Here are my notes from today's Civil Procedure class. It probably makes more sense to anyone outside of law school than it does to me. Service on individuals within the U.S. (4(e)) 1. Pursuant to law of state where court located or service effected 2. By personal service, by service on legal agent, or by leaving copies at dwelling house/ place of abode w/ person of suitable age and discretion residing therein. Service on individuals in foreing country (4(f)) 1. Internationally agreed means: treaty such as Hague Convention 2. If none, or if permitted by treaty: in manner prescribed by foreign law as directed by foreign authority in response to letter rogatory unless prohibited by the country, personal service, or by certified mail Service on Corporations (4(h)) 1. Pursuant to state law, or by personal service on legal agent (w/ mailed copy if required by state law) 2. in foreign country, under 4(f)) Waiver of Service (4(d)) If copy of complaint & summons mailed to ∆, with reasonable time to return waiver (at least 30/60 days), extra copy of notice and request, prepaid means of compliance in writing: Costs of service imposed on ∆ if refuses to waive Not a method of service—just a cost-shifting incentive to waive formal service Due Process Standard for Service Mullane: method of service must be reasonably calculated to apprise ∆ of pendency of action and give reasonable opportunity to respond If Π knows or has reasong to know ∆’s identity and address, publication is insufficient and nothing less than mailing likely deemed reasonable Despite pennoyer, publication OK only if names unknown and not reasonably ascertainable Reasonableness standard balances costs / benefits of service, looks to business practices as “floor.” How great is that?! Makes you want to shrink from the mere possibility of a litigative career, doesn't it? Ahh...life

Something I've been thinking about a lot lately: My undergraduate degree. I had a lot of fun in the English department at the U. Papers were fairly free-form, creativity was held at a premium, and logic was a thing only philosophy majors dabbled in. Mine was the psychedelia of Sartrian Existentialism swirled with Sound Poetry, L'Orca and a meaty measure of Shakespeare. It was the most academically satisfying time of my life. It was the also the most disconnected with the Professional World I had ever been as well. And that was fine by me. I was this close to getting a PhD in literature. As far as I know, it might still happen. I'm still trying to figure out how I could become a literary minded expert witness, emerging from my professorial cocoon to occasionally spout out Ben Johnson and Seamus Heaney, leave the jury astounded, and with a swish of my robes return to my post as poet laureate at Harvard. Anyway, here's a letter I kind of wrote to myself at the beginning of what would be my "Senior" (2nd) year at the University of Utah, via the Daily Utah Chronicle: You thought it would never come around. In all those lazy hours of summer, you never imagined that you’d really have to return! Welcome back to school, you. It’s time to verbally rage against the machine once again, while diligently grumbling your way towards an official sheet of paper signed by important people that allows you to, get this!... work towards MORE official sheets of paper signed by OTHER important people! That’s right, that’s what you’re reading, studying, testing and bleeding for- a “degree.” To you freshmen, a degree’s not just limited to temperature and angle measures anymore. It’s a palpable, paper representation of all the hours you slept through lectures, all the papers you started two hours before they were due, all the times you told yourself this lie- “tonight, I’m going to STUDY,” and all the endless, empty cans of Coca-Cola by your desk. After eighteen years or 2,000 hours of credit, you’ll talk to an “advisor” about getting a degree. They’ll assign you another two semesters of “real classes,” and then you’ll be ready to don those rental robes and funny caps, walk down an aisle and receive…a fake degree. But the real one’s coming… …in the mail- First class, United States Postal Service, mind you. (They spare no expense, because they spared you none!) You’ll shake with anticipation as you gently withdraw your degree from the official envelope, shake it a bit, and put it somewhere conspicuous. If you notice any wrinkles in the degree, don’t try and iron it. (That’s not something they’d teach you at the University, but they should. Paper burns) Now, buy a nice frame for the degree, and hang it up on a wall somewhere. After $20,000 and a lot of headaches, you deserve to have people notice it! Your degree will have signatures from people you never met, but you’re pretty sure you heard of. In between the fancy titles and fancy ways of saying that you’re officially a “Bachelor of something,” your name appears in bright, bold letters. Perfect! Now you get to work for 10.00 an hour! When people see that you’ve earned a degree (you’ll have to show it to them), they’ll immediately think “Oh, me too!” and continue about their business. If you’re an Engineering major, or just lucky, they might even be impressed. These same people will probably ask if you’ve had any professional experience. At this point, you’ll be tempted to say “I’ve been in school for the past twenty years, moron! How can I possibly have any (bleeping) professional experience?!” but don’t succumb to that. You haven’t been working so hard just to flush your degree down the proverbial, professional toilet. Just calmly reply that you thought your degree would allow you to enter into a profession and gain that experience. So, when that day arrives, and you’ve proudly got your degree, don’t be surprised when you hear this from people and potential employers: “Silly you, degrees are for kids!” Welcome back, you! Enjoy!

Here's another bit of creative poetry for you all. If you've never tried writing a found poem, you have to do it at least once before you die. At least once. Go to any website, recipe book or textbook that you own and rearrange the words you find there into some kind of poet-ish type of text, and voi-la!: poetry. While some people may still contend that this is, in fact, how poets actually create their works, and that may be the case with some, this is more of a fun little exercise than anything else. This one happened to receive a lot of love from a creative writing workshop of mine, and I still haven't quite nailed down why it works (if I had, I'd do it more often), but I like it, and that's what matters most. CIVIC LX Top-rung EX and tune-up intervals a little standard belt-and-pulley four-cylinder lineup; Best if returned (Buy) after a year’s perennial absence gained an infinite first-time option —at least for a while— The group ran on natural gas But dropped size, in the seventh system The sporty torque had longer derivatives 1.6 1.7 9 This would return: More low-emissions + five-speed manual transmissions Extra-cost, high mileage, fourspeed, 2 horsepower-liter it all gave way and Body Coupe began its generation with compressed, unchanged Power The automatic was a conventional front, But the DX, providing a number of previous Designs joined the new, all-new, All models offering of continuously variable side models and “gears.” Trunks grew in, the engine gained again, Offered, and consisted of DX All this was blank Transmission: “except change” Interiors were in, but output was gone. From http://auto.consumerguide.com/auto/used/reviews/full/index.cfm/id/2495

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