never thought that you die. I always thought that you would just continue." "No, we all die," I say. "Will I die," she asks. "Yes, everything dies," I say. "But what happens to you when you die." I explain some different theories--that some people think you go to heaven, some think you come back to earth, some think you just dissipate into the universe. "But what happens to your memories?" she wants to know. And I had an image of a person's memories, those most individual of possessions, and I didn't know what to say. "I don't know, Sweetie." I knew it wouldn't satisfy her, and it didn't, but I talked about her memories of me, and how who I was would like on in those memories. The pic was taken today at the Bark Park. John, Friday, August 10, 2012