Law, Ice Cream, and a Bear Trap

Law school has been a myriad of adjectives and modifiers that fail to accurately sum it up in any kind of coherent sense. As far as I can tell, it's not quite going over my head, but instead is skimming my skull, leaving me with a vague sense that--yes, there IS something deep and significant about the 15 cases I've briefed and 20 pages of notes I've taken in the first two days, but I'm only partially aware as to the actual depth. I'm afraid to plumb that darkness too soon...

In lighter news, received an email from the Tribune's top sports columnist, Gordon Monson. Actually, to be fair, he was responding to an email I sent him requesting some career advice as far as sports and writing go (they happen to be two of my top interests in life). In a later post, I might publish some of it, but for now, let's just say it was some great advice from someone who I greatly respect. You can check out his column at: http://www.sltrib.com/monson

Finally, a word on competition:

It's healthy...when taken in moderation, like ice cream, and lettuce;

It's deadly...when mixed with high stress, high quality, and 150 tightly-wound, non-drinker Mormons;

It's fine with me...so long as you don't feel like you have to kill me along your way on the road to success. If that happens, I might just sprint ahead of you and set a bear trap for you, which will allow me to take a nap along the road to my own success, which includes lots of ice cream, and some lettuce.

First of at least a few

Thought I'd post this as my first blog. It's late, and cutting and pasting seems simple enough a task to complete. It doesn't need much of an introduction, and if it did, it might lose some of its personal sparkle.

Cakchiquel E. Boyd Vogeler

Padre:

Thought you might like this. Reminded me a lot of you! Laughs… Looks like this kid is clueless to the FRG. His Dad (the pair of legs in the picture) woke up to work the fields at dawn. The Mayan word is something like sxka— more guttural than nasal. It’s for when the sun is just below the mountains, but not quite up yet. I think. Wish I knew.

That machete at his hip used to cut men, he said. Used to gleam bright; polished. Now it’s rusted from the roots and vines he hacks. When the army came in, he carried a gun instead of that ho. Guess he traded it in for the kid.

They look at me funny sometimes, like Why the hell are you here? It’s a good question. I’m sure by now they know I’m white.

It’s the healthiest dog I’ve seen here, by the way. It’s got all its fur, both eyes are clear, and the lice are limited. It’ll lick your hand ‘til it sees the Cheetoh’s bag. Tempting as it sounds, coffee, tortillas and Coke does not constitute a healthy diet.

Funny how those fingers are. Kid seems happy, though. Just like us, kid’s got family, and twenty years is a long time, and he’s never seen an FRG man. He doesn’t know. They’d probably kill him anyway.

Don’t know why I think of you, but I do.

Send my love,

Hijo